Charlotte held my hand. As we left our rooms, we met a postman.
Good morning, Miss, he said. There’s a packet here for Currer Bell.
Oh…thank you. Charlotte sounded sad, but she took the packet, and put it in her room. She did nit open it. Then we walked to the eye doctor’s.
The pain was terrible, but it was over in fifteen minutes, and I didn’t move. Afterwards, I had to lie on a bed in a dark room. We couldn’t go home for a month. A nurse came sometimes, but Charlotte stayed with me all day.
I asked her once a bout the packet. She said: Oh, it’s for a friend of mine, papa. It had a letter for me in it. I have posted it away again now.
I didn’t understand, but I didn’t ask again. I lay quietly on my bed most of the day, and Charlotte sat in the next room writing. She wrote very fast, for many hours, and never put her pen down once. She seemed quiet, but strangely happy.
I was happy too. The doctor had helped; I could see again. It was wonderful. When we came back to Haworth, I could see everything clearly at last-our home, the church, the graveyard, the moors the faces of my Emily and Anne.
And Branwell.
Branwell’s face looked terrible. White, thin, with big dark eyes and untidy hair. His clothes were dirty, he smelt, his hands shook. All the time he was either shouting or crying. And always, every day, he asked me for money.