I rode to Fran’s home straightaway, fear for my dearest friend pushing me forward, yet the sadness over Clementine weighing my heart down like dampened sand.
Yet my fears only intensified as I rounded the corner and heard the screams and squeals coming from their home.
If only they had heeded my warnings.
I dropped my bike to the ground with a terrorizing clang as metal hit concrete, and stopped at the edge of their lawn. Through the window, a strange woman (surely it was Ruthie Carmichael) laughed, a wicked smile upon her lips.
Surely not! My whole body was consumed in fright, but though I felt I might fall into a swoon, I kept myself upright.
Had all my fears come true?
I looked harder at the scene and saw no one but the infamous Ruthie Carmichael. She lifted up her hand as if to stab someone and I covered my eyes, letting out an ear-piercing scream over the horror of it all. I could not witness my bosom friend and her father succumbing to such an end.
But I had to do something. The Internet woman really and truly was a malicious killer.
“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on out here?” a voice called from next door. “Who’s screaming out here?”
I ignored the voice at first and ran up to the Fisks’ front window.
Fran was nowhere to be seen. Could it be that her life had already ended?
The woman, both beautiful and deadly, laughed heartily with her hands clutched around the neck of Mr. Fisk. His tongue hung out of his mouth grotesquely and he looked on the verge of certain death.
Words caught in my throat, and I let out another scream, louder than the first. This startled Ruthie and she jumped, most likely aware that she had been caught in the act of such vile deeds.
“What’s going on?!” the voice next door called out again. “If you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re doing over there I’ll call the police!”
Yes! That was what needed to be done. I ran toward the voice and saw it was Mrs. Fowler, Fran and Mr. Fisk’s next-door neighbor. “Please! Please! Help me! Quick! We need to call the police.”
Mrs. Fowler grabbed at my arm. “Polly? Is that you? What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”
“It’s Fran and Mr. Fisk!” I said, panting. “There’s a woman, an evil woman, in their house. Just look! Her name is Ruthie Carmichael.” I dragged the fearful lady onto the Fisks’ front lawn and pointed into the window, where Miss Carmichael had resumed strangling poor Mr. Fisk, her face twisted into a laughing smile. “Mr. Fisk met her on the Internet and thought she was in love with him. Little did he know that her only intention was to end his life!”
Again, my body felt so overwhelmed with fear that I thought I might fall to the ground in a faint. But I stood fast, knowing that I must be ready to aid my friend when the authorities arrived. Perhaps I could nurse her back to health or my own blood could help save her if she needed a transfusion.
“Are you sure?” the woman asked.
“Of course I’m sure, just look at her!”
“All right, I’ll be back,” she said, and left me alone in the yard, tears streaming down my cheeks.
But I couldn’t look at the scene. Instead I wailed and cried, counting the minutes, the seconds, before the sound of the sirens could be heard.
A policeman arrived moments later, lights flashing blue and red in the dark, dark night. They surrounded the house at once, and I watched in horror as Fran, who I had not seen earlier, fell to the ground in a heap while Ruthie Carmichael took a bow. She had finished them both off.
“Oh, Fran!” I yelled.
“Ruthie Carmichael!” the police shouted through his bullhorn. “Come out with your hands above your head.”
I spied Ruthie Carmichael at the window glancing into the streets. Then, thankfully, Mr. Fisk arose and looked out as well, though I feared for his close proximity to Miss Carmichael. Fran got up next and I heaved a sob of relief at the sight of her alive and well. Their will to live had overcome death.
All three of them exited the house. “What is all this?” Mr. Fisk asked.
“Down!” the policeman said. “We need Miss Carmichael down on the ground.”
Ruthie Carmichael lowered herself to the ground. “What’s going on? What did I do?”
And then there was a great commotion like I had never seen before as Miss Carmichael was hauled away for questioning by the police and Mr. Fisk chased after the authorities, assuring them “everything was fine” and that it was all “just a game.”
Fran found me and I grasped her hands in mine and kissed them. “Oh, my dearest friend. I am so relieved that you are unhurt! When I saw that woman’s hands upon your father’s neck, I was sure you were killed—”
She tore her hands from mine, her eyes flashing with fury and rage that I’d only seen once when her young cousin broke her favorite china doll. But that was when she was but a child of seven. “You did this? How … how could you, Polly?” Her chin trembled and she backed away. “I should’ve known you’d come and ruin all this.”
“Huh? I … I saw her trying to kill your dad.… I was only trying to … to save you.”
“Save me?” she yelled into the now-still night. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “We were playing a game! And I don’t need you to save me! I don’t need you to help me, Polly! It’s like you’re trying to take away any chance of happiness I have. It’s like you want me to be sad and without a mom!”
Tears now poured from my own eyes. “That’s not true, Fran. You know it’s not. You have to. I just thought—”
“You didn’t think, Polly! This isn’t your dumb Green Gables or England or whatever. This is real life. This is my life and you’re ruining it! You have no idea what it’s been like to not have my mom. To see my dad sad all the time. Now, we have a chance to maybe be happy, and you step in and chase any hope of that away. Just leave!” And into the black night she fled.
