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

by Karen M Cox

  “Yes.” I put the last finishing touches on the tray. “Now, I want you to go out there and put this tray right next to Tim Elton and throw him one of your million-dollar smiles while you do it, okay?”

  Mary Jo squirmed uncomfortably. “Do I have to? He makes me so nervous sometimes. I’m afraid I’ll drop the tray.”

  “Mary Jo, what am I going to do with you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Here. You take the ice bucket and tongs then, and I’ll take the tray. How’s that?”

  “Much better.” Mary Jo’s whole countenance lightened at the suggestion.

  “And offer to get Tim another drink or some more ice. You’ve spent most of the afternoon talking to Daddy—I appreciate you distracting him, but we need to nudge Tim a little bit. Has he asked you out yet?”

  “Um…no.”

  “What is the matter with that man?”

  “Emma…”

  “Do I have to push you into his lap?”

  Mary Jo looked alarmed.

  “I’m joking, Mary Jo. Of course, we’re not going to be so blatantly obvious.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Relief washed over her features. “Emma…”

  “We won’t have to force a thing. I’m sure when Tim sees the beauty right in front of him, he’ll realize you two are perfect for each other.”

  I walked over to the kitchen door and Mary Jo opened it for me.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mary Jo said softly, as she followed me out into the yard.

  I sauntered over to the buffet table where Tim was standing, talking to Bob Weston. I smiled at them, placing the tray strategically, and indicating that Mary Jo should put the ice right there—next to Tim.

  He turned to face us while Bob was in mid-sentence.

  “Lovely spread, Miss Woodhouse.”

  George’s gaze narrowed on Tim, and I wondered if that might be intended as a double entendre. No matter. I ignored it and responded to his literal meaning.

  “I decided at the last minute to do buffet style. I know it’s informal, but you’ll forgive me. We’re all good friends here, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Tim grinned. “Have you been at the tennis courts lately? I haven’t seen you around.”

  “Oh, I think we’ve probably given up on it until next spring. There’s so much to do in the fall, and I’ve started back to college. It’s my senior year. Busy, busy, busy.”

  “What a shame,” Tim said. “I have to say I’ve missed going courtin’ with you ladies.”

  I grinned and stepped back behind Mary Jo to get a slice of cheese from the tray, nudging her ever so slightly toward Tim.

  “You really helped us a lot, right, Mary Jo?”

  “What? Oh, yes, you really helped… a lot.” She grimaced at her lame finish.

  “I have to go check on Daddy, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “Of course,” Tim replied. “Hurry back.”

  “George, would you mind getting some beer for the cooler out here?”

  “Sure.”

  I left Mary Jo and Tim to themselves. When I looked over a few minutes later, Tim was talking to her with his typical animated gestures, and she was smiling. But after a couple of minutes, they stood awkwardly silent. Mary Jo turned around to get another branch of grapes, and Tim turned back to Bob Weston.

  “Busy plotting?”

  I jumped at the sound of George’s low voice in my ear and turned to scowl at him.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that! You just took ten minutes off my life.”

  “Sorry.” George took a sip of his beer.

  “And I’m not plotting.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Although you have to admit, they look good together.”

  He rolled his eyes and walked off, muttering, “Nonsensical girl,” into his beer can.

  “I saw you chatting with Tim. Making an effort.”

  Mary Jo smiled as we sat in the backyard gazebo on the swing. The party guests were all gone, Daddy was tucked safely in his bed, and we were enjoying a glass of white wine in the evening quiet.

  “It was a good party.”

  “Yes, it was.” I slouched back against the swing. “But I’m exhausted.”

  “Emma?”

  “Yes?”

  “I need your advice about something.”

  “Well, of course, I can be a sounding board for you, Mary Jo, but I want you to make your own decisions—not just take my advice.” I was remembering George’s “plotting” comment from earlier.

  “I’ve gone out with Robert a few times—just as friends.”

  “Robert?”

  “Robert Martin…from the Louisville office.”

  “Oh yes, I remember.”

  “We’ve had—I don’t know, maybe four dates, and last time he said something about maybe dating each other, you know, exclusively.” She looked at me, anxious for my reaction.

  “Wow, it must have been tough to let him down easy. You’re still going to be friends, though, aren’t you?”

  “You think I should tell him ‘no’?”

  “Oh, my goodness!” I bolted upright on the swing and set my wine on the table beside it. “I can’t tell you what you should do, Mary Jo! You were talking with Tim today at the party, and I just assumed…”

  “I don’t know what to do. That’s why I came to you. Can you advise me? You know so much about men and everything.”

  That’s a laugh. If I know anything about men, it’s only by watching them from afar. It certainly isn’t from experience. Silly college boys from Georgia don’t count as men.

  “I wouldn’t dream of deciding anything so personal for you. It’s simply not my place.”

  Mary Jo looked miserable as she took a healthy gulp of wine.

  “But…maybe I can help you sort it out for yourself. Tell me what Robert said to you—maybe exclusive dating wasn’t what he meant exactly.”

