The Austen Escape

by Katherine Reay

  “Then it’s a brand-new me, Dad. You know that company from Boston? I just sent them an e-mail saying I’m interested. They’re working on the next generation of non-lithium dissolving batteries for use in humans.”

  “I . . . What’s going on? You love your job. This feels sudden.”

  “It’s just a job. This company has been after me for a couple years.”

  “But you never said you were interested; you never said you’re unhappy at WATT. That’s a big move.”

  “But now you’ve got the business up—” I stopped. “I’m ready for something new.”

  “Of course you want your own life. I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” I dropped my head in my hands. I hadn’t meant to say that; I wasn’t sure I even felt it. I just knew getting pushed out hurt, and I felt pushed on more sides than I knew existed within me—and I’d just spread around the pain. “Please, Dad, that isn’t why I’m looking for a change at all. I’m just excited about it, about doing something new and different.”

  I heard a snuffle and a scrape. He was kneading his palm against his chin. I’d seen the gesture for years.

  “If that’s the case, I’m happy for you and I’m proud of you. Boston’s a long way from home, though.”

  “That’s the downside.” I felt the urge to see him. Hug him. “Are you free for dinner Saturday?”

  “I thought you are in England until the twenty-eighth.”

  I tapped my computer to look up flights and noted movement in my periphery. Gertrude stood in the doorway, dressed in blue silk, candles in hand. I held a finger to her to wait. “As you know, this trip has taken some unexpected turns.” I tried to laugh to lighten the moment. It didn’t work. “I’m looking into flights for tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving Isabel?”

  “I’ll talk to her tonight. If Dr. Milton hasn’t told her to come straight home, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to stay a few more days.”

  “Then she’ll need you.”

  “For once, Dad, she won’t. She’s fine; I promise. Better than you’ve seen her in years. One look at her and you’d understand. I think we’re both better off now.”

  “Okay. She does sound good.” I could sense he was trying to work himself into comfortable. “I love you and I’m happy about all this if you are. We’ll talk Saturday?”

  Again, another thing rarely said around my house. I felt love from him every day of my life, but the words never came easily to anyone in my family. They were all men. “Yes, and I love you too, Dad.”

  I tapped my phone to end the call and looked back to Gertrude.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, or interrupt.” She held out the candles.

  “You didn’t. I’m the one hiding in your canning room.” I held up my phone. “I’m hoping to leave tomorrow.”

  “I heard.”

  “I’ve got some issues at work to deal with and . . .” I looked to the ceiling. “I heard laughter earlier. Isabel will be fine without me, if she stays.”

  “Your friend is delightful. She is more welcoming than she was your first night here.”

  “I think time away has done her some good.”

  “Just like the play in the middle of Mansfield Park. Within role play, we find ourselves.” She shifted the candles in her arms. “I think that’s the true attraction to places like this, as long as you don’t stay too long.”

  “You should share that with Isabel.”

  “I suspect she already knows.” She nodded to her candles. “I had better get these upstairs. Let me know what time you’re leaving and I’ll arrange a car.”

  Chapter 25

  I woke to soft gray light. Heavy-cloud-cover light. There were no dresses strewn on the floor and Isabel was not already off on an adventure. I looked over to find dark curls spilling across her pillow and blue eyes fixed on me.

  “Hello.” I crushed my pillow beneath me.

  “I woke up a few minutes ago.” Isabel pushed herself upright. “Are you sure about all this?”

  Late in the night I’d told her my plans. We stayed up until the black had shifted to gray outside the windows talking about all that had gone on—here, at home, and through the years.

  She and Grant had gone for another long walk after ours and, upon recounting it, I let her quote one more line. She was bursting with excitement over its “perfect application.”

  She’d actually held her hand to her heart while delivering it. “‘Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure . . . but where, as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not . . . He could not impute to me a more relenting heart than I possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept his.’”

  I had flopped back on my bed and moaned. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  She had perched on her elbows above me with a grin. “One more thing . . . That man can kiss.”

  She also told me that Dr. Milton had agreed to daily calls and she planned to stay a few more days. Also, Nathan had spent most of the night searching for me. He had knocked on our bedroom door six times. I almost felt guilty for hiding until two a.m. in the canning room—almost.

  I’d told her about our walk to Bath, about overhearing his call, and about my plans to move.

  Are you sure about all this? I let her present question drift through me. “No.”

  “Then send another e-mail.”

  That was another thing I’d told her. In my haste, I’d sent Craig an e-mail resigning. Isabel’s shock had confirmed it hadn’t been my wisest move.

  “And let Karen fire me? She’d love that.”

  Isabel squished a pillow into her lap. “But you don’t know that. That sentence might not have been about you. And you said Nathan sounded like he was against it.”

  “What about telling me Craig had been wrong all along?”

  “So you’re the scapegoat. Nathan was probably frustrated that Craig dropped the ball and now you’re the scapegoat. Sounds like Karen needs one.”

  After five years of stories and lots of Friday nights, Isabel knew WATT well.

  “Having your ‘boyfriend’ stick up for you is no better.” I made the word boyfriend sound ugly to make it easier to let go.

