Do you see Captain Wentworth's attitude once he comes back as more resentful or slightly vengeful? I've read interesting opinions both ways and I lean towards resentment, but would love to hear your take on it. :)
I mean, it’s a fine line, but I’d tend to go with resentful. He’s not going out of his way to cause Anne pain, but there’s a part of his behaviour where it definitely seems like he’s aware that it’s going to be awkward, and his pride has him determined to act like It’s Nothing and You Never Hurt Me. It’s less of a need to rub it in her face and be like “look what you lost” and more “I HAVE MOVED ON SO HARD LOOK I’M GOING TO GRAB A MUSGROVE GIRL AND SMILE AT HER.” It’s performative, but as far as Wentworth is aware, Anne could still feel that breaking the engagement was a proper thing. Until he sees her and begins to realize that she might actually have regrets, he’s out there doing his best to make it look like he is completely Over It, because if his path must cross with Anne Elliot’s again, he’s damned if he’s going to make a fool out of himself over what they once had.
It’s Wentworth’s careful little acts of caring for Anne which signal to me that he’s not doing any of it to purposefully hurt her--but he initially DOES want to throw up walls and distance between them by turning his attention to the Musgroves--to the girls, to Charles and his shooting, and even to Mary...his notice of them only makes his bare minimum of civil notice of Anne rather glaring, to the two of them. No-one else really notices because nobody notices Anne, or who is paying attention (or not) to Anne. Bit by bit, Wentworth comes to realize that Anne has remained unappreciated and confined at her home, and though she had an opportunity to gain independence by marrying Charles Musgrove, (who is by no means a bad man,) she refused him. He must wonder why...and then his glances and signals that he is thinking more and more recklessly about Anne begin to break through--seeing that she is seated with the Crofts after the walk to Winthrop has wearied her, silently removing her bothersome nephew, and so on...
He is still curious to know what Anne’s life has been like, and, gradually, through bits of secondhand knowledge gleaned indirectly from conversation with the Musgroves, he begins to understand and appreciate her more, and his protective walls begin to crumble, along with his cool and indifferent behaviour.
I don’t think it was meant to make Anne suffer--though we know it does--but it was meant to protect Wentworth’s heart against being so brutally broken, again, in case nothing had changed over the years. He does resent the broken engagement--it would be difficult not to--but revenge is beneath his honour.
When Anne had re-entered the Elliot household, there was one thing that would have made her more relieved than seeing Sam’s renewed interest in her sister: finding her father far away from the charms of Liz’s friend, Penny. After a few hours in the house, she felt uneasy about it. There was nothing specific Anne could put her finger on, just a sampling of looks that lasted a moment too long, and the churning that started in her mind whenever she watched them together. The senator was not the sort of person any more to fall in love, but he was an easy target for infatuation, if his ego could benefit. The morning after Anne arrived, before stepping out into the open for breakfast, she hesitated in the shelter of her small hallway.
She thought she had caught her name in Penny’s voice. Something about her being concerned about staying in a big bedroom while Anne was in the small room downstairs only meant for weekend guests, and how she did not want to overstay her welcome. Liz said in a stage whisper,
“There is no reason for you to go. I promise I don’t think there’s any reason at all. You should never feel uncomfortable, just because Anne’s here now. She’s nothing to me, compared with you.”
“You can’t go yet, Penny!” the senator added. “You haven’t really seen the area, or met anyone who’s anyone yet.” At this point Anne stepped into the open, met vaguely by a short nod from the speaker. “You’ve only been here to work, and you’ve gotten almost no leisure time. You can’t just run away from us now. We’re just discovering the beauties of this place, even though it isn’t exactly in the center of things. And I know you, with your mind, appreciate the aesthetically pleasing things.” His spoke with such unusual earnestness that Anne was not surprised Penny stole quick, almost watchful glances at Liz and herself. Liz saw nothing out of the ordinary, and Anne tried to keep her thoughts away from her face. The senator’s arguments were too strong for Penny to resist, so it was settled that she would stay through the summer.
That same morning, while Anne settled at the granite island for work, the senator floated through, looking for caffeine of some sort. He stood still, then almost toppled Anne off her barstool by complimenting her.
“You’ve been looking really nice since you came back from Uppercross, Anne. Less pale, a clearer complexion...just -” he flapped his hands at her general person, “Better. Did you switch moisturizers or something?”
“No, I just use a makeup remover sometimes,” Anne said slowly.
“Not Gowland’s coconut oil? Liz gave her sample to Penny, and it’s completely helped with all those dry spots and freckles. It’s made her even better-looking.”
‘Back to normal.’ Anne thought. She felt that when it came to Penny, she had to let things run their course; her father was still his own person, and Penny was an adult. She knew her father would not be the first politician to marry for the sake of acquiring a trophy, and Penny would not be the last smart girl to marry an older man for status and security. Even though Penny was aware of their financial situation, a potentially bankrupt politician is still more stable than a freshly graduated girl with a heavy load of student debt. Anne’s chief worry (and there was a whole tribe of them) was that Penny’s lifestyle would spark a chain reaction that would cause her father to backslide with his problems. If the overt flirtation did lead anywhere serious, Anne and Liz would have to move out, leaving him to fend for himself and be accountable to her.
Mrs. Russell’s composed mind and almost unnerving politeness was put to the test on this point, whenever she visited the cottage on Camden Hill. Seeing Penny in such a favored place and Anne in an overlooked corner irritated her constantly while she was there, and bothered her while she was away - as much as a person who lives on the Cape, walks every day, boats many afternoons, and has a large circle of friends has time to be bothered. As she got to know Sam Beckett better, her thoughts on the others softened, or at least became more indifferent. His mannerisms and easy smiles were an immediate recommendation, and talking to him made her think the solid supported the superficial. Talking to Anne after their first encounter at the clam dig, Mrs. Russell said,
“I almost couldn’t believe he was the same person! He was so surly when he was around the first time, so I just thought he was Liz’s bad boy phase. Now he’s this clean-cut lawyer! I heard he’s aiming to be the state’s attorney general in the next ten years.” Mrs. Russell could not picture a more admirable male specimen. All the things that are good and right were somehow a part of him: a decent mind, correct opinions (or at least the same opinions that she held), a broad knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. As Virginians are wont to have, he had a strong sense of his family dynasty but without too much pride, or dependence on that history to make him somebody. He lived with the liberality of someone who is well-off, but without being too showy. He thought for himself without defying public opinion on anything of great importance. Even his shirt was never wrinkled, and his nose was never sunburnt. He was steady, observant, mild, and candid. Feelings of any sort never seemed to run away with him. He also seemed to value the contentedness a home can have, which shady characters with too much unfocused, spastic energy cannot have. Mrs. Russell was convinced he had not been happy in his first marriage, despite all his wife’s frozen waffle dollars. However, this unhappiness did not sour him on marriage in general. She could tell from watching him, and Steven Wallis had told her so. To Mrs. Russell, the satisfaction in Sam outweighed all the plague of Penny.
It had been years since Anne had first discovered she and her mentor could think differently, so it was not surprising to her that Mrs. Russell did not find any unsettling inconsistencies, or require any further explanations about his sudden reconciliation. Mrs. Russell thought there was no further ulterior motive than him maturing through his silly phase, and wisely trying to get back to a good thing. Her thought was that years of struggling on your own can make you want all the connections and goodwill you can get.
“That pressed suit, and you think he’s struggling?” Anne smiled. “I doubt he has ever eaten Ramen noodles. But I think he’s been hovering around for Liz.”
“Liz?” Now Mrs. Russell was a little surprised. Then she said cautiously, “Well, time will tell.” It was a reference to a possible future that Anne did not feel she could sway, not yet. In the Elliott household, Liz always came first, in beauty and preference and consideration. The idea that someone could know them both and give Anne the preeminence seemed impossible. It also had to be noted that Sam’s wife had died only a year before - a little delay on his part would be more than excusable. Anne could not see the black band he still wore on his suit-coat sleeve without thinking that maybe she was the inexcusable one for imagining some interest on his side. Even if his marriage hadn’t been totally happy, there had been enough to keep him there for many years - Anne could not wrap her brain around the idea of someone recovering from their spouse’s death so quickly.
However that situation would end, Sam was hands down their best acquaintance in New England; Anne could not find his equal there. They talked about their meeting on the coast, maybe to revisit their initial reaction when they saw each other for the first time. He made sure to tell her how she had caught his eye, even in the early morning light, and she believed it. She remembered the look in his eye, and also the expression on another person’s face. Sam and Anne did not always agree, as she found out over the days of talking and socializing. He placed a higher value on rank, connections, and authority without supporting merits than she did. For instance, he joined Liz and the senator in being excited about a subject Anne would have thought was beneath him. On the fateful morning after Anne arrived, their phones informed them that the Dalrymple entourage had taken up residency in a sumptuous estate on the edge of the golf course (in the heart of Martha’s Vineyard, of course). The inhabitants on Camden Hill - including Mrs. Russell and Sam, who were there for brunch - were thrown into a tizzy trying to figure out the best way to get into their circle of society. The Dalrymples were (unfortunately, in Anne’s opinion) distant friends from Washington. Mrs. Dalrymple had hired them to position their son’s quitting school in a positive way, and occasionally had them for Christmas parties. Years ago, her husband had leveraged a career in television to be elected to one term in the Senate, on name recognition rather than talent or merit. As Hollywood royalty, he barrelled through logic with more zeal than understanding, and yet he somehow managed to gather influence and power. His party decided that a seat in the House was a little too much real-world power, and so when the presidential cycle came around they put him in the Vice President’s seat. It kept him rather busy, but with minimal impact. Still, there was ‘president’ in the title, and movie and TV credits to his name, so he somehow commanded importance. The Christmas and New Year’s Eve cocktail invitations had dried up within the last year, and so the question was how to find out which fence had been broken, and more importantly how to mend it. Mrs. Russell and Sam had a more rational, pragmatic view of the situation:
“Connections with old friends - and clients - are always worth preserving,” Mrs Russell noted, spreading strawberry jam on her toast. Sam nodded in agreement. “And they will make for good company. I’ve heard they rented that house through September, and will be living in style. Even when the VP has to be in Washington, he’ll commute for the weekends, and Lady will be here all the time. I’ve heard she’s a lovely woman herself.” Mrs. Dalrymple nicknamed herself Lady in an attempt to sound more regal than she actually was, and to harken back to Lady Bird Johnson. Depending on the company, the name could be used with an aggressive genuineness, or sarchasm. “If you can patch things up without looking desperate, I think you should,” Mrs. Russell concluded.
“We’re just lucky they decided to vacation here, not on Long Island, like last year,” the Senator remarked. He typed up an email then and there at the breakfast table, apologizing for any misunderstanding, and welcoming Lady to the neighborhood. Although Mrs. Russell and Sam could not give it their full endorsement, the email did the trick: that very afternoon they all were having bloody marys mixed by Lady herself. The tough labors were over, and now the sweet rewards had begun. New profile photos were had (selfies, with the Dalrymple’s glittering white smiles in the middle), and whenever they got the chance, they talked about their ‘dear friends, the Dalrymples’. Anne was embarrassed by the whole situation. Even if the Vice President and his family were actually pleasant, intelligent people, she still would have been ashamed of her family flaunting their high-up connections. Mrs. Dalrymple had gotten her reputation as a lovely person by always wearing a vacant smile, and having empty but polite (ish) things to say to everyone. And their daughter? When talking about her passions (mainly swimming, a little golf) she could barely be bothered to string two sentences together. Everything else brought on monotone, one-word answers. If she hadn’t been a Dalrymple, her presence would never have been tolerated, much less sought-after. Mrs. Russell admitted that she had been expecting more, but maintained that it was a connection worth keeping up.
That evening, Anne floated her opinion of the illustrious Dalrymple clan past Sam. Everyone else was still outside finishing desert in the large adirondack chairs, and she was washing the dishes while Sam dried.
“I mean, I agree that they’re nothing great in and of themselves,” he said, turning around to see her better and leaning against the counter. “But as old friends, and good company, and as people who will collect other people worth knowing around them, I think they have some value.” Anne smiled, but her eyebrows drew together.
“My definition of good company is different from yours,” she said, handing him a pair of tongs. “I think good people to be around are smart, well-informed individuals who can participate in an intelligent conversation. Not that it requires a degree - just people who are always learning, and want to exchange ideas.”
