But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at.
Chapter Five
The household had long ago gone to bed but Emily paced around her bedroom, her long stride making the tiny room even smaller. The doctor had confined her to the house for a fortnight and her sentence was up tomorrow, but she felt as though she were overflowing with energy. She feared she might explode if she didn’t go outside. Despite her assurances that she was completely recovered, Father and Aunt B. still forbade Emily to walk on the moors. They did not understand Emily required physical exercise, not only for her body but also for her mind.
The full moon shone directly into Emily’s room and the chilly air burned her lungs. Outside the window, the branches of the cherry tree made a pleasing pattern against the glowing orb.
When Emily was a child, she had climbed that tree more than once. Years ago, Emily and Branwell had often played Pirate King, with Emily forever in the role of the hostage doomed to walk the plank by venturing out on the tree limb. The game had ended when Emily surprised Branwell by nimbly climbing down the tree to freedom. Her tongue darted across her lips. She had eluded captivity before, why not now?
A fast-moving cloud traversing the moon seemed like a signal. Clad only in her nightdress, Emily hurriedly wrapped her shabby shawl around her shoulders. She slipped on her walking shoes without taking the time to put on her stockings and then clambered over the windowsill.
Half climbing, half falling, she made it to the ground and ran to the garden gate. Glancing back at the parsonage, she reassured herself the house was still undisturbed. Slowly she opened the gate, wincing at the loud creak.
Emily hurried along the gravel path between the parsonage garden’s stone wall and the row of tall trees on the other side. The cool night air caressed her skin and the north wind felt like a familiar friend’s embrace. Even in the darkness, her feet had not forgotten the way up the steep hill marking the end of the churchyard and the beginning of the moors. At the top, she reluctantly stopped, her hand pressed against a stitch in her side. It had been too long.
Her breath recaptured, Emily gasped in delight when the moon reappeared and illuminated the vast moor unfolding itself like a carpet being rolled out for her pleasure. The wind caught the fullness of her nightdress and it billowed out around her knees like the plumage of some fantastic bird. The scent of heather and bracken, mixed with a coming storm, was better for her health than all the elixirs and medicaments they had forced down her throat.
Holding her arms out wide, she hurtled down the path, away from Haworth. She had no purpose and no destination, like a tuft of cotton grass being tossed on the air currents. She laughed out loud from the sheer joy of being outside and unaccounted for. Finally she came to a favorite rock. It was shaped like an armchair, and Emily often stopped there with a book. She climbed onto it, ignoring the damp chill of the stone through her cotton nightdress.
Emily stared at the brilliant stars, clearly visible in the clean, crisp night air. Her attention was captured closer to earth when she saw a light flicker across the moor.
“Who would be out at this hour?” Eyes trained on the light, she headed across the moor once again. If her sister Charlotte were here, she would be tugging on her sleeve to lead Emily back to the safety of the beaten path. Tabby would warn Emily of the hazards of following a will-o’-the-wisp, whispering tales of travelers being led fatally astray by malicious spirits. And Father? He would worry about human villains. Emily thought it was just as well none of them was here, because she saw only the possibility of adventure.
Without the full moon, even Emily would not have been able to navigate the boulders and bracken littering the moor like a giant’s abandoned toys. As she closed in on the light, Emily saw it was a small campfire in a hollow tucked underneath the shelter of a small bluff, sparks flying into a pool of darkness beyond.
Careful to keep her steps soundless, Emily crept closer. Suddenly an enormous creature leapt in front of Emily. She cried out and stumbled back, falling heavily to the ground. The beast growled deep in its throat, louder than her beating heart.
It was a dog, a mastiff, easily outweighing Emily. His huge fangs glistened and his eyes glowed red from in the fire’s reflection. Trembling from head to toe, she forced herself to be perfectly still.
“Gently, boy,” Emily whispered.
Slowly she got to her knees, keeping a close eye on the animal. Careful not to make eye contact, knowing this would seem like a challenge, Emily reached out a hand, palm first. He bared his teeth and growled again.
“Shh, boy, I’m no danger to you,” Emily said in her most soothing voice. She kept her hand extended. The dog sniffed, and after a moment to consider, he licked her palm. Emily stroked his nose. He nuzzled against her, almost knocking her over with the size of him. Fondling the sagging skin around his neck and jowls, she whispered, “Good boy, I know we’ll be friends.”
The dog barked. Emily shushed him, but then, tail wagging, the dog barked louder. The noise rolled along the moors, echoing in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” A man’s voice called out. On the far side of the fire, Emily saw a silhouette in a long cloak.
“Show yourself!” he shouted.
Emily might have spoken up, but then she heard the unmistakable click of a cocking pistol. Without another moment’s hesitation, she scrambled to her feet and fled. The dog didn’t follow but set up a fusillade of barking. With no time to pick out the best path, Emily tripped and stumbled in the underbrush.
“Stop,” yelled the man.
Emily ran. The prickly gorse caught her nightdress and held her back. Emily tore at the sharp bushes until she could tear herself free. She saw the hill leading back to the parsonage and she pushed herself to run faster.
Her eyes fixed on the slope, she didn’t see the hollow in the ground at her feet. She fell headlong, knocking the breath from her body. She listened, struggling to hear over her labored breathing.
There. Emily heard the sound of footsteps, distant enough, but still coming toward her. A thud and a muffled curse told Emily her pursuer was suffering from the whims of the moor, just as she was.
She got to her feet and mustered all her strength for the final hill. At the crest, she looked down to see the parsonage ahead, beckoning her to safety. Behind her, the stranger was just starting to race up the hill. He wasn’t far behind.
Emily flung herself down the hill until she reached the parsonage gate. Her fingers fumbled as she undid the gate’s latch, but at last it was open and she practically fell into the garden. She only had to shout and Father would rescue her. She peered through the gate, but saw no sign of her pursuer. Emily sucked air into her lungs and let her thudding heart realize she was safe.
A man’s hand grabbed her shoulder. Emily screamed.
