Despite the title (taken from a U2 song), this is another short Jane Eyre piece that’s a little happier than Awakenings. It’s also another of my little plays on the firebird theme.

Thank you to K. from C19 for her beta-reading services on this one.

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The sun shone bright today, and though only spring, its rays were as warm as a midsummer’s day. We had come out to walk after breakfast – Jane leading me into the environs of Ferndean, taking care to describe all that she saw so I could visualise the scenes that I passed through. Then she found this peaceful spot by the river bank, a place for us to repose while she sketched, and I indulged in her presence.

How wonderful it was to be out-of-doors, to feel the sun on my skin after months inside my cold, dim cave, to listen to the rushing water instead of the ominous ticking of the clock, to breathe in the scent of the meadow instead of the stale parlour air! And how wonderful it was to be free of tormenting thoughts, of haunting dreams, to be in the company of the most precious being on earth!

It had been but five days since Jane returned – two days since we were married – but during that time I had been transformed from a useless wreck of a man – a man ready to spurn his life – to a man full of hope for a long and glorious future. And it was all due to this wondrous woman who sat by my side.

I heard the scratch of charcoal against paper above the gurgling river; heard it pause now and again as she observed the subject she was drawing. What was she drawing?

“A swallow,” she replied with amusement, “Standing by the riverbank. It is steadily pecking away, trying to catch its dinner.”

In lively detail, she described how the little bird jumped from the fallen log to the grass and back again in pursuit of its meal.

I grinned. “Are you sure it is not a firebird? With grey feathers and red under its wings?”

“I am positive!” she laughed, “It is a swallow – a dark blue fellow, with a white chest and a copper chin.”

“Ah,” I sighed, “I rather hoped that it was a firebird, like the one that resided at Thornfield.”

“And to be sure, a figment of your imagination, since it was so elusive that neither Adèle nor I have ever seen it!”

“Oh, it was – she was – indeed real, whatever you may think. I saw her everyday – sometimes in the gardens, sometimes at my window, sometimes even inside the house.”

I remembered Jane in those early days, a little shy, a little hesitant in my presence, but full of unexpected compassion, humour and spark that brightened even my darkest days. Little did I realise that her tiny sparks would grow to become my sun, my whole source of light and life.

“I was always happy to see my little bird.” I mused, “She was my best companion, you see. I spent many a fascinating hour in her presence, grew to love her – but one day she flew away and did not come back.”

I recalled the horrific morning when I found her gone – recalled the shock, the disbelief, and the frenzy that followed.

“I looked for her everywhere, and when I could not find her, I thought that she was dead. So I clung to my dreams.”

Torturing dreams of Jane in her prim, grey dress, with the heartfelt smile I loved; under the chestnut-tree, declaring her love for me passionately, wildly; but most agonisingly, pure in her white nightgown, her long hair unbound – stroking my face, kissing my lips, whispering my name until I was wild with longing.

“I coveted these dreams, though they tormented me, since I thought that they were all that I had left of her, the only place I could be with her – the only place I wanted to be.”

Jane put down her sketchbook and took up my hand.

“You were not the only one who dreamed.” she murmured forlornly. “I dreamed of you wandering the deserts, the plains, the oceans, lost and alone. I thought it was a sign that you had fled England, so each time I awoke I prayed that you were kept safe, that you would somehow find consolation – but it seems that my prayers were of little use.”

I gripped her hand, feeling its softness and strength. “No Jane, your prayers were invaluable – I believe they were what kept me alive. After the fire I did not know why I was spared, but now I know precisely why.”

Then lifting her hand to my lips, I gently said, “It was so my little bird could return home.”

To my joy, she entwined her arms around my neck, kissing my scarred forehead. “And she did return, Edward, she did.”

“For which I am eternally grateful.” I replied, moved by the strength of her conviction. “So…”

Swift as the wind, I pulled her down so that we lay side by side. “Let us celebrate this homecoming, this marriage.”

And we celebrated in style – with a kiss – well, several lingering kisses.

When we at last rose to return home, I heard Jane say, “I wonder what happened to that swallow. I think we might have frightened it away.”

I smiled. “If I know swallows then I can vouch for its return. They never forget where their true home is.”

“No,” she replied softly, “No, they never forget.”

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