“You’re all mixed up,” he said quietly. “That’s not good company - it is the best. Good company only requires knowing the right people, having money, and some education. Money and connections are the real essentials; a little quality learning can be dangerous in these parts. If you know too much, you might be tempted to think for yourself, or even express your opinions. Seriously, though, I wouldn’t expose the fact your lofty education gave you big ideas. Oh, and now the serious Anne shakes her head. She is not satisfied. She is fastidious.” She was wondering when he would stop referring to her in the third person. While she was handing him a platter for drying, he placed his hand over hers, just for a few seconds. “Anne,” he appealed, “You have more reason than anyone I know to be fastidious. But is it worth it? Will it make you happy in the long run? Why not just grin and bear the patio parties, and then enjoy the advantages as much as you can? You can depend on them having influencers all around them this summer, and as position is position, being known as their friends will have benefits we could all hope for.” Anne drained the suds from the sink and turned around, leaning against the cabinet.
“We will certainly be seen as their friends. I don’t think we can avoid it, really. All of the East Coast will probably know by the end of the night,” she said, nodding to the three faces outside, illuminated by the blue light of small, slender screens. “I just think we’ve all been tripping over ourselves too much to renew this relationship. I guess,” with a wry smile, “I have a little more pride than any of you. I’ll admit it bothers me, chasing so hard after having a relationship acknowledged that is apparently so important for us, and they have no need for.”
“I think you underestimate your family’s place here. In New York or L.A. you might need the relationship, but as long as you are in and around the Vineyard, I think the Elliots will always be sought after.” He had somehow gotten closer without her noticing; her cardiganed shoulder brushed his, and she stepped out to put melting ice cream in the freezer.
“Well,” she said, “I certainly have too much pride to be able to enjoy a welcome that depends so much on place and position. I think maybe some people call it self-respect.”
“Look who’s getting fiery!” Sam smiled, seeming to enjoy the pushback. “I love your indignation. And, with all of the lectures we’ve received about American can-doerism, building yourself with nothing but your bare hands and God-given gifts, it is completely natural. But you have actually believed the lectures, when I don’t think the business moguls or politicians who delivered them really did. And you talk about being proud - I know that people around here would call me the same thing, and I don’t have a problem with that. So even if the way it expresses itself is different, I think we share the same general spirit.” After checking over his shoulder to make sure the kitchen was still empty, “And I’m sure we think similarly on at least one point: at least all of these higher-ups will distract the senator from those...less worthy of his attention.” He looked pointedly outside, where Penny was sitting draped over the back of the senator’s chair. Although Anne could not agree that they shared the same kind of pride, she was pleased with him for seeing through Penny’s plot, and not applying his opportunism to her situation. The family came trooping in at this point, to recap the afternoon and plan a small dinner party to which they could invite the Dalrymples.
Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction, is it not? Happy 4th of July to all my fellow Americans.
The road trip’s hopeful beginnings were not an accurate predictor of its end. Although the drive itself was mostly uneventful, the trusty GPS took Anne directly through New York City at five o’clock, causing her to sit still in traffic. For roughly three hours. When she moved forward, it was only by inches. Anne had the company of good music and audiobooks, and she enjoyed looking around the city, craning her neck curiously to see the quilt of colors and cultures on every block. Her tranquil frame of mind could not prevent her from arriving at Hyannis late, long after the sun had set. She was so late that the wrought-iron gate at the bottom of the drive (marked PRIVATE in swirly letters) was locked. Anne tried calling Liz for the pincode, but her calls went directly to voicemail. Texts were no good, either. Not wanting to wake up her father or Mrs. Russell, Anne settled as best she could in the backseat of her car. She had her bedspread in the trunk, and after clearing the seats of laundry bins, it made a fairly adequate bed.
Tap tap tap. Anne shifted, realizing her neck was almost too stiff to move. Her eyes did not open as she pulled the covers around her. Tap tap tap. They squeezed tighter shut, to keep out the sunshine that was trying to filter in. Rap rap rap!
“Anne!” a familiar but muffled voice called. “Anne! Get up!” Her eyes opened and focused on a tan, confused Liz, who was motioning for Anne to unlock the car. Stretching painfully, Anne pushed her quilt off, and opened the door, slumping out into the driveway.
“What happened?” Liz demanded.
“I got here late and didn’t know the code,” Anne answered, absent-mindedly trying to put her hair in some kind of order. “I couldn’t get you by phone, and I didn’t want to wake anyone up. So I just crashed here.”
“I’m going off electronics for the hour before I got to bed,” Liz said impatiently. “I posted about it on Instagram, didn’t you see it?”
“I must’ve missed it.”
“Well, I am.” After a brief pause, “The neighbors must think you’re homeless. You’d better get inside before anyone else wakes up.”
Anne drove her car past the hedges and up a little hill to the house. It was exactly what a snug house near Camelot ought to be, with shingles, a wide porch that wrapped around the home, and respectability in spades. As much as Anne was reluctant to join Martha’s Vineyard and all of its cliques, the house was comfortable and appealing to her. The senator seemed surprised to see two daughters walking up the drive, but once he had recovered, he was welcoming to Anne. Both he and Liz were actually happy to see her, for the sake of having someone new to parade around the house, showing off the view and the furniture, and the overall quaint style of living they had adopted. Penny (who, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Russell, showed no signs of moving on) charred breakfast for them while the Elliots caught up. Since the senator and Liz were in a chatty mood, Anne did a lot of listening. Once they found out their social circles were not in wretched misery without their presence, they had little interest in what Anne had to say about the Kellynch House, and no interest at all in Uppercross. Everything was about The Vineyard. They gushed over it - everything had met with or exceeded their expectations. Their house was the best on this end of the island; the view from the second-floor bedrooms was to die for; the seafood was unbeatable. Most importantly, everyone wanted to be their friend. Old friends from D.C. invited them out, they made new acquaintances on the fly, and now they could not keep up with all the invitations that came their way.
“Just today, Liz has an outing with the Ambassador's wife to China,” By this, the senator meant the US ambassador to China’s wife, not that Liz and this wife were going to China - Liz would never travel on such short notice. “I have golf with Congressman Wyal this afternoon, and we are all invited to a clambake at the Stanley’s for dinner!”
“Wow,” Anne tried. She was not amazed at it, but she felt the distinct lack of understanding on her father’s part of their entire situation. He felt like the king of society, but their financial situation was akin to that of postponing a heart attack. All of the people depending on him for work were in a holding pattern, treading water. But he was here, holding court. So Anne smiled, and tried to be happy for him and Liz.
Popularity had not been the only source of happiness for the Elliots; they had Sam Beckett, too. Anne had to hear more about him than the clambake. His crimes against the Elliot name had not only been pardoned, he was now in favor with both the senator and Liz. He had run into them at a party, and immediately started to mend the fence. Apparently he was so friendly, and apologized so quickly (an accomplishment of Herculean standards amongst the male lawyer crowd) for every wrong or misunderstanding that they could not help themselves. He obviously longed to be forgiven and brought back into the fold, and neither Liz nor the senator were entirely merciless. Who can withhold grace when attention and devotion like that are being bestowed upon them? Besides, his wife had died the summer before, leaving him alone in Boston, far away from his family. They were all on good terms with him, just like before. They could find no fault with him.
“And he explained everything about before,” Penny added, unplugging the smoking toaster.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” the Senator clarified. “He didn’t mean to just leave Liz. Apparently he thought she was moving on with someone else. Of course, he didn’t want to accuse her of anything untoward, he’s too sensitive for that. So he tried to move himself on, to let Liz be free. One evening, just needing to get things off his chest, he explained the situation to an old childhood sweetheart. It was just a case of one thing leading to another.” According to Sam, she had chased him, not the other way around. And when you think you’ve just been rejected, the only thing you want is to be wanted by someone. Lonely for all of two weeks, you had to understand him acting irrationally. It wasn’t her money, that never could’ve pulled him away - it had all been misunderstanding and dejection. The senator accepted it all, and moved on.
“He has a friend, Steven Wallis, who has known him since college and works with him at some firm in Boston. He’s confirmed all of it, and said it was the darkest he’s ever seen Sam.” Liz was not quite as all-forgiving as her father.
“There is something called a cell phone most people use to clear up miscommunications,” she commented. “But we’re friends again. Arm’s length friends. For now.”
All Anne could do was listen in amazement. Reconciliation, just like that? She knew for sure she was getting an embellished story from her family, but she also could not help but feel there was more to know on Sam’s side as well. For years he had never shown the slightest penitence, and had seemed to be gleefully flipping off the entire Elliot family. Why circle back now, when rekindling the relationship would require humility? He was already wealthy, he was a successful lawyer in his own right, and he had plenty of fancy connections. He didn’t need Senator Walter for anything. Maybe he was hanging around for Liz’s sake? It stood to reason that they had liked each other well enough in the past. Now that monetary concerns and circumstance were out of the way, he could invest in a relationship that he liked. Anne’s nose wrinkled a bit, and not just from the sharp smell of yogurt that was going bad, but still going in the green smoothies. Liz was beautiful, could be driven, and had a dazzling, bubbling persona. But her self. Had Sam ever seen that? Anne was afraid that her sister’s temperament and thoughtfulness would not hold up well under a more thorough investigation. But maybe that was what Liz and Sam wanted - to be partnered with a persona. Masks do not require the difficulties and hard talks, forgiveness and acceptance that a true self requires. Anne could tell Liz was more interested in him than she let on by the looks she and Penny exchanged any time he was mentioned. When Anne said she thought she had run into him in Beaufort, they all said it was possible, since he had been out of town recently. They couldn’t stop to listen to her description, though, because they were busy describing him themselves. Senator Walter was particularly impressed with his looks, and the expensive suits he chose to wear at dinner parties. He did lament,
“Time has not been kind...the ten years all show on his face. He even has some grey already. Maybe that’s what happens when you stay in law.” He shrugged sadly, then perked back up. “He said I haven’t changed a bit, though. It was weird to accept the compliment when I couldn’t exactly return it. Don’t get me wrong though, he still looks better than most of the guys around here. And the same for his friend, Steven Wallis. I hear his wife is very beautiful, which might make up for a lot of the others on the coast.” The worst part about Vineyard society was the sheer number of plain women. Not that there were no pretty women, but the proportions were grossly out of balance.
Whenever the senator went to walk, he always passed thirty or forty plain faces before encountering one striking one. He had sat in a froyo shop one day and actually counted as they passed by eighty-seven ladies that did not meet the senator’s standards had walked by. Eighty-seven in a row. “It was a foggy morning,” he admitted. “So allowances should be made. Most women can’t withstand a lot of fog rolling in. But do you know what? The men here might be even worse!” The horrors! In fact, Senator Walter hypothesized that the lack of beautiful women directly correlated with the ugly men. With no handsome men to inspire them, how could the female population be expected to look remarkable? The senator never walked anywhere with Steven Wallis (a tall, sandy-haired man) without feeling all female eyes drawn to his new friend. Heads turned all the way down the beach to look at him. Modest Senator Walter! But he was not allowed to escape praise and petting. Liz and Penny chorused that some of the attention was certainly directed his way. Since agreeing with the majority is a matter of politeness for a politician, he had to admit this to be true.
“How is Mary looking?” The senator asked generously. “The last time I saw her, her nose was bright red, and the rest of her was pale.”
“In general, her health has been really good since I got there. She was able to spend more time outside, which was good for her, I think.” They were interrupted by a cheerful knock on the front door.
“It’s early in the day for anyone to be visiting!” the senator observed. “What is it, ten?” Seeing Anne’s confusion, he explained, “Island time!” with an ill-advised dance that was supposed to symbolize laid-back, partying island lifestyle.
“I think that was Sam’s knock!” Penny exclaimed, prompting Liz to gallop to the front door. Penny was right. In walked the same stranger Anne had bumped into on the beach. The only thing different about him was his clothing; he had swapped shorts and a t-shirt for tailored jeans and a crisp button-down.
“I’m sorry for stopping in so early.” He apologized with the air of someone who is entirely sure they are already forgiven, flashing a dimpled smile at Liz. “I was just driving by, and wanted to make sure nobody got sick from jumping in the water last night. The ocean up here is a lot colder than where you’re from. I even brought cold medicine!” He proffered a plastic drugstore bag, which Liz set on the counter behind her.
