But as I rode home that summer’s eve, the stars twinkling like bits of diamonds in the heavens, I realized that hope still remained.
Yes, I had promised to stop the search for Mr. Fisk’s love, but I had made no promise that I would not attempt to protect Mr. Fisk and Fran from the unknown Miss Ruthie Carmichael.
I would be near to them when she arrived just one day hence, for I was still uncertain and skeptical of her character.
And in that way, I might still aid in saving my dearest friend and her father in the end.
Upon entering my home I remembered that Clementine’s date of disaster with Clint was this very evening and was immediately agitated by the absence of her presence in the house. Her shoes were still missing and after making a careful and thorough search of her bedroom, I found she had not returned home for the evening.
Had Edward arrived on time? Had he rescued Clementine? Were they now gazing into each other’s eyes with the first sparks of love igniting between them?
Thus with these thoughts, worry and extreme anxiety besought my spirit and I took refuge in my room, though peace of mind would not be mine that night. Not with the knowledge of Ruthie Carmichael arriving tomorrow and Clementine’s current situation so precarious. In regards to my sister’s happiness and joy, I was completely reliant upon Edward.
I took up a new book that I had not yet read, Jane Eyre, but could not concentrate under such duress of spirit and placed the leather-bound book back upon my bookshelf after a few moments.
And I must have fallen into a deep slumber, for all at once I was awoken by loud stomping coming up the stairs and the words, “Where is she?”
Had an intruder entered our home?
My heart thumped hard and I clutched at my chest as a figure, wild with rage, entered my room.
My dearest Clementine?
“Of all the evil things to do to a person!” She stomped into my bedroom, causing the hanging crystals adorning my antique lamp to clatter harshly against one another.
“What? What do you mean?” I asked, backing up against the headboard.
“Tonight, Clint, that Eddie guy … the whole thing, that’s what!”
I could tell by my sister’s wet hair and clothes, her scarlet cheeks, and the flames that seemed to dance in her eyes that things had not gone as I had planned with Edward. I had only beheld my sister this angered but once in my life, when I had borrowed her diary for nightly reading and had been remiss in returning it to her before she had found out. “I see that you are angry, my dear sister,” I said, seeking to appease her.
“Do you realize what you did?”
Indeed, she was not to be appeased at this moment.
“You fell in love with Edward?” I asked, though all hope for that seemed to drain out of me with the look of extreme and terrifying anger she turned on me.
“No, Polly. I did not. There … there was the drink and the pizza, and then Edward throwing them into the ocean, then … then Clint bumping his head and getting knocked out, and then there were the jellyfish stings when we all fell into the water after Clint woke up and wrestled Edward right off the edge of the pier.” Her voice had grown shaky and then panicked and then filled with wailing sobs as she described the scene that had occurred.
Indeed, I winced at the jellyfish stings lying in harsh slashes across her left leg.
“Oh my gosh!” Indeed, things had gone terribly wrong. “I … I’m sorry, Clemmy. I didn’t mean for all that to happen. Really, I didn’t. I guess, I messed up? I didn’t think—”
“Messed up? Messed up? Oh, you messed up all right. You messed up my life, Polly. Ruined it!”
“But I didn’t mean to mess it up. I was trying to help it! You were supposed to fall in love with Edward. And then Clint would be gone, you would be happy, and we’d be friends again, like we used to be.” The words streamed like a fountain from my mouth.
“Edward? His name is Eddie, Polly. And no, I didn’t fall in love with him and he is not in love with me. But you know what? Now Clint thinks that something really did happen between us and he has officially dumped me for good!” Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Clemmy.” I sat up and tried to soothe her by taking her hand in mine. I imagined what Elizabeth would say to her dear sister Jane. “I did it for your happiness alone.” It did not work.
She jumped up and stomped toward the door. “My happiness? You mean yours! When did you decide that you should be in charge of other people’s lives, Polly? What do you know about what makes me happy?!” She wagged her finger at me in a menacing way. “I will never, never speak to you again. Ever!”
