While Ellie continued packing various household keepsakes and treasured décor items, Diane sat at the dining table, her face cupped in her hands. Ellie had not been the only one affected by Marianne’s outburst. Diane was suffering not only from the loss of her soulmate, but also that of the home she dearly loved. Ellie silently chided Marianne; their mother didn’t need this drama. It had been a trying evening, even without Marianne’s emotions running all over the place.
Ellie had been saying ‘no’ too many times that night. Diane, who’d been scanning the newspaper for house rentals, had consistently presented options far beyond their price range. Of course Ellie tried to maintain a degree of tact when reminding her mother they now lived on a fixed budget, but she also couldn’t pretend their new circumstances weren’t dour. Diane reacted, as expected, but Ellie understood she must not take her mother’s harsh words personally—she was exhausted, frustrated, and hurting. Suggesting an apartment close to home instead, Ellie thought perhaps the idea of living near their old neighborhood would be a pleasant solution to her mother. However, following Francil’s hasty take-over, Diane didn’t want to be anywhere near the two people who were now, at least in her mind, stealing her home.
Unfortunately, this meant that Ellie would have to give up her plans of moving into the city with a few of her college buddies. How on earth could her mother afford an apartment on her own? Although she and her friends had always talked about getting a place following graduation and pursuing their dream careers, that goal now seemed further away than ever. She’d finally received a bachelor’s in accounting and had completed an internship with Dashwood International over the summer, but what came next must be put on hold. Her family took precedence. Regretfully telling her friends they’d have to find another roommate, Ellie turned her attention back to her family. They needed her now more than ever. Telling herself that dreams could wait, Ellie couldn’t imagine abandoning her family at a time like this. How would they survive? Her mother—live on a budget? And who would counteract Marianne’s negativity and help care for Margaret? Those answers blaringly obvious to Ellie, she knew she’d made the right decision to stay.
Margaret came in just then with the rolls of tape Ellie had asked her to retrieve and was wearing them around her delicate wrists as chunky bracelets. “I’m so sick of packing,” she complained as she flopped onto the chair next to her mother.
“I don’t think anyone enjoys it, Margaret, but we don’t have a choice,” Ellie stated matter-of-factly. She surveyed the dozen or so boxes crowding the room and surmised they’d have to be stored in the garage until other arrangements could be made.
“Why do we have to move, Ellie?” Margaret asked, still not understanding the reason for their relocation.
Ellie sighed inwardly before descending from the stool she was currently atop and pulling out the chair next to her sister. Before her sat an adorable nine-year-old, who, until last week, had only been concerned about her ballet class and spending time with friends. Now this outspoken, freckle-faced cherub was forced to comprehend the loss of a parent. Ellie, twenty-one, could understand the cycle of life and that her father was in a better place, but did Margaret know that? Ellie decided the best way to handle this situation was to be extremely honest, realizing that Margaret would value being treated as an adult.
“Margaret, when Dad died, he left a will that said who would get his belongings, like our houses, most of our furniture . . . stuff like that.” Margaret nodded. “Well, for some reason, Dad didn’t, or forgot to, change his will to have everything go to Mom.” Ellie’s eyes wandered to her mother who was watching the interaction between them.
“But why didn’t he?” Margaret asked, tears filling up her bright eyes.
“I don’t know, Sweetie,” Ellie said, taking her sister’s hand, “But it doesn’t mean that he didn’t love us very much. Dad could be very forgetful at times, remember?”
Margaret nodded. Ellie knew she was thinking about the many ballet performances her dad had missed, mostly because he always had so much going on at work and would forget. “Why won’t John and Francil let us live in one of the houses they aren’t using though?”
Ellie sat back. She had wondered about that, too. Her father had owned two other homes on the east coast beside the one they shared together in Seattle. “Because they have other plans for them, I suppose,” she answered.
“Didn’t John say he’d help us out?” Marianne asked, having returned unnoticed.
Ellie smiled at Marianne, thankful to have them all together during this important conversation. “Yes, he did. But, you forgot about Francil. It’s really a question of whether she is willing to help us or not.”
“That’s not going to happen. Francil hates us. . .” Margaret blurted out, stating the truth each knew all too well.
“Exactly,” Ellie said as she stood again and forced herself to get back to work. She handed Margaret an item to pack, and the young girl reluctantly took it and began assisting her oldest sister.
Ellie didn’t like being the voice of reason in the family, but someone had to be sensible. Delving into her new role as family patriarch, Ellie considered herself more mature than many her age. In some ways, Ellie felt that this role had been more or less placed on her shoulders, because her family knew they could always count on her to patiently listen and give them good, solid advice. Tall and slender like her mother, Ellie’s beauty, like her spirit, was subtle.
Marianne glided into the newly vacated chair next to her mother, and Ellie could tell by her sister’s persistent look that she wasn’t quite ready to give up so easily. “What about Dad’s company?” Marianne insisted to her mother, “We still have some sort of hand in that, right?”
