The Dashwood Sisters Tell All

by Beth Pattillo

  If it hadn't been for my stupid blisters, I could have hiked circles around Ellen, a fact that filled me with satisfaction. But I did have the blisters, and when I slipped on my hiking boots that morning, I almost burst into tears. I limped into the reception foyer in the nick of time. Tom was counting people and starting to frown. Ethan was already there, looking gorgeous in a rough-hewn kind of way. The outdoorsy look suited him, a look that most businessmen I’d known couldn't have pulled off.

  I slipped past the others, all chatting enthusiastically about the day's pilgrimage to Jane Austen's House Museum, and stood next to Ethan.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hello, Mimi.”

  Hmm. Not a very enthusiastic greeting.

  “Thank you again for last night.” Good manners were always the right way to go, weren't they?

  “My pleasure.” He barely smiled, and he sounded like one of the hotel staff.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing Jane Austen's house today.” I was never one to give up easily.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, and then nodded and walked away toward the front door.

  Tom urged us out to the waiting vehicles. I tried to hang back so I could see which one Ethan would choose without looking too obvious. Only Ethan seemed indecisive, and before I knew it, Tom was asking if I’d sit in the very back of the tour company van. “Since you’re one of our smaller women,” he said with a smile.

  I could hardly argue with or be offended by his remark. Didn't every woman want to be considered thin? I climbed into the back of the van and found myself squashed between Karen, the television producer, and another woman whose name I couldn't remember. I glanced out the window and saw Ethan climbing into the taxi.

  Ellen somehow managed to score the front passenger seat in our van. She and Tom were laughing about something as we moved off down the driveway of Oakley Hall. Only then did I get my first hint of motion sickness.

  The journey to Upper Farringdon took half an hour and involved enough curves and twists in the road to leave me green by the time we got there. I stumbled out of the van, but Tom caught my upper arm and steadied me. I flashed him a grateful smile, but then regretted it almost immediately when he returned my smile with a very happy one of his own.

  We’d stopped outside the church in the little village. I wanted to ask if I could run in and use the restroom, but no one else seemed to have the same need, so I kept my mouth shut. I was determined not to be the princess of the group, however much I might actually be the princess of the group.

  Across the road from the church, a small whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof boasted the most beautiful bank of climbing roses I’d ever seen. I stepped across the road to admire them and, much to my delight, Ethan joined me.

  “It's like something out of a fairy tale,” I said. “So peaceful. Like nothing bad could ever happen there.”

  “You think it's charmed?”

  “Well, if not charmed, then definitely charming.”

  He laughed just enough to relieve my anxiety. “Nicely said.”

  Tom called out to us then, and we returned across the road to join the group.

  “From here, it's three miles to Chawton,” he said. “We’ll only have a limited amount of time at the Austen cottage, I’m afraid. About twenty minutes or so. Then we’ll walk back here by a different route and enjoy lunch at the pub we saw when we came through the village.” His eyes twinkled, which was charming in the same way as the cottage—old-fashioned and unthreatening.

  The group set off behind Tom, and I fell into step with Ethan, who had gotten over whatever moodiness had been bothering him earlier. Ellen shot me a disapproving look, of course, but I was too happy with the company and with the scenery to pay much attention to her.

  We left the little village and took a gravel road along a ridge that gave an open view of the green valley, dotted with cottages. Not all of them were as pretty as the little one by the church, but the whole scene was as picturesque as any tourist could hope for.

  Ethan and I talked, but not about anything earth-shattering. I simply enjoyed being in his company. We seemed to have a lot in common. He liked to travel. I did too, although most of my travel was for work. He preferred literary fiction, and I said that was my choice as well. I didn't say that I didn't actually read much of it, only that it was what I enjoyed. We talked about the theater—I traveled to New York City often enough that I could keep up my end of that conversation. Besides, I really did enjoy the theater. I usually only went, though, when my company treated us to an evening out during a buying trip.

  I hustled along beside Ethan and tried to keep from wincing. We reached the end of the gravel road, crossed a paved lane, and set out along the edge of a field. The grain—wheat, I think—was knee high and mossy green. I wondered how long it would be before it turned golden in the sun. The field stretched to another line of trees several hundred yards away, and I knew the golden grain against the crystalline blue sky would be breathtaking.

  Once past the field, Tom led us onto a narrow dirt lane. By that time, my blisters were screamingly painful. I’d fallen behind Ethan and into the company of my sister. We didn't speak. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I had no clue what she might be thinking about.

  I found out soon enough.

  “You’re making a fool of yourself,” she said quietly as we moved into the shade where the footpath merged with the lane.

  “In your opinion.” Heaven knew she had plenty of them.

  “At least don't be so obvious. You’re following him around like a puppy.”

  That one stung. “I am not. We weren't even in the same van on the way over.”

  “Well, that wasn't for lack of effort on your part.”

  The problem with sisters is that they know all your tricks.

  “It's mutual,” I insisted.

  The group had stopped, and we moved to stand a little apart from everyone, resting in the shade. I slid off my small backpack and took the water bottle from its exterior pocket. I took a long drink and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. It was already hot and steamy, and it was barely past ten o’clock.