“Sam, I don’t know if you’ve met my youngest daughter, Anne,” the senator pulled Anne gently to the front of the small crowd. There was no reason for him to remember Mary at the moment. Recognizing features he remembered well, Sam’s face lit up. Anne smiled and felt her face turning a little red, holding her hand out.
“I saw you in Beaufort!” he said. “If I had known who you were, I would have introduced myself. Well, I guess now I get the chance: Hi, I’m Sam Beckett. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Anne Elliot,” she returned his smile. “I’m glad to actually meet you.” His face looked better when it was animated by a conversation. He was very expressive in words, and his manner was so easy and comfortable, she could only compare interacting with him with one other. They were not at all the same, but equally good.
After he joined them in the living room, the whole conversation improved. He had both common sense and intelligence, ten minutes proved that. The way he talked, the way he listened, his choices of subject, and knowing where to stop were all the operation of a sensible, discreet mind. As soon as he could, he turned the subject to Beaufort, wanting to swap opinions with Anne, and find out how they had been staying in the same hotel (and apologize again for having not recognized her). She gave him an abbreviated version of what they had been doing in Beaufort.
“It’s really too bad!” he said. “I spent that whole night alone in my room. I even walked through the lobby for takeout menus and saw your group. You were all laughing and having such a great time that I tried to come up with an excuse to introduce myself. I couldn’t drum one up, so I just ate pizza in my room and watched Seinfeld reruns. Well, serve me right for not asking enough questions. When I was a kid, I was always embarrassed when my mom asked nosy questions in restaurants or hotels, so I resolved to never ever do that. Just goes to show you that the decisions of your youth should be reconsidered as we all get older.” He could not just talk to Anne, and he knew it. There were other demands on his attention, so he re-entered the greater conversation with the others, and could only occasionally return to Anne and Beaufort. Eventually, the accident came up. He wanted to know all the details: the lead up, where she had hit her head, the hospital, and recovery. Anne found it almost unsettling to have someone listening so intently. When he questioned, Liz and Senator Walter jumped in with their own inquiries - but theirs were more out of obligation than genuine interest. The visit lasted for about an hour, then Sam decided it was time to go - he did not want to overstay his welcome.
Once Sam had left the house, the Elliots scattered. Liz and Penny walked down to the beach to enjoy what was left of the morning sun, Senator Walter went out to meet a new friend at the club, and Anne went to work unloading her car. She had been allotted the guest room in the back corner of the house, first floor. It was small, but it had big windows that looked out on scrubby seaside greenery so she was content with it. Anne dragged in her suitcases, book bags, and the few decorative items she’d brought. When she was little, she had read a book called Betsy and the Emperor in which the heroine claimed she always packed light for quick escapes. Maybe that was why she tried to need less. Anne had just started to put her clothes into the drawers when Mrs. Russell rang the doorbell. Greeting her with a hug, Anne let her in and they caught up over an early lunch, talking a mile a minute. After a while, they ended up with Mrs. Russell seated on Anne’s bed, folding and handing clothes to Anne for putting away.
Mrs. Russell was a little nervous to see Anne. Word had made its way through the grapevine of the certain someone who had been in Uppercross. All of her worries of finding a more defeated Anne were put to rest the moment she opened the door. Anne was walking taller and looked better than she had in years - at least, that’s what Mrs. Russell thought, and she told Anne so. With a little smile to herself, Anne wondered if it was the effect of having an admirer or two. Even she, her own biggest critic, could see the difference. Her appearance was a reflection of her mind, receiving a second wind. As they unpacked and talked, Anne realized just how big a shift had happened in her head. All the usual talk and D.C. chatter she was used to , the everyday concerns that had filled her mind in the Kellynch House, had taken a backseat in Uppercross. She had even forgotten where they were in the election cycle for a few minutes. When Mrs. Russell referred to their ordinary worries, talking about how happy she was with the cottage, and their prominence in the Vineyard crowd, Anne would have been embarrassed for her to know how much more she thought about Beaufort and Louise Musgrove. She was much more interested in the Harville’s home than the cottage in Hyannis, he mind more occupied by Ben Wick’s friendship than her sister’s irksome and ongoing friendship with Mrs. Clay. She had to force herself to focus on their normal topics, to ask the expected questions and give viable responses.
Things were awkward until the elephant in the room received a nod. Of course the accident in Beaufort had to be talked about, Louise’s impulsiveness and the results it brought about had to be regretted, and Wentworth’s name had to leave both of their mouth. Anne could not talk about him and look Mrs. Russell straight in the eye until she had the excuse of explaining how he and Louise were on the brink of a serious relationship. After that, his name did not bother her any more. Mrs. Russell listened to this news stoically, and said she wished them the best. Internally, she had a slightly gleeful, bitter pleasure at seeing that the man who five years ago had seemed to understand the value of a girl like Anne Elliot now being charmed by a Louise Musgrove. ‘I hope he marries her,’ she reflected. ‘He will have no one that will understand and grow with his soul. It will die a slow death of half-birthday parties, and matching outfits, and nice but unimportant conversations.’ Her pleasant reverie was broken by Anne’s phone loudly heralding a Facetime call from Mary.
Anne answered the call to find Mary and Charles finally at home, sitting in their athletic gear on their own worn-out couch in Uppercross. They had stayed (or maybe overstayed?) in Beaufort until that morning, when they drove back up to Virginia. When they left, Louise was walking the halls at rehab, taking things slowly but on a decidedly upward trend. They still were not sure when she could leave, since her head was still very tender and she couldn’t make any sudden movements without getting dizzy. All of the things Anne had packed in Mr. Musgrove’s car before he drove down there had come in handy - blankets, beach towels, candy, a tub of barbecue from Fred’s stand just outside Uppercross; all of it had helped them feel more at home. Mary had born with her hardships, but clearly since they had stayed so long she had found more to enjoy than to suffer. Chuck Hayter had been around more than she liked, but he was going back and forth to his internship, so that helped keep him out of the way.
“We got to do so many things,” Mary enthused. “To keep our minds off the tense situation.” Both Anne and Mrs. Russell nodded sagely. “We went to the aquarium, and the pier, and back into Beaufort proper several times. Maria kept trying to feed us food full of gluten and corn, but when she heard about my cleanse she was really nice about it. And we toured the old church, and took a ghost tour. Hazel was a little scared to go on that, with all the stories about death after such a close call, but it was all just fun stories. I think me being around to get Hazel out of the house was exactly what she needed.”
“How is Ben doing?” Anne asked. Instantly Mary’s face clouded over, and Charles laughed.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine,” Mary said peevishly. “It’s just that he’s strange and unpredictable. We asked him to come back with us to Uppercross to talk to some of Charlie’s friends about job openings in the school, and we thought he was going to come stay with us. Then at the last minute, he made up some pathetic excuse about not being qualified. I’m sure he was just afraid of being bored, but I would have thought we were good enough company for a mopey young man like Ben Wick.” Charles was still amused by the whole situation.
“C’mon Mary, you know what really happened. It’s actually all your fault, Anne,” he turned to face the camera. “He thought if he came to stay with us, he would find you nearby. When he found out you had moved to Hyannis, he bailed immediately.” At the reproachful look Mary shot him, he said, “You know it’s true!” Mary would not admit this, either because she didn’t think Ben was worthy of liking an Elliot, or because she didn’t like to think Anne was a bigger attraction to Uppercross than herself.
“Well, I’m flattered that’s what you think happened, Charles,” Anne laughed, trying to smooth all the ruffled feathers.
“It’s not just what I think,” Charles insisted. “You should hear how he talks about you!”
“Charles, he never talks about Anne!” Mary cut in. “I think I’ve heard him mention her twice.” Addressing herself to the camera, “He never talks about you.”
“Not all the time,” Charles acknowledged. “But when he does, it’s clear he thinks a lot of you. His head is full of some book you recommended, The Prophet I think? And he has found something in it. Oh, I can’t really remember. But it was something very lofty. I overheard him telling Hazel all about it, and how a steady diet of sad poetry isn’t good for the sould. And then,” his eyebrows arched wickedly. “He sang your praises. ‘Anne is such a sweetheart’,” he mimicked. “‘She has such a sharp mind. She’s an old soul, isn’t she? Just timeless and good.”
“Charles!” she scolded teasingly. “You’re making me blush!” Of course she didn’t really mind. If flattering things have been said about you by a person you like and respect, you gladly pay the embarrassment toll.
“Well, even if that is true, I don’t think it speaks well for Ben,” Mary grumped. “Faith Harville died just last summer. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Russell?”
“I’m reserving judgement until I meet him,” she called over from sorting skirts in the closet.
“Well, that’s likely to be sooner rather than later,” Charles said. “He has an old college friend in Plymouth, and is talking about visiting. I’m sure if he’s in the area, he’ll be stopping by to visit the incomparable Anne Elliot. Since he likes old things, I told him you were planning to walk the freedom Trail in Boston, and that maybe you could all go together. I thought it might be a good excuse,” he winked mischievously.
“Any friend of Anne’s is a friend of mine,” Mrs. Russell replied graciously.
“He’s more my friend, I was around him for four more days than Anne,” Mary said. “Well, a joint friend of yours, then - all the more reason to want to know him better.”
“You won’t like him,” Mary informed her decidedly. “He’s one of the most boring men who ever lived. He drove Hazel and I around several times without saying a single word. I know you won’t care for him.”
“There we differ, Mary,” Anne interjected mildly. “I’m pretty sure she would like him. I think she would like that he’s a thinker - and he’s quiet, but not shy.”
“I agree with you, Anne,” Charles said. “He is just Mrs. Russell’s sort of man. Give him a book, and he’ll read all day.”
“Yes, exactly!” Mary triumphed. “He just sits there, poring over his book, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Do you think Mrs. Russell would like that?” Mrs. Russell had to laugh, if only to partly alleviate the pressure of the uncomfortable quibble.
“Since I pride myself on being a steady person, I can’t believe there’s such a divide in how I will react to one man. Mary, you can depend on hearing my opinion as soon as I have one, but I won’t give one before I’ve met the poor man.”
“You won’t like him, I know it,” Mary repeated. Mrs. Russell changed the subject. Mary told her excitedly about seeing Sam Beckett from a distance.
“There’s someone my opinion is decided on,” Mrs. Russell said. “I’m glad you didn’t talk to him.” Anne made a mental note to tell Mrs. Russell about her family’s new stance on Sam later. The finality in Mrs. Russell’s voice checked mary’s enthusiasm. She had to save her evaluation of knowing he was a good old Virginia boy for more appreciative ears later. Anne could not risk asking about Wentworth, but she heard about him, thanks to Mary’s verbose tendencies. As Louise got better, so did he. He was almost a different person compared to last Saturday. After Louise was out of imminent danger, he decided to travel back up to D.C. for the next week or two.
After Anne explained the new situation with Sam Beckett, Mrs. Russell quickly recanted her position. She wanted to meet him very much, to form a new opinion - or maybe keep the old one. But she leaned towards forgiveness and reconciliation. If he really was sorry, and genuinely wanted to be friends again, there was no reason to let another influencer go to waste. The time with Mrs. Russell and a shower made Anne more ready to deal with plunging into the unknown that was a Vineyard dinner party. The title of clambake was meant to make it sound folksy, but no actual picnic required an updo and a working knowledge of which fork to use for salad. Mrs. Russell had taken to it like a fish to water - these were her people, after all. At the party in her floral dress, Anne knew for sure these were not her people - these were the people who walked right past her secretary’s desk. People who didn’t remember that Senator Walter had another daughter, or that she had been the one behind their ‘Get Fast, Get Fit’ campaign. Over the next couple of days, Anne’s discomfort for the elite’s elite cemented. She had a quiet but persistent dislike for the whole game; but she was in Hyannis, like it or not. So she sharpened her pencils, and organized a flowchart for research, and prepared to make the best of it.
I need to figure out Anne’s magic recipe for acquiring two new admirers per week. Even if they’re not the right one or utterly worthless, my vanity would be a little happy.
Anne spent her last two days in Uppercross at the Great House, and she had the satisfaction of knowing she was useful there. A busy day, even if you’re exhausted at the end, is worthwhile if you know for sure your efforts are actually needed. Every decision that has to be made, each minute of work takes on a sheen of its own. Mary and Charles’ boys had been enrolled in yet another weeklong summer camp - the first one had been for soccer, this one was for Nature Explorers. Anne guessed that CJ would enjoy his time in the woods, and Watler would occupy himself with stealing all the chocolate and marshmallows in sight.
