The Dashwood Sisters Tell All (4 page)

“No. The fewer people who know about it, the better. We need to find out if it's real, and then decide who could best take care of it.”

“Apparently not the owner,” Mimi said, “since she's been dead since the nineteenth century.”

“Look, Mom's instructions were for us to decide what to do with it. If we’re going to make a decision, there's only one way to do that.” I scooted to the head of the bed, shoved the pillow behind my head, and patted the mattress next to me.

Mimi groaned. “Not tonight, Ell. I’m exhausted. And we’ve got be up early.”

“C’mon, Meems. Just a few pages.” I wasn't above wheedling.

“All right. But just a few.”

“I won't keep you up late.”

“Well, if I don't get enough sleep, I’ll look so haggard that yummy Ethan will never fall in love with me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What? It could happen.” She nudged me. “All right, already. Let's read.”

And that was how I found myself sitting next to Mimi while she took the diary and flipped open the cover.

“That Means You, Jane,”
she read out loud from the title page. “Sounds like sisters to me.”

“Sounds like us,” I added. “Let's just get on with it.”

Mimi turned the first page and began to read.

10 January 1792

Jane disappeared again after our quarrel, and as there is no sign of Jack either, I can only assume they have escaped my mother's plans for their edification through diligent labour in the garden. I have warned Jane to guard her affections, for though he is a pleasant enough young man, he has no fortune and no connections. She is so young. Wherever she fancies, she pursues. I can only fear that the censure of our neighbors may turn upon her one day, if she cannot learn to conceal her feelings. She, of course, believes me to be a busybody, intent upon managing her affairs.

“I’m impressed you can even read her handwriting, it's so faded,” I said. “I can't make heads or tails of it. Keep going.” I nudged her.

Tom Fowle visited with us after Christmas, and though he has made no open declaration, I live in expectation. Jane chides me that he makes a poor romantic hero, but I am happy to wait and hope for the role of companion to a modest country vicar. The living he holds does not allow him to contemplate marriage at present. He said so to my mother at dinner when she quizzed him on his prospects and when he might return. He has hopes, though, of Lord Craven and the possibility of a second living to give him the means for an independent life and family…

The entry continued in the same vein—a mixture of Cassandra's clear affection for Tom Fowle, and her worry over Jane's relationship with the charming Jack.

Mimi read the last few lines of the entry, and when she finished, she closed the diary.

“Sounds like normal sister stuff to me,” she said and then yawned so wide I thought her jaw might crack. “Some things never change, huh?”

“What do you mean?” I sounded defensive. Probably because I was.

“Older sisters always think they know what's best,” Mimi said.

“And younger sisters are always rebelling,” I added with a laugh. “You would think in a couple of centuries women would have learned something.”

“Or they learned that some things never change.”

Now that we’d read some of the diary, I felt strangely protective of Cassandra Austen, even if what we’d just read wasn't real. “Jane and Cassandra never married. They needed each other despite their differences.”

Mimi frowned. “That's our problem, though, isn't it? We don't need each other.”

She’d said it out loud, what the two of us had always known but tried to pretend wasn't true.

“It's not the same,” I said, unwilling to meet her gaze. “Those were different times. Women were dependent on their families for support. They had to stick together.”

“I don't think that matters.” Mimi's voice was soft. “It's not a political statement, Ell. It's just the truth.” She laid the diary on the bed. “We don't need each other. We haven't for a long time. And this trip isn't going to change that.”

“Look, I’m sorry I said anything.” The last thing I’d meant to do was to give Mimi the opportunity to play out another family drama. “It's late. We’re tired. This diary has just complicated an already complex situation.” I sighed. “I think we should get some sleep. We have a lot of walking to do tomorrow.”

Mimi slid from the bed. “All right. We’re not going to figure anything out tonight anyway.”

It wasn't how I’d thought the evening would end, but it wasn't unexpected either. Mimi's feelings were hurt, she felt judged, and I was once again cast in the role of the bad guy.

Mimi paused at the door. “That diary is only one side of the story, you know. Too bad Jane didn't write down her own version.”

“If she had, that would be a truly priceless book.”

“A shame that wasn't what Mom sent us.”

I laughed. “Go on. Get some sleep.”

“Sure. You too.”

I followed her to the door. After it shut, I leaned against it and contemplated the empty room.

Maybe if Mimi and I had been born two centuries earlier, we would have been compelled to get along better out of necessity. Maybe the modern world wasn't an improvement in some respects, at least not when it came to sisters.

I glanced through the bathroom door to my right at the gargantuan bathtub. In other ways, of course, the present was a far better deal. I decided to put the rubber duck to good use and fill the tub as full as possible with hot water and bubbles.

On the subject of bubble baths, I was sure, any two sisters could agree.

CHAPTER FIVE

M
imi would never approve of my hiking shorts. The elastic in the waistband would send her into spasms, and the gray nylon fabric might really push her over the edge. I untucked my plain white polo shirt. That at least hid my stomach. Gray hiking boots and an olive green rain jacket, which I cinched around my waist, completed my fashion statement.

