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

by Karen M Cox

  She gasped her indignation at his comment.

  Who have I just insulted more—her or Mary Jo? Why does she always bring out the worst in me?

  “And why should she take your advice and start dating Robert Martin?”

  “If I remember correctly, I never gave her any advice, unlike some of her nosy friends.”

  “If you know so much about romantic relationships, why do you have this endless parade of shallow, simpering girlfriends? You don’t know anything about love—although you do seem to know quite a bit about dating.”

  She was angry because he’d insulted her, and perhaps rightly so. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the surprising sting of the remark. “You know, it’s one thing to help someone improve herself, but this is something else entirely. Can’t you see that this kind of intrusion into other people’s personal lives is a gross misapplication of your time and considerable intellect?”

  She rolled her eyes at him—actually rolled her eyes—like a fifteen-year-old drama queen. A sudden thought leaped into his mind, a memory of the cookout last month.

  “If you’re thinking about fixing her up with Tim Elton—”

  “I would never—”

  “I saw you trying to throw them together at your father’s birthday party. But be realistic, Emma Kate, Elton will never shackle himself to a girl who can’t help him politically. In fact, I’ve heard him mention a family of girls in Frankfort whose father is well-connected in the state-level political circles.”

  Emma looked at the ground, and began walking briskly. “If I were trying to fix her up, then your advice would be welcome, but—”

  He cut her off with a sharp gesture and a harsh timbre in his voice. “Enough! You know my view on the matter. I don’t want to talk about it anymore if you’re going to persist in this silly subterfuge. I know what you’re really thinking.” He whistled for Maude, who came running toward them at full speed, the fur on her underside wet with dew.

  “I agree we shouldn’t discuss it further. We obviously have completely different opinions on this. I’m ready to head back home anyway.”

  They finished the outing in silence and at a hurried pace. When they returned to the house, George went up to say a quick hello to Mr. Woodhouse, and then he took his leave of Emma with nothing but a curt nod.

  Fifteen

  November 27, 1975

  Before I knew it, Thanksgiving was upon me. Because Nina was a newlywed, and Izzy was absorbed with recuperating from her miscarriage and caring for her young family, I offered to host Thanksgiving dinner at our house on Hartfield Road. I asked Mary Jo to come but she wanted to go see her mother for the holiday. I couldn’t really blame her for that, but it put the quietus on my plans to get things going for her with Tim Elton. Since Mary Jo wouldn’t be there, I ended up not inviting Tim either. The two of them were beginning to frustrate me; he wouldn’t pony up and ask Mary Jo on a date, although he sat and talked with her whenever he saw us out walking, having lunch… whatever. And Mary Jo would hardly say a word in his presence.

  When I asked her about that, she said, “He’s so handsome, he makes me nervous.”

  “Don’t you like Tim? He likes you. He’s always finding us out places and coming over to talk to you.”

  “Oh yes!” she insisted. “I really like him. I just never know what to say when he’s around. He’s so much smarter than me and uses all those big words.”

  “Mary Jo, you have a much better vocabulary now, and you’re a hip, modern girl. You have an interesting job and lots to talk about. Don’t be intimidated.”

  “I know you’re right. It’s just hard for me to be myself around him. I’ll try to do better though. I did see him smile at me a lot during your dad’s birthday party.”

  Tim and Mary Jo seemed to be stuck right in that place where she was overwhelmed by him, and he wouldn’t do anything but smile at her. I was weary of them always relying on me to provide the conversation. There are people, who, the more you do for them, the less they will do for themselves.

  Thanksgiving ended up being a family gathering, which was perfectly fine with me. Nina and Bob were there, along with Izzy, Jack, Henry and Taylor, and I invited Mr. & Mrs. Knightley and George, of course. And, because they were family too, I had to invite Delores and Helen.

  Thanksgiving morning arrived cloudy and cold, as I was keenly aware, because I was up at the crack of dawn. I didn’t run that morning, however. There was too much to do. What possessed me to invite all these people and feed them a three-course meal?