And the door slammed shut behind her.
I fell back against my pillow, missing the goose-down feathers and ramming my head into the white headboard.
What had I done?
The fact that she would not fall deeply and truly in love with the gallant Edward had not occurred to me.
Mr. Darcy had rescued Elizabeth’s family from ruin, and this had opened her eyes to the fact that she loved him.
And through this I had sought to rekindle the deep sisterly camaraderie between us.
But it hadn’t worked. Rather it had only flung us further asunder.
I picked up the leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice and clutched it to my chest.
Where had I gone wrong?
Tears pooled in my eyes and overflowed down my cheeks at the thought of my beloved sister angry with me … even hating me.
And never speaking to me?
Surely she did not mean those words. Surely, upon the morrow, after the first shock of this had worn off, she would realize the good I had done.
But what if she didn’t?
The tears came much faster.
First I failed Mr. Fisk and Fran, and now Clementine.
Was I cursed?
Was everything I touched doomed to dissolve love rather than ignite it into a burning flame?
In charge of people’s lives? Could it be?
I stood upon weary legs and went to the window, kneeling by the full moon and folding my hands in earnest supplication. “I shall never interfere again,” I vowed. And when the words had floated away on the breeze, I collapsed into a fit of tears that lasted until I fell into a restless sleep.
chapter twenty-one
In Which I Am Shunned, Ashamed,
and Filled with Utter Despair
Clementine refused conversation the next morning, even though I sought to appease her with words of sincerest apology, pleas of forgiveness, and freshly baked pastries.
She was not to be moved. Instead, her ears and heart were sealed to my cries.
And no refuge could be found in Mama and Papa, who, I truly hoped, did not know of my unfortunate sin. To reveal it to them myself would bring a terrible wrath upon my head. Besides, if she had not already, I figured Clementine would tell them what I had done eventually.
And so the harbor I sought to ease my troubled soul was the romance of Miss Wiskerton and dear Mr. Nightquist. But the ride down the street bore me no joy, even though the sun beat down splendidly on my shoulders and the salty air seemed to carry me on a floating cloud down the sidewalk. Alas, I froze my heart to its comforts, for I had wounded my dearest sister more deeply than ever before and would now be a stranger to her.
I came to a halt at Miss Wiskerton’s gate with eyes that were puffy with despair, and a throat burning with thick agony.
“If that’s for me, I don’t want it.” I hadn’t noticed Miss Wiskerton already lounging on her chair, Pride and Prejudice open on her lap.
“Pardon?” I asked, sure that my ears had deceived me.
“You heard me. If that’s a pastry from Nightquist, I don’t want it.”
The small box trembled in my hands. This could not be! “But … but … Mr. Nightquist would want you to have it,” I started, fearing that another attempt at holy matrimony had failed. “I thought that yesterday you were to lunch
with him, Melissa Anne, and little Charles.”
“Charles? Huh, I think his name should be Terror in Overalls, if you ask me! Did you hear what that little demon did to my poor Jack?”
“No, I …” I searched the yard for the nipping beast but found no trace of the little canine and his red collar. “Is he …?”
“Dead? No, thank God. He’s only slightly traumatized.”
“Well, what happened?” I held out the pastry like a peace offering on Mr. Nightquist’s behalf. “I find it hard to believe that my dear Mr. Nightquist would allow anything to harm a little creature, no matter how unlovable he may be. And I know that Charles has his faults but I cannot imagine it from him either. Really, this must all be—”
Miss Wiskerton leaned forward and placed her hands on her hips, posing a formidable figure. “Nightquist and Charlie took my dear Jack for a walk together. Like a fool, Nightquist handed Charlie the leash, and the little terror let go of it and my precious Jack scrambled into the street. He always loved to chase cars, you know. And well, he was hit.”
“Hit by a car?” The image was very gruesome in my own imagination.
“Well, no. A bike rider. But he was going very fast.”