So Anne’s main job was to help the Musgroves operate home base. Mr. Musgrove had to come back from Beaufort for work, but between lack of sleep and having to deal with his daughter’s mortality, he was in poor condition to make clear-headed decisions.
Early on the morning after the accident, Anne woke up on the musgrove’s couch to her phone buzzing, coming alive with updates from Charles. She stretched, pushed a sequined throw pillow away from her cheek, and once her bleary eyes could focus, read through the messages. In summary: Louise was about the same. Nothing had gotten worse, but she had talked a little. The doctor was going to run the same tests first thing, and if she felt up to it, get her propped up by the end of the day. Charles could not shout the Harville’s praises loudly enough, especially Maria.
‘She sat up with L all night, has left Mary with nothing to do. Which is good.’
This became the Louise Update Group with Anne, Charles, Mr. Musgrove, and Wentworth. Anne knew that under normal circumstances the constant interruptions a group text inevitably brings irked Wentworth, but she suspected he was glad for each one of them. She was separately getting updates from Mary about the chaos - mental and physical - Louise’s accident had caused her. The ability to turn off notifications from one individual is the best innovation since the text message.
With the resources at the Great Hall (namely, quiet and wifi), Anne was able to help the Musgroves find a house to rent for the next couple of weeks, or until Louise could be moved. Mrs. Musgrove had never been much of a traveler, and the uniform surroundings of a hotel reminded her that she was outside of her comfort zone. Having a house would give them all a safe space, and a place to make their own. And a water view, to boot! The Musgroves had felt a nebulous desire to make a home (of course the homiest people in the state wanted to establish a new one as quickly as possible), but it never would have been recognized or brought to fruition without Anne.
The next day, Chuck drove Hazel down to be with her family. Once they were all out the door and safely in Beaufort, Anne felt that she had completed a job well done. But it did leave her alone in the big house. It felt weird to be in the Great House when it was empty; where talkative humans usually reigned, the was quiet - it felt like the life had gone out of the house. It had only taken a couple of days to make all the difference. While putting away the clothing that had been frantically tossed out of closets, clearing away magazines and pizzas that had been left in a second and forgotten about, she imagined the happiness that would return here. If Louise recovered as well as the doctor had hoped, the unrestrained affection and merriment that had been the mark of the house would double and boil over. She had no doubt of what would follow the recovery; in a few months, the rooms would be full again with light-hearted people, and laughter, and the glow that surrounds a requited love - everything that was the opposite of herself.
An hour of these cheerful reflections and a rainy afternoon made her ready to leave Uppercross. She was soaked just in the dash from the Musgrove’s front door to her car (which was locked, of course, and could only be opened by the fickle lock in the passenger door). While wiping the rain off her face, Anne decided that while she was eager to be gone, she was glad for everything that had happened in that small town. There had been pain, difficulty, and unease, but it had softened over time, and shown her a strength she did not know she had. Or maybe she had known it, but she had forgotten a long time ago. And there had been some hints of reconciliation and reaching out in friendship that she never could have expected - and she would take that with her, wherever she went afterwards.
Her first ‘wherever’ was a stop at the Kellynch House on her way north. The Crofts needed approval for some changes, and the Senator had asked Anne to stop by to get the specifics and to tell him whether or not to sign off on them. He was inclined to approve, and his criteria for signing off on any proposed adjustments was that they “improved the value of the house, both immediately and long-term”. Anne guessed that this meant no tangerine walls or mounted neon lights. Not that the Crofts would ever propose changes that ridiculous - all of their requests were strictly practical. From the second she stepped in the door, Anne was sure that her father had somehow gotten the best tenants in the world. Noticing that she was still damp from her hundred meter dash in the rain, the Crofts insisted that she sit down and have some tea before any alterations were talked about. Even though it was still summer, the mixture of being soggy and sitting in the blasting AC made Anne glad to have a hot drink. Once they had exchanged the usual “how are you”s, the conversation quickly turned and focused on Louise’s accident. They compared updates, chances for a full recovery, and all the similar incidents they had ever heard of.
“I knew a girl who had a skull fracture, and she was back running marathons the next year,” Sophie said. “She was injured climbing volcanoes in Hawaii, and had to wait a lot longer for medical attention.”
“If Louise takes care of herself, I think she will be fine - but that doesn’t stop everything from being scary to the relatives. Head injuries are nothing to be sneezed at. I think everyone will feel better once they’re one hundred percent sure there’s no brain damage.”
“Oh, of course it’s frightening, especially from a parent’s perspective! And she’s so young. It’s sad, the whole thing.” The conclusion that they had come to was that, sad as the situation was, it was the result of carelessness and thoughtless action. One bad idea, and who knew what the longterm effects would be?
“It’s a mess, that’s for sure!” Admiral Croft exclaimed, slapping the table for emphasis and almost jolting Anne’s tea off the edge. “And it’s a weird way to start dating someone, letting them smack their heads and then being there for the recovery. But, to each his own, I guess.” Sophie had to step out on the covered back porch to make a call, something Anne had seen her own father do a million times. “This has to be hard for you, coming back to your house and finding all our stuff in it. But you don’t need to be worried about being formal, you can peak in any room you’d like while you’re here. Would you like to see the changes we’ve marked off for the laundry room?” The admiral's directness would have unsettled Mrs. Russell, but Anne liked it. He was coming from a kind-hearted, sincere place. It was refreshing to talk to someone in D.C. who did not have an ulterior motive.
“We haven’t really made a lot of changes,” he told as as they traversed the stairs. “Not much could be done to make this a more wonderful place. What has been done is all of Sophie’s work. I did move all the mirrors out of my closet - not all of us are as good-looking as your father. When you look like me and get to a certain age, Anne, you start avoiding mirrors. Ha!” The admiral enjoyed his joke immensely, then showed Anne the plan. “We want to make the door swing this way, so an ironing board can fold down from it. That way, washing, drying, and ironing can all be in one spot without shuffling around two square feet!”
“Sounds good to me,” Anne said, giving the offending door a nudge with her toe. “I’ll have my father sign off as soon as he can.” Afraid he had not been polite enough, the admiral jumped back in,
“But other than a change here and there, this place has been great. Tell your father we can’t find any fault with the place. It creaks a little on a windy night, but that’s character for you, and history. After being around town, we don’t know of a nicer spot in the whole District.” Sophie rejoined them at this point and added,
“It feels like home - we love it.”
“Who was that?” the admiral asked curiously, pointing at the phone still in her hand.
“Oh, it was Cap. Louise is out of intensive care, and stood up for a while this morning. Progress in leaps and bounds.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Anne said, leaning against the wall that used to hold their family photos. ON their way down the stairs, Sophie said off-handedly,
“Oh, and Cap asked me how you were doing.”
“Really?” the disbelief in her voice was not manufactured.
“He wanted to make sure you were okay after a tough couple of days. He thought you had put in more effort than most of the Beaufort crowd. I told him you seemed well, and looked better than ever. Action suits you, Anne.” Anne smiled, warming up in the care of the Crofts. From the way Sophie talked to and about her, Anne had the pleasant suspicion that she was a favorite of this new friend.
Despite the Croft’s pleadings to postpone the rest of her drive until the rain had stopped (or at least until after lunch), Anne needed to get back on the road. Walking the familiar route to the front door, Anne realized that going back to her old home with her ex’s sister had been fine - just fine. She hadn’t bumped into Wentworth there, and it had not been horrifically awkward. She had to laugh at herself for all the time she had spent worrying about this first trip back. The admiral grabbed an umbrella from the rack and sheltered Anne’s way back to her car.
Yes it’s late and yes it’s short, but there was some stuff in this chapter that just needed to wait for the next. Also, I would just like to state my opinion on Louise: young love turned her into a punkinhead, but I think she’s not a hopeless case.
Anne was interrupted from her light morning reading of The Yellow Wallpaper by a gentle tapping on the hotel door. Swinging the door open, she found Hazel, hair plopped on top of her head in a top knot, feet bare.
“I thought you might be up!” she stage whispered. “Do you want to go walk on the beach?” Anne decided that for a bit of friendship and the ocean, her reading could wait. Hazel curled up on the bed while Anne changed out of her pajamas.
“What are you doing up anyways,” she called in the direction of the bathroom. Anne’s head popped around the corner.
“Just geeky research stuff.” Hazel flopped back on the bed.
“I won’t do another second of it once I get out of college,” she groaned. “If I have to learn one more way to cite a source I’ll scream Right there in class, I’ll just stand on my desk and scream. They’ve already made me learn MLA, APA, And Turabian - there can’t be many more, can there? Oh, Anne. No! You can’t wear a cardigan.” Anne tugged at the offending sweater.
“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head in the mirror.
“First of all, it’s summer. The season of pumpkin spice lattes is a long ways away. Secondly, we’re at the beach. Thirdly, that’s a perfectly nice shirt you have under it, and Lauren Conrad says not to layer just for the sake of layering. Fourthly -”
“Cease and desist!” Anne was cracking up. “Look, I’m putting the cardigan away. Does that make you happy?”
Once they were padding through the hotel hallway, Anne asked quietly,
“What got you up this early? You normally need more rest than this.” This was a tactful way of saying that they never usually had a Hazel sighting until ten or eleven.
“I’ve just been thinking,” her usually carefree face drew into a small frown. Anne nodded wisely. Thinking could be a troublesome thing. “About Chuck and me,” Hazel clarified. “I think being around Ben and seeing him be so miserable after losing Faith, it made me wonder what would happen if Chuck - went away.” They were outside now, so they could talk at normal volumes (for Anne, still quiet, for Hazel sincere and a little loud). “If anything happened, Anne, I’d just die. Whatever Chuck and I have, it’s good, and I would be an idiot to let it go.” Anne smiled, glad to see that Hazel’s own ponderings had brought her around to this conclusion. Both Hazel and Louise stood a chance to grow into their parents; good, kind people with their heads screwed on straight. Once they were on the sand, the topic pivoted.
“I think the beach is good for everyone!” Hazel declared. “The sunshine, fresh air - even the salt water is good. If you’re sick, it helps you get well, and if you’re healthy, it only makes you better! I really think Doc Shirley should retire to the beach, sooner rather than later. His arthritis is only getting worse. He and Miz Shirley have spent their lives working and doing good, but it’s sort of depressing to think of them living out their last days in tiny Uppercross, isn’t it? We should suggest that they retire here. I just doubt we could convince him to stop work, but we really shouldn’t glorify the ‘work til you drop’ philosophy, should we? Chuck could do his job just as well, I bet. And he shouldn’t run himself ragged, that would just break Miz Shirley’s heart.” Anne just smiled and nodded, with an occasional,
“I think so,” or “Definitely.” It was clear Hazel needed to get her thoughts out in the open, and since it seemed to the advantage of everyone in question, Anne tried to be as encouraging as she could.
“I wish Mrs. Russell were around Uppercross. I’ve always heard she had great sway over everyone, and she’s able to convince anyone of anything! Of course, I’m a little afraid of her, because she’s so smart and so influential, but I respect her a lot. I wish we had a neighbor like her. She could convince Doc to retire.” Anne thought it was funny how the things that advance our plans suddenly become the best option for other people - and how anyone who can help bring the plan to reality became valuable. She only had time to say,
“She has been a wonderful neighbor,” before Hazel spotted Wentworth and Louise coming toward them. They had also decided to go for a walk before breakfast, but as soon as the four were all walking together, Louise remembered that she needed to buy something in Beaufort. They were all invited to go along, and they all did.
