I Could Write a Book: A Modern Variation of Jane Austen's Emma

by Karen M Cox

“And we will, but he still needs a family member around to ensure that he’s cared for properly. He can’t be left alone, at least not yet.”

  “What about some place like Hillcrest?”

  I shook my head. “We thought about that, even discussed it briefly, but I couldn’t send him there—too many memories, for all of us. It is a fine facility. There’s no other place in town I’d consider for him, but Daddy needs to be at home to get well. I know it in my heart.”

  “But Emma,” George persisted, “it means you have to leave college.”

  “I’m going to finish college.” We took our conversation into the smallish breakfast nook off the big dining room.

  “I can’t believe your father would ask this of you, and I certainly can’t believe this is what your mother would have wanted. I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “My father did not ask this of me,” I said, feeling my temper rise. “And Mama could never have anticipated anything like this would happen to our family. How do you know what she would have wanted?

  “And besides”—I turned back to look into the party room so I wouldn’t have to see the disapproval on his face. I swear, sometimes he can be more critical than Jack!—“I’m getting a degree—but at the state university. I made plans back in November in case it came to this. I’ve already been accepted here in the College of Arts and Sciences, and I sign up for classes in just a few weeks. I’ll still get my education. Don’t you worry about that.”

  “If you were a normal young woman, I wouldn’t argue with your decision at all.”

  I set my glass on the table and turned to face him, hands on my hips. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that a local education would be fine for any other girl, but you’re smarter than the typical college co-ed.”

  “Your faith in the competence of womankind is overwhelming. On behalf of females everywhere, I thank you for your vote of confidence, Professor Knightley.”

  I snuck a glance at his face to gauge his reaction to my sarcasm. He had two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like I’d given him a headache.

  “I am trying,” he said through gritted teeth, “to give you some brotherly advice.”

  “You’re not my brother, George.”

  “I’m the closest thing to a brother you’ve got, except for Jack. And I’m apparently the only one who sees this move home for the mistake it is.”

  I stared, almost daring him to go further. And of course, being George, he did.

  “You have so much potential. I’ve seen it. You could do anything you set your mind to. But if you come back home—there’s no challenge for you here, Emma. Your father idolizes you. Nina doesn’t make you do anything you don’t want to do—”

  “George Bryan Knightley! Enough already! The decision is made. My father is my only parent still living. The house needs someone to run it. Nina shouldn’t have to assume a role that is either my sister’s or mine. She’s already given up too many years of her own life for us. Isabel lives out of town, is married, and now she’s going to have a baby. It’s down to me. And that’s final.”

  “But your college…”

  Finally, I exploded, although I managed to keep my voice surprisingly low. “I hate Wellington College, alright? Is that what you wanted me to say? It’s my mother’s alma mater, and she always wanted me to go there, so I went, and I hate it! The girls are all either snooty or boring. The classes are outdated and tedious. There are no guys on campus because it’s an all-girls school, and the guys off campus are only after a one-night stand.”

  George stood, blinking at me. If I hadn’t been so ticked off, his expression would have been amusing. I think he just realized for the first time that I like boys.

  After a pause to wrap his mind around that development, he went on. “There are other colleges, Emma. Money’s not an issue. Why not go someplace where you’ll be happy and challenged? Wouldn’t you like to develop a career? Maybe go to law school? Join the law firm someday and follow in your father’s footsteps?”

  I chortled, shaking my head. “The last thing I want to be is a lawyer.” I set my wine glass, half empty, on the sideboard. “I know you mean well, and I guess I should be flattered that you think I’m intelligent when you have such a low opinion of women’s brains in general. That isn’t very liberal-minded of you, by the way. It clashes with your beatnik Berkeley image. But don’t worry, I’ll keep your misogynistic little secret from the Woman of the Month. Not that she would care if she knew. What’s her name again?”

  His mouth twitched into a smile. If I could get him laughing, I knew he’d leave me alone.

  “Her name’s Valerie.”

  “Ah yes, Valerie. She’s nicer than Jeannette anyway.”

  “Glad you approve.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He laughed out loud.

  With the tension broken, I drove my point home.

  “Moving back home is my decision, George. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve made up my mind. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have with Daddy. I’ve experienced the loss of a parent, and it’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me, but I do know of what I speak. And I know that if he needs me, I can’t walk away.”

  “I’ll say this for you, your dedication to him is admirable.”

  “You would do the same, if it were you.”

  His intense blue gaze landed on me, as if I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “Perhaps,” was his only response.

  “You would. I know you would—because you always do what you think is right. And this is right.” I turned to go back into the dining room. “I’m going over to get a club soda and check on Daddy. Can I get you something?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I think I saw your Valerie looking for you earlier. You didn’t abandon her to your mother, did you?”

  “Of course not.” He took the hint and wandered off. I think we were both grateful to let go of that awkward subject, my unexpected return home.

  Six

  George stood at the front door of the Woodhouse residence and rang the doorbell. It clanged with an old-fashioned kind of formality, making him feel rather insignificant. The two-story Doric columns framing the house front always made him feel like a small boy, even after all these years.

