Always Emily

Chapter One

“I don’t care about earning my living,” Emily exclaimed. “No one wants me to work except you!”

“Look at me, Emily,” Charlotte commanded. When Emily continued to stare out the window, Charlotte reached over and grabbed her sister’s chin. “You’re seventeen now, and we must face the facts of our situation. Father is our only bulwark against destitution. When he dies, we lose our income and our home. We must be prepared to support ourselves.”

Emily batted Charlotte’s hand away. “Your concern for the future keeps you imprisoned in the present. Why lock yourself up in a school when Father’s healthy as an ox? You worry for nothing.”

Charlotte’s hand clenched and unclenched. “How can you forget his illness this past spring? We might have lost him then!” Her wide brown eyes filled with tears as she remembered those days nursing their father. It was then she’d formulated a plan to save the family. She would return to school, but as a teacher. Rather than a full salary, her recompense would include tuition for Emily. It was the perfect plan. Except for one thing. Emily.

“I have no interest in teaching or governessing.” Emily spoke with deliberation. Charlotte had tried to arrange everything without consulting Emily, who would not soon forgive her sister for it.

“Would you prefer marriage?” Charlotte asked. “Because that’s your only alternative.” A snort was Emily’s only response. Charlotte leaned back against the dusty cushion and closed her eyes. Melodrama was exhausting.

After another mile or so, Emily spoke in a softer voice. “What is this school like? Will I hate it?”

Charlotte opened her eyes and smiled. “You may like it very much. I made good friends there. You’ve met my friend Ellen. She’s lovely, don’t you agree?”

Emily tugged at the fingers of her darned gloves, picking at the ragged seams. “I suppose so.”

“The days are filled with learning,” Charlotte continued. “It’s very well organized.”

Emily’s eyes filled with malice, she asked, “And how much writing did you do while you were there? Did the Adventures of Angria continue at Roe Head or did they shrivel wasted on the vine?”

Charlotte was silent.

“I seem to remember you writing frantically when you came home,” Emily said.

“Miss Wooler, the headmistress, says we must bend our inclination to our duty. If necessary, I’ll sacrifice my writing to earn security for my family,” Charlotte muttered.

“Selflessness is your specialty, not mine,” Emily retorted. “What if I am not willing to surrender my dreams?”

Charlotte glared at Emily, who had the grace to look abashed.

With her facility for logic that alternately impressed and infuriated Charlotte, Emily leapt to another argument. “If I have to go to school, why do I have to change the way I look?” Emily ran her fingers across her scalp and bits of crimped hair broke off in her hands. “Look what your hairdressing did! I look absurd with curls.”

 Charlotte privately agreed Emily’s fair coloring and light eyes were better suited to a less labored hairdressing, but she hastened to reassure her sister. “No, it’s fashionable.” She wrapped one of her dark ringlets around her finger. “I’m trying to spare you the mistakes I made. When I arrived at school, everyone made fun of my clothes and hair.”

“What do I care for what people think?” Emily snapped her fingers with a loud snap; a habit Charlotte deplored because she couldn’t do it.

“You’re not in Haworth anymore,” Charlotte said. “I’m trying to keep you from being lonely like I was at first.”

Emily shot a glance at her sister. With an unfamiliar pang of guilt, she reached out and took Charlotte’s hand. “You’re trying to help me and I’m acting the shrew.” After a moment, she added, “I’m out of my element and it’s putting me out of sorts. Tell me more about the school so I know what to expect.”

“The students take long walks, weather permitting. You’ll like that.”

“Weather permitting? I walk in any weather. The more wuthering the better.” Stormy weather on the moors was called a wuthering and it was one of Emily’s favorite words.

“We walk often enough,” Charlotte said firmly. “Miss Wooler says it builds strong bodies and spurs the appetite. The food is quite good—and unlike home, we don’t have to do the washing up.”

Emily looked sidelong at Charlotte. “It’s not like . . . Cowan Bridge?” This was the question she had avoided asking ever since school had become inevitable. Two of their sisters had died at Cowan Bridge from cold and neglect.

“Of course not!” Charlotte contemplated her sister with pity. No wonder Emily was so obstinate about school; how could she have not seen it? “Cowan Bridge was an awful place. Father would never make that mistake again.” Her voice contained a speck of blame for their father’s carelessness. “And I’ll be there with you. There’s nothing to fear.”

“You and I will share a room, won’t we?” Emily asked.

Charlotte had dreaded this question. “You hate sharing a room with me!”

“But it would be a familiar irritation,” Emily said.

“I’m to be a teacher, so I’ll have my own room,” Charlotte said, looking at Emily warily. “You’ll be in the dormitory.”

Emily straightened up and glared at Charlotte. “I have to share a room with strangers?”

Charlotte took a deep breath and delivered the worst news. “You’ll share a bed with another student.”

Emily’s face was like stone.

“But in the winter, it’s handy for the warmth,” Charlotte hurried on. “And it’s fun to have someone to whisper secrets with in the dark.”

“My secrets are my own,” Emily said flatly.

The carriage slowed and turned onto a gravel drive. Emily abandoned Charlotte and studied the school as the carriage crunched up the incline. The building was large—three stories—and surrounded by giant oak and cedar trees.

“You didn’t say it was so big,” Emily whispered.

“Truly, Emily, it’s a good school,” Charlotte answered. “You could be happy here. If only you’ll try.”

The carriage shuddered to a stop. The driver hopped down from his perch atop the roof and opened the door. Charlotte, stiff from the ride, awkwardly climbed down. Emily jumped to the ground without using the step.

Staring up at the imposing wooden doors, Emily muttered, “I won’t last a week.”

“Nonsense,” Charlotte said, her cheerful tone ringing ominously false. “Give it a month. By then you will have settled in and you won’t want to be anywhere else.”

As if they had a heft and weight, Emily pushed away her fears with a wave of her hand. “A month then, Charlotte.” But in the privacy of her mind, Emily added, “After then, with or without you, I’m going home.”