A Modern Day Sense and Sensibility: An Adaptation of Jane Austen's Classic

by Kaitlin Saunders

  Copyright © 2013 Kaitlin Saunders

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1491280743

  ISBN-13: 9781491280744

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63003-910-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914875

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  Book Edited by Brier Nitz and Anastasia Soohoo-Hui

  Book Cover Design by Audra Radke

  This book is dedicated to my

  precious daughter Emma and

  her much-awaited sibling:

  May this book inspire you to always

  reach for the stars and make your

  own dreams come true.

  I love you.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Epilogue

  Diane Dashwood was beyond exhausted. It was nearly dawn, and she had yet to sink into a peaceful slumber. Desperate in the wee hours of the morning to achieve sleep, Diane had tried everything: lavender, taking a sleep aid, curling up with a heating pad, and even counting sheep—but none of them had worked. Her sympathy for insomniacs skyrocketed. Although her doctor had warned her that she was entering menopause and should expect changes in mood, sleeping patterns, hot flashes, and other hormonal upsets, Diane knew that last night could not be blamed on any mid-life changes. Her husband of twenty-seven years was away on business, and the fact of the matter remained that when Thomas was gone, Diane just could not sleep. Not that she worried about him, but after sharing his bed for that many years of marriage, she’d grown accustomed to having him beside her.

  Pulling the blankets more snugly around her shoulders, Diane’s thoughts began to drift to that of her beloved husband. Thinking about Thomas brought to mind so many wonderful memories, including the romantic circumstances surrounding their courtship.

  Diane had been a twenty-four-year-old flight attendant at the time, serving passengers in coach on international flights. On one particular rainy afternoon, her friend Jan, who catered in first class, came down with the flu and wasn’t able to work her scheduled flight to Japan. The airline had asked Diane to take her place. It was on that fateful flight that she met her Thomas Dashwood.

  Their chemistry had been undeniable. After the initial encounter, the two had talked for what seemed like hours while the other passengers slept soundly. Diane had learned that Thomas was a widower of three years and had a six-year-old son, John. Diane had cried at hearing him recount his heartbreak and Thomas had comforted her although it was he who probably needed comforting the most.

  Later during the flight, her fellow stewardess Rita noticed what was going on between the two and had pulled Diane aside when they were in the plane’s kitchen.

  “You and Mr. Dashwood are getting along very well. I’ve never seen him like that around anyone and he’s been taking this flight weekly for three years now.”

  Diane listened intently. The thought had crossed her mind that maybe this was his routine, to charm and seduce a flight attendant during his travels. But then, Thomas didn’t seem like that type of man, and the more she got to know him, the less she thought him capable of such motives.

  As they neared their destination, Thomas offered to take her, if she liked, with Rita as her companion, out to dinner after they landed. She took him up on it and he treated both her and Rita to a great Japanese dinner. Afterward, they exchanged mailing addresses and began a correspondence.

  Diane and Thomas wrote back and forth to each other for eight months, occasionally crossing paths on a flight. It was one evening during a stroll after a late-night flight and dinner that Thomas had popped the question on bended knee. They were married two months later in a private ceremony on a glistening Hawaiian beach.

  The sound of the telephone ringing broke Diane from her thoughts, and she had a momentary panic attack until recalling that all three of their daughters were safely asleep in their beds. But then, why would someone be calling at this hour? Her nerves still on edge, Diane picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she answered.

  “Is this Mrs. Thomas Dashwood?” It was a man on the line.

  “Yes . . . what is it?” she asked with alarm.

  “There’s been an accident—”

  The icy wind tickled Diane’s face as it rustled around her, tossing about her loose blonde hair—but she felt nothing, not even the tingling from her exposed fingers as the frost slowly tried to claim them. Thomas had died. Thomas was no more—and Diane felt as if her heart had been ripped out that sleepless and fateful night. Since then, Diane’s attempts to sleep had been even more useless, as was evident by the dark circles beneath her tear-stained eyes.

  Thomas’s flight mistakenly entered the eye of a storm forming over the mid-west, and had gone down. There were no survivors. Diane was not the only grieving widow standing at her spouse’s grave-site; even still, she felt all alone—as if her grief was unparalleled by another living soul.

  On this cold November day, Diane’s only source of comfort was that of her three daughters: Ellie, Marianne, and Margaret, all of whom were even now huddled closely beside her, trying to help shoulder her pain. Although the funeral was well-attended by family, friends, and associates—the four felt isolated in their large bubble of hurt. It was an isolation that penetrated deep within, for they knew they would never again see the man they all held so dear.

  As the preacher closed his Bible, he looked sympathetically at the shell-shocked Dashwood women. He was a kind man, and had been ministering to them for several years now. Having witnessed the tight bonds the family shared and how grieved they now must be, he had volunteered to make all of the funeral arrangements in Diane’s stead, to which she had
gratefully accepted.