  Isabel caught it and let out a long, slow breath. “I see . . . Then I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything. I didn’t know how much he really meant to you, and what I did plays into all this. Yes, it’s your job, but everything about Nathan and how you feel about all this, I’m in there too. You wouldn’t doubt him if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other.” I climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

  “One has everything to do with the other,” Isabel called after me.

  I ignored her and brushed my teeth and hair, dressed in jeans and a cream sweater, and dabbed on a little makeup.

  She said nothing further as I darted around the room to finish my packing and slip on my ballet flats. I finally zipped up my suitcase and stood next to her bed. “Call me when you get back?”

  She threw the covers back and jumped up to hug me. “You know I will. And if you’re serious about all this, I want to throw you a moving-away party. You know your dad will come into town for it. He’d want that.”

  “You two . . . Don’t do that. It’s not going to feel like anything worth celebrating.” I looked toward the door as if I expected Nathan to knock for the seventh time. “All this got so messed up.”

  “Not messed up.” Isabel slid her hands down my arms and captured my own. “It got real. So don’t . . . don’t do anything rash until you can see it clearly. Okay?”

  Gertrude met me at the bottom of the stairs. “I was coming to get you. Your car is here.”

  I held out her gray Barbour coat. “Thank you for this. I’m sorry I forgot to leave it in the mudroom yesterday.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” She laid the coat across the stair
’s handrail and gestured to the far side of the hallway. It felt like we were in the Pump Room and she was inviting me to step out of the circuit to gossip. She turned as we stepped into a small alcove.

  “Before you go . . . I wanted to say thank you. You helped me realize surviving isn’t the same as living. This, in many ways, has been my play in the center of Mansfield Park too.” Her eyes trailed behind me and up the stairs. “I got stuck here somehow, and when the house sold I couldn’t move on. But you . . . you played the piano, you forgave Isabel, you risked your heart with Nathan . . . Even what you are doing now.”

  I found myself unfolding, agreeing, even feeling like it might be true, until she mentioned “what you are doing now.” My heart hiccupped. That did not feel like courage.

  She dabbed her ringed pinkie finger to the corner of one eye. “My niece lives in France, and she’s begged me for years to come be with her family. You showed me last night that I could do it. It’s time to go, to move on and be with family. I almost missed my chance.” By now she’d stopped dabbing and let the few tears trickle down her cheek.

  “I’m happy for you, Gertrude. Will you keep in touch? I’d love to hear about your life there, and your family.”

  “It won’t all happen right away. I’m not that brave. But, yes, I’d like that. I want to hear about your next chapter too.”

  We’d only known each other a short time, but I didn’t want to let her go. Oddly, her story seemed to mirror, inform, interweave, or somehow run alongside mine. It was like music—I’d stepped away before, now I felt almost desperate not to. Some things, some people, I needed to carry with me.

  She pulled a tissue from her pocket and gestured to the side hall. “You should go find the others. The Muellers postponed their gig ride and are sitting in the Day Room, and the Lottes are playing chess in the front parlor. No one wanted to leave the house until they’d said good-bye.”

  I hugged Gertrude, then set off for the Day Room. As I tapped on the Day Room door, Nathan leapt from the library.

  “Were you really going to leave without talking to me?” He sounded weary, and a touch angry. He looked both—and hurt.

  “No, I wasn’t. And I’m sorry about last night . . . Give me a minute?”

  Nathan tilted his chin to the Day Room. He said nothing, but his crossed arms spoke volumes.

  I pushed open the door. Helene and Herman were squeezed into the armchairs. Both looked up and struggled to stand as I entered the room.

  “I wish you weren’t leaving us.” Herman pulled me to him, then handed me off to Helene in one smooth motion.

  She was dressed in dusty blue today, and it matched her pale eyes. She had a red-and-blue woven shawl over her shoulders, and her little mobcap was askew. Her white hair fluffed out at odd angles.

  “Dressed as you are, we must seem very silly to you.” She pulled me close. There was nothing but warmth in her voice.

  “Not at all. You are enjoying a very important anniversary and I loved it, even the dresses. I loved playing the piano, dancing, your wonderful and wise interpretation of Mrs. Jennings, and my gig ride with you both. I won’t forget any of it.”

  “But you must go home. Gertrude said your work needs you.” Herman patted my arm.

  “We will miss you.” Helene pressed her lips together as if she might cry.

  “I will miss you too.”

  “Your . . . your friend is staying. She promised to share with us some little-known Regency customs today.” Herman touched his finger to his neckcloth.

  “Ask her lots of questions, okay? And be sure to get her to tell some of the behind-the-scenes about the books. She knows all about them—far beyond the characters.”

  We shared hugs, promises to keep in touch, and a few memories more before I slipped back into the hallway. One step and one deep breath carried me across it and into the library. Nathan was gone.

  I returned to the front hall. He wasn’t there, nor was Gertrude. The hall felt cold and too large for only me. I stepped into the front parlor and found Sylvia and Clara at the chessboard. Aaron sat looking on. He looked uncomfortable sitting in a needlepoint chair watching chess. He was a Mr. Bingley, meant for the outdoors.