Diane shook her head, “Dashwood International has been inherited by your brother.”
“That’s just not fair! Why does John get everything? He wasn’t even around,” Marianne whined as she sat back in the large dining chair, her soft curls bouncing around her shoulders. Marianne did nothing half-heartedly. Her artistic side flared from every pore. Every interest, passion, piece of artwork, argument, or unfair circumstance was something to be grasped and understood with unequivocal fervor.
To Ellie, Marianne was the most zealous person she had ever known. At eighteen, Marianne had an uncommon zest for life, an unquenchable spirit. She was a true romantic and her sensibilities sometimes exhausted Ellie, making her feel that the sooner Marianne learned about the true gravity of the world outside her beautiful paintings and paved streets, the better.
As if unable to contain her grief any longer, Diane pushed herself away from the table with force and walked to the window. Turning back to look at her startled daughters with eyes brimming, she spewed out, “Life isn’t fair. Your dad’s dead, we have no where to go. . . .” As soon as the harsh words left her mouth she instantly regretted them. She hadn’t meant to use such an edgy tone toward the three people she now loved most, but pain can make one do and say that which was previously never even a thought.
Cementing her guilty assumption that she’d crossed the line, she watched as each of her daughters turned away with shame and tears identical to her own. Diane’s tone had reminded them that they weren’t the only ones hurting. “Come here. . .” Diane said, reaching out for them with a sudden urge to feel a healthy connection. She didn’t need to ask twice as all three girls hurried over with tear-stained cheeks into their mother’s embrace.
With her offspring now closer to her heart then ever, she pleaded with them for their understanding while each dealt with their pain differently—but, most importantly, reminded them of what Thomas would have wanted for them all. “You must be strong for me . . . and for your dad.” They nodded, and Diane continued, “He wouldn’t want us worrying about what’s fair or not. He’d want us to embrace each day for what it has to offer.” Pausing, she allowed a pleasant thought to cross her mind. “Do you remember how your dad used to say that he was the richest man in the world because you
were his little treasures?” The girls looked up at her through their tears and smiled, remembering his common phrase.
Wiping away the delicate tear drops from Marianne’s soft, round cheeks, Diane listened as Marianne tearfully contributed, “He used to say that our laughter was like music to his ears.”
Diane’s heart swelled. Their laughter was like music, a music that reminded her of the happier times—like stolen times—when her dear Thomas was the light of their lives. “He loved to hear you girls laugh,” she added, glancing at Ellie. She sensed the inner struggle within her eldest as she fought to hold back the painful tears. Ellie had never been one to cry in front of others. Unlike Marianne, Ellie was very private in that she preferred to express her emotions in solitude.
Squeezing her daughters a little tighter, Diane listened with a heart bursting with love as Margaret volunteered, “He used to say that my smile could brighten his day.”
“I miss him,” Marianne commented quietly, her freckled nose and cheeks red from crying.
“I do, too. I do, too,” Diane said softly, treasuring this tender moment. She knew that with John and Francil’s anticipated arrival, along with their soon-expected departure from their home, special times like these would be few and far between.
While Diane was sharing that special moment with her loved ones, John sat at his computer screen, feeling limitless as he gazed at his increased bank account. What a relief it was for him to now be able to handle Francil’s monthly extravagant expenses. Her latest shopping spree to Bloomingdale’s almost blew the monthly salary he earned as co-chairman of his father’s company. But money problems were now a thing of the past. John, newly named president of Dashwood International, could afford anything his heart desired, short of a private island. He had always wondered why his father had saved instead of spending, why he hadn’t lavished himself with the wealth he worked so hard to gain. He had always thought his father odd because he liked to keep things simple, and as he used to say “keep things in perspective.” Except for the extravagant home his father had built to please Diane, Thomas Dashwood had tried to maintain normalcy despite his wealth.
Now, as John rubbed his fingertips along the soft mahogany desk, he was selfishly grateful for this father’s supposed shortcoming because it meant he had a fortune to share with his wife and child. This promise of a new and grander lifestyle also made Francil happier, which, in turn, made his own life easier.
A tap on the door behind him roused John from his musings. Turning to see who it was, his breath caught at the sight of Francil coming toward him in her silk pajamas. How lovely he found her, and how lucky he felt to call her his own. Closing the distance between them, Francil put her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his brown curly locks. He brought up his hand to rest on her arm, reassuring her of his affection. He loved his Francil despite her flaws—which were many—and felt that deep down inside her behavior was only a symptom of how deeply she craved love. And his was a love he was all too willing to bestow.
“How’s my wonderful husband?” she asked, glancing at the computer screen.
“Oh, tired,” he said, as he relaxed back into his seat and closer into her arms. “I was just looking over our finances. I’m trying to figure out how much my dad would have wanted me to give Diane and the girls. I haven’t decided whether to offer them some property or a substantial sum to live on.”