When they came up to the narrow wooden steps that ran up and over the dunes, a guy who had been planning to walk down at the same time politely stood aside, to let them come up. As they passed him, Anne’s face caught his eye and he looked at her with a sincere admiration she could not brush off. Anne was looking attractive; time outside had restored a bloom to her face, and her eyes had sprung back to life, as if reflecting the movement and energy of the water. It was clear that this stranger took notice, but not in an ogling way. Wentworth looked back at her immediately in a way that showed the stranger’s admiration had not gone unobserved. He gave her a quick glance, that seemed to say even he could see some of the old Anne Elliot again. Louise led the still somewhat sleepy band of people into town, and picked up her necessities at a gas station. Hazel and Anne had to wait outside, because of the faded ‘No shirt, no shoes, no service’ sign that was peeling on the door. After that, they meandered back to the hotel for a continental breakfast. Anne slipped upstairs to slip on some shoes, and nearly bumped into the stranger from the steps on her way off the elevator. She had wondered if they were staying in the same hotel. Once again, he seemed happy to see her, and to think of her - well, Anne could see that he thought she was beautiful. He apologized quickly, and when she tried to blame it on her absent-mindedness he would not allow any of the fault to be hers. He was about Anne’s age, maybe a little older. Although he was not strikingly handsome (certainly not a movie star in the making), he wasn’t an eyesore either. He carried himself well. When the elevator doors shut, and Anne was alone with the sleepy jazz music, she wished she had gotten his name for future stalking (when admirers are few and far between, you have to make the most of them).
Breakfast was the usual free hotel fare: burnt coffee and watery orange juice, stale bagels, cereal that had lost its crunch, thin yogurt, and waxy fruit for the health conscious. The company was what made breakfast nice, and from her past five years in and out of conference centers, Anne knew how to make the buffet offerings into a decent breakfast. Toasted bagels don’t taste nearly as old, especially when slathered with whatever butter substitute they are serving. Drink as much of the orange juice as you can stand, and eat a banana - at least the fake skin comes off of that. Since they were in the breakfast nook alone, they could spread out however they liked. The whole room was brought to the window when the owner of the beautiful red convertible parked by the window loaded his suitcase, and started up the engine.
“That’s a classic car, isn’t it?” and the purr of the engine was enough to bring Charles bounding over to the window, and Wentworth’s seemingly off-handed,
“Oh! That’s the exact same guy we passed this morning,” was enough to bring everyone else. He said it with a quick look at Anne, so she made sure to take her time walking over. The Musgrove girls agreed that it had to be him, and they all watched until he disappeared around the corner. They all returned to their seats and stale breakfasts. Soon enough a disinterested college student in an oversized uniform wandered over to the buffet to check on the stockpiles of food. As soon as he spotted him, Wentworth asked,
“Do you know who the man who just checked out was?”
“Since it’s only me on duty on this floor, yeah.”
“Just you? That’s rough.”
“I guess.”
“But who was he?”
“Um, a Sam Beckett? Wait, that wasn’t a breach of client confidentiality, was it?”
“Since you are neither a doctor nor lawyer, I don’t think so. Thanks!” Wentworth clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and the kid looked longingly at his desk.
“Sam Beckett?” Mary, usually the most clueless person in the room (or maybe the state), for some unfortunate reason remembered this name. “I thought I recognized his face! He was friends with our sister Liz. Anne, Charles, don’t you think it was him? He almost was going to take over the firm - did he say anything about Elliot Political Consulting?”
“No, but I think he’s planning to get a good job soon enough. Like, big money. He was talking about moving into a new house and getting new business cards made. His old card said something about waffles, I think?”
“That has to be him!” Mary said triumphantly. “How bizarre is it that we see him after all these years! I wish I had looked at him more closely, I was just looking at the car. How amazing!” The employee retreated to the safe haven of his desk as soon as Mary’s interrogation had finished.
“The chances of meeting an old friend in a town like this are small enough, it has to be predestined that you didn’t actually meet him.” Wentworth said amusedly. When she could finally wrangle Mary’s attention, Anne quietly tried to convince her that running into this particular Mr. Beckett would not be a good thing.
“Our dad hasn’t spoken to him since everything happened,” she informed her. “Not to mention Liz would be furious if we were friendly to him.”
“Well now she’s found her zen or whatever, surely she’s over it be now. It’s not like a breakup years ago is worth losing the connection. You’ll have to mention seeing him when you hear from the Hyannis crowd.” Anne did not respond - convincing Mary she was wrong at this point would be about like having a debate with a sand dune. While Mary was in the habit of sharing any and all information, Anne censored information to avoid irritation, conflict, and possible damage to the Hyannis Elliot’s ego. Mary never communicated with them herself, so it was up to Anne to keep up a sporadic and unsatisfactory talks with Liz.
Just as they were finishing up breakfast, the Harvilles and Ben Wick walked through the lazily sliding doors. They had gotten a babysitter, and were going to show the Uppercross contingent the sights. Thanks to a trolley-style bus, they could leave their cars behind and see the town mostly by foot. The plan was to see all the highlights, have a late lunch, and then get back to Uppercross. Wentworth had a meeting in D.C. the next morning, and Mary wanted to make sure Mrs. Musgrove was not feeding the boys all junk processed food. Once they started walking, Anne found Ben gravitating towards her. Much to her delight, their conversation the night before had not driven him away. She got to see the town with Ben at her side, comparing notes on Byron (interesting poetry, rather awful human). They walked by the house where Blackbeard the pirate had supposedly hung his wife and killed her lover on the stairs.
“They say the blood stain still seeps through the stairs, no matter how much they clean it, or what carpet they put over it,” Ben said, seeming to relish the macabre interest of it all. Most of the highlights of Beaufort were admittedly pirate related - the Maritime Museum (in an old ship builder’s shed) was centered around artifacts dredged up from his old ship, sunk just off the coast. In the church graveyard, surrounded by rough old stones and Spanish Moss, Ben provided more ghost stories. Most of the other sights involved food: legendary fudge, ice cream, and craft beer at The Queen Anne’s Revenge - local bar and sandwich shoppe.
When they were walking along the main street boardwalk, she found Ben replaced by Will.
“Anne,” he said quietly, “I can’t tell you how much good you’ve done Wick, getting him to talk that much. It can’t be good for him to be shut away here, I know, but what can we do? We have to stick together.”
“Time will give some distance to everything that will help,” Anne encouraged him. “He is still a young mourner. Give him more time, he’ll come around to himself if you give him the chance to. I understand you lost Faith last winter.”
“Last November,” Will nodded painfully. “And I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Plus he was...unavailable at the time, due to work. Wentworth was the only one who could get to him. He stayed with Ben for the week, flew home with him, and supported all of us through the funeral. I don’t know what his superiors thought, but we were all so busy with arranging - everything. It feels like Ben is the last part of Faith left. We loved him for his own sake of course, but you can imagine how important he is to us now.” He was clearly overwhelmed by the subject, and after abruptly clearing his throat he changed the subject. Anne went along the rabbit trail with him, and helped him by pointing out a boat inscribed with the name Thanks a Yacht.
After lunch they were all supposed to go their separate ways, but Will mentioned that there was one more sight to be seen, if they could find the time: Fort Macon. Mary and Charles were not sure if they had the time, but after hearing about the views, Louise became determined. And now once she was set on something, she was a force to be reckoned with.
“It won’t take long,” she argued. “We’ll just walk through the fort, take another quick walk on the beach, then we can go. We checked out this morning, so we can just leave straight from the fort.” The group agreed, and in half an hour they were all at the old Civil War fort. The fort was mostly brick and cement, with iron intertwined and an occasional well-groomed patch of grass. All of the old passages were open to the public. The hallways all connected in an off-kilter pentagon, kitchens led to mess halls, to bedrooms that would have been packed with bunks, to long stables. The Uppercross tourists and their hosts spread out into pairs, some taking in everything in at a glance, others wandering slowly and reading the plaques. Anne found herself bringing up the rear with Ben. Considering the location, where you could see the ocean and flyers for the Marlin Festival were everywhere, The Old Man and the Sea simply had to be discussed. Anne was glad to have his company, and gave him her full attention. She told him about dusting off work on her thesis, and his eyes lit up. He offered to review it, once she was finished.
“Not that I could teach you anything, obviously,” he added quickly. “But if you want another set of eyes on it.”
After they had climbed fifty shallow steps to the lookout, they soaked in the sun and wind for as long as practical time constraints would allow, when they filed back down. Everyone else was happy to walk quietly, except for Louise. Spotting Wentworth solidly on the ground, she said,
“Look out, Captain!” and jumped the rest of the way down. Thinking quickly, Wentworth caught her outstretched arms and swung her safely to the fort’s brick floor. They were in the habit of exchanging playful, affectionate contact, so this did not surprise anyone in the group. Anne wondered if he could feel the eye roll she wanted to release. Louise thought this little thrill was fun, and to show her admiration for the catcher, ran back up the stairs, stopping higher than before.
“That’s too high, Louise,” he said offhandedly. “You can’t even jump that far, much less have me catch you. Louise just gave him a cocky grin and said,
“I’m determined, so I will!” and launched herself off the steps. A second too late, he started after her, arms outstretched again. Her jump had been thrown off by catching her foot on the step. With a thud that reverberated off the walls of the fort, her head hit the bottom step. Her body went limp, her eyes closed as her head lolled to the side. For a split second, they all stood still and silent, trying to process the horrible sight. Then all was movement and noise. Wentworth, who was closest, gathered her up, trying to wake her up, searching her suddenly pale face for signs of life.
“She is dead! She is dead!” Mary wailed. Hazel panicked, and would have tripped herself on the steps if Anne and Ben had not caught her between them, and lowered her to sit.
“Just stay put,” Anne instructed with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder.
“Can no one help me?” Wentworth burst forth desperately. Ben and Anne rushed down the steps, and Charles disentangled himself from his panicking wife. Fearful of too many cooks in the kitchen, Anne stood on the periphery, calling out prompts to help take care of Louise.
“Is she breathing?” Anne asked.
“Yes, very shallowly.”
“Just - keep her head very still.” Anne whipped out her phone and with trembling hands dialed 911. While it rang, Anne caught Ben’s eye.
“See if they have a medic on call at the visitor’s center. Or ask around for a nurse, anyone with medical training.” He went sprinting across the grounds and over the drawbridge. Seconds were flying by. Of the three rational forces there, it was hard to tell who was the most distressed: Anne, Wentworth, or Charles, who was really a loving brother, hanging over his sister’s face, rogue tears running down his ruddy face. Anne was trying to quiet Mary, comfort Hazel, and rack her brain for anything they could do.
“Anne, what next? What next?” Charles asked brokenly. Wentworth, in a daze, also looked to her.
“Check gently for other wounds than that one on her forehead, and try to get a read on her pulse. We can’t move her, but try to elevate her head just a little.”
By the time the ambulance showed up, a small group of concerned onlookers had gathered. With dread they retraced their steps of just an hour ago, Louise on a stretcher, Anne and Wentworth on either side. Charles rode with her in the ambulance and the rest of them followed in the entourage. They were all resigned to the waiting room to sit and hope for the best. After the sun and warmth all day, the blasting AC felt frigid. It was difficult to keep track of time - ER waiting rooms have their own logic and time, florescent lights flickering, and nurses in all matching scrubs passing - how could they stand short sleeves? The TV looped local news over and over again. During one of the commercial breaks, Wentworth came over and sat beside Anne.
“Someone needs to call her parents,” he said in a hushed voice that excluded all of the other waiters from their conversation.
“We shouldn’t call anyone until we’ve seen the doctor, and know more about what is going on - what good could calling them with no conclusions and a passed out daughter do?”
“We can’t keep it from them.”
“Just not now. If we haven’t talked to anyone in another half hour, one of us can call Mr. Musgrove. He’ll know the best way to break it to her mom.” Wentworth nodded, and Charles poked his head out of the swinging door, waving to them.
“Anne! Wentworth!” They walked over, leaving the rest with a reassuring thumbs-up from Charles. “She came back to, but hasn’t talked much since. The doctor seems to be hopeful.”
“She has a small fracture in her skull,” the doctor said, pointing to a small line on the X-ray. “Fortunately, her brain is mostly untouched. There is a small concussion, but no bleeding.” Wentworth leaned against the door frame, as if all the energy he had been using to keep himself together had just left him. “We will need to monitor her carefully for several days, and keep her for a week, just to make sure she doesn’t show any signs that will make me rethink the diagnosis.”
“And after that?” Anne asked.
“She’ll be recovering for six to twelve months. The worst of it will be in the first weeks, after that she’ll just have to be careful.”
