I heard she is married. I heard she has gone to England. I heard he is white. Many rumours are said, horrid words and jealous reactions. She did not find it important to consult or even invite me on her life changing decision. I helped her and protected her. I truly cared for her. She was my blood! Yet I am seen as the stranger. Why has Antoinette cast me away and left me wandering alone in the shadows searching for the light? Did she not once remember me?
I refuse to believe my cousin does not want anything to do with me, despite everything Richard has told me. My heart is not content without hearing my dear Antoinette’s sweet voice announce displeasure and hatred towards me. Richard must be lying. I know he doesn’t want a ‘black boy’ like me to be near his family. And to be clear, I also do not wish to be in the vicinity of him. Unlike before, I now have money of my own and I have large amounts of it. I am one of the very few black people who have money to endure in a lifestyle of luxury, respect and self indulgent. I too could have made Antoinette happy, possibly happier then Richard says she already is with the white man. With me she could be have been as high spirited and as free like the passionate shine of the sun, reaching out with intense happiness in every corner of the world. Who knows how happy she is now....
My people in Jamaica have told me she is married to a gentleman named Edward Rochester; an attractive man they say. He has replaced Antoinette’s name with an unusual black name - ‘Bertha’ and the reason for this they are unsure. My dear cousin is young and innocent; she does not know how to look after or defend herself, she is unaware of the sly way in which peoples mind work. She see’s everything through a beautifully stained coloured glass whereas the reality of the real world is far from her view. I have been out there, I witnessed the evilness of people and I know Antoinette is not wise enough to react in the correct form.
I remember when it was Antoinette’s first day at the convent. She was getting teased by a boy and a girl about her mother’s mental problem and about her appearance. Antoinette looked terrified, with big teardrops running down from her wild eyes. Her long thick black hair was gently flying; it was as if the warm breeze in the July morning was guiding her away to safety. She dropped her books and ran. Every step she made was swift yet elegant; her long thin body wrapped in a crimson dress was in unity with the air. I saw her and then helped her. I confronted those trouble makers, so that they would never think of insulting my cherished cousin ever again. I also remember the time when I taught Antoinette to throw rocks at the monster crab in the pond. She enjoyed throwing the rocks. With every ‘plonk’ the rock made, it brought a wide smile on Antoinette’s beautiful face. Her red lips stretched wide, showing her crystal white teeth. So easy to please, Antoinette was.
I hope her husband, Rochester, is looking after her well. I hope she is as happy as ever and is living in bliss with her husband. I hope England is everything she dreamed it would be and my sweet Antoinette is roaming these wild moors as I write. Why they are my dreams haunted by the spirit of the devil, dancing in the flames.
