by Don Jacobson
“Mama dragooned her sister, and the two of them have barely left the nursery since last night. Aunt Philips has taken charge of the older children. I would not wonder if she ultimately convinced our uncle to take in one or more as his own. She has always wanted children. And knowing our Aunt, she will probably crow that she never had to endanger her figure to get a family!
“Mrs. Hill’s daughter is caring for the baby girl as well as serving as a general nursemaid for the entire crowd.
“And, as for Mama…I have been here nearly a full day, and I have seen her but briefly. She is positively entranced with the baby boy you brought out from town. She holds him, cuddles him. I have watched her change him. Mama! Change nappies? She sits with Mrs. Dixon as he nurses.
“Mary, what have you done with our mother?”
Mary chuckled, imagining Fanny Bennet abandoning her nerves to nurture an infant. This lightened the weight pressing down on her soul. She felt a new energy flowing through her, supplied by those who truly loved her the most (but one).
“Well,” she exclaimed, “There is little we can do right now. I need to move. I have been still for 20 hours. Lizzy, there is not enough light to trek up Oakham, but would you find a turn in the garden agreeable? You, too, Jane, Miss Darcy, Colonel. A walk would be just the thing!”
With that, Miss Bennet made a late start to her day. Yet there was a shadow behind the smile that brightened her face.
Chapter XX
December 24, 1811 dawned clear and crisp. For the first time in two days, the scent of smoke did not permeate everything around the countryside. Rather the aroma of an English country breakfast wafted through Longbourn’s corridors, luring all in residence down to breakfast.
The four young women—Jane, Lizzy, Mary and Georgiana—had settled themselves at the table with pastries and pots of steaming chocolate. Mrs. Hill had even rolled out her special Bath Buns. They chatted quietly until Mrs. Bennet flew into the room bubbling and running on.
“Oh my, girls. I have no idea where I have found the energy. I could be your age, although I have experienced so much more life, I would be the wisest girl in the room. Little Eddie just will not be put down. He loves to be held and I am certain that he turns to my voice when I speak. He has the bluest eyes…oh I know all babes’ eyes are blue at first…but then his curls of red hair. I think he will grow up looking like Mr. Bingley. We will have to wait and see. He is the hungriest creature, too. Mrs. Dixon is nearly worn out. We will have to get another wet nurse. Mary, you will see to that, if you will. And, Jane and Lizzy, it is so good to see you, although why are you here? You know that it is not appropriate for young wives to be separated from their husbands so soon in marriage. Oh, Mary, Miss Darcy, block your ears. This is not for you….”. Finally, Mrs. Bennet exhausted herself and grabbed the sideboard.
The three sisters looked at one another in wonder…little Eddie? Miss Darcy had the grace to concentrate on her meal.
Only impertinent-as-ever Lizzy dared ask the question. “Mama, you said little Eddie. Is that the babe’s name? Did not Mary tell us that she had no idea who the child is or who his parents were, just that he was the only one to survive the fire?”
Fanny Bennet looked at her second child quizzically, but then her expression changed to one that unusually mixed determination with joy. “You may be Mrs. Darcy now, Lizzy, but you do not understand anything about what we mothers feel. This little boy has arrived at MY door looking for love and a home.
“I have stored up over twenty years of desire to hold a boy babe in my arms. He may not be Mr. Bennet’s blood, but he needs a Mama, and I am swiftly running out of children of my own to care for. You, Lydia, and Jane are gone. Kitty is off at that seminary in Cornwall. Mary is nearly grown up. Soon it will be just your father and me, and I am too young to be put out to pasture!
“I am going to ask Mr. Bennet if we may adopt him and name him Edward after your lost half-uncle.” With that pronouncement, Mrs. Bennet turned back to the sideboard and began to serve herself.
The mention of the name “Edward” dropped Mary into a brown study as she thought about Mr. Benton. She imagined his face, his eyes. She felt his touch; remembering when he briefly held her as they fled the fire. The sound of his voice echoed in her thoughts. Oh, if only I could talk with him one more time.
Her musings were interrupted with the sounds of horse’s hooves and the crunch of wagon wheels. Within moments, the dining room door flew open and in trooped the family’s four men, frozen clothes steaming in the warm house air. Lizzy and Jane flew to their husbands. The Colonel received Georgiana’s enthusiastic hug. Mrs. Bennet considered the scruffy Mr. Bennet sporting a three-day beard.
“Now I know how Mrs. Moses must have felt when her husband came down from Sinai. You look like a Biblical patriarch and smell like smoked goat. Come here quickly. Let me greet you properly. And then be gone with you to a bath and shave! We have business, you and I, to discuss,” she stated.
Mary spoke up, “Since all four of you are returned, am I correct in assuming that the fire is quenched? Have the displaced people been fed and housed?”
Darcy replied, “Indeed, Miss Bennet. The fire is finished. The relief funds have been put to good use. Many of the burned-out families have been settled in vacant cottages on the estates in the area. Others have found lodgings in town. Your father has taken in two families rent-free for the first year and provided them with enough food for a month until they can get themselves organized.