  “Oh, I think it’s what he meant. He said, ‘Mary Jo, each time we get together, I discover that I like you more and more. You’re sweet, and beautiful, and we have the best talks, don’t you think?’ And then I said, ‘Yes, we do have good talks.’ And then he said, ‘Maybe we should think about making this…’ and he gestured between us, ‘… a more, well…maybe we should be more than just friends. I’d like that.’ Wasn’t that a nice way to say it? Or was it too…short?”

  “Do you mean ‘blunt’ perhaps? I think that’s the word you want.”

  “Yes, was he too blunt?”

  My mind was whirring. “No. It was pretty smooth, actually.”

  “I thought so too.”

  “It was nice. What did you tell him?”

  “I just kind of hemmed and hawed around and said I’d have to think about it.”

  “I see. And what did he say then?”

  “He looked disappointed, and I felt just awful, but then he smiled and told me to take my time.”

  “Here’s the thing. You’ve come all the way from West Virginia, and you’re meeting all kinds of people, learning a new job, living in a new place. There’s so much to see and do. And the world’s your oyster, Mary Jo. But if you think that you’re going to prefer Robert Martin’s company to any other man’s—to the point of not getting to know any other man—then I guess you have to say ‘yes’.”

  “Okay.”

  “But if you’re thinking, ‘Hey, I’m still young and I value my freedom right now, and I want to see what’s and who’s out there for me’—then you have to say ‘no’.”

  Mary Jo sat a while, pondering and sipping her wine.

  “I guess I’m not ready to tie myself down yet. I’m going to tell him ‘no’. That’s the right decision, isn’t it?”

  “Now that you’ve decided, I have to tell you I think you made exactly the right choice.” I raised my glass. “Vive la femme moderne!”

  Mary Jo blinked.

  “Long live the modern woman!”

  “Oh,
yes, the modern woman.” Mary Jo let out a wistful sigh. “I wish I knew how to speak Italian.”

  I pursed my lips to keep from smiling.

  “Emma?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t you have a boyfriend? You’re smart and beautiful. I would think men would like you a lot.”

  “Why, thank you, Mary Jo. What a kind thing to say! But I’m just not interested in dating right now. I’ve got a lot on my plate—taking care of Daddy, going to school—and a boyfriend would be too much. Plus, I haven’t found a man I care for that much. Maybe I never will.”

  “But don’t you want a family? Children?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it, I guess. I’m only twenty-one. I have lots of time to find true love, right? And I can see Henry and Taylor any time I want. So, in all honesty, I have no reason to fall in love and get married…well, ever, if I choose not to.”

  “I see what you mean. I guess I just always thought that love happened when it happened, you know? That you couldn’t choose if or when.”

  “You always have choices, Mary Jo. That’s one of the best advantages of being a modern woman.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  Mary Jo went back into her pensive mood, and I gently turned the topic to other things as we relaxed into the late summer evening.

  Fourteen

  October 11, 1975

  George pulled up outside Emma’s house and opened the car door. He sat there, changing into the running shoes that Emma bought him for an early birthday present.

  It was a beautiful autumn morning. There were still some vibrant colors on the trees: crimson red, burnt orange, mustard yellow. The faint, clean smell of dampness emanated from the leaves already on the ground. The sun was barely over the horizon, and the air was crisp and cool.

  As he walked toward the house, he was greeted with a bounding blur of golden fur.

  “Maude, old girl, how’ve you been?” He bent down to scrub her behind the ears the way she loved, and she wriggled from head to tail. “You going with us today?” She barked and leaned against his leg, so he would pat her flank.

  “Of course, she’s going with us. If I run without her, she paces and whines and makes Mrs. D nuts.”

  He lifted his gaze to find Emma striding toward him. She had on a pink jogging suit with a white satin stripe down the side. I didn’t even know they made the things in pink. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was scrubbed clean. Taken together, the effect made her look about eighteen.

  “Good morning, Miss Woodhouse.”

  “Professor Knightley.”

  “So, tell me, how does Maude know when you’re ready to go running?”

  “Oh”—she shrugged—“I don’t know, unless she’s used to the time of day I run, or she recognizes the clothes.”

  “Hard to miss them,” he said, gliding his eyes from her head to her toes.

  She blew a raspberry at him, standing with arms akimbo. “Are you finished pestering me and ready to show off your inner Prefontaine?”

  “I’m no runner, Emma. Don’t expect too much.”

  “I’ll go easy on you,” she teased. “We’ll just go around the streets in Hartfield Estates.”

  They turned out of Emma’s driveway and jogged on the side of the state road about two hundred yards until they reached the entry for Hartfield Estates subdivision. Emma reached down and unhooked Maude’s leash, letting her run ahead through the empty lots.

  “It must be odd for you to see this suburban sprawl springing up around you.”

  “Sometimes. After all, it was my family’s farm. Delores was unwise to sell it all in one chunk, but I guess she felt a little desperate after Edwin died. If she had subdivided it herself, she would have made a lot more money. Maybe enough that she wouldn’t have to live in the old broken-down house on a shoestring budget.

  “The man who bought the land originally held on to it a long time. I think he wanted to restore the farm. But when he died, his kids just wanted the money. They live out of state and have no use for a horse farm. Shame, really.