“But Fran!” I yelled. “I’m sorry!”
She whirled back around. “Just go away!”
Hot tears ran down my face, scourging my heart. Indeed, I deserved her hate, and her rage, and all of her malicious thoughts. So, without picking up my bicycle, I dashed home, unable to enjoy the wind blowing through my rustling dress or the stars that sparkled like diamonds in the deep black sky.
Instead, sorrow and despair were my companions.
When I reached my humble home, I did not enter. I did not wish to defile my house, so ashamed I was of yet another grave mistake. Instead, I lay down underneath the delicate branches of the maple tree. And though I had always thought it romantic to sleep under the shade of this proud tree, the damp, sparse grass itched my skin, and the feeling of loneliness and despair lay on top of me like a blanket. The tears I wept watered the ground beneath me.
Neither the words of Anne of Green Gables nor the assurance of enduring love found in Pride and Prejudice could offer consolation or comfort now. How could they?
“I’m hopeless,” I cried aloud. “I’ve ruined everyone and everything. And now, I’ve lost my sister and my best friend!”
And I cried like I’d never done before, until somewhere in a fit of exhaustion I fell into a restless and painful sleep.
chapter twenty-two
In Which I Am Shunned
Once More
Things did not improve upon break of day. And though Anne of Green Gables had stated that tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it, I awoke with the mistakes of my recent past hovering over my head like a black shroud of death.
“Polly? Polly?” It was Papa’s voice. I gazed upon him and beheld his surprised countenance. “What are you doing out here? You didn’t sleep under the tree all night, did you?”
I sat up and nodded, my neck and back aching with the aftereffects of a night on the ground and my heart filled up to the brim with sorrow. I sighed and allowed myself to be lifted to my feet, though the heaviness in my heart was still very much there.
“Are you all rig
ht, Polly?” he asked. Mama had joined him at his side, and she hugged me to her.
I sobbed into her shoulder, and she led me into the house and sat with me upon the couch.
“Now, tell me what this is all about.”
“My life, my life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes,” I lamented. I had read that in Anne of Green Gables, and though I had longed to use it, I never imagined a moment so terrible I’d be able to speak those words.
“Oh, come on. Nothing is that bad. Did you and Fran have a fight?”
I nodded, tears cascading down my cheeks.
“So, what happened?”
“I got her potential mother arrested and ruined any chance at her having happiness.”
Mama sat up straight. “Arrested? Who did you have arrested?”
“The lady who Mr. Fisk met on the computer.”
“Oh my gosh, Polly. How did this happen?”
I recounted the story through tears that shook my shoulders and brought the fresh pain of what I had done to the surface once more.
Mama shook her head. “How could you do that, Polly?”
Now that the floodgate of sins was open, I released everything I had done all at once. “But that’s not the end of it all. I broke up Clementine and Clint. First I wrote them each a letter saying that they were breaking up with the other. But when that didn’t work, I had Edward, this boy at the toy store, try to rescue Clementine from Clint. I thought that Edward and Clementine would fall in love but they didn’t, and now Clementine has jellyfish stings and hates me, and Fran hates me. And I’m sure Mr. Nightquist will hate me too.”
“Mr. Nightquist? Why would he hate you?”
“Because I set him up with Miss Wiskerton and then he let Jack get hit by a bike and now Miss Wiskerton hates him. And then there was Lucy Penny.”
“Wait, wait, wait. What in the world have you been doing?”
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and blew my nose into my dress, something that in any other circumstance I would never, ever consider doing. “I’ve been trying to help people … fall in love.”
All was silent, except for my quiet sobbing. Finally Mama spoke. “It seems you’ve been letting your romanticism get the best of you again.” She stood up and paced the floor. “I thought there had to be a reason why Clementine has been so upset. She said Clint and her are over … through.”
“I am afraid what you say is true. At my hands they have been pulled asunder.”
Papa sat upon the couch and placed his arm around me. “Breaking up people is a dangerous thing, Polly. You know, your mother and I almost didn’t get married.”
The words stunned me and I sat up straight, wondering at his meaning. That could not be!
Mama smiled. “Your dad’s grandma didn’t like me at all. What’d she say about me, Sam?”
Papa smiled. “Oh, I don’t even remember anymore. But I do remember she was always trying to break us up. She liked this girl named Sally Seawald and hoped I’d date and marry her. Ha!”
Mama smiled as well, though I was mortified at the thought. My great-grandmother was just like Lady Catherine de Bourgh in the great Pride and Prejudice—trying to tear asunder those who were meant to be together. To think that neither Clementine nor I would be here on the earth was something I could not bear. Or perhaps my name would have been Grenhilda—a name that I had decided was the worst name a person could be called.
A terrible fate.
“She told him one time that I was dating some other guy, ’cause she saw me hugging my cousin,” Mama said, walking over to Papa and grasping his hand in her own.
“I broke up with her, and we didn’t see each other for almost a full year after that.”
“But then the two of you met once more upon the shores of love,” I said, knowing this romantic part of the story.
Papa laughed. “Well, it wasn’t all ‘shores of love’ at first, but we made it through, and that’s all that mattered.”
