Emily Martin

Honors English 11- 7

October 23, 2012

The Daily Walk- Jane Eyre

Another night had again dawned into another morning, and it was the sort of morning not filled with gray and somber feeling, as is customary for English mornings; instead, it was beautiful and saturated with the dazzling colors of Apollo's choosing. Most would have been pleased by the radiant sight; I, however, was displeased. Had I been the proprietor of such decisions, the sky would have been sullen and dark all the time. For, as fate would have it, my Edward was benighted of such splendid sights as these.

A year into our fateful union, my dear husband's sight remained irreversibly (so it had seemed at the time) damaged. Today, as every other day, I awoke before he did. Careful not to rouse him, I readied myself for the day as quietly as possible. Despite my precautions, I heard Edward rise from our bed and make his way unsteadily to where I stood at the wash basin. I did not need turn to face him, as he could not see me, but I did so nonetheless out of habit.

"Good morning, my dove," he whispered, though not blessing me with a smile. "Pray tell- is it indeed a good morning?"

"It is dreary, as always." I misinformed him, as I always did on such occasions; not wishing for him to truly realize that which had been taken from him. I reached for his hand in comfort, and was met instead by his warm embrace.

"My lovely wife," said Edward. "Shall we not have a walk, though you proclaim the day to be dreary? I would delight in some exercise with you at my side."

"Of course we shall," I said, placing his hand on my cheek so he could feel the smile beginning to grace my otherwise plain face. "I should be happy to oblige."

After the necessary preparations, my husband and I set out together from our home at Ferndean. We walked along a perfectly manicured path, talking idly to one another along the way. Our talk was mild and unimportant, but the effortlessness with which we carried ourselves was comforting; we were nearly always easygoing and mellow in each other's company, as lovers should be. About thirty minutes into our stroll, Edward stopped almost abruptly.

"Is something wrong, my love?" I inquired. I worried that he was feeling ill or faint.

"Nothing is the matter, Janet, but may I trouble you to take a break? Lead me to sit under the nearest tree." I submitted to his will, and guided his unseeing person to an oak just off the path. I helped him to sit, and sat down myself, gathering my simple skirts underneath my seated frame.

As I sat, Edward quietly took my hand in his. "Tell me, my darling, why you have lied to me."

Taken aback, I nearly gasped aloud at the bold accusation. "I am guilty of no such sin!" I defiantly stated, released his hand in anger.

He chuckled quietly. "Surely, you do not think you have lied, otherwise you have not thought much of it. But my dearest Jane, you have said to me that the weather was dreary. I can sense through means other than sight that the day is nearly as lovely as you, and I feel the Sun shining. I am not angered by your falsehood; rather, I only seek to understand your motives for it."

I sat silently for a moment; frankly, I was embarrassed to have been caught in my fib. Sighing, I responded, "Edward, I have attempted to deceive you because this morning had been particularly beautiful. I did not want you to feel any remorse towards your condition, so I conceived the thought that if you were unaware of the aesthetic beauty of things, you should not be upset to be unable to witness it. I am truly sorry."

Again, he laughed a little, the mood being much lightened. "For what has the lord decided to bless me with you as my wife? Your concern does not go unappreciated. I shall forgive you entirely if you grant to me my one request."

"And what may that be?" I asked.

"Tell to me, Jane, what the day truly looks like. You are my sight and my eyes; for as I have none physically, your words always suffice. I know that you are beautiful, so I wish for you to tell me of beautiful things. You are an artist, my angel; paint a picture in my mind."

"Of course, my love," I smiled at his charming request. "This morning, as the sun rose, the atmosphere was vivid, and doused with pastel color. Purples, pinks, and orange graced the sky, swirling with perfect white clouds. The sun halfway completed its journey, as it is nearly directly above us at the moment. The sky is a flawless blue, merely speckled with clouds. We left the garden a few minutes ago, and now we rest among pastures so abundant with green grass, one can almost see the fairies and elves we dreamed of as children frolicking through the fields. As far as the eye can see, there are simply rolling, green hills, occasionally dotted in the distance with a church steeple or chimney. This is the best description I can muster, accept my apology if it is inadequate."

"Jane," Edward Rochester exclaimed, "my darling, beautiful Jane. It is for this precise reason, among many others, that I love you. And do not question my love, sweet angel, for I shall continue to do so even after I have muttered my last miserable sentence and taken my last wretched breath. I love you, Jane Eyre, Mrs. Rochester, and I always will." With that, I was drawn into his kiss. And I should indeed be lying if I were to say I had not wished for that moment to be infinite.