  “Are you winning?” I tapped the top of Clara’s head.

  She grinned up at me. “I am.” She slid out of her seat and hugged me.

  “I will miss you, Clara.”

  Sylvia gave me a hug, as did Aaron. “We’re sorry to lose you. It won’t be the same.”

  “Who will play the piano?” Clara tugged my sleeve.

  “Gertrude said she hired someone who plays even better than I do, and your dancing instructor is staying.”

  “Safe flight home, Mary.” Sylvia pulled me into a final hug.

  I headed out the front door and found Nathan at my car, lowering my suitcase into the trunk.

  “I told Duncan this job was my insurance. I thought you might try to leave without seeing me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  He raised a brow.

  “Not after I said I wouldn’t.”

  He shut the trunk and rested his hands on it as if requiring something firm and tangible beneath him. “What’s going on, Mary?”

  “I overheard you on the phone last night, Nathan. I didn’t mean to. But when I tried to ask you about it, you lied. You said everything was fine, and maybe for WATT it is, but clearly it’s not for me. You were talking about me.”

  “I did not lie.” He ran his hands through his hair. “There are some things about WATT I can’t share. And you wouldn’t want me to. It’d be unprofessional. You want me to mix up work and love to satisfy your curiosity? It would diminish both of us. But you’ve also got to trust me. What are we doing here?” He flapped his hand between us. “What is all this if you don’t trust me?”

  “Wha—No.” Love? “I do trust you, but Karen firing me is her decision, not yours. She has made her opinions clear since the day she arrived—in every reprimand, circular instruction, and veiled threat—and you can’t defend me because I’m your girlfriend. I’m not saying you said that or think that . . . But if that’s what you’re trying to do, then WATT is just like you and me, with Isabel sandwiched between us. And I can’t have that. That’s my job, Nathan, my career. I can’t stay there for any other reason than I’ve earned my spot.”

  “You and I, and certainly not Isabel, have nothing to do with WATT. Why would you assume I’d champion you for any other reason than you’re good at your job?”

  I looked back at the house. “Because all the lines between us are too blurry. I’m only realizing now how blurry. I need distance to see them clearly.”

  “To see me clearly?” He stared at me. I could tell he didn’t understand, but I couldn’t explain it any better. Isabel hadn’t understood either—and to have Isabel and Nathan on the same side of this issue, against me, felt even more confusing. As I’d said earlier, it—everything—simply felt “messed up.”

  “I’m sorry.” I reached up and kissed his cheek. “Can I call you when I land?”

  “No.”

  I stepped back. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I’ll be in the air.” At my expression, he narrowed his eyes. “With you gone, why would I stay?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far.”

  “Clearly.”

  I reached for his hand. He clasped my fingers, but rather than pull me close, he tugged me toward the car door and opened it with his other hand.

  I dropped into the seat. “Will you call me when you land? So we can talk?”

  “Of course we’ll talk.” He shut the door.

  I sank into the soft leather with the realization I’d been wrong—losing a job after five years and losing a boyfriend after five minutes actually hurt a great deal. I twisted to look out the rear window as the car began its roll down the long drive.

  Nathan watched me go. I waved to him. He did not reciprocate.

  Chapter 26

  I’m going to
miss this.” I leaned back in one of the Adirondack chairs my dad and I had built from a kit the previous summer. We watched the night sky. Austin, the closest city, was seventy miles away, so there were no city lights to dim the stars. Thousands of them spread before us. “Braithwaite House was like this. There was one clear night and the stars were like a blanket of light.” I trailed one line of stars to the horizon, to the trees, to Dad’s backyard, to my feet propped on a large tree stump. “You could fit our whole town into the land on that estate.”

  “That must have been something.” Dad kept his focus on the heavens.

  I’d shown up, as I’d said I would, for Saturday night dinner. I brought steaks from Central Market, the makings for a Caesar salad, and potatoes. Dad banked his surprise and let me cook. He did shoo me from the grill when the steaks were done and I showed no signs of pulling them off, and he also gently suggested that the potatoes might be ready after an hour in a 400-degree oven. The Caesar dressing, however, completely homemade, received no helpful input, and had to be redone twice before I was able to add the oil slowly enough to keep the dressing from separating. All in all, it was a good dinner—and my first attempt at real cooking.

  I’d told him all about the trip. Isabel, the Muellers, the Lottes. I told him about Gertrude and how it felt like I was looking at Mom or myself and how there was so much I regretted.

  “You can’t think like that,” he said. “She understood and knew you loved her. We all grieve in our own ways and, well, your brothers modeled that for you. It was hard on them too.”

  I also told him about Isabel’s e-mail. She was staying in Bath. Getrude had arranged an interview via Skype with the Stanleys, and they were delighted that an “Austen expert” might take over Gertrude’s management role. Gertrude was moving forward with plans to move to France and join her niece’s family. And Grant’s grandfather was helping Isabel find a local therapist. She hoped to make Bath her home.