Mama stepped in. “So just think, if we hadn’t met each other on the beach that day, who knows if we would ever have seen each other again? You don’t mess with people’s lives, Polly. You can’t.”
A fresh wave of weeping swept over me. “I’m … I’m sorry. I need to go upstairs,” I declared through heart-wrenching sobs.
And once in my room, I threw myself upon the bed and wailed at the great sin I had committed against my sister. To interrupt love’s working was the greatest sin; I had declared it to my own soul more than once.
Yet it was I … I who had betrayed love.
And I had betrayed my dearest sister. And though I highly doubted that Clint could ever become gentlemanly or exciting, or that he and Clementine were meant for each other, I supposed there was always the slim (and indeed, I believed it was slim) possibility.
I did not wish to become like the high-and-mighty Lady Catherine, who had found it her duty to save her nephew from his one true love.
The thought, the painful thought of this made my heart wrench and twist inside my chest.
But even more painful was the chasm I had set between my own dear sister and myself.
My fate was surely to stay locked inside my bedroom like a prisoner, for what comfort should a thwarter of love receive? I would never come out. Instead I would live, a hermit, away from those I had wounded so deeply. Surely the very sight of me would only bring pain to their hearts.
The tears poured from my eyes, and I wallowed in despair. All that I had hoped and dreamed for concerning those I loved had failed disastrously. I was in a prison of buried hopes.
I clutched Anne of Green Gables in my hands and beseeched the spirit of her to aid me in this time. “Dearest Anne, my kindred spirit. What must I do to heal those I have hurt?” And with eyes tight shut, I waited for an answer, a bit of advice that would assist me on this journey of redeeming myself, if in fact I could be redeemed.
But no answer did come.
No aid.
No assistance.
I was alone with my tormented and troubled soul.
And I thought of my dear Clementine, realizing that she, too, was most troubled.
All because of me.
That was it. I must try to persuade her to forgive me. I knew that her heart was far from me, and that although she had not heard my former pleas of redemption, I must continue to try. I must not stop in this quest.
I could not.
But how?
She would not hear words, nor would she listen to the language of pastries. No, her heart was closed to me.
I needed to prove that I was filled with deep regret over my treacherous sin.
And there was but one way, I knew.
I must attempt at bringing Clint and my dear sister back together. The words, indeed, were very hard to say. But it was true.
It was I who tore them apart, and it must be I who brought them back together.
After composing myself, I raced down the stairway in search of my sister to tell her of my plan.
Surely her heart would soften.
“Clementine? Clementine, can I talk to you for just a second?” I called. But no answer came.
“She’s not here, Polly,” Mama called from the kitchen. “I think she went out on the beach for a walk.”
Perhaps she and Clint would meet just like Mama and Papa did! Indeed, I needed to be present for this moment. To tell them how deeply sorry I was and to bless their relationship. I placed my hat atop my head and walked out the door and straight into Bradley’s waiting figure.
“Oh my gosh, Brad!” I cried out in alarm. “Um … surely you frightened me beyond reason. Why have you come?”
Upon his head he wore an elegant black top hat. He was clothed in a somewhat overly large black coat and held a cane in one hand and a single stem of lily of the valley in the other. His cheeks filled with color that agreed with his appearance, and though I felt myself drawn to his person, I refused.
A wretched killer of romance and love did not de
serve love in return!
“Well, I … I heard about what happened with Fran and her dad last night.”
“What?! How in the world do you know?” With my many sins, I had forgotten, momentarily, what I had done to my bosom friend.
Did my wretchedness know no bounds?
He looked down at the sidewalk. “Well, my mom’s a cop. She was working last night and was the one that helped sort everything out at the station.”
Now it was my cheeks that filled with deep red, and I could not stop the tears from coming. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything,” I said. “It’s just that I wanted her to have a mom again—the perfect mom. And finding someone on the Internet, it’s just not … not … not right.” I sat down upon the sidewalk and concealed my face with my hands, hoping he would not look upon me.
He sat beside me, but spoke not a word.
“Tell me, Brad. Did your mom say if everything is all right? Or is she in jail?”
“No, she’s not in jail. Actually, she was laughing about it in the end, my mom said. But … I did see Fran today.”
My heart pounded hard within my chest. “What … I mean … did she say anything about me or about what happened?” I wished with all of my heart that perhaps she had forgiven me already, and had even laughed over the matter herself.
“Well, she said that you never listen to her, that you have no idea how hard it’s been for her without a mom, and that … that she never wants to see you again.”
A torrent of sadness and tears overcame me at hearing this. My heart was crushed and would never rise up again, I was sure. And though Brad was not my confidante, I couldn’t help the words that poured out of me. “Oh, Brad! What should I do? I thought I always listened to her, and I know it’s been hard for her not to have a mom. She’s my bosom friend, and I can’t live without my bosom friend.”
He sighed. “I don’t know about bosom friends or girl stuff or anything like that. But you know when my dad left it was real hard.” He did not look up but twisted his hands. I knew at once that this was hard for him to say, and he did so to help me.
Scones and Sensibility Page 17