Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion

by Debra White Smith

  Her attention shifted to Macy, still riveted to her book.

  A slow tremble assaulted Allie’s knees. “Macy, there’s—there’s a man coming,” she rasped and shook her sister’s arm.

  “What?” Macy’s distant focus shifted to Allie.

  “Your mom and sisters are coming with a man,” Allie stated.

  “With a man?” Macy shrieked and looked down at her lounging pants. She twisted toward the window and leaned forward. “Oh my word!” Macy stroked her ponytail. “You’re right! I need to change and fix my hair.” She jumped up and dashed toward the hallway before Allie had the chance to breathe. “Let them in, will you? Tell them I’ll be right down!”

  “But—but—” Allie helplessly watched as Macy disappeared down the hallway. She’d have loved to slip to the guesthouse to freshen up before having to face Frederick. The last time she saw him she hadn’t exactly been supermodel material, but at least she hadn’t been dirt-smeared and windblown.

  A lump formed in her throat. Her eyes stung. She looked heavenward. “Help!” Allie begged before hustling toward the brass-trimmed mirror hanging near the fireplace. One glimpse and she groaned. Forget sneaking to the guesthouse to freshen up. As bad as she looked, she needed to disappear for good. Dirt streaked her chin. Her nose and cheeks were sun-bitten, her hair, wind-licked. After shoving desperate hands through her hair in a sad attempt at finger combing, Allie rubbed at the dirt on her chin. The smudge refused to budge.

  Frantically, she zoomed to her teacup, snatched a paper napkin from the tray, and dunked it into the hot tea. Back at the mirror, she sponged the dirt away and prayed there was no purple left to deal with. Thankfully, the dirt vanished and her chin remained purple-less.

  The doorbell rang. Allie jumped and dropped the napkin. She kicked it into the corner and scurried from the den toward the entryway. When she was ten feet from the front door, Allie stopped, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and willed herself to emit a calm persona. By the time she turned the knob, Allie was committed to feigning complete composure.

  Ten

  Anytime Allie was with Louise, she always came away feeling like she’d been hit by a tornado. Today was no different. The second the door opened, Louise stormed the home with Helena in her wake.

  “Look who we’ve got with us!” Louise crowed.

  “He’s Louise’s catch of the day,” Helena exclaimed. With both her arms draped through Frederick’s, the nineteen-year-old gazed up at him like he was a trophy. “And mine, too,” she added, and Allie wondered if Helena had completely forgotten she had a steady boyfriend.

  “I do believe he’s the best one yet,” Martha confirmed. The matron’s green muumuu swayed as she waddled inside. Allie closed the door, made brief eye contact with Frederick, and did nothing to acknowledge their acquaintance.

  “We brought him over to see if you and Macy remember him.” Louise, still hanging on to Frederick, rested her hand along his upper arm. “His name’s Frederick Wently. He used to work at Elton Mansion,” she continued through a giggle. “I bumped into him today and just had to bring him home with me. Isn’t this the smallest world ever!”

  Allie twined her fingers behind her back and trained her focus upon Louise. Her proprietal attitude toward Frederick sent a white hot burst through Allie. She had never even been tempted to be jealous of Macy’s sisters-in-law. Instead, she’d viewed herself as their spiritual big sister and had nearly convinced them to attend church with her. But now, with one in a miniskirt and the other in a pair of low-rise jeans—neither of which would look good on Allie’s size-twelve hips—she was stricken with the difference in her appearance and theirs. And she felt about as spiritual as a bullfrog.

  If that wasn’t enough, Frederick looked far too satisfied about being the catch of the day.

  “Good to see you again, Allie.” He tossed her a distracted smile before glancing toward the ladies on his arms.

  Allie didn’t bother to respond. She was too busy trying to control her temper. In her opinion, a thirty-five-year-old man had no business whatsoever being the “special guest” of a twenty-year-old woman. She’s almost young enough to be his daughter! Allie fumed and was tempted to whack Frederick.

  “So do you remember him?” Martha prompted. “He says he used to be the grounds manager at your place.”