“While they are factory workers now, many were previously farmers displaced by enclosures. They had to move off the land and into town where the only work they could find was in the mills. So, this may be a chance for them to start fresh on their own farm.”
All the people in the room beamed at Mr. Bennet’s acts of charity. Mary rose and walked to him. Without word, she hugged him until he coughed gently.
“All right, my family. This is all well and good. We have much to discuss, I am certain. However, before we go our separate ways, the men to their baths, the ladies to…oh, I have never understood what you women do when no men can see…whatever it is that you do—the Bennet, Darcy, Bingley, Fitzwilliam men have decided it is time for us in Hertfordshire to adopt a tradition that is rapidly catching on in Town. If you would be so kind as to step into the parlor with me.”
With chairs scraping and hushed comments between the women wondering Mr. Bennet’s purpose, they all filed into the front room to behold a large fir tree set between the two windows.
Mr. Bennet explained. “Now, you may have heard that the Germans enjoy all things evergreen. Good Queen Charlotte installed a yew tree in Windsor to celebrate our Lord’s birth back in 1800. Since then, I understand that “Christmas Trees” have become the rage throughout the ton. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested that we might find that a tree laden with all sorts of frippery may lift up our spirits after these difficult days.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “My mother and father decorated a tree at Matlock House last year, remember, Georgiana? She then hosted a party for the children of the orphanage where she is a patroness. Wrapped presents were hung on the tree for the little ones. There were even gifts under the tree for members of the Fitzwilliam family.”
The brilliant spicy smell of the fresh-cut tree cut through any doubt about creating a new Bennet family tradition. The men were immediately ignored as the ladies huddled with words like “illumination,” “sparkling,” “wrapping,” and “presents” floating above the excited murmur. Mrs. Bennet popped her head up long enough to look at the bemused gentlemen.
“What are you four looking at? Do you not have better things to do with your time like scraping off three days of grime and hair before we women decide to go looking for something more appealing?” That threat sent the four men scurrying to their rooms for rest and repair.
Chapter XXI
What a difference a day makes thought Mary as the family accompanied by Longbourn’s staff walked b
ack after Longbourn Chapel’s Christmas morning services.
Yesterday, Darcy and Elizabeth as well as Bingley and Jane had disappeared almost immediately upon finishing decorating the tree. In the afternoon, Mrs. Bennet had closeted herself in the library with her husband, emerging once to walk Mr. Philips back into the sanctum sanctorum. Their conversation left a smiling Mrs. Bennet to swiftly retire to the nursery while Mr. Bennet and Mr. Philips mounted horses and rode to Lucas Lodge. The adoption of young Edward William Bennet had begun. Questions of the entail were for another place and time.
Then there was Mary’s place within her family. Lizzy and Jane had begun including Mary in their conversations. Georgiana had suggested that Mary consider spending some time in Town at Darcy House so that they could study pianoforte together with her master. While Bingley had always been open and friendly with her, Mr. Darcy had dropped his air of toleration for Mary, rather substituting active listening and questioning when he addressed her. Yes, he addressed her rather than simply responded to her. Even Mama and Papa were different. Mama now treated her with a degree of awe having heard about “the Lady of the Field.” Papa calmly regarded her with what she could only see as a newfound respect.
Her life had changed so completely in just a fortnight that she could scarcely believe her eyes. In fact, even her eyes were different. Her decision to forgo her spectacles left her face naked to the world…and nothing awful had occurred. She could clearly see a future that did not include her being a fixture in either the Darcy or Bingley households as the spinster aunt. She was no longer frightened of the world and its people.
Now it was Christmas. Mr. Jackson’s sermon rang in her ears. He talked of the beauty of the day, the birth of a Savior, and the end to fear and loneliness. But, he also addressed the darkness that lurked at the edge of everyone’s spirits. To give the congregation comfort, Jackson turned away from the tidings of great joy offered by St. Luke and rather referred to the monumental genius of King David and his Great Psalm as translated by King James.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
King David’s heartfelt poetry was healing ointment for her soul. The brightness of the day reinforced Jackson’s words as she walked home surrounded by all she loved—no, nearly all. Mary had walked through the valley. She had seen the death of innocents, heard the sorrow of the bereaved. She had reached out to them acting as a conduit for His Goodness. And through that, she discovered the glory to be found in the smile of a child made happy by quiet words or the look of warmth in the rheumy eyes of an elderly woman granted the simple courtesy of a hot tea in a clean cup. At this very moment, her heart could be no fuller.
What she knew, deep down in her bones knew, was that she would be provided for. She need not fear following her conscience if she stayed on the path to good, true good, and not the trumped-up sanctity of those who knew better. Do that and she would never want for the sustenance that would carry her through life.
Her path lay before her as clear as any Roman road cut through the heaths of Hertfordshire—straight and true and paved with beautifully milled blocks. Yes, there would be ruts and rough spots and she could not see around the corners, but she trusted that He who walked with her would always hold her steady.