  Mrs. Davies, the housekeeper, opened the door and gave him a bright smile full of welcome. “Mr. Knightley! Come in. It’s so good to see you! Let me fetch Miss Emma. Won’t you have a seat?” She gestured to the living room on the left.

  “Thank you, Mrs. D.” He nodded his appreciation and stepped inside.

  It had been quite some time since George had graced the Woodhouse home. Before the stroke, he saw John most every day at the office. And Emma had been, of course, away at school.

  His eyes wandered to the top of the two-story foyer. The chandelier crystals sparkled in the late afternoon sun, showing a layer of dust, some of which floated in lazy patterns down to rest on the sturdy hardwood floors. The foyer had an open, graceful elegance that strongly reminded him of Barbara Taylor Woodhouse in her prime: equestrian heiress, daughter of old money—older even than his own. The Taylor farms and land were left to her half-brother Edwin, in the grand old male-inherits-land tradition, but Barbara still inherited a vast sum of money from her parents. She’d had education, opportunities, and class—a result of the union of her family’s good fortune and her own good sense. It was regrettable that she was unable to pass these advantages to Emma in person.

  Nina was, in many ways, a good role model for Emma. Nina Taylor didn’t have to work, but she did because she enjoyed it. The library was a productive outlet for Nina’s need for intellectual stimulation, a characteristic she and Emma shared. In George’s opinion, however, she just didn’t have the same authority that a mother would have.

  And that led him to the current situation, and why he canceled a date to go horseback riding with Valerie this afternoon.
>
  The other night at the Donwell Christmas party he’d stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong, and he knew that. If Nina found out he’d chastised Emma that night—after she’d warned him off—he’d have some explaining to do. But because of the connection between their families, and now the marriage of their siblings, George harbored a specific interest in Emma’s well-being. As any brother-in-law would, of course. And the “poor, motherless lamb,” as his mother often called her, had no one to guide her.

  It was time to let go of the college disagreement. Emma was right; she was grown up now, although she didn’t always act like it, and it was her decision to make. Besides, he had a grudging admiration for her devotion to her family.

  “George!” She came bounding down the stairs, rounding the newel at the foot of them and clearing the last step with a little hop. She had on blue jeans and one of those flimsy, gauzy tops you could practically see through. “Well, hello there! What are you doing here?”

  “Came by to visit your dad—and you, of course. If I’m welcome.”

  She sauntered to him with a smile and linked her arm in his. The smell of honeysuckle drifted over him, and he relaxed.

  “Handsome fellows are always welcome at Hartfield Road,” she said, leading him toward the parlor.

  He halted, causing her to turn around and face him. “I also wanted to make amends—for the other night.”

  She waved him off with her free hand. “Oh, you were just being you, Professor Knightley. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  Her eyes flitted downward, indicating that might not be the absolute truth, but there was also friendliness in her manner, and he knew that was genuine. She would forgive him, although forgetting might take time.

  “So, to help make amends, I brought you a present—a gift of goodwill.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oooh, I love presents! Although, they say ‘beware of Trojans bearing gifts’— but I’m sure you wouldn’t bring a wooden horse. Where is it?” She leaned around to look behind him.

  “It’s out on the front porch.”

  She bounded toward the door, laughing. “Maybe it is a horse, after all.”

  “Wait!”

  “Why?”

  “I need to explain first.”

  She crossed her arms and frowned. “Okay…”

  “It is a gift, Emma Kate, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to take it.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, why wouldn’t I want to take it?”

  “It’s, well…maybe I should just show you. But remember, if you don’t want to keep it, all you have to do is say so.”

  “The suspense is killing me! Will you just show me the present already?”

  He stepped outside and returned a second later, carrying a big box. It clunked from side to side, held high enough that she couldn’t see into it. He set it on the foyer floor and lifted the lid. His hands disappeared inside, and a little yelp was heard as he drew the golden bundle out of the box.

  “Oh, George! A puppy! It’s beautiful!”

  “It’s a she, actually, a golden retriever. She’s nine weeks old.”

  Emma reached out her arms for the wriggling, tail-wagging ball of fur. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing? Oh, look! She likes me!”

  He laughed as the pup leaned up and licked Emma’s face. “Well, of course she does. Everyone likes Miss Emma Woodhouse.”

  Emma held the pup, crooning to her in soft tones, like one might use with a baby.

  “She’s to keep you company, when your dad is resting, or when you go outside, and he doesn’t want to go with you. I know how you love the outdoors.”

  He waited a minute, watching while Emma played with the dog. “Do you like her, Emma? Would you like to keep her? It’s not a bit of a problem to take her back, if you don’t think—”

  “Take her back? Absolutely not! She’s adorable. Thank you, George!” She buried her nose in the soft fur. “I love her already.” Emma set her down on the floor and watched her walk around in a circle before letting out a bark.

  “What will you name her?”

  “Hmm…” Emma’s eyes opened wide. “I’m going to name her Maude.”

  “That’s an odd name for a dog.”

  As if in reply to his derogatory statement regarding her new name, Maude came over and promptly wet on his wing-tips.