  Allie eyed Martha and offered a polite smile. “Of course I remember him,” she choked out. “We worked together some.”

  “Yes, and I had the biggest crush on him the year I spent spring break there with Macy.” Louise’s adoring gaze suggested the crush was back in full force.

  The memories were starting to trickle into Allie’s mind. Until now, she had totally forgotten about the week Louise had visited the mansion. Allie recalled both she and Frederick growing annoyed at Louise’s perpetual presence and nonstop chatter.

  Right now Frederick looked anything but annoyed.

  I wonder why? Allie sarcastically thought and suspected that this must be some cruel twist of fate. She’d gone ten years without even a glimpse of Frederick. Now he was popping into her life at every turn. Seeing him alone was hard enough, much less accompanied by beautiful females.

  Martha gazed around the foyer. Her short, gray hair and rotund figure were the antithesis of her daughters’ high-fashion, pencil-thin images. And Allie was hard-pressed to find any family resemblance between the ruddy-faced matron and her offspring. But at least Martha didn’t make Allie feel dowdy. She resisted the urge to rub at the dirt stains on her capris.

  “Where’s Macy?” Martha questioned.

  “She’s changing,” Allie answered and saw this as an opportunity for escape. “I’ll go check on her. You guys make yourselves comfortable in the living room.” She pointed toward the formal room that housed a baby grand piano and a wall full of collector’s sculptures.

  “Is there a place I can hang my jacket?” Frederick asked and broke contact with his fan club long enough to shrug out of it.

  “I’ll hang it up for you,” Allie offered, and took the jacket with the same eagerness she’d accepted his parka a month ago. Even in the throes of irritation, she couldn’t stop the anticipation. Her fingers sank into the jacket’s warmth, and a delightful shiver laced her body.

  “Thanks.” Frederick smiled, and his brown eyes were every bit as inviting now as they’d been when she first met him. Allie remembered that day well. She hadn’t been much older than Louise and Helena were now. And while her reaction to him had been every bit as strong as theirs, Allie had maintained her composure.

  The longer she looked at Frederick, the more Allie recognized something in his eyes that hadn’t been present a decade ago. Something angry. Something bitter. Something far from inviting. A shock teetered along Allie’s nerves, and she looked at the floor.

  “We’ll just wait in here, then,” Martha exclaimed. “Come on, kids.” She waved them toward the living room and looked over her shoulder at Allie. “I came to tell Macy about the big sale at Dillard’s and to invite y’all to dinner tonight. We’ll have a big time now!” Martha pointed to Frederick’s back and offered an exaggerated wink.

  Allie’s face went so stiff she couldn’t respond.

  As the four guests strolled into the living room, she rushed up the stairs that led to Macy and Charlie’s suite. Once she arrived on the landing, Allie leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, bit her bottom lip, and forced the tears back into the well from whence they’d erupted.

  Her heart pounding in her throat, Allie finally gained control of her emotions. When she opened her eyes, Macy was standing three feet away, studying her. Allie jumped and covered her heart with her hand.

  “Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Are you okay?” Macy asked.

  “Yes, fine,” Allie eked out. “I was just coming up to get you. That’s all.”

  “You look pale, Allie.” Macy’s soft gray eyes sharpened as she leaned closer. “Are you sur
e you’re—”

  “I’m fine!” Allie snapped.

  Macy started.

  “Sorry.” Allie’s eye twitched. “I think I need to go lie down for a while.” She strode toward the other end of the hallway where a narrow staircase led down to the kitchen. All the while she felt Macy’s scrutiny.

  “But what about the boys? You’ve got to leave in thirty minutes to pick them up.”

  Allie stopped and thought, They’re your kids. Why don’t you pick them up? Instead she quietly said “I won’t forget” over her shoulder and continued her journey.

  She hurried out of the kitchen, hustled past the rose garden, and raced toward the quaint guesthouse. The pine house was a perfect fit for the woods surrounding it and appeared to be at one with the terrain more than Macy’s Victorian-styled home. Allie trotted around the picnic table in the yard, thumped up the porch steps, and swept into the spacious living room. The home’s warm plaids, soft leather, and the cheerful smell of apple potpourri belied Allie’s agitated spirit. She was anything but warm and soft and cheerful.