  “Mrs. D?” I called, striding through the dining room and into the kitchen about mid-morning. “Have you seen the cornucopia soup tureen?”

  “The corn-you-what?”

  “The cornucopia—the soup tureen with the vegetables and fruit on it, sitting in a basket?”

  “Oh, you mean the horn of plenty?”

  “Yes, the horn of plenty.”

  “I didn’t know what corn-u-what’s-it meant.”

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, reminded myself how pleasant and efficient a housekeeper Mrs. Davies was, and tried to hold the frustration I wanted to let loose.

  “At any rate, do you know where it is?”

  She came over and patted my cheek. “What’s the matter, lamb? You look frazzled.”

  “I wanted to use the soup tureen for the lobster bisque, but I can’t find it, and I tried to make the pie crusts myself, but they look awful, and I was up late last night polishing Mama’s silver and—”

  “Why you do that, child? I told Miri to polish before she left yesterday.”

  “Well, she didn’t, and I knew you had a lot to do this morning, so you needed your rest. And I knew I wouldn’t have time, because we couldn’t get a nurse to take care of Daddy on a holiday, and I needed to get his meds and his clothes ready. So, I…” My voice wobbled, much to my embarrassment. “I just want everything to be nice for everyone.”

  Mrs. Davies laid her hand on my arm. “Now, don’t you worry about a thing, Miss E. We’ll find that soup tureen, and I’ll get a couple of those new-fangled ready-made crusts out of the fridge so you can finish up your pies. You go take care of your daddy and get yourself ready, and you can come help me after that, alright? It will all turn out just fine.” She tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear, eliciting a grateful smile.

  “Emma?” A voice came from the other room, and Daddy walked in, wearing black socks and his boxer shorts, and holding one pair of slacks in each hand. “Which ones was I supposed to wear?”

  “Daddy! Why are you walking around the house in your underwear?”

  He stopped, looked down, and blushed furiously. “Oh dear! Oh, I forgot I didn’t have my pants on yet.”

  “How could you have your pants on? You’re holding them in your hands.”

  Mrs. Davies turned away, smiling.

  He stood and blinked at me for a few seconds. “So, I have. How silly of me. I apologize, Emma, Mrs. Davies.” He was so contrite, I didn’t have the heart to scold him.

  “It’s okay. No harm, no foul.” I took his arm and led him back to the stairs. “I’m going to put the correct pair over your arm, and I’ll take the others and put them away.”

  “I can put them away, honey.”

  I smiled at him, knowing he would forget again as soon as he reached his room. “I think these need to be washed, and I’m going up to the laundry room anyway.”

  “Oh, all right, then.”

  Maude came streaking by him as she ran in from the other room and flattened him against the wall.

  He sighed and shook his head. “I know you love that animal, Emma, but she is a troublesome creature!”

  I kissed his cheek. “I’ll put her outside until after dinner. Try not to be too hard on us though. We troublesome creatures love you.”

  He smiled back at me. “I love you too, Daughter. You could never be troublesome to me. And Maude is a good dog.” He paused, thinking. “We have company today?”

/>   “Yes, it’s Thanksgiving.”

  “I wondered why the nurse wasn’t here today.”

  “Juanita’s with her family for the holiday. And our company’s coming at two o’clock. Your dearest friends and family will be here.”

  “Ah, good, good. I should like to see them all.”

  “Here you are, George. I brought you one of your martinis.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded, taking the glass from me. It had been awkward between us since our argument about Mary Jo and Robert Martin, and I hated feeling uncomfortable with George. He was upset with me, but honestly, Mary Jo was a rare prize, not to be shuffled off to the first man who admired her. Women should be very choosy about the men they fall in love with. Tim Elton could broaden Mary Jo’s horizons in a way that Robert Martin never could.

  But in the meantime, I would make an overture of friendship. George and I had to get past this argument. We’ve been friends too long to let some silly squabble come between us.