The anxious group waiting in the emergency room stood up when Anne reappeared, then flopped back on the chairs in relief. All of their worst fears - permanent damage, hours to live, paralysis, all of them were quelled. The Harvilles had rounded up food from a nearby McDonald’s, and the whole group inhaled it in the parking lot, heat radiating from the pavement. Emergencies have a tendency to steal your appetite, then eventually make you ravenous. The pressure had been released, and they could start working out the logistics. Louise obviously had to stay put. Charles refused to leave Beaufort - they had barely been able to drag him away from the hospital bed for food. Wentworth positively had to go back to Washington for the mandatory meeting. Hazel was, in her own words, virtually useless. She couldn’t stand still in the hospital room, and the sight of her still sister made her nervous. Anne accidentally walked into the pow-wow happening behind Charles’ car.
“So I will take Hazel home,” Wentworth was saying, “And Mary - I assume she’s wanting to get back to CJ and Walter now. If anyone’s going to stay and help you look after Louise, it should be Anne. No one could take care of someone like her. She’s capable, and has a good mind for it.” Anne stumbled to a halt at the trunk, trying to process his words and the emotions that came with them. Then she rounded the corner, and Wentworth immediately turned and said,
“You would stay, I know. Will you stay and help Charles take care of her?” His tone was urgent but gentle, in a way that can only be understood with years of relationship groundwork. She felt blood rush to her face, and he seemed to remember the situation and take a step back.
“Of course, I am happy to be here as long as I need to be,” she said, noticing the relief and a flicker of admiration in his eyes. It all seemed to be arranged. Suitcases were shuffled to the correct car, hotel reservations made. Wentworth’s car made a coughing, sputtery sound when he tried to start it, and no degree of coaxing or jumper cables would get the engine to start. Anne offered her car, and after another game of musical chairs with the luggage, everything seemed finished until Mary got wind of the plan. All of the created peace was thrown to the wind.
“Why on earth would Anne stay?” she demanded, tears pooling in her already red eyes. “Anne is nothing to Louise, and I am her sister. It’s not fair! I can be just as useful as her, probably more because of all my medical research.” Anne could not be sure, but she thought she heard a snort from Ben’s direction. Maybe it was just a cough. Mary carried on her torrent of words for as long as Charles could stand, then her husband caved. Anne had never yielded more reluctantly to the insistent bad plans of her sister, but there was nothing to be done. Everyone was saying their goodbyes while Wentworth drove the car off to fill it with gas. Anne stuck her hand out to Ben,
“Goodbye for now.”
“Goodbye for now,” he repeated. “You should know that I will find you on Facebook. I expect lots of vague posts about wrestling with that thesis.”
“You can count on it.”
Hazel wanted to be in the back seat, to try and sleep, which left Anne hopping in the passenger side with a bewildered and obviously dismayed Wentworth.
“I - thought Mary was going back,” he spluttered, trying to politely filter his thoughts and explain his almost horrified expression.
“Mary wanted to stay,” Anne explained simply.
“And what Mary wants, Mary gets,” he added in frustration. This cool reception was humiliating to Anne. Apparently she was only valuable when useful to Louise. Anne tried to bring her mind, whirling at a thousand thoughts per minute, in check. She needed to be fair. Everyone was under a great deal of pressure. Then again, his job was being under pressure all the time. Anne could not help but wonder if he was rethinking the opinion that a decided will was some great universal good. Like all other things, ti could turn into a monster if it was not balanced out. It could not escape him that a flexible will is sometimes more conducive to happiness than an iron one.
They both set themselves looking straight ahead, and this was the way they left Beaufort, with all of their emotions turned inside, eyes focused on the road. Anne was not sure how four hours on the road would go, but it was surprisingly natural. Both of them were focused on taking care of Hazel, whose eyes had not returned from the hundred yard stare since Louise’s head made contact with the ground. Whenever Wentworth talked, it was with the goal of making her feel better. After recovering from the jolt of Anne joining them in the car, his voice was even, quiet. Everything was set in order to keep Hazel from working herself back up. Only once she had been snoring quietly for a long time did Anne venture to quietly say,
“I wish we had never gone to that fort -”
“Please don’t talk about it!” Hazel startled, and he lowered his voice again. “If only I had not given in to her that one split second. If I had done what was right - but she looked at me, so eager, this sweet look in her eyes -” his hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“We all agreed to go,” Anne reminded him. “And I’m not sure you could dissuade Louise from doing anything right now, whether it’s putting her hair in braids, or - well, you know.” Soft classical music filled in the silence that hung in the car. He revved the engine, and the car pulled away from the ocean and towards Uppercross, hugging the curves of the winding back roads and pulling California stops at all the stop signs until they pulled into the Great House driveway.
When they crawled up the driveway, Hazel was still fast asleep, her hoodie pulled over her face.
“I have been thinking about what would be best for us to do. She shouldn’t hear the long term risks, at least not tonight, but I don’t want her to wake up alone and get confused. Will you wait with her, while i go in and talk to the musgroves? Does that sound like an okay plan?”
“Affirmative,” she said, a half smile tugging at her mouth. He started to get out of the car, looked back at her like he wanted to say something, then changing his mind quietly shut the door. The question made her happy, as a sign of friendship- but even better, a respect for her thoughts. It became a proof she hung onto that the old respect was still there, even if the love was not. Once the parents were brought up to speed and pulled back together, Hazel was brought in and put to bed. With everything settled, Wentworth drove to D.C. in one of the musgrove’s cars, which he would return to them in Beaufort as soon as the morning meetings were over.
The time was approaching for Anne to leave Uppercross. Her father and Liz were well settled in to the Hyannis House - not that she had heard from them. All of her intelligence came from Mrs. Russell in the form of long texts.
‘Hello, Anne!’ one read.
‘I hope you are well. Now that CJ is on the mend and Mary seems to be well, can we expect you to join us up here? Senator Walter and Liz are doing alright, and have settled into life on the island just fine, but I think you being in the house would be good for them. And you could visit all the museums in Boston!
Love and Hugs,
Mrs. Russell’
Mrs. Russell always signed her texts. Although Anne had explained how contacts work, to her friend, it was like killing apps: too complicated and electronic to remember. So, she signed texts sent from a phone that was somehow always low on battery.
Anne felt that it was time to move on - CJ was back to normal, and thanks to plenty of summer activities, Mary was in top form. Mary had wanted to keep Anne’s car for the summer (preventing an expensive repair on her own), and had even arranged for Mrs. Russell to come and pick Anne up, but Anne put her foot down. She would not let the scheme move forward. For one thing, she did not want her movement dependent on her father and Liz all summer, and for another, she did not want to risk Mrs. Russell and Wentworth running into each other. Since their interactions had always been terse, and Anne could not see a scenario where them meeting back up could be a positive thing. Mrs. Russell was not even aware Wentworth had been around for all of these weeks; Anne was afraid of what she would think if she saw them together. Probably that Wentworth was a little too comfortable in his own skin, and Anne not at all. The week she was preparing to leave (car and all), the Crofts were also packing up to go back to the Kellynch House. While the admiral was tying up the loose ends of his work, Wentworth disappeared for two whole days, without a trace or text. While Anne knew better than to ask questions, that did not stop the rest of the Uppercross crew from flooding him with them once he showed back up Thursday evening at Music in the Park. After changing phones and losing contacts, Will Harville finally gotten a hold of him - it turned out he had been moved from Mexico to the North Carolina coast, just a couple of hour’s drive away. Once he got the voicemail, Wentworth had jumped into his car and driven straight there.
“Without packing?” Mrs. Musgrove asked in wonderment.
“He always keeps a travel case and an extra set of clothes in his trunk, I’ve seen them,” Louise told her.
“I’m sure it’s just so he never has to show up to an important meeting with ketchup on his shirt,” Anne said without thinking to Mrs. Musgrove. Why was she covering for him? With a wink for Louise, Wentworth said,
“For quick escapes.”
Will Harville was was now working in internal affairs and was stationed within Fort Bragg, but he and his family lived in the small seaside town of Beaufort. Wentworth’s descriptions of his friend and the beautiful land he lived on piqued curiosity in the group. The young people were all wild to go, since the Crofts were going home and Wentworth was talking about going back. Louise, who was now armed with the idea that always sticking to her guns was a virtue, wore down all opposition, and it was decided. They would go to Beaufort that weekend - Charles, Mary, Anne (leaving for Hyannis as soon as the jaunt was over), Hazel, Louise, and Wentworth. The initial plan was to make it a day trip, leaving early in the morning and returning late at night. The concerned Mama Musgrove talked them out of it - they should stay overnight, so they didn’t have to drive while they were tired. This sounded reasonable enough, so on Friday they all set out with overnight bags packed. Despite meeting at the Musgrove’s house at a reasonable hour in the morning, it took til after lunch to get out the door. Mrs. Musgrove kept fussing over the arrangements, making sure they had directions, the hotel confirmations, sunscreen - you name it, she was double-checking it. Once they were finally in the car, the girls kept running back in for phone chargers, sunglasses, auxiliary chords. At first it was humorous, but after a while, Anne could feel Wentworth’s skin starting to crawl with every delay. She could tell he was itching to just get on the road. Once they were en route in their three car caravan, Anne could finally ease into four hours of quiet, blissfully lonely drive time.
After checking in at their hotel, the first order of business was unquestionably to walk down to the ocean as quickly as possible. No one even took the time to change, all the shoes were abandoned and jeans were rolled up and they walked until the waves were washing over their feet. The group meandered at the ocean as long as their hungry stomachs would allow - but when being reunited with the ocean, a person has to linger, don’t you think? Once they had payed their respects to the sea, Wentworth led them all into town to have dinner at the Harvilles. Beaufort and the surrounding beaches were quiet, moreso because it was past the 4th of July. All of the houses in town were tidy, sturdy little things - some historic, none spectacular. The main street ran parallel to the harbor, which at certain times of year is packed full of yachts next to tiny fishing boats. While at the ocean the wind ran wildly through anything in its way, but somehow there was always a gentle breeze in Beaufort. The Harvilles lived near this main street, a row or two back, in a snug sea shanty which was probably originally built for fisherman who didn’t want to make their way inland every day after work. A knock on the door, and people tumbled out; three grown humans well known by description, and a small gaggle of children. Will and Maria Harville welcomed the group and corralled the circling but happy kids. With them was Ben Wick, a former colleague of both Wentworth and Will, who was staying with the family. Cap had filled everyone in on Ben’s story back at the park, when he had reappeared.
They had worked together in Munich, and by all accounts Ben’s work there had been invaluable. Wentworth had praised him in such glowing terms that all of the Musgroves and Anne were inclined to like him right off the bat. Ben had been engaged to Harville’s sister, and was recovering from her loss. While he was away serving in the Spanish consulate, she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer. Not wanting him to remember her in a hospital bed, she kept it from him until it was too late for him to visit her. They had been waiting a year or two to get married, to get more established on their own before joining together. Ben had left her smiling and shooing him away in an airport, and the next time he saw Faith she was in a casket, and strangers were saying conciliatory nothings to him. Cap did not think it was possible for a man to love a woman more deeply than Ben did Faith, or that it was possible to feel the loss of a love more than he did. Maybe he was not as resilient, and had to feel everything thoroughly before he could move on - it was part of his process. He had large, sweeping emotions and a reserved nature that made him hold them in, so his sorrows echoed over in his own mind, growing louder with each reverberation. Since he preferred reading to active pursuits, it was well-nigh impossible to get him into the sun and fresh air for the Vitamin D his almost-sister-in-law Maria was sure he needed. The only way to lure him out there was to set up a seat, and tell him to keep an eye on the kids. He loved the energetic little Harvilles, so he would soak in the sun with a book and an ear bent towards their laughing shrieks. The loss of Faith had only brought Ben and the Harvilles closer together - he had been put on a leave of absence due to the depression that followed her death, so he found home with them. Being around other people with needs and griefs of their own is a good way to quiet the echoes. And the quiet town, the nice people surrounding, and being close to the sea was all to his taste, perfect for helping him recover. ‘And yet,’ Anne thought, after observing him for a while, ‘His heart is sorrowing with some hope. I can’t believe he will be down forever. He is younger than I am, at least in his mind, and twenty-eight is different in a man, as far as society is concerned. I bet no one has ever asked him if he’s adopting cats yet. He stands a solid chance to bounce back and be happy with another person.’