  “I’m not cleaning up any messes, Mimi. I swear.”

  “Message received, Ell. Loud and clear.” I twisted the cap back onto my bottle and stepped away from her before I said something I would regret. Although at this point, that list was so long, an addition to it could hardly matter.

  “I have a bit of a surprise for everyone,” Tom announced, and then we heard a jangling of metal and the clip of hooves against the hard-packed dirt lane. I looked up to see a horse-drawn carriage moving toward us.

  “We’ve seen what foot travel was like in Jane Austen's day. We’re grateful for dry weather and dry roads, aren't we?” Tom asked. The Austenites nodded in unison. “I thought you might like to get a sense of what traveling in a carriage feels like.”

  The Austenites laughed and hooted with approval when the conveyance pulled up next to us. Tom clearly knew how to keep his clientele happy. The driver was even dressed in period costume, complete with a top hat.

  “We’ll have to go in shifts,” Tom said. “Just to the end of the lane, about half a mile down.” He motioned to Ellen and me. “Ladies, would you like to give it a try?”

  I had to get Ethan to join me in the carriage. I hated to let that opportunity for romance slip by unclaimed. This was far better than a ride in Central Park. I maneuvered carefully, and to my delight, Ethan wound up in the carriage with us, although Ellen sat next to me and he sat opposite us, wedged into the seat with one of the married couples.

  “There you go.” Tom closed the door and nodded to the driver. “Just wait for us at the other end of the lane.” And then we were off.

  The driver flicked the reins, and the horse began to move. It wasn't my first time in a carriage, but this was different. Maybe it was the secluded country lane where the tree branches arched so high overhead that they formed a
tunnel. Maybe it was having Ethan facing me, flashing a smile from time to time. Or perhaps it was simply the Austen-inspired moment. I imagined that the road and the woods couldn't look much different than they would have two hundred years ago.

  The carriage had pretty good shock absorbers, or whatever they called them in the old days. We flowed along with barely the occasional bump or jostle. I turned to look at Ellen, only to find her smiling back at me, and we exchanged a look of delight. It was a rare moment of mutual joy in our relationship.

  All too soon, we reached the other end of the lane. Ethan hopped down from the carriage and offered me his hand, which I gladly took. I felt a zing worthy of a full-fledged Austen heroine, but then he let go and offered his hand to Ellen, who was scrambling from the carriage behind me. I stepped to the side of the road to give the others room to find their footing. It didn't take long before the carriage was empty and the driver took off on his return trip. The five of us were left to stand in the shade and make conversation.

  “Will you stay at the museum and take the van back to lunch, or will you keep walking?” I said to Ethan. I didn't realize until I asked the question that it sounded a bit like I was trying to find out his plans so I could follow them. Oops. “I’m going to walk myself,” I said, even though my feet would have far preferred the other option. Ethan could call the next shot. If he wanted to spend time with me, he would choose to keep walking as well.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I’ll see how I’m feeling when we get there.”

  “Have you been to the museum before?”

  He nodded. “Several times. But I’m keen to see the new visitors’ center. They’ve also recently refurbished the kitchen to its original state.”

  “Oh.”

  Frankly, I couldn't have cared less about the kitchen or the visitors’ center, but if it meant time with Ethan, I could manufacture some interest.

  “But you came here to walk,” he said with a kind smile. “I wouldn't want to interfere with that.”

  Ouch. If he’d really wanted to spend time with me, he would have interfered up one side and down the other.

  “To each his own,” I chirped. Like a bird, I chirped. It even nauseated me. I felt as if I had been riding in the back of the tour-company minivan.

  What had happened to our easy camaraderie of the night before? He was certainly still pleasant, but that connection, that feeling of having known him forever…well, it had vanished almost as quickly as it had developed. Almost as if it had been a dream.

  I moved closer to Ellen and left him to chat with the other three.

  “What?” she said. “I thought the whole point was to cozy up to Ethan.”

  “Don't be mean.” My throat grew tight, and tears threatened to spill over. I was so tired, and not just physically. I was sore too, and I wasn't just talking about my blisters. I’d spent so many years trying to find Mr. Right that I had battle fatigue, or whatever the romantic equivalent of it was.

  “Sorry.” And she was, I could see. “Do you have enough water?”

  I nodded and then turned to face the field, as if I were admiring the view.

  “He's not worth it, Meems.” The old nickname was nearly my undoing.

  “That's the problem, Ell. He is worth it.”

  She shook her head. I could see that much out of the corner of my eye. “Someday, you’ll learn.”

  “Someday, so will you.” But I at least managed to accompany the words with the hint of a smile. “Do you see the rest of them yet?”

  “They’ll be here any moment. In the meantime, we’ll just stand over here and talk.”

  For most of my life, I had despised being indebted to my sister, but now I was simply grateful for her presence. And her kindness.

  “That would be nice,” I said, and to my surprise, I found that I meant it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After the carriage ride, I left Mimi to walk with some of the others and stayed behind with Daniel. We passed through a succession of fields that rolled gently over the surrounding countryside. We had made it to the other side of the open space when I faced my first real obstacle of the walking tour.