  The door banged shut behind her. Allie wadded up the warm jacket and shoved her face into the folds. When she detected the weak scent of feminine perfume, she lifted her face and stared, horrified, at the piece of clothing.

  “Oh no!” she yelped and threw it on the straight-backed chair near the front door. A set of car keys flopped out of the pocket and clinked to the hardwood floor. Allie knew she had no choice. As much as she wanted to avoid seeing Frederick with his fan club, she would have to take the jacket back to him.

  She scooped up the keys, grabbed the jacket, and shoved the keys back into the pocket. But when she removed her hand, a dainty slip of paper fell out of the pocket and landed face up. The plump scrawl, clearly feminine, beckoned Allie to read the message. Every scrap of Allie’s propriety insisted she shouldn’t. But when she picked up the filigreed paper, she spotted the imprint of a pair of red lips near an extravagant signature. The lips plus the weak scent of sweet perfume created a lure too great. Allie possessed no power to stop herself from absorbing every syllable:

  To My Hero,

  I enjoyed last night so much.

  Allie’s mouth fell open, and she continued to the next line.

  Can’t wait until tonight.

  She gasped, and the note trembled.

  I love you more than ever.

  “She loves him!” Allie whispered.

  Never let me go!

  “And he’s holding on to someone else right now!” she moaned.

  Glancing toward Macy’s house, she thought of two someones—aged nineteen and twenty! Bile rising in her throat, Allie digested the final line.

  Your biggest fan, Annie

  “Annie? Who’s Annie?” Allie squawked and examined the lip imprint. Whoever she was, she liked lipstick every bit as red as Louise’s. Allie was also stricken with how closely her name resembled Frederick’s girlfriend’s . . . or one of his girlfriend’s.

  “I wonder how many Annies and Allies and Abbies the man has these days?” she asked and couldn’t believe how easily he had taken up with Louise and Helena. If she added their ages together, the sum wasn’t much more than Frederick’s age.

  Allie gripped her midsection, dropped onto the sofa, and groaned against the nausea. All these years she had kept Frederick on the same pedestal as the man who’d bent on one knee to propose in the park. He’d been a gentleman—a true gentleman—who respected her and respected women enough not to philander. Frederick Wently had been Allie’s hero then.

  But that was before he joined the Air Force, Allie reminded herself. And before he turned into a national hero. She’d heard enough stories about wild soldiers and their parties to understand that many opportunities must have posed themselves for Frederick to stray from his standards. She also knew that some of the strongest men had at times fallen. . . . Even David, Israel’s most beloved king, had yielded to temptation.

  Too sick to look at the lip-imprinted note again, Allie replaced it in the jacket pocket and determined to once and for all end the Frederick chapter in her heart. There was no doubt he’d turned into a ladies’ man.

  But as soon as the note left her fingers, Allie was overcome with a burning need to know if more incriminating evidence might be in his other pocket. Like a wife who’s certain her husband is cheating, Allie dug into the other pocket but found nothing. That’s when she noticed a zipped pocket hidden inside the jacket. Her fingers unsteady, Allie unzipped the pocket. She was about to explore it, too, when her scruples troubled her anew.

  “This isn’t right.” She paused on the pocket’s threshold. “I have no right. . . .”

  A faint squeal from her front yard sent Allie into a stiff-spined trance. Upon the heels of another scream, she hurried to the window near the love seat and peeked through the blinds. The scene before her validated her every assumption.

  Louise stood on top of the picnic table, of all places. Hands on hips, she threw her head back and laughed into the wind while Frederick reached for her. His half-smile mingled with a hint of concern as he appeared to be coaxing Louise down. Allie eyed the young lady’s spike heels and wondered how she had mounted the picnic table without breaking her neck.

  With no warning, Louise reached forward and fell toward Frederick, who was forced to catch her or let her hit the ground. Staggering backward, Frederick struggled to maintain his footing until he stumbled over a great tree root protruding from the earth. Yelling, he crashed to the ground with Louise in the tangle of his arms and legs. His muffled bellow mingled with Louise’s delighted squeals, which ended when she planted her lips against his.