Everyone shook hands in a friendly flurry. Will was a tall, dark man with the most delicious South African accent you have ever heard. Right at the start he came off as solid and dependable, with a broad smile. Ben looked (and was) the youngest of the trio, but despite his comparatively short stature it was clear he could hold his own amongst his colleagues. He had a nice face, tinged with melancholy (just as expected), and he kept himself distant from the heart of the conversation. The Harvilles welcomed everyone into their home with zest and burritos. They were warm, easy people - they never thought badly enough of other people to wonder what other people might be thinking of them. Somehow their house mimicked the owners; no one could dream of being uncomfortable or unwelcome there. Details of the Harville’s lives were strewn about the house in an uncalculated way. Looking around, Anne spotted items from cultures across the world: bead curtains from India, a gigantic seashell, a mask from Venice, a map of Central America tacked to the wall. Once dinner was served up, the kids ate at the kitchen table while the adults settled in and amongst the furniture in the living room. Truthfully, the room was so small only a big heart would think there was plenty of room for everybody - but somehow they all fit. Will Harville did not read if it was not required of him, but Ben had filled the shelves with collections of beautiful classics. Anne noticed a slender volume of Keats in the shelf at her elbow, beside Shakespeare’s sonnets and The prophet. The group smushed into the living room was rowdy, but in the best comfortable-with-each-other-laugh-from-the-heart kind of way. Watching how the Harvilles and Ben cared for Wentworth, she thought of the good it did him, having a select few always in his corner. As they all laughed and relaxed, Anne was struck with the thought, ‘These could have all been my friends’ and she had to push back the waves of regret that followed. Anne thought of the happiness they left behind as they walked back through Beaufort, to their hotel and away from the Harville’s. Louise, who was walking beside her, burst into praise, admiring the service, all of it’s members, and any of its output.
“I don’t know if it’s being overseas or what, but somehow these diplomats are some of the best people in the world!” and other high-praising exclamations were thrown around. They really knew how to live well, and they only deserved admiration and love. Anne cringed for her friend’s infatuated, sweeping statements. By now, Anne was hardened to the presence of Wentworth. While she could not be unaware of him being in the room, she was not on edge anymore. She was far more comfortable than she could have imagined at first. Their polite interactions (they never got any further) were now no big deal. Like water off a duck’s back. A conflict-avoiding, lonely duck.
Since they Harville kids had to go to bed, Will and Ben came over to the hotel for more catching up. The Musgroves took over the lobby, pulling vinyl covered chairs into a semi-circle away from reception. Although he had originally seemed overwhelmed by Musgrove and company, Ben had still come. He was quiet, pulling up a chair beside Anne, a little ways back from the main group. While Wentworth and Harville led the chattering group on the other side of the room, regaling them with restructured stories from when they served together. Escapades and laughter permeated that side of the room, while Ben stayed quiet. After long enough side by side on the outside, Anne’s giving nature wanted to make him comfortable. He was a little standoffish and wary at first, but Anne’s mild questions carefully drew him out. Once he was talking about something he was interested in, he came alive and was easy for her to talk with. He seemed like a guy with a mind for learning and plenty of reading, although recently it had been all Lost Generation poetry. Anne was glad to have a chance to talk about poetry with someone who might understand it, and she saw the same idea in him (the Harvilles good-naturedly rolled their eyes whenever he brought up rhythm or syntax). In addition to the furious exchange of geekery back and forth, Anne hoped to do him some real good. She wanted to place the idea in his mind that depression and weight - although demanding to be felt - should still be fought. Their conversation led them there naturally, since (despite being shy) he was not hardened. It actually seemed like his feelings were happy to evade their usual restraints to find a listening ear. Having talked about poetry in general and early 20th century poets in particular and comparing British and American authors from the era, he proved himself proficient in any and all verses describing suffering, heartache, lost love, and internal agony. He had memorized some passages, and could easily pull them out of a hat to prove a point. When he said them, he looked like he very much wanted to be understood as those words giving a window into his soul.
“It might be good to not read just poetry,” Anne suggested tactfully. “Unfortunately poetry is not always safe in large doses for the people who will understand it best. The feelings that allow you to see the soul of the authors should only be experienced in small doses, I think, and all of their suffering can only feed yours at this point.” Ben looked surprised, but not hurt. He was pleased that she seemed to understand his situation, and his nodding encouraged Anne to go on. “It might be good to put some prose back into your diet,” she said. She had trod similar ground and weathered it for longer with less encouraging surroundings. “Try to start with books that are realistic, but tinged with some hope. I know Pollyanna would make you sick right about now, but what if you started with Jack London or Emerson? Victor Hugo would even be good, if you can get past the parenthetical paragraphs. Or Jane Eyre, or maybe something by Jules Vern, if you want something a little fantastical. See, you already have a list of things to try. And you could find poetry that will help you fight the gloom, if you’ll try.”
“I don’t think any medium, prose, poetry, or free verse can help me now,” Ben admitted. “I think I just have to let it run its course. But,” he added, pulling out his phone, “If you will give me names of books and poets, I will do my best to look them up, and sample all of them.” Prose was less of a challenge than poetry, but after wracking her brain she could think of some that might be better for this time of life.
“Anne Bradstreet,” he repeated, tapping the name painstakingly into his phone. “Who haven’t you read?”
“Plenty of things - I’m rusty now, I was going for my PhD so I could teach about all of this, but I haven’t really studied in years.”
“What stopped you?”
“A family emergency. After that…” Anne shrugged. “I just never got back.”
“Well, I think you would make a very good teacher.”
When the evening was over, lobby set back in order and everyone back in their rooms, Anne had to laugh at herself. Here she was, on the NC coast, preaching contentment and resignation and hope to a guy she didn’t know. In her heart of hearts she knew the preachment was to herself, as she like many preachers would not hold up well by her own standards. During the day she could sometimes convince herself that she was okay with Wentworth and Louise becoming a couple. She didn’t want to be a bridesmaid or anything, but it didn’t bother her. Not too much. Only when she was around them. But she was fine, just fine. But at night, he and Louise appeared in her dreams and her conscious brain could not lie to her and tell her it was alright. She would wake up in tears and start the justifications while she brushed her teeth and tied down her hair. At least on the morning she woke up in Beaufort, she could throw off the duvet cover and occupy her mind with her new resolution: finishing her thesis. Even if no one would ever review it, even if at the end she printed it out and it sat on the floor of her closet, she wanted to finish it. So on that morning, she shook the cobwebs off and settled at the desk to do what any self-respecting student should do when starting a paper: a thorough Googling and perusal of Wikipedia.
For the record, I never cited Wikipedia as a university student. I cited Wikipedia’s sources, which is infinitely more respectable.
Further opportunities for observing the tangled mess of feelings were all too frequent. Anne had seen enough of the situation to have an assessment of her own within the next couple of days, but she was too smart to let on at home. She knew it would probably be unsatisfactory to both Charles and Mary, because (as best she could tell) Wentworth favored Louise, but was not actually in love with either of the girls. It was a crush, which for some might (or must) end in a more solid love.
Chuck was obviously less than happy with Hazel’s disinterest, but Hazel did sometimes seemed to be torn between them. She did not appear to be blithely jumping from Chuck to Wentworth without at least a small moral quandary. It was all like a messy romantic comedy, except it was not set in new York, there was no catchy soundtrack, and the chaos was not endearing. Everything was uncomfortably in flux, so it could not be tied up in a bow as a finished product that could be enjoyed and laughed at. Anne wished she could knock all of their heads together, to show them how stupid their actions were, the potential heartache they exposed themselves to with this odd dance of almost-relationships, having many of the benefits but none of the definition. One relief was finding no malicious intent on Cap’s part - he was being an idiot, but he wasn’t being cruel. He had no clue the trouble he was causing, or could cause. As far as he knew, Chuck was a family friend in town for a visit. It never crossed his mind that he was hovering around the Musgroves for Hazel’s sake. He was only at fault for accepting (even welcoming) the attentions of two girls at once - and two sisters at that.
After a brief struggle, Chuck seemed to drop his end of the line. He turned down an invitation to a chili party at the musgroves to spend the weekend with his uncle, and to brush up on his knowledge of goats digestive tracks. After spying the enormous stack of books strewn across the backseat of his car (accompanied by fast food wrappers, laundry, and half-drunk water bottles), Mrs. Musgrove was concerned. With a grave face, she asked her husband if it was possible for a young man to study himself to actual death? Mary’s dearest hope was that his departure signaled a breakup, but Charles was constantly talking about when he would be back. There was now a reason for a vested interest in the Musgrave girls’s love life: Charles and Mary had made a bet. If Wentworth ended up with Hazel, Mary would get her spa trip to Palm Springs. If he chose Louise, and Hazel and Chuck could work things out, the family would go to Disney World (Charle’s top choice for any vacation). Anne couldn’t help but think Chuck was smart to stay away, for a while at least.
One Saturday, when Wentworth and Charles were off at a pickup soccer game, the Musgrove sisters stopped by. Anne and Mary were enjoying a quiet Saturday morning, since the boys had been sent to summer camp that morning. The Musgroves had swung by to see if Mary had any sunscreen (she had five different options, all aluminum-free, most scented like some essential oil). The girls announced that they were going for a hike on a trail about an hour away, and that it was a long hike so they assumed Mary would not want to go when they made their plans. Mary instantly sat up.
“I would love to go! Why does everyone assume I can’t handle a walk?”
“It’s in the hill country,” Hazel warned.
“They’re really almost foothills,” Louise added. “The trail is south west of us, so we’ll be near some of those old battlefields.” It was clear to Anne that Mary’s company was the opposite of what they wanted, but Mary persisted.
“All the better! I love a good long walk this time of year. A good sweat helps let the toxins out.” Anne noted the family’s habit of sharing (and oversharing) everything, including experiences. If there was any event, trip, or good meal, it had to be done together - no matter the almost hilarious inconvenience it caused, or how being together was not always actually desirable or fun. In trying to subtly talk Mary out of going, Anne might as well have been talking to the granite countertops. With Mary being determined to go, Anne thought it to be the best strategy to accept the girl’s more sincere invitation to join them. That way, it wouldn’t be just her when Charles and Wentworth got back - and she might be able to distract Mary enough to keep her somewhat out of the girl’s business. Whatever their long-range plans, Anne had a feeling that exercise was not the main goal. The girls had never shown any interest in physical exertion, since their metabolism would support all the pizza their hearts could desire. Keeping Mary off their backs would take some effort, though - why is it that the people we want to keep at arm’s length always have the sharpest ears? And why is it the people we want to guess our troubles often cannot hear us?
“I can’t imagine why they would think I wouldn’t enjoy a hike,” Mary puffed, as she and Anne made her way up the stairs to change. “Everyone thinks I am some sort of weakling, but they would have actually been disappointed if we had turned them down. They obviously came to see if we would come along. After cutting off the tags, Mary changed into the Fabletics ensemble that Liz had sent her (sponsorship perks). Anne had brought nothing appropriate for working out, so she ended up in jeans, an oversized theater camp t-shirt, and ballet flats.
Just when they were getting ready to hop in the car, Charles and Wentworth pulled into the street. One of their teammates had pulled his hamstring, leaving them with one less player than they needed for a game. They still had plenty of energy, and a desire to spend it. After a driveway shuffle, the Suburban was pulled out, and they all piled in. If Anne had somehow been warned about this turn of events, she would have stayed home. She kept with the group partly out of a (mildly sick) curiosity, and partly because she thought it would have been awkward for her to leave - it was too late now. Once they got to the trail entrance, Anne’s one goal was to stay out of everyone’s way. This was not too difficult; it was a quiet day, and they were one of two groups of walkers at the bottom of the trail. Every now and again they would all skitter to the site to make way for some heavy-duty golf carts (available for rent in the parking lot, for those who wanted to take in the views without the effort). Anne stuck with the back of the group, behind Charles and Mary. Her enjoyment of the situation replied of the situation relied on looking around, and soaking in the small gems nature had left along the trail. Wildflowers, sun shining through the leaves like stained glass, weeds nodding lazily in the breeze. Anne was glad that some of her favorite poets had used summerish terminology in their language. Granted, it was generally to describe young, robust love, but nothing makes an English major happier than a well-crafted metaphor. So Anne used them to occupy her mind in a happyish melancholy way. This distraction was not up to the task when Wentworth was in earshot, however. She could not not strain to catch snatches of his conversations with either Hazel or Louise. Not that anything she heard was earth-shattering, it was all comfortable small talk. He was definitely more interested in what Louise had to say, but then she said more for him to notice than Hazel. It is fascinating how many interests and opinions suddenly spring to life when there is a new romantic object to encourage them. For instance, after everyone had agreed about a dozen times that it was a perfect day for a hike, Wentworth commented that it was a nice day for Sophie and the Admiral to be out and about.