  This stile was seriously daunting. Stinging nettles lurked on either side of it. I made a face at the rickety contraption, took a deep breath, and prepared to conquer it on my own. I made it up the first two steps, but the third one stymied me. And then I saw the hand stretched out toward me. Daniel's hand. He stood beside me and smiled with encouragement.

  “I know, I know,” he said. “You’re perfectly capable. But maybe just once you can let me give you a hand.”

  I looked down at the ground from my perch, and dizziness overcame me. Instinctively, I reached for him, and he steadied me.

  “Breathe,” he said, and I complied.

  “I think I’m stuck.” I hadn't meant to say the words out loud. I never admitted weakness to anyone other than myself.

  “No. You’re just resting.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “It's not funny.”

  “Of course not.”

  I looked at him, and he was grinning at me. “You’re enjoying this, aren't you?”

  The smile moved to his eyes, which lit with glee. “Absolutely.”

  That was all the challenge I needed. “Here I go.” I lifted one foot, swung it over the top of the fence, and found my footing on the other side. Now came the hard part. I had to swivel so that I faced the direction from which we’d come, maintain my balance on that one precariously placed foot, swing my other leg over the fence, and then find the step below with that foot.

  “You’ve got this,” Daniel said.

  “Here goes nothing.” I gripped his hand, flung my other leg over the fence, and prayed my foot would hit the four-inch-wide board that served as a middle step.

  My boot scraped the wood, and I teetered in midair for one very long moment, but then Daniel moved our hands so that I could regain my balance, and my foot caught hold. I clambered down the remaining step and was grateful to find myself on solid ground once more.

  “See?” He stepped up to the stile and practically vaulted over it. “Nothing to it.”

  “Easy for you to say.” We moved away so that the others could take their turns climbing over.

  “But you did it.”

  I smiled at him. I couldn't help myself. No matter how many years had passed, we still had that easy camaraderie that sucked me in every time.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let's walk to the end of the path. The others will catch up.”

  We had emerged from a field alongside someone's backyard. A trampoline and a child-sized version of a marquee dominated the fenced yard.

  “Some things are universal, huh?” Daniel said, following my gaze. “My girls beg me for a trampoline on a regular basis, but I won't get them one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you know how much a pediatric orthopedist costs?”

  I laughed, and then we moved along in companionable silence, skirting the house and emerging into a very ordinary cul-de-sac. “Look, Dan. It's the suburbs.”

  A ring of brick homes, taller than my brick ranch back in Dallas but still with a cookie-cutter sameness to them, testified to the ordinariness of the street. We waited there for the rest of the group, and then Tom led us to the connecting road. Across the street was a large, open park.

  “That belongs to Chawton Great House,” Tom said. “We’ll be visiting there this afternoon. It was owned by Jane Austen's brother Edward, who was adopted into a wealthy family.”

  We made our way up the street past more quaint cottages and beautiful gardens. “Look.” Daniel pointed to a plain, square brick house that stood thirty yards in front of us at a junction in the road. “That's it.”

  “That's what?”

  “That's Chawton Cottage. Jane Austen's House Museum.”

  I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but this ordinary structure wasn't it. The large house sat practically on top of the ro
ad, and an irregular pattern in the brick showed where a large front window had been filled in. Where were the climbing roses? The charming thatched roof? This was a solid bulwark against the weather, not the graceful home I’d imagined.

  We moved closer, and Tom gathered us on the sidewalk opposite the house in front of a tea room that bore the sign Cassandra's Cup. The garden to the left of the cottage was gorgeous, to be sure, and whoever ran the place obviously did so with a great deal of care. But I’d expected Jane Austen's home to be more…romantic.

  “As I said earlier,” Tom continued, “we only have twenty minutes or so before we need to set out on the second part of our walk. Otherwise we’ll be late for lunch. For those of you who would like to stay longer, Mrs. Parrot will be here in an hour with the van. She will drive you back to Upper Farringdon to the pub.”

  “C’mon,” Daniel said. “Let's check out the holy ground.”

  The visitors’ center was in the small stable block to the right of the cottage. We decided to forgo the introductory video and the peek into the bake house. Signs led us in a loop around the back of the cottage to the visitors’ entrance on the far side. Here we found the separate kitchen where the Austen ladies and their servants had prepared their meals. It was attached to the house, but there was no door leading into the rest of the interior.

  “I bet that was a pain in bad weather,” I said, envisioning the Austens’ maid-of-all-work ferrying a soup tureen out the kitchen door and into the adjacent side entrance in the midst of a gale.

  We followed the route of my imaginary maid and found ourselves in the sitting room of the cottage. It was about the same size as my living room at home and contained, among other things, a piano from the period.

  We crossed the vestibule, and there was the dining room. Again, it was about the same size as mine at home. By the window stood a small table and chair. The table had a plastic shield around it.

  “What's that?” Daniel asked.

  “My mother used to talk about this. The holy of holies. That's the table where Jane wrote most of her novels.” It was about eighteen inches in diameter and looked more decorative than functional. At home, I would have put a potted plant on it.