  “Nothing like that will ever happen to Donwell Farms. I know, because you’d never allow it,” she said, blowing out a whoosh of air.

  “It won’t happen while Jack and I are around anyway.”

  “Good for you and Jack. If everybody sold off their land, this area would lose its bucolic charm completely.”

  They ran in silence for several minutes before George ventured a comment.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, but now I think, in all fairness, I must.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your Pygmalion attempts with Mary Jo are having some beneficial results.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. She’s just as pleasant to the clients and hardworking as she ever was, but her manners and her dress are more professional than before. You’ve done her a great service, I believe.”

  Emma smiled a self-satisfied grin. It was probably unwise to feed her ego, he told himself, but George felt obliged to give credit where credit was due. Besides, it was fun to make her smile.

  “I told you she was a beauty waiting to be discovered. Now if only the available gentlemen would notice.”

  “Not that I care anything about that, but I think some of them have. Or rather, one has.”

  She halted in her tracks. He stopped and turned around. “What?”

  Her face was wide-eyed and hopeful, like a kid who received a new bicycle for Christmas. “You can’t drop a comment like that and leave it hanging! Who is it that’s interested in Mary Jo?”

  He looked at her for a moment, embarrassed to be caught in idle gossip, but decided it wouldn’t matter if she knew. “Robert Martin. Let’s walk, and I’ll tell you.”

  She fell in step beside him.

  “Robert knocked on my office door a few weeks ago. It was one of those days he drove down from the Louisville office back in the summer. He told me he and Mary Jo had gone out a few times, more as friends really, but he wanted it to become more exclusive. Then, he asked me if I would have a problem with two employees dating.”

  “I couldn’t have thought of a better question myself,” Emma muttered.

  “Yes, it was considerate of him to ask about the company policy first. Robert Martin is a man who has a great deal of common sense. He was level-headed about it, and he’s in Louisville most of the time anyway, so I told him I didn’t see any issues.”

  Emma said nothing, and George started to get an “uh-oh” kind of feeling from her silence.

  “He asked if she was seeing anybody, and if I thought she would consider him. He was asking for my opinion of her, I guess.”

  There was still no word from her, and she wasn’t out of breath.

  “I said she was free as far as I could tell, and she was a pleasant and hardworking girl, and I wished him luck.”

  “I guess I should tell you…”

  His Emma’s-been-meddling sense started tingling. “Yes?” he said in a guarded tone.

  “He did ask Mary Jo about dating him exclusively.”

  “Ah, he did. Good for him.”

  “She told him ‘no’.”

  George stopped walking. “She told him ‘no’?”

  “Yes—I mean, correct—that’s what she told him.”

  “I hope you’re mistaken.”

  “I’m not. She asked—I mean she told me about it.”

  “She let you influence her about who she should date, didn’t she? To the point of turning down a good, decent man like Robert Martin. Unbelievable! Well, she’s a bigger fool than I thought.”

  Emma harrumphed. “Oh, of course! If Mary Jo doesn’t want to date your paralegal, she’s an idiot? Because Robert Martin is the best she can possibly do for herself.”

  “I never said that…” Anger welled up in his chest. “And there is nothing wrong with Robert Martin. You’re making it so
und like he’s a shiftless bum. I know he’s my employee, but I’m proud to call him my friend as well. He’s a bright, young man with a good future ahead of him. And he’s a gentleman, which is becoming a rarity these days.”

  “Someone as pretty and sweet as Mary Jo ending up with a man who has reached the pinnacle of his career before he even reaches thirty? Even with all his fine qualities, Mary Jo could do so much better.”

  “Oh, really? Where could she find better?” He stopped mid-stride. “Wait a minute—is this about his race? His family?”

  “How dare you even suggest that?” Bright red flags appeared in both her cheeks. “I am not a prejudiced person!”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be. You were taught not to be.”

  “Of course, I was taught right from wrong.”

  “Robert is a good man.”

  “I’m sure he is. You wouldn’t hire any other kind.”

  “He comes from a good family. His father’s a minister. His mother was head mistress of a school before she retired.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s right for Mary Jo.”

  “Mary Jo, on the other hand, is uneducated and, forgive me, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. She’s the daughter of some poor woman in West Virginia who may or may not have been married to Mary Jo’s father.”

  “She is not illegitimate! Her parents are divorced!” Emma’s voice rose with indignation. George closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. She was so headstrong, and they were getting farther and farther from the main point, which was the wrong-headedness of Emma’s interference. She continued, rationalizing her prying activities.

  “You’re forgetting her sweet, kind disposition and her beauty. It seems to me that’s all men want in a woman anyway.”

  It was a rarity that he was genuinely angry with Emma, but now, she was exasperating to him—a know-it-all who in truth knew almost nothing. What she had done would hurt Robert, and possibly hurt Mary Jo too. He had to try and make her see that. “I don’t know what kind of psychobabble you’ve been reading in those magazines of yours, or what they’ve been teaching you in college, but sensible men aren’t interested in foolish women!”