  The perfect conversation piece arrived right then in the form of Jack and Isabel and the children. I swept down upon them all with hugs and kisses and snagged the baby from her mother’s arms.

  “I can’t believe how she’s grown!” I exclaimed as I laid my cheek against the soft, little head. “Hi, sweet girl. Are you here to see Auntie Emma?”

  I paraded Taylor around the room, looking out windows and talking to Daddy, slowly making my way over to George and his martini.

  “Dare we speak to grumpy Uncle George, Taylor?”

  He smiled, and I considered that enough of an invitation to sit beside him.

  “If you understood your adult friends the way you do these babies, we might never disagree.” He paused. “Perhaps, we disagree because I’m so much older than you. Do we have a generational gap, Emma Kate?”

  “Surely not! Seven years is nothing. Perhaps we were very different when you were seven and playing baseball, while I sat in a playpen, but I think I’ve just about caught up to you now.”

  “I suppose we can be friends then.”

  My heart soared. Thank goodness, he could never stay mad at me for too long.

  “Friends.” I held out my hand, and he shook it. He reached his arms to Taylor and she went right to him.

  “Flirt,” I accused her in a jovial voice. “I know how it is—you always choose the handsome guy over poor Aunt Em.”

  George laughed, and I knew we were right back on track.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry about Mr. Martin’s feelings being hurt. But surely, he’s over it by now.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. He asked for a permanent transfer to Louisville. My loss, Jack’s gain—he’s a fine paralegal. But perhaps I can lure him back at some point with something else.”

  “I hope so, if he’s that helpful to you.”

  “I’m rarely trying cases myself these days. More and more of my time is caught up in running the farms, the other properties, and so on.”

  “Are you happy about that?”

  “It’s my job, learning to run the family holdings. I like being out and about, and it gives me more free time.”

  “I heard you’ve been seen escorting Julianne Ryman around town these days.”

  “Hmm.”

  “She’s not your usual well-heeled Junior League type.”

  “Well, she’s generally too busy for parties and things. Being a resident at the hospital takes up a lot of time.”

  “She must be extremely smart,” I said in a small voice, a touch of envy crawling into my heart. I knew many things about medicine from reading and my experience taking care of my parents, but given my family obligations, medical school would never be an option for me.

  “Julianne is smart,” he answered, watching my face. Then he winked at me. “But no smarter than the present company.”

  “Always tooting your own horn, Professor. What am I to do with you?”

  He chuckled and Taylor put her chubby hands up to pat his face. He spoke to her and she leaned in to give him an open-mouthed kiss on his jaw, complete with drool. I grabbed a Kleenex from the box next to them and dabbed at his clean-shaven cheek.

  “There, all better.”

  “Thank you, Auntie.”

  Mrs. Davies came in and announced that dinner was ready, and Rita stepped forward and held her arms out for Taylor. George handed off the baby and spoke to the au pair in a soft, friendly voice, evoking a fierce blush as she involuntarily let out a school-girl titter. Mentally, I rolled my eyes. What is it about George Knightley that reduces every woman between two and eighty-two into a gooey mess of smiles and giggles? Don’t they realize they shouldn’t feed his ego that way? Next time we’ll give Rita the night off and I’ll hire sturdy, austere Mrs. Gruetmann from down the road to babysit.

  Sixteen

  The long dining table at Emma’s house was set with Wedgewood china and polished sterling silver. Autumn floral arrangements graced the sideboards and the table. Crystal sparkled in the glow from the chandelier and the late November sun. Despite the various conversations and the clink of dishes, there was a peaceful aura to the table, punctuated by the elder Mr. Knightley’s deep voice, Nina’s gracious laughter, and Emma’s brilliant smile. George heard an intermittent staccato bark from outside and felt sorry for poor Maude. It was driving her nuts to not be in the middle of the fray; he would have to offer her a walk after dinner. Emma would hardly have had time to exercise her properly today with all the chaos of a holiday party.