“I’m really not up for this,” I said to my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Can't I call in sick?”

I wasn't sure where to stash the diary. I scanned the room, deciding against a drawer in the nightstand or the dresser. If I left it under the mattress, the maid might find it. In one corner, a small bookshelf boasted a row of antique-looking books amid the knickknacks. The books were clearly for ornamental purposes, not actual reading, and I doubted anyone ever paid much attention to them, except when the maid flicked a feather duster over their tops.

“Perfect.” I slid the diary into the row of books, not in the center but not on the end either.

The safety of the diary was ensured by its anonymity. I gathered up my daypack and my water bottle, slipped my room key in my pocket, and left to join the others.

They were waiting for me on the rear terrace. If Tom was irritated, he didn't show it. Mimi was happily ensconced at one of the tables next to her latest target. Daniel rose from his chair and came toward me.

“I thought we might be hiking buddies today.”

“Great.” I smiled the same forced smile I’d been using all my life.

Tom stepped into the middle of the group and motioned for us to gather around him. “Good morning, everyone. Today we’ll set off for Steventon to see the site of the rectory where Jane Austen was born and where she spent the first twenty-five years of her life. For those of you who’ve never hiked before, let me give you a few tips.”

I tried to ignore Daniel's presence next to me and concentrate on what Tom was saying, but how could I? Even after all these years, I could stand next to him and feel that strange, almost electric hum run through me.

“Please make sure to drink plenty of water. Also, let me know at the first sign of any problem with your boots. It's always best to stay ahead of blisters rather than treat them after the fact.”

I looked over at Mimi. She and Ethan were whispering to one another and paying no attention to Tom at all.

“You’ll soon find your natural pace. It's not necessary for everyone to stay together all the time. We’ll stop periodically for everyone to catch up.” Tom picked up his small backpack. “If there aren't any questions, then let's set off.”

We made our way from the rear of the hotel, down the paved path I’d followed the day before, when I met Daniel. We moved onto a rutted footpath and began making our way around a field of grain that was knee high and a warm blue-green color, like the sea. England was exactly what I’d always pictured. Country lanes trimmed in green hedgerows, elegant stands of trees, a cloudless sky as blue as a robin's egg. If it hadn't been for the man next to me, I would have reveled in the beauty around me.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Daniel said as we walked side by side where the path had widened to a dusty road. “I’m even happier you’re still speaking to me. I didn't do a very good job of staying in touch.”

I turned to him, surprised. “Why wouldn't I speak to you?” I forced my voice to its normal tone, but a spasm of panic tightened my belly.

“Ellen—”

“You don't owe me any apologies or explanations. I didn't keep up with many of my college friends. Most people don’t.”

“At the time, I didn't know that you—”

“The others are stopping up there. Maybe we should catch up.” I wasn't about to let him open that can of worms. I’d never acknowledged my feelings to him when we were younger, and I certainly wasn't about to do so now.

I hurried forward to join up with Carol and Ralph, the couple from Nashville. I launched into some inane conversation and concentrated on keeping my boots moving, one in front of the other. We crossed beneath a railway line, and the tunnel offered some welcome shade. After skirting another field on another rutted path, we came to a field that was chest high in some kind of plant.

“Beans,” Tom said with a sigh. “Somewhere in here there's a footpath, but we’ll have to find it.” Eventually he did locate the footpath, but it meant wading through a field of tall, scratchy beanstalks.

“I hope this is worth it,” I said to Carol over my shoulder.

She laughed. “Don't trip, or we’ll never find you.”

We emerged from the field into a farmyard and then walked along a paved road for a bit. Tom came to an abrupt halt at a Y in the road.

“Where are we?” I asked. Daniel appeared at my side.

“Steventon, I think,” he said. He was looking at me with a hint of sadness in his eyes that I decided to ignore.

“Where's the rectory?” I asked.

“If you’ll gather over here,” Tom was saying, “I’ll give you a brief introduction.”

The peace of the lush green meadow, the sheltering trees, and the quiet breath of the breeze stole over me as I waited for everyone to gather around Tom. This was where Jane Austen had been born and raised. No more than a wide spot in the road, it put the
b
in bucolic.

For the first time in months, I felt my jaw unclench and my muscles loosen, just a touch. I tried to set aside the turmoil of travel, my sister, Daniel—all the things that kept me anxious, even though I never showed it to the world. For a moment I just wanted to enjoy the serenity of the place.

“Welcome to Steventon,” Tom said with a soft grin. “Not a lot of buildings to look at here, but the village—or what there is of it—lies just up the road.” He pointed off at a right angle. “Where we’re standing now is the site of the rectory from Jane Austen's day.” Through a break in the hedge, he indicated the open field with its lone tree.

“Unfortunately, Austen's childhood home was built in a rather low spot. As a result, it was always damp. After her father's retirement, the family moved to Bath. Later, the house where she grew up was torn down, and a new rectory was built up there.” He waved toward the rise on the opposite side of the road. “As you might guess, that house didn't have the same kind of problems with flooding and dampness, but eventually it was pulled down as well.”