  Slowly moving his eyes to observe the rest of the grieving guests, the preacher began again, “Mr. Dashwood will be remembered by all as a loving husband and father. He was a generous man. . .” the preacher smiled gently at Diane and the girls, “. . .and will be missed by so many.”

  Back at the Dashwood’s residence, Diane’s eldest daughter Ellie had made arrangements for the reception. Thinking ahead, she’d called in her family’s caterer to prepare a selection of meats and cheeses, as well as a variety of fruits and veggies still in season. It was the least the Dashwoods could do for their extended family, friends and Thomas’s business associates.

  Although Ellie’s hurt seemed as endless as her mother’s, she forced herself to keep it together—someone in the family had to remain level-headed. Ellie always been more like her father in that respect; she felt the weight of circumstances just as deeply as her mother and sisters, but held her emotions within. Doing so could be very wearing at times, but it was the only way Ellie knew to balance her family’s dynamics and maintain order at home.

  Taking a deep breath, Ellie knocked on the door to the downstairs study once more. Diane had locked herself inside, unable to keep her grief at bay following the funeral, and refused to mingle with guests. Ellie understood how her mother was feeling, but she was also conscious of what was expected of their family this morning. As the four of them were driven back to the house, Ellie foresaw she was going to have trouble helping her mother cooperate—Diane’s reasoning: “Why pretend I’m accepting this when, in fact, I can’t?”

  An hour later, guests were asking for Diane but Ellie was too embarrassed to admit her mother had locked herself away. Instead, she’d come back to the study, attempting once more to coax her mother outside.

  “Mom, you can’t stay in there all day. What will the guests think?” Ellie pleaded.

  “Who cares what they think! I’m tired of being brave, Ellie! I won’t do it! I won’t!”

  Sighing, and simultaneously attempting to hold back her own tears pleading to be released, Ellie forced her eyes to survey the guests visible through the long hallway leading to the vaulted living room. She caught a glimpse of her half-brother, John, talking with their family’s lawyer. John, acknowledging his sister, excused himself and came toward her. Ellie moved away from the study door and greeted her brother with a smile. John, observant as usual, noted her slightly moist eyes but said nothing, aware as he was of Ellie’s private nature.

  “Ellie,” he began, but paused, searching for the right words to bring comfort.

  Although he was seven years older, and her father’s son from a previous marriage, Ellie had always felt close to John. Whenever he did visit, which wasn’t often, he went out of his way to treat Ellie and her sisters with kindness. Looking at her half-brother now, Ellie was struck by how much he resembled their dad—however, aside from their shared kindliness of heart, that’s where the similarities between father and son ended. Ellie often wished John had inherited the same strength of character once embodied by their late father, especially when it came to handling his controlling and manipulative wife. John was married and had a son named Harry.

  “If you need anything. . .” continued John.

  “He was your dad too, John,” Ellie said, lowering her eyes.

  “Yes, but I made a promise to Dad that if anything were to ever happen to him . . . I would help care for all of you.”

  Ellie’s face softened, but she wouldn’t allow herself to rely on his good intentions. Though she believed John spoke with sincerity, it was her sister-in-law she worried about. Francil Dashwood was heartless and greedy. Keeping these thoughts to herself, however, Ellie gently grasped John’s arm and speaking earnestly, she thanked him.

  Interrupting this nowadays rare bonding moment between the siblings, Francil sidled toward them. If Ellie didn’t have such a dislike for John’s wife, she’d have admitted Francil was positively gorgeous—thus attributing to the label she and her sisters had given their sister-in-law behind her back: “Ice Queen”. Francil liked getting her way and John was her puppet in accomplishing that. Ellie wished John would stand up for himself once in a while.

  “There you are, John,” Francil cooed. Glancing at Ellie, she tried her best to appear sorrowful about the recent passing. “Oh, Ellie, we—I—am so sorry.”

  Ellie forced herself to accept the phony sympathy. She knew Francil couldn’t be happier with the new arrangements now that John was CEO at Dashwood International. John would now no doubt inherit a large sum of money and assets. Mr. Dashwood had been a very wealthy man as the founder and owner of an electronics company now worth over a billion dollars.

  Francil quickly turned her attention back to John, “Honey, Harry’s waiting out in the car.”

  John nodded, but looked embarrassed by his wife’s behavior. Trying to cushion her lack of true emotion, he added, “Take care, Ellie.”

  Ellie faked a smile as she watched the couple retreat to their vehicle. She knew things would be changing over the next few weeks in ways she never would have imagined, and could only hope that seeing Francil’s face on a regular basis wouldn’t be one of them.