I failed to see where Mr. Nightquist was at fault in all of this. “It doesn’t sound like it was dear Mr. Nightquist’s fault, though,” I said, attempting to ban the image of the motionless canine from my thoughts. “And though it was Charles’s fault, he is but a boy, and surely you will forgive them both, especially since Jack is still breathing and alive. This unfortunate accident could easily happen to anyone.”
“Not to me it couldn’t! He was careless, and neither of them seemed to even like Jack. I suspect Nightquist had it planned from the start. The bone he brought over for him was probably a chicken bone meant to finish off my poor dog.”
This I could not believe. I fought most heartily to keep Mr. Nightquist’s name in good standing with the wounded woman and knew that if she would take the pastry I offered her, she would accept an apology from both Charles and Mr. Nightquist.
“Oh, but you can’t really believe that, right? I don’t believe it for an instant. Jack, as you know, is strong and bold, and I’m sure it was a mistake that has now blighted Mr. Nightquist’s heart forever. And the remorse that Charles feels is most likely a burden no child should be made to bear … even if he is obstinate and out of control.”
She reached for the bag and I relinquished it in hope that this meant that her heart was softening once more. “You really think he’s upset about the whole thing?”
“Oh, I would not be surprised if he lay upon his bed, unwilling to arise unless he knows his mistake has been forgiven.”
“Hmmm, I hope he is sorry,” she said while biting into the chocolate croissant. “But, I’d hate to see him too torn up about it. The vet did say that Jack just needed a little time off his feet. Maybe if you see him today you can tell him that I don’t wish he was dead and that he can stop by for a bit if he wants.”
I placed my hands over my heart. “Upon my word, good lady, I will visit him upon completion of my other deliveries. Surely your words will be like water to a parched and thirsty soul, Miss Wiskerton. Now please, give my good wishes to Jack as he mends. Good day.” And I set off down the sidewalk.
Was there no hope? Sorrow filled me up to the brim, and hot tears fell down my face. Surely, I had ruined any chance of love for dear Mr. Nightquist, and Clementine had renounced me as her sister. And I had even failed my bosom friend Fran, and who knows what the woman Ruthie Carmichael was really like? Maybe she was a raging lunatic and because of my failure my dearest friends would be lost forever.
“Hopeless,” I said aloud. “Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.”
Yet hadn’t Miss Wiskerton given me a tiny reason to believe that perhaps she would forgive Mr. Nightquist and his wretched grandson?
My heart dared to beat with promise again, and I replayed her final words over and over in my mind. “You can tell him that I do not wish him to plunge into the grave,” she had said. “But you may tell him that if he so wishes to continue to court me, he can come calling on me today and I will wait for him in earnest.” And if those weren’t her exact words, they were quite similar, I was sure. I allowed a very small smile to grace my face as I journeyed home, plans to meet him later on this afternoon forming in my mind.
Maybe, just maybe, I could still salvage one romance.
After completing my deliveries, I made another attempt at appeasing Clementine’s fury by writing a letter of extreme apology in my most delicate calligraphy hand. I slipped it under her closed door in hopes that within minutes our bond as sisters would once again be restored.
I was sorely mistaken.
The letter came back in a million pieces and once more my heart was dashed against the rocks of her unyielding fury.
I cradled the torn pieces in my hand and cried. “Clemmy, I’m sorry,” I lamented through the door. “Really, I … I was just trying to … help you. I thought you’d … you’d like Eddie. Please, don’t be mad at me for keeps. Please!”
“Polly, I will never forgive you!” she yelled.
At her harsh words, I couldn’t help but sit down in the hall and cry. And once I began, I could not stop, for my heart ached inside me over what I’d done, and over what I’d lost.
I hoped that as I lamented she would be softened toward me, would come to the door and forgive me, but her heart was like stone, which only served to make the tears come harder and faster.
I needed to talk with someone.
Someone who would try to understand and comfort me or tell me what I should do. I retreated to my room, where I tried telephoning Fran, but my calls went unanswered. So I went to seek out Mr. Nightquist. In part to bandage the wound between him and Miss Wiskerton, and in part in need of his consolation in my hour of desperate need.