  Huffing, Allie released the blinds and stomped her foot. This was even worse than if Frederick had waltzed into her life with a wife!

  Forgetting her own scruples and everyone else’s, Allie invaded the hidden pocket. This time her search was productive. Her fingers encircled a cylindrical case that proved to be a gold tube of lipstick. Another dive produced a small bottle of perfume with Giorgio scrawled across the front. Allie pulled off the top and sniffed. As she suspected, the scent matched the note’s smell. She replaced the cap and dropped the fragrance back into the pocket. Next Allie removed the lipstick lid, twisted up the color, and found exactly what she suspected—the same shade that was on the note. The bottom of the tube read “Hot Lips Red.”

  “Oh brother!” she fumed and couldn’t believe she’d actually sat in her room a month ago and cried over Frederick Wently and that pathetic scrapbook she’d created in his honor. I have been a fool! she thought and wondered if perhaps he’d always been a ladies’ man and she’d just been too young and too in love to see it.

  Then Allie recalled his tender kisses and the gentle respect with which he’d treated her. Her eyes stung. She swallowed and prayed this was all a dreadful mistake—that even if he couldn’t be her Frederick, at least he hadn’t turned into everyone’s Frederick. Hot Lips Red came into focus and proved the only argument she needed.

  Allie covered her eyes and retreated to that corner in her heart once more . . . the corner in which she’d mourned for her lost hero. The mourning began anew.

  The sounds of footsteps on the porch steps mingled with Louise’s animated chatter. Allie jumped, dropped the lipstick lid, and helplessly watched as it rolled behind the love seat. Her eyes wide, she gaped at the tube of lipstick. When a knock pounded the door, she twisted the lipstick down.

  “Hello, people! Anybody home?” Louise called with a renewed round of door thumps. Knowing she couldn’t put the lipstick back into the pocket without a lid, Allie was left with only one choice. She bent and shoved the tube under the love seat, then zipped the jacket pocket. If Annie missed her lipstick, then that was just too bad!

  Whoever heard of Hot Lips Red, anyway? There’s nothing more disgusting! she decided and draped the jacket back on the chair.

  Assuming the most bland expression she could muster, Allie opened the front door. The first thing she
noticed was that Frederick now wore lipstick himself. It was the exact shade of Louise’s blurred red and was smack in the middle of his forehead in the shape of Louise’s lips. That’s when Allie knew there was indeed something more disgusting than Hot Lips Red—red lips on Frederick.

  Eleven

  Until Allie opened the front door, Frederick prayed she hadn’t seen that ridiculous episode in the front yard. After he’d extracted himself from Louise’s lip-lock, he’d examined the home’s windows and detected no signs of Allie’s spying. Once he hobbled up the steps despite his aching back, Frederick had rubbed his lips free of red and held his breath until Allie opened the door. With her disinterested gaze sweeping both him and Louise, Frederick was certain she’d missed the whole ordeal—except, for some reason, her gaze lingered on his forehead.

  “You stole Frederick’s jacket!” Louise teased before he had the chance to even say hello.

  “Well, I didn’t believe you were actually stealing my jacket,” Frederick explained at the same time Allie said, “I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “When you said you were gonna hang it up, we didn’t know you meant over here! I spotted you out the window and came after you.” Louise pushed past Allie and stormed the guesthouse. “Come on in,” she called over her shoulder.

  Frederick cast a questioning glance toward Allie, who retrieved his jacket from a chair and extended it without a word. “I decided to come back to the guesthouse,” she explained, her face stiff. “I wasn’t thinking,” she repeated as Frederick accepted the coat. “I didn’t realize I had it. I just looked down and there it was.” She glanced at his forehead again and held the door wider.

  He stepped inside while Allie closed the door and was tempted to touch his forehead but decided not to give in to the impulse. Frederick didn’t want to indicate that he was tuned in to the direction of Allie’s focus and tried to convince himself he was imagining her distraction.