The group looked up toward the crest of the hill, and everyone chuckled. Tom continued for a few minutes, talking about Austen's parents, her siblings, and life in a country parsonage at the end of the eighteenth century.

“Now we’re going to walk up the lane here,” Tom said, “to a spot with an actual building, and we’ll see the church where Austen's father was the rector, and where she worshipped.”

The group moved off down the lane, and I tried to lag behind, hoping that Daniel would go on without me. My hope was in vain. He quickly fell into step beside me. I could see Mimi twenty feet ahead, still tête-à-tête with Ethan.

“You haven't come to any of the class reunions,” Daniel said as we walked along. I tried to focus on the sheer greenness of the scenery on either side of me, but I couldn't ignore him altogether.

“No. I couldn't get away.”

“Work?”

“Something like that.” But it hadn't been anything like that at all. The most recent reunion had happened last fall, when I took unpaid family medical leave so that I could drive my mother to radiation and chemo, make endless trips to the pharmacy for her medications, and hold her shoulders while she hunched over the toilet, alternating between sobbing and vomiting. Mimi had spent those months flying to New York. LA. Even Paris once.

“We missed you,” Daniel said. “I thought we’d have a chance to catch up.”

“I’m sorry about the divorce.” Not the kind of thing you’d put in the alumni magazine, not that I still read it. “That must have been difficult.”

He looked down at his feet. “Losing your mom must have been hard too.”

“I had time to say good-bye.”

“There's a lot to be said for that.” He grimaced and then looked up at me, and for the first time since I’d encountered him on the path outside Oakley Hall, I thought I saw the real Daniel, the young man I remembered.

“Change hurts, whether it comes on gradually or happens in a split second.” Daniel paused, and he seemed to take a deep breath. Then he swallowed what was obviously a lump in his throat.

“It's like the choice between ripping off the Band-Aid fast or peeling it off slowly. It hurts either way,” I said. His divorce must have really taken a toll.

He turned his face to me, and our gazes met, locked in a moment of understanding. If we hadn't been walking down that lane at such a good clip, my knees might have buckled. That was the kind of moment that had made me love Daniel all those years ago. But I was older now. Much wiser. And much more protective of my heart.

“It was a hell of a Band-Aid,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to trivialize—”

He looked away. “You didn’t. Of course you didn’t.”

I shut my mouth then, determined to keep my foot out of it, but Daniel wasn't willing to walk in silence.

“Your mother, was she from Hampshire?”

“No. London. She was just utterly devoted to Jane Austen.”

“But you’re not?”

“I like her fine. But that kind of devotion to romance? It must skip a generation.”

He laughed.

“What about your kids?” I asked. “Are your daughters following in their mother's Austen-loving footsteps?”

He shrugged. “They’re more interested in whoever's on the cover of the teen magazines. Or those vampire books.”

“How old are they?”

“Anna's nine, but Claudia's twelve going on twenty-five.”

“Do you see them often?”

He gave me a funny look. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to be nosy.” I needed to change the subject. “Look. I can see the church.” I’d let the conversation grow far more personal than I’d intended. “It's like something out of a book, isn't it?” I sped up my pace and moved away from Daniel before he could pick up on my distress. Daniel didn't make any attempt to keep up with me, and I refused to look back. Well, I refused to look back down the lane. If only I could have kept from looking back into my past.

I rounded the last bend in the lane, and there was the church, as idyllic and romantic as anyone could wish.

St. Nicholas, Steventon, had stood since Norman times and so boasted a square tower that had been topped by a Victorian steeple long after Jane Austen's day. It was sheltered on one side by a large yew tree, and the churchyard was dotted with weathered gravestones. Tom had mentioned that Jane's oldest brother, James, was buried there. He had been the rector after his father, after leaving Sherborne St. John.

As I moved closer to the church, though, I saw that Tom had drawn everyone aside into a gravel parking lot across the road. I paused for a moment, unsure what was happening, and then I spotted a large black hearse parked in front of the church, and my stomach sank.

The funeral procession emerged. A black coffin, covered with an enormous spray of bright flowers, was carried to the waiting vehicle. I was embarrassed at intruding on such a private moment, and I scurried into the car park across the road. Mrs. Parrot had pulled up the van there behind a screen of trees.

“We’ll wait a bit and see if we can go inside once the service is finished,” Tom advised us in a quiet voice.

I stood a little apart from the others, watching the current rector standing beside the hearse as the coffin was loaded inside. It was strange to be there as an observer, when not so long ago I’d been in the role of chief mourner. The knot in my stomach reminded me that my grief was still fresh. I glanced over at my sister, who was talking with Ethan. Mimi smiled as if she hadn't a care in the world, and the old resentment bubbled to the surface once more. How could she be enjoying herself? Didn't the sight of a funeral procession bother her at all?

The truth was that I had never understood my sister, just as she had never understood me. A hiking tour wasn't going to change that. Neither would a mysterious diary. If our mother's death couldn't bring us together, nothing could.