  “It is not an odd name!” She snatched up her puppy. “Don’t listen to him, Maude. He has no idea how to talk to ladies.”

  Mrs. Davies came hurrying in. “What was that noise? It sounded like a…” She did a double take at the dog in Emma’s arms. “Mr. Knightley, you didn’t!”

  “He surely did, Mrs. D. Meet Maude, our newest family member. And fetch a towel, if you don’t mind. Our new family member just tinkled on Mr. Knightley’s shoe.”

  Mrs. Davies pursed her lips and frowned at George as she hurried off to get the towel, muttering something about “more work” and “shoes” and “serving you right.”

  “I’ve got all her paraphernalia in the car. Bed, leash, food, water dish. She’s all scheduled for shots at the vet and for obedience training when she’s old enough.”

  “You thought of everything.”

  He shook his foot. “Everything but an extra pair of shoes.”

  Emma laughed and gave Maude a gentle squeeze, making the pup let out an excited yelp.

  1974-1975

  “The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself: these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her.”

  —Jane Austen, Emma, Volume 1, Chapter 1

  Seven

  May 31, 1975

  Lexington, Kentucky

  I stood beside my sister in the historic Bodley-Bullock House courtyard, holding my flowers, and praying the honey bee landing on them would drink his fill and quietly fly off without causing a ruckus. I hated flying insects, especially the ones that sneak up on a person with stingers in their tails. The day was beginning to heat up, but thankfully Nina had decided on a morning wedding. However, the outdoor afternoon reception was certain to be a sticky, humid scorcher.

  The ruffle covering the bodice of my bridesmaid’s dress tickled my forearms, like a butterfly’s wings, making me want to twitch. The dress was pretty—for a bridesmaid’s dress. Lavender suited Isabel’s and my coloring very well, and the gauzy Georgette fabric was light and comfortable. The dresses were full length, styled off-the-shoulder, with an eighteen-inch ruffle around the hem to match the one that was currently tormenting my arms. Nina had us wear a spray of wildflowers in our hair, the same flowers that were in our bouquets. I would have preferred to wear my hair up, because I thought it looked more elegant and it would have been cooler. But the bride wanted us to leave it down and “natural-looking,” and brides should always get what they want. George commented before the ceremony that the Woodhouse sisters looked like spring wood nymphs, which made me chuckle.

  Now that Isabel and I were situated in front of the crowd, I heard a toddler’s voice behind me call out, “Mama!” That was followed by a few giggles and a stern shush from Jack Knightley. A smile came unbidden to my lips. Little Henry had spied Isabel and was probably squirming like crazy to get down from his father’s arms and run to her.

  I loved that sweet boy and doted on him like any maiden aunt should. Although I knew I wasn’t objective, I was also quite certain my nephew was a genius. He could already build with blocks, and he sat looking at things like stereo schematics for twenty minutes at a time—when he wasn’t terrorizing their cat or climbing up the bookshelves.

  On cue, Isabel and I turned to face the back of the outdoor sanctuary. Seated in neat rows of white folding chairs was a small gathering of friends and family: people from the library where Nina worked, the rest of our family, as well as other friend
s and neighbors from the sleepy little community of Highbury, situated not too far from the hub of horse country. Jack continued whispering to a wiggly Henry and…

  My eyes widened in surprise. Good heavens! Is that George Knightley holding little Taylor? Jack and Isabel’s daughter was only six weeks old, and I had to admit I was mildly impressed. Not every man has the temerity to hold a newborn during a public event, and in a tux, no less. Taylor’s tiny fist shot up toward the sky—in some kind of show of girl solidarity perhaps—and George glanced down, bouncing her gently and swaying her from side to side.

  The processional began and everyone rose as the couple made their way slowly down the center aisle. They broke tradition and accompanied each other to the outdoor altar, covered in flowers. Nina had insisted that she was a thirty-six year-old woman and hardly needed to be “given away.” Not that she had any male relatives left to perform such an office anyway. Her father and half-brother were both deceased. There had been some thought to Daddy walking her down the aisle, but the idea of performing in front of all those people seemed to frighten him so I declined on his behalf.

  Nina had always been beautiful, graceful, and elegant, but for years afterward, people would say she radiated a happiness that had made her absolutely stunning on her wedding day. The man beside her was on cloud nine as well. I tried to hide my smug smile as I watched them stroll up the aisle to the music of a string quartet, remembering my own role in bringing them together…

  Bob Weston ran a restaurant supply business that had rapidly expanded in the last several years and was now thriving. He was big and burly but a good-looking man in his mid-forties. He was not my type of course—he was far too old—but he was still quite a catch for an older woman, say over thirty. I couldn’t believe I’d never thought of matching him with my aunt before then. After all, I had known him for years, having gone to high school with his son. Frank and I even dated for a short while my junior year. Frank’s mother, Rosemarie Churchill and Bob divorced when Frank was only three. Ms. Churchill moved back to Alabama, taking her son with her. He stayed until he was a junior in high school, when he apparently needed a “firm hand” and moved in with the father he saw only once or twice a year.