Francil’s demeanor instantly changed, and John knew she had an opinion. Confirming it, she said, “I didn’t think your dad had any idea of you giving them property, or any money for that matter.” Although she tried to hide the affronted tone in her voice, it was difficult for her. Others could dislike her, yet she always wanted her husband to remain devoted. Even so, the thought of giving away her money almost drove Francil to break her composed front. She willed herself to remain calm, and as she did so, an interesting thought came to mind. ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat . . . and a woman has always been blessed with special ways to bend a man’s will. . . .’
Interrupting her thought, John turned and gazed up at her, “You think so?” he asked.
Acting on her inner impulse, Francil instantly switched on her charming attitude and nodded. “John, your sisters are very attractive girls and it won’t be long until they have husbands of their own to provide for them. In fact, your father probably had this in mind when deciding who would inherit the company. Think about it, John, you’re his only son—the only Dashwood, that is, besides our Harry, and surely he would have wanted a Dashwood to be running his company.” Relaxing again and winding her fingers through his hair, Francil continued, “In my opinion, he probably wanted you to be there for them emotionally—like be a shoulder to cry on—and perhaps help them get situated in a new place, even lend them a hand occasionally, and of course, remember them at holidays. But Honey, after all, we need to think of our little Harry. Your dad would certainly want the best for him, his only grandson.” Placing her manicured hand on his cheek, Francil willed John to turn his body and face her, and then lowered her lips onto his, imprinting on him a seductive kiss.
Intoxicated, John mumbled, “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” before going in for another kiss. The discussion had ended, and Francil was the victor . . . once again.
A houseful of women can be a dangerous place at times, and on this Monday morning, the Dashwoods’ home was a perfect example. Francil and John were set to arrive in a half-hour, and Ellie was frantically trying to not only get the house ready, but also prepare her mother. As Ellie picked up the dirty laundry from the floor of the master suite and put it in the hamper, Diane slowly applied her makeup in front of the mirror.
“She can’t even wait till we’re moved out, the vulture,” Diane said, forcefully applying blush onto her cheek bones. She glanced at Ellie for sympathy but upon receiving none, returned her gaze to the mirror. “Francil has had her eyes on this house ever since she got her claws on John.”
Diane was still fuming over the fact that John found it necessary to relocate to Seattle when, in her mind, he could run the business just fine from the New York branch where he was already based. Though Ellie dreaded the thought of sharing a home with Francil just as much, she understood the need for John to be near corporate now that he was CEO.
“The rotten pack of vultures are here!” Margaret exclaimed, peeking her head around the corner. Diane had asked Margaret to keep an eye out for their arrival.
“Margaret!” Ellie exclaimed. “Take that back!”
“I won’t!” Margaret yelled back, sticking out her tongue.
Ellie turned to her mother for backing, “Mom, say something.”
“Let her be,” Diane closed her blush container and turned to leave the bathroom. “You can’t scold a child for speaking the truth.”
“Mom, please don’t make any waves,” Ellie pleaded. “After all, they are family.”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Diane replied, leaving with Margaret.
Ellie sighed and quickly stuffed the last article of clothing into the hamper before following after them. She prayed they would behave themselves.
“John and Francil,” Diane greeted, coming towards them with open arms and an impressive smile. “How pleasant to see you!” Diane kissed Francil on the cheek as Ellie looked on speechless. Even Francil was surprised.
“I wish it were under different circumstances,” John said, expressing his empathy.
“Where is Harry?” Diane asked, looking around the room for her grandson.
“We left him at home with his nanny,” Francil stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh . . . it’s so nice you can afford a nanny,” Diane said with gravity.
Ellie glanced with worry at her mother and knew it was time to intervene. “So, John,” she said, “do you plan on keeping your place in New York?”
“Francil and I have decided that since . . . since our circumstances have changed, we will still keep the house but spend the majority of our time in Sea
ttle.” John looked to his wife, and she took over for him.
“As you know, John is now in charge of Dashwood International, so it makes much more sense to be closer to the main office.” Francil sat down confidently, playing with the designer scarf around her neck. “Besides, I want Harry to go to school in Seattle. I’ve already applied to several academies. Do you know how soon you’ll be moving to the west wing of the house?”
John tried to soften her question, saying, “I’m sorry there’s not more room—”
“But the house has nine bedrooms and a guest cottage!” Margaret exclaimed, “Why do we have to give up our rooms?” John couldn’t help but blush, yet Francil felt no shame.
Margaret was indeed correct about how spacious their home was. Aside from the nine bedroom suites, each with its own walk-in closet and private bathroom, the Dashwood estate boasted a 50-acre landscaped lawn which included a master garden, tennis court, full-size pool with an attached pool house and sauna, as well as the guest cottage which in itself was quite grand with its three bedrooms and wraparound veranda. The guest cottage had actually been John and Diane’s first home before they decided to rebuild. So many memories associated with the quaint home, they left it standing and refurbished it to provide long-term visitors with more private lodging.
A Modern Day Sense and Sensibility: An Adaptation of Jane Austen's Classic Page 2