  Emma. He glanced up the table at her, pride rising in his chest. She did an incredible job with Thanksgiving dinner. All the traditional fare was on display: turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, Mrs. Davies’ melt-in-your-mouth butter rolls. His mother had wondered aloud on the way over to the Woodhouses’ if so young a girl could pull off a big holiday meal like this, but George knew Emma would make everything run like clockwork and told his mother so.

  “Mrs. Davies will do the majority of the cooking, and they hired a couple of local girls to serve and clean up.” He smiled across the seat at his mother’s pitying expression.

  She shook her head. “There’s a lot more to entertaining than slapping some food on a table. And the poor, motherless lamb had no one to show her the proper way to have guests.”

  “Nina taught her plenty over the years.”

  “I know, but she didn’t actually live at Hartfield as mistress of the house. It’s different.” She smoothed her skirt in her lap. “Just don’t expect a fine dinner party,” she remarked, almost to herself.

  “I’m sure I won’t be disappointed,” he said lightly.

  He wasn’t and neither, apparently, was his mother.

  “Emma, dear,” she piped up near the end of the main course, and Emma turned to her in mid-bite. Her fork sank back to her plate.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “What a delicious Thanksgiving feast you’ve set for us. And the house is just lovely too. Brava, my girl.”

  Emma’s cheeks turned slightly pink; George’s mother rarely offered compliments. “Thank you. I had some wonderful help.”

  John Woodhouse declared, “Emma always does everything she attempts to perfection. Yes, she certainly does! The meal is wonderful, dear. Although we don’t usually eat food this rich. I wonder about all the butter in the potatoes and the dressing. Too much butter is bad for the digestion.”

  “Oh, it’s a holiday,” Jack cut in. “I’m sure we’ll survive a little extra butter.”

  John blinked, as if trying to determine if he should argue with Jack or not.

  Emma’s voice rose and she leaned forward to change the subject, addressing Nina, two seats down from her.

  “Tell us how Frank is doing these days.”

  “Oh!” Nina put her napkin to her lips and returned it to her lap. “I almost forgot. He’s planning to visit at Christmas this year. He called us just last week about it.”

  “Wonderful! I’ll look forward to seeing him again,” Emma said.
“I know how you and Bob wanted to spend Christmas with him in your new home. It must be difficult to share him the way you must with Frank’s mother.”

  “A lot depends on whether she’s willing to share him with us,” Bob said. “She says he can come but doesn’t like to be without him, so who knows?” He shrugged. “I think her mother, his grandmother Churchill, demands a lot of his time and attention when he is in Alabama as well.”

  “He spent the fall semester in New York on a business internship to finish up his degree, so she’s been without him more than usual this year,” Nina explained. “So, this may all come to nothing, but he called me and said he was coming.”

  Emma’s cousin Helen broke into the conversation. “Oh! Speaking of prodigal sons coming home, we have had a letter from my cousin Jane too, and she says she’s coming home for Christmas this year. Of course, she isn’t a prodigal son, is she? She’s a prodigal daughter, I suppose. No, no, that’s not right…a niece. She’s a prodigal niece. That doesn’t have the same ring to it as prodigal son, does it?”

  Emma cut her off. “So, Jane will be here for Christmas? She isn’t acting in some Off-Broadway play at the moment?”

  “Oh no, no. Not right now, no. She’s not. And there’s some other news from her as well, very exciting news, very happy.”

  Delores Taylor tried to give her daughter a discreet shush, but poor Helen didn’t ever take hints or subtlety very well, and after a glass of wine or two, one might as well forget it.

  “I’m sure it’s fine, Mother. Jane would want everyone to know. It’s such happy news. We’re just so, so pleased for her. Even though we’ve known for some time, since October, or maybe it was September. Hmm…she sent a letter. When was it, Mother?”

  Delores opened her mouth to answer, but Helen waved her off and plunged ahead. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter anyway.” She giggled and took another sip of sauvignon blanc. “Jane is engaged to be married!”

  “How wonderful!” Nina exclaimed. Several congratulations flowed around the table. Helen beamed.