Free The Mist on Bronte Moor by Aviva Orr Page B

ground, staring at the sky as if he were seeing it for the first time.
    “No wonder you’re exhausted,” Charlotte said as she set the basket down. “All that running about like a rabid dog.”
    I sank onto the grass and watched as Charlotte divided the thick chunks of bread between us. We devoured our food in silence. Only the sound of gushing water and the bleat of sheep in the distance broke the stillness.
    I chewed my last piece of bread and studied my surroundings. The sea of desolate green and brown land that lay before me was strangely beautiful. I was used to the city with its towering buildings and bustling noise of traffic, sirens, and people. I’d never thought about the world being so tranquil.
    “It’s lovely here,” I said.
    “We call this place the Meeting of the Waters,” Charlotte said, gazing at the water tumbling down the rocks.
    “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.” Emily dipped her hands into the stream and splashed some water onto her face.
    “Did you bring a book, Charlotte?” Anne asked.
    Charlotte opened the basket. “No. I forgot to pack one.” She grimaced. “What shall we do now?”
    “Maybe Emily can recite one of her poems,” Branwell said, without taking his eyes off the sky.
    Emily jumped to her feet.
    Charlotte paled. “Branwell! You promised.”
    “Promised what?” Emily snapped, her cheeks flaming.
    “Charlotte read your poems,” Branwell said and then burst out laughing.
    Charlotte scrambled to her feet. “Emily, I’m sorry. I only told Branwell because I was so proud of you.”
    Emily glared at Charlotte. “You read my poems and shared them with Branwell?” Her voice trembled with anger.
    My eyes darted from Emily to Charlotte.
    “No.” Charlotte said. “Only I read them myself. I promise.”
    “You promise?” Emily said. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? You, who connives and steals from her own sister.”
    “I found them by accident.” Tears formed in Charlotte’s eyes. “When I started reading, I couldn’t stop. Emily, they’re beautiful.”
    “Girls don’t make very good poets,” Branwell said with a yawn.
    “Branwell.” Charlotte glowered at her brother. “What a stupid remark!”
    I clenched my jaw. Why was he acting this way?
    Branwell stretched out his arms and legs and made an angel shape in the grass.
    “Get up!” Charlotte pulled his arm. “It’s time to go back.”
    “I’ll not go anywhere with you lot. You . . . you spies.” Emily whirled around in disgust and stalked away.
    Branwell rolled over onto his stomach and stretched out on the grass like a contented cat, a Cheshire grin plastered on his face.
    I turned to see Emily marching over the stone bridge that ran across the stream.
    Charlotte looked from Emily to Branwell, and I knew she was trying to decide who needed her attention the most. She bent down and shook Branwell by the shoulders. “Get up!”
    He didn’t respond.
    What was going on with him?
    “I fear he is ill,” Charlotte said. “We must get him home.”
    Anne, who’d been glued to the same spot since the commotion started, rushed over and crouched by Branwell’s side. “Branni,” she shouted in his ear, “are you all right?”
    As if Anne’s voice had the effect of an adrenaline injection to his heart, Branwell leapt to his feet and sprinted away.
    “Branni!” Charlotte screamed after him.
    I ran forward and stumbled on something hard. Expecting to see a stone, I glanced down. A small, dark bottle lay in the grass. I knew immediately what it was. It must have fallen out of Branwell’s pocket. I scooped up the bottle and clutched it in my hand. It was empty.
    He took it. He took all the laudanum. I clenched my jaw.
    “What should we do?” Anne asked, a note of panic in her voice.
    “Let him go,” I said, my own voice thick with disgust.
    A cold wind had set in, and I had to struggle against it to catch up with Emily. When I did, we walked side by side in silence, each