“Help!” Margaret yelped, and instantly Marianne and Ellie came to her aid. It took some doing to untangle the little girl’s arms and legs, but they finally freed her from her unlikely cage amid torrents of laughter. Margaret, of course, rubbing her bruised limbs, did not find the situation funny in the least.
Watching from the kitchen window, Diane sensed the longing in Brandon’s eyes to join the foolish party and urged him to go outside. Brandon didn’t need to be asked twice. Although he intended to be just an interested observer, the next thing he knew, the girls had roped him into fixing the hammock. Having mentioned his prior experience hanging up his grandfather’s hammock years ago, it was enough to get him the job. The exhausted sisters sat down on the grass and watched while Brandon got to work, noting how tightly he tugged at the ropes to make sure they were tied securely around the strongest parts of the trees.
Without meaning to, Marianne found herself admiring his nicely toned muscles as they flexed while he did this. She wondered how Brandon was able to keep in such good shape when most men his age were fat and ugly.
When Brandon was finished, none were too eager to try out the hammock and share in Margaret’s humiliation. But after he assured them it had been set up correctly, Margaret summoned her courage and gave it a second try. This time it stayed up.
Having tidied up the kitchen, Diane moved to the living room couch which provided an excellent view of the common backyard. As she settled onto the cushions, Diane felt as if she were watching a romance movie as she witnessed Brandon admire Marianne atop the hammock. She chuckled, especially at how Marianne seemed to take his interest in stride. Diane knew her spirited daughter was not interested in Brandon at this point. Brandon seemed too old, and quiet, and not passionate enough to the precocious and success-driven young woman. Yet Diane hoped that as Marianne became more laid back and content within herself, she would grow to appreciate Brandon and all that he had to offer. Brandon was quite the eligible bachelor. Indeed, if Ellie’s heart had not already been touched by Edward, Diane would have encouraged a match there instead.
Now that they had a hammock at their leisure again, the Dashwood ladies couldn’t decide how they had ever gotten along without it. Indeed, they liked it too much and it became the cause of many an argument. Even Diane herself found it frustrating when she was all set for a time of relaxation on the contraption only to find Margaret already on it reading a ballerina magazine. This prompted Diane to initiate some sort of schedule to dissuade most of the havoc. However, it was a pain trying to equalize all the individual hammock time between the girls. Ellie, of course, as the oldest deserved the most time, right? And then Marianne wasn’t that much younger and desired the same amount of time—but then there was little Margaret who didn’t want to be shorted either. Finally, Diane assigned each of her daughters a day where only they were allowed to use the hammock unless they gave someone else permission for a limited amount of time. This helped as the warmer weather began to roll around and the girls desired to be outside sunbathing during their free time. There was something so soothing about how the gentle breeze brushed against them as they rocked back and forth in the hammock after a stressful day.
One particular evening, Diane stepped outside to find Marianne lying on the hammock reading, and to her pleasure, her daughter invited her to join. The two snuggled up next to one another and Diane listened as Marianne read aloud.
From inside, Ellie spotted the pair while at the window applying new curtains. Securing the last rod, she paused and watched them before slowly dismounting the ladder she was using. It was then Ellie’s eyes caught sight of Brandon as he approached Mrs. Jennings’s apartment. Yet he wasn’t focusing on his destination, but rather the lovely Marianne. Ellie’s heart grew heavy for Brandon, observing his wistful expression. She knew how painful it was to love someone without any encouragement.
The clock sounded two o’clock and Ellie paused to listen for the postal truck as it pulled up in front of their mailbox. Getting up from her task and rushing outside, she emerged just in time to