  Thomas’s study had once been a place of peaceful refuge, a dwelling where one could escape for hours while devouring a new or favorite book. Diane could recall many a time finding Thomas and the girls cuddled together on the study’s sofa as he read to them from their beloved storybooks. Thinking about those memories brought her comfort, especially at times like this, when sitting face-to-face with the family’s lawyer. Mr. Jamison had been a consultant to the family for years, and Diane had considered him a friend, but was no longer sure she wanted to bestow that title upon him at the moment. Not part of the will? Give up the house? Move? . . . these were words Diane didn’t want to fathom—couldn’t comprehend.

  Noticing Diane still somewhat in a state of shock, Mr. Jamison repeated himself, “I’m sorry, Diane, your husband never changed the original will he made years before he married you. As it stands now, everything is left to his son John.”

  “For heaven’s sake, I was his wife—we had three daughters together. Surely this must be a mistake!”, Diane explained with anxiety, her svelte body tense. Everything—to John? What did that leave her and the girls?

  Mr. Jamison reached for his briefcase and pulled out an authenticated document. Diane immediately recognized it as Thomas’s will. She didn’t need proof of his words; she trusted Mr. Jamison enough to know his motives were in the right—he was just doing his job—even still, it was hard to accept. Mr. Jamison sighed, grieved not only by the loss of his friend, but for the position in which this single document placed Diane and the girls. “I insisted that Thomas change his will shortly after marrying you, but he was afraid it would jinx his happiness. Perhaps he never mentioned it to you, but he updated his will just two months before his first wife died and after that he’d had some strange inclination—call it grief—that his actions had resulted in her death. He was afraid touching the will would somehow affect you, too.”

  Diane nodded. She vaguely remembered Thomas referring to his guilt early on in their marriage. Although she wanted someone to blame for this superstition—this breach—she recognized that this wasn’t Mr. Jamison’s fault, and that if he could have seized a legal loophole on her behalf, he would have. Still, hopeful that perhaps another option could be contrived, Diane met his gaze, but he read her face and once again outlined the facts.

  “Unfortunately, unless it is legally challenged, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “What’s going to happen to us now?” Diane asked, bewildered.

  He shrugged and sighed, putting the will back into the briefcase. Cupping his shadowed chin, he answered, “I’m sorry to say that you’re now at the mercy of your step-son and, knowing his wife, I wouldn’t place any hopes in that corner.” Francil’s reputation was known by many.

  “What if . . . I contest the current will?” Diane asked, but then pause
d, retracting slightly with her eyes. It was clear Mr. Jamison had already considered that option as well.

  “That would cost money, something which, according to the will, is to be immediately transferred into John’s possession.”

  “Which means. . .” Diane began to add up the information in an equation that frightened her terribly.

  In an effort to ease the dreaded realization, Mr. Jamison laid his hand on hers. “I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do. I hate the thought of you and the girls having to start all over someplace else.”

  This was a daunting task for the fifty-two-year-old Diane. Sinking back into her chair, she didn’t know where to begin. Diane hadn’t had to work since marrying Thomas, and had no real job experience aside from her work as a stewardess—which could no longer be a consideration with three daughters to look after. Of course Ellie had just finished earning her college degree, but Diane couldn’t expect her eldest to carry the burden of breadwinner. Sighing, Diane closed her eyes, but all she could see were the many happy memories she and Thomas had made during their twenty-three years together. She assumed she’d forever enjoy Thomas’s provision—she had never wanted to imagine a life without her beloved husband.

  Smiling bitter-sweetly over the happiness her life had once contained, images of her three lovely daughters Ellie, Marianne, and Margaret, flashed next before her eyes. Reminding herself of those three wonderful reasons to start over, Diane swallowed back her tears and walked Mr. Jamison to the door.

  “I can’t believe you’re just going to move, and not do anything to stop Francil and John from ruining our lives!” Marianne exclaimed petulantly. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she hurried from the room and ran upstairs to her suite.

  Ellie exhaled, relieved by the evacuation of Marianne’s raw emotions. She had known her sister would react this way—Marianne always felt deeply and reacted accordingly. When Marianne had earlier accused Ellie of not being able to feel anything, Ellie had struggled to keep her cool. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel being displaced just as deeply as her sister, she just figured fighting about it was useless. Whether they liked it or not, Francil and John were coming to claim the house in two days. Although John had assured them that they had plenty of time to find a new place, Ellie and her family would officially be demoted to visitors in their own home. Not only that, Francil had requested they give up their bedrooms and move all their belongings to the west wing. Ellie had begun packing as soon as her mother relayed the news the night before, knowing that if she wished to keep any items of particular interest, they must be removed before her sister-in-law’s arrival. Marianne had taken this as a sign of surrender, a quality she could not abide. Thinking about it now, Ellie surmised it was indeed surrender, but what else could they do with no money and now no father to plead their case? Why, Marianne of all people should understand this, seeing as her hope of finishing up her freshman year at the Art Institute had been interrupted with the removal of their father’s wealth. She would now have to wait till the following year when loans and scholarships could be arranged before continuing her education.