Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [17]
“How terrible,” said Jane. “Poor Walter.”
“He was devastated,” Sherman told her. “We worried about him for a long time.”
“He’s never mentioned it to me,” Jane said.
“I’m not surprised,” said Sherman. “He never speaks of her. I don’t think there are even any pictures of her in the house. It’s as if she never existed.”
Jane searched the room for Walter and found him talking to the head of the Historical Society. He was smiling and laughing and waving his hands emphatically. You would never know he’d suffered such a tragedy, she thought. Her heart ached for him. She suddenly wanted to go to him and tell him that everything would be all right.
“Ten!” someone shouted, causing Jane to jump.
“Nine!”
Jane glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight.
“Eight!”
“Seven!”
All around her people stood up and began counting down the New Year. They donned hats and held up noisemakers in anticipation.
“Six!”
“Five!”
Jane was hauled to her feet by Sherman, who placed a pointy cardboard hat on her head and handed her a small plastic horn.
“Four!”
“Three!”
Suddenly Walter was in front of Jane. “You didn’t think I’d let you ring the year in alone, did you?” he asked, grinning.
“Two!”
“One!”
Walter took Jane in his arms and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I’m glad you made it back.”
“Happy New Year!”
All around them people cheered and tooted on their horns and kissed one another. Walter released Jane and cheered along with them. “Happy New Year,” Jane said, but the celebration drowned out the sound of her voice.
Chapter 7
London was as unlike Glenheath as a peacock was unlike a wren. It swelled with life, boastful and proud. The colours were brighter, the smells richer, the sounds more cacophonous. Even the dogs seemed filled with purpose, trotting beside their masters as if they too were on their way to conduct important business or attend the opera.
—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript
TAKING THE TRAIN WAS NOT NEARLY AS INTERESTING AS IT HAD been a hundred years ago. But it was faster, and that was something. As Jane sat and watched the dreary winter landscape pass by, her spirits were buoyed by the knowledge that she would be in New York City in a matter of hours. She could have flown, but she still wasn’t entirely trusting of airplanes. No matter how many times the principle was explained to her she just couldn’t quite believe that something as large as a plane could stay aloft.
It had been difficult to focus on running the bookstore the past few days. The prospect of meeting her new editor in person was thrilling. At the same time she was relieved to be leaving Brakeston. It had begun to feel claustrophobic. Her chat with Sherman had reminded her that too many people knew too much about each other’s business.
Then there was the small matter of Walter’s dead wife. Jane didn’t know why, but the fact that Walter had never mentioned Evelyn to her was upsetting. And it bothered her that it bothered her. Why should she care if he’d been married?
“I don’t,” she said firmly. “I don’t care at all.”
Across the aisle a boy of about eight turned and looked at her. He’d gotten on at Utica along with an older woman whom Jane assumed to be his grandmother. Ever since, he had been playing some kind of handheld video game that emitted a continuous stream of beeps and chirps that sounded to Jane like electronic crickets. Now the grandmother was asleep.
“Don’t care,” the boy said, mimicking Jane. “I don’t care.” He repeated the phrase over and over as he continued to play his game. Maddeningly, the sound of the game provided a musical background to his chanting. “I don’t care.” Bleep-bleep-bleep. “I don’t care.” Bleep-bleep-bleep. “I don’t care.” Bleep-bleep-bleep.
Jane glared at him. He turned his head and grinned at her. “I don’t care,” he chorused.
Jane bared her fangs at him and watched as the expression on his face changed from smugness to horror. He gasped, dropping his game. He fumbled beneath the seat for it, and when he came up Jane smiled at him. He turned his face away and sat