“They mentioned coming this way, and renting a golf cart. I’m sure they are zooming around the hills somewhere, terrorizing all people and vehicles in their path.” The Admiral’s driving skills (or lack thereof) had become notorious. It was an accomplishment for him to get to the end of the week without a new dent in his bumper or hood. Or door. “I don’t know how, but my sister still likes driving with him. She’s probably being tossed into some ditch right now, totally unphased by it.”
“You are exaggerating!” Louise laughed, a little breathless from the hill. “But even if that were exactly true, I would do the same thing in her place.”
“You would not!” Wentworth said teasingly.
“I would! If I loved someone like she loves the Admiral, I would want to always be with him. Nothing would pull us apart - and I would rather be in a ditch with him than safely on the road with someone like them.” Her voice rang through the trees with enthusiasm, and his rose to match it.”
“Really?” Then a little quieter, “I respect you for it.”
After these bursts of admiration, they both got quiet for a while. The group, guided by Hazel and Louise, took a little side-path until they got to the end with a small but nice overlook. To the left, an even bigger hill with a small waterfall running down the side, glinting in the sun. Straight ahead, an open plain (as open as Virginia gets, anyways), and to the right, a small but neat collection of mobile homes. The Musgrove girls and Mary whipped out their phones to redistribute the view as much as the limited 3G coverage would let them, because nothing says #liveauthentic like a hike and a waterfall.
“Isn’t that the Winthrop Trailer Park?” Charles asked. “Where Chuck’s uncle lives?”
“I think we should go back now,” Mary said suddenly. “I am super tired, it must’ve been those pancakes this morning. Anne had carefully made them without gluten, dairy, processed sugar, or joy - she was certain the pancakes were not the cause of Mary’s sudden fatigue. Hazel, self-conscious and embarrassed at the whole situation (welcome to the club, Hazel), was ready to go back with Mary. Charles turned to Hazel.
“You just posted that photo with a location, didn’t you?” Suddenly realizing what she had done, Hazel nodded regretfully.
“Chuck is going to see we were this close, and didn’t stop. He’ll think we are really rude, and he’d be right. We have to go down and at least say hello. You might could rest in the AC for a while, Mary.” Mary doubled down, displaying the full might of a passive-aggressive person who has been put in a corner.
“Getting back up that hill will do me much more harm than any air conditioning will help me.” After a little more pushing, she outright declared her refusal. A series of mini-debates between almost every combination in the group, led to the decision that Hazel and Charles would walk down to Winthrop, while the rest enjoyed the view. Once Hazel and Charles were safely down the hill, Mary turned to Wentworth and said,
“It’s not very nice having these connections. I’ve never visited Winthrop once.” She did not get a response, except for a fake smile. As he turned away, he gave her a contemptuous glance, which Anne understood perfectly.
There was a short stone wall at the crest of the hill, dividing the nature walk from the field and private property. Mary claimed a comfortable enough perch on it, and was content to be there as long as she was surrounded by people. When Louise and Wentworth went off to find the brook they could hear somewhere nearby, Mary started to shift around. Once they were all the way out of sight, the seat became unbearable. She was sure Louise had found a better one, probably in the shade. Anne hopped over the wall, and tried to show Mary the dry seat there. It even had back support thanks to the stones, but Mary would not be deterred from going to find Louise, and rob her of her seat. Anne, who was actually tired and developing blisters courtesy of her ballet flats, let her go. She settled in and exhaled, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wall. Shortly after Mary disappeared, she heard Wentworth and Louise’s voices slowly making their way back. The first thing she heard was Louise in the middle of an explanation.
“So I talked her into going. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being scared off from visiting Winthrop because some people are snobby about trailer parks, or rural people for that matter. I would never let someone else's opinion keep me from doing something I set out to do. When I’ve made up my mind, I’ve made up my mind. And Hazel seemed like she wanted to wander this way this morning to see Chuck - but she was going to just give up because it was the path of least resistance.”
“She never would’ve gone down the hill, if you hadn’t convinced her?”
“I’m afraid so,” Louise affirmed his suspicions with a saddened sigh.
“Well, it was a good thing for her you were here. I guessed that more was going on this afternoon than a visit to a college friend. But what will happen to Hazel when there is a more serious issue, and she meets with conflict? Your sister is a nice girl, but you are more determined, and driven. You need to infuse her with as much of your own strength as you can - you will not always be around to help her fight for her own best interest. But I’m sure you two just being around each other will help it rub off. It is the worst characteristic of a person to be too impressionable, too indecisive. You can’t count on a person like that, because their choices are only as sure as the people that surround them. If you, Louise Andrea Musgrove, would still be beautiful and happy in your later years, you should prize the strength of your mind.” He was finished, and Louise did not reply for a while. It would have surprised Anne if Louise could respond at a moment’s notice to a speech like that, grand sweeping words spoken so earnestly. She could vividly imagine the rush Louise was feeling. Without realizing it, Anne had curled herself up, making herself small as possible. Now she was quiet, scared to even breath for fear of giving herself away. They moved on, still talking. The discussion took a turn for the less impassioned, but still significant: family gossip.
“Mary is nice enough, but she just gets under my skin sometimes. Someone gave her an extra dose of the Elliot Pride, which can be so irritating!. We all wish Charles had ended up with Anne instead.” There was a thunderous pause.
“Anne and Charles dated?” Wentworth asked with a tinge of disbelief in his voice.
“Oh, yeah! They only went out for a month or so, thought.”
“I’m not sure - Hazel and I were younger at the time, but I think it happened a year or two before he and Mary started dating. I just wish it had worked out. We all would have liked to have Anne in the family much more! Mom and Dad both think it was Mrs. Russell’s fault that it didn’t happen. Charles was not studious enough for her, so she talked Anne into calling it off.” They moved away, while Anne’s emotions kept her frozen. She wished the ground would swallow her up. She could see how he would think of her now - but there had also been just enough curiosity in his voice when asking about her that caused a renewal of the unrest in her mind. As soon as she could convince her limbs to move, she went and found Mary, who Louise and Wentworth had shrewdly skirted.
Soon enough the whole group was back together again, and Anne could relax into the solitude and anonymity of getting lost in the shuffle. Charles and Hazel came back with Chuck in tow. Anne could not tell exactly what had happened, but it appeared that there had been enough give and take for them to work things out. Although a little sheepish, they were definitely happy to be together. Being energized by more than a downhill walk, they walked in step well ahead of their friends. All signs now pointed to Louise and Wentworth. It looked like Charles was going to win his trip to Disney World, after all. When the pod of people had to thin out to let someone pass, they still stuck together - even when the other side of the path was not required, they were paired up. After a while, everyone was walking in couplets. Chuck and Hazel, chattering in reconciled bliss. Wentworth and Louise, seemingly oblivious to whatever else was going on. Mary and Charles trying to freeze each other out, and Anne stumbling along with her own thoughts. Once they got back to the main trail, there a wide creek dividing them from a paved path for the more direct course to hillside views. After a cheery clatter and booming,
“Oops! Sorry, Sophie!” the Crofts appeared on the other side of the creek. Recognizing their friends, they all stopped and called across the water. Hearing the miles they had already walked and knowing there was another mile and a half to go, they offered the seat on the back to any of the girls who wanted to cut the walk short.
“We are headed straight to Uppercross after this, we could drive any of you home.” The offer was general, and was generally declined. The Musgrove girls were not tired (certainly not enough to abandon a potential date). Mary was offended, either because she was not asked before all the others, or because yet another person had assumed she was a bad hiker, or because she couldn’t be left out of a party. Probably a mix of all of them. They were all starting to walk again, and the Admiral to careen off. Stepping quickly across a couple of stones, Wentworth crossed the creek in a couple of leaps. He caught up to the golf cart, and said something inaudible to his sister. The cart backed up, and Sophie cupped her hands to her mouth to make a megaphone.
“Anne, I’m sure you’re tired after a busy week! Come over and join us! Please?” Anne was still solidly on the trail, and although she instinctively wanted to turn them down, her protests were cut short by the Admiral adding his kind insistence. Without a word, Wentworth crossed to the middle of the creek, and held out his hand to help her across. When their eyes met for a split second, she thought, ‘Oh, my poor heart’. It wasn’t a tears-rushing, Niagara Falls kind of moment, but one of an old wound being split apart, the pain familiar and manageable but somehow deeper. He steadied her as she teetered across, only letting go when she was safely on the other bank. Despite the Croft’s words and waves, she knew that it was him putting her on the back of the cart. She could only explain it as him seeing her getting worn down in her city shoes, and trying to give her rest. She couldn’t shake the view of his thoughts toward her that his small act provided. This brief moment was the interpretive key to all of their interactions since he came back. She understood him now. He could not find it in himself to forgive her, but this did not mean he was numb to her. Even though he condemned her for her past actions, even though he still held an unfair level of resentment, even though he was on the brink of another relationship, even though he did not let the thought of her impact his daily plans, he still could not see her in pain without wanting to give her relief. From the instant he held out his hand, in a way that was equally unexplainable and sure, she just knew. Two people do not spend a year learning to understand each other without having some instincts and intuition left over, just like you don’t forget the story of your favorite character when you have lost the tattered copy of your favorite book. Similarly, you don’t spend so long caring about a person without having some fragments of it embedded in your soul, even years later. His actions were the last remains of the old feelings, an impulse of pure (but unacknowledged) friendship. It was proof of his warm and ultimately kind heart, which she could not think of without a pounding simultaneous feeling of pleasure and pride in him, and pain for herself. She wasn’t sure which emotion outweighed the other.
She answered her new companions automatically, at first. They were five minutes down the road before anything they said started to sink in. Once she awoke from her reverie, she found they were talking of “Frederick”. Amused as she was by the awful name, she was uneasy with the subject.
“He certainly intends to settle with one of those two girls, Sophie,” the Admiral said over the hum of the engine. “But there is no telling which one. Honestly, I can’t tell them apart. But he wouldn’t be making a hovercraft out of himself if he wasn’t interested in one of them. If there was a war going on, he would’ve made up his mind already. Nothing like being faced with your own mortality to help with big life decisions. How quickly did you and I meet and get married, Sophie? I know it was months, not this years-long process that is so popular now.”
“I think we’d better not disclose that,” Sophie laughed. “Anne would not believe we are actually happy together. She’ll think this was a shotgun wedding!” The Admiral grinned and patted his wife’s knee affectionately. He should not have taken a hand off the steering wheel. They were in danger of running into the creek when Sophie leaned over and coolly gave the steering wheel a gentle tug. Once they were back on course, the Admiral said,
“I just wish Frederick would make up his mind, and bring one of them back to Kellynch to visit us, once we’re back. They’re sweet, they’re funny - they would make excellent company!”
“They’re both very nice,” was Sophie’s less enthusiastic endorsement, which made Anne venture a guess that her more keen eye had seen enough to think neither girl was quite good enough for her brother. “And the family is sweet as well. He could do much worse - oooh, Stephen, look out for that post!” Another quick correction on Sophie’s part, and the post got to live another day. Anne watched and even laughed a little at this collaborative style of driving. She thought this was probably how they managed life together, with Sophie’s judicious adjustments keeping them out of the metaphorical ditch. Being around the Crofts without her family or Wentworth made her realize how much she genuinely got along with them. She found she could be herself easily around both of them. With Sophie’s broad travels and cultural studies, they did not run out of things to talk about. As they drove home, Anne bathed in the warmth of having someone to talk to with common interests and opinions. She had gone so long in her current state, she had forgotten that she was lonely. Having someone want to hear what she had to say, and even hold an intelligent, enjoyable discussion made her remember a missing piece. As she watched the rows of pine trees fly by the car window, she thought that she and Sophie would have been friends regardless of any relationship to Wentworth - and she wondered if the friendship would have grown more if she had never met him.
I thought about alternately titling this installment ‘something mildly pleasant finally happens to Anne’. I have many feelings about this chapter, and this book in general.
Me, literally every time I read, “I hate to hear you talking...as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days.”