And, if Edward were destined to be part of her life, they would find their way back together. There was no sadness in Miss Bennet’s heart today.
The bracing cold Hertfordshire Christmas air left all with rosy checks and tingling fingers and toes. Once inside and installed in the front parlor, the entire family settled themselves for the excitement to come.
“Hill, please ask your daughter to bring all of the children from the nursery. That includes both babes. I want to show my son his first Christmas,” cried Mrs. Bennet. Then she addressed Mrs. Philips, “You, sister, can begin to learn what is needed to wrangle a number of little ones all full of sweetmeats. You laughed at me when I had to deal with these three,” waving at Jane, Lizzy and Mary, “twenty-odd Christmases ago. Now, my dear sister, it is your turn.
“Oh, do not look at me so, you two,” shooting a serious look at her married daughters, “I wager that by next Yuletide season, both of you will be running and chasing, too…if the behavior of your husbands is any indication.” Her raised eyebrows caused both Bingley and Darcy to blush!
Within minutes the room was awash with the sounds of little voices as the children laid aside their fears and worries. Treasures were unwrapped. Mysteries of buttons and bows were explored. Adults watched or cloistered themselves with one little one or another to be alternately regaled with the wonders of a new jumping rope or puzzled by the workings of a Jacob’s ladder. Joy was spread around the room in heaping measures.
Chapter XXII
As the afternoon waned into early dusk and little stomachs were filled with treats, small eyes began to droop as weariness overtook even the hardiest four-year-old constitution. Eventually all under the age of six-and-ten had been dispatched to bed.
The fire crackled in the grate as the last rays of sun filtered into the parlor between the branches of Longbourn’s giant oaks. The couples sat quietly in their pairs—even Papa and Mama settled on a sofa—staring quietly at the glittering tree. Mary overheard her father quietly address his wife.
“You know Fanny, our lives are as when Mr. Milton wrote…
Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud/
Turn forth her silver lining on the night[xxvi]
…if you look at how all has changed in these past few months.”
Mrs. Bennet sighed and replied, “There is so much truth in what you say, Thomas. If I consider how I was even this past summer—distracted through fear of being turned out into the hedgerows, plagued by nerves, despairing of ever having our daughters safely settled.
“Then, three daughters married. Oh, I know Wickham is a rogue, but he and Lydia seem to suit. And now, we have little Edward. It is as if 20 years have been stripped away.”
Mr. Bennet smiled at the words so gently delivered. Perhaps the ten-year bout of silliness was a phase through which they had to pass. He looked up at Mary, a smile flickering across his features. So, too, had passed this young woman, his daughter—his beloved third child—through a trial and had emerged transformed. Perhaps, just perhaps, he might succeed as a father yet. Now, there was only Kitty, but she was beyond his reach. But, for today—
“Mary, you would do this old man’s heart good if you would play for us. A carol or two would do nicely. Perhaps Miss Darcy would consent to turn the pages.”
How rare it was for Papa to ask her to exhibit. She cringed at the thought of last year’s disastrous Netherfield Ball. But, that was the old Mary. She smiled to herself, remembering that her heart had always affected her playing…and at that time it was dark and heavy. Tonight, she was full of grace. Taking Georgiana by the hand, the two sisters settled side-by-side on the bench.
There was no need for page turning just as there was no need for sheet music. Mary’s hands rose above the keys and then flowed into the opening bars of a favorite.
While shepherds watched
Their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shone around
And glory shone around
With voices raised in song, Pemberley, Matlock, Netherfield, and Longbourn all remembered the sadness of the past several da
ys, but also rejoiced in the gift that the Father had given them.
As she moved into the second verse, Mary sensed her father standing behind her. He gently slid a letter onto her lap, its seal broken, and bent over to whisper a few words in her ear.
“This is your Christmas gift, my dear. I have read it and agree with everything he writes. Perhaps Miss Darcy can continue in your stead.”
Mary glanced at her partner, noticing that Georgiana’s hands already were hovering above hers. As Mary withdrew, Georgiana picked up the tune without missing a beat.
"Fear not," he said,
For mighty dread
Had seized their troubled minds
"Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind,
To you and all mankind.
Mary removed to the second sitting room and studied the missive as if an emissary of his Majesty had given it to her. She observed her name scribed in an unfamiliar hand
Miss Bennet of Longbourn Estate
Meryton, Hertfordshire
Truly she had feared this moment. Would he profess feelings for her? Or would he be polite and proper? He certainly had bent the rules of propriety by writing to her, but he had given the letter to Papa. That meant he had something important to tell her. It seemed he had composed it in Papa’s bookroom. He had even mistakenly used the Bennet crest in the wax seal. Or was this yet another part of his mysterious nature?
Mary huffed at herself. Whatever questions she had would never be answered if she did not read Edward’s note. She unfolded it carefully as she sensed that an object was enclosed along with his words. An ebony cross on a silver chain slid into her waiting hand. She turned to the paper for explanation.
December 23, 1811
Meryton Inn
My Dear Miss Bennet,
Mary. Mary Amelia Bennet.