I found him at his kite shop, a look of despair upon his face. Charles, the little beast, seemed not as remorseful as he darted in between the aisles of the shop, paying no heed to the items that fell in his wake. Melissa Anne was nowhere to be seen, but a tuna casserole sat upon the counter—another blight to Mr. Nightquist’s soul.
“Hi, Mr. Nightquist,” I called out.
He gazed up at me and smiled. “Oh hello, Polly girl. How are you today?”
“Much troubled in spirit, I’m afraid.” I sat upon a stool, my chin resting in my hands. “I have heard of the unfortunate accident with Jack and your grandson.”
He shook his head. “I guess I knew I shouldn’t have given Charlie the leash, but I wanted him to like Eugenia May, and he’s always wanted a dog of his own. And then it all happened faster than I could stop it. Then Eugenia was crying, Charlie was screaming, and Missy was trying to calm them both down while I got the vet.” He ran his ruddy hands through his hair. “That’s that. And now I’m realizing how much I was starting to like her. But it’s over and I gotta remind myself of that.”
He said these words with such heart-wrenching finality that fresh tears pricked at my eyes. Yet I knew hope remained. “But dear Mr. Nightquist, I have just come from her home. And though she is still much upset, she now realizes that the fault could have been upon anyone. I’m sure if you and dear Charles would offer an apology, she would open her heart to you.”
“You think?” Mr. Nightquist’s eyes were filled with hope once more. “That’s what she said?”
“Indeed it is, my dear sir. You must go to her and make amends, and then all will be right between you.”
He slapped the counter and laughed. “Well, all right then. Me and Charlie will head on down there right after lunch! What do you say, Charlie?”
At this Charles let out a very loud, “No, I don’t wanna,” which made me doubt the course that Mr. Nightquist was on.
But Mr. Nightquist was filled with excitement and paid no heed to the rebellious lad. Instead, he hugged me around my dainty shoulder. “Thanks, Polly!”
And though I lon
ged to unburden my own soul to this kindred spirit, I could not when he was so filled with happiness and love’s calling.
So instead I bid him good luck and went on my way.
By evening, I was in desperate need of comforting from my bosom friend. Surely Fran and her father would console my heavy heart!
But alas, when I telephoned dear Fran, there was no answer.
Once more, yet still no answer.
Then it became all too clear.
The woman, Miss Ruthie Carmichael, had arrived this very day. My mind, plagued with disconcerting thoughts of Clementine, had let this information slip away until now.
But why, then, did Fran not answer my telephone calls? Surely she wanted me with her to share in her joy and to approve of her father’s choice?
Or had Miss Carmichael arrived and immediately put Fran and Mr. Fisk to death? Or were my dearest friends held hostages in their own home, awaiting only the arrival of a kindred spirit willing to come to their aid? What if she had bewitched Mr. Fisk into running away with her, and dearest Fran was now a prisoner in an orphanage forced to make lace doilies and eat gruel?!
My heart pulsed hard in my chest as I thought of their agonizing plight. Together, barricaded in the basement by the evil Miss Carmichael, they lamented to one another, “Why, oh why did we not listen to Polly? She would’ve found someone wonderful, but alas, we paid no heed. Now who will save us?”
“I will save you,” I said aloud, determined that I must make my way to their home at once.
And if not save them … perish with them.
The golden clock, now back on my nightstand, struck the tenth hour as I hurried to leave. Mama and Papa had long since gone to bed and my estranged sister was still in her room, as she had remained throughout the day.
So, in silence, I slipped off my bed and into the cornflower-blue dress with the elegant waist. I went to the window and breathed deeply of the salty air and heard the ocean calling me to “go, go, go.” And, so that I did not wake my father and mother from slumber nor disturb my sister’s silent laments, I tiptoed down the stairs and out the back doorway.
Scones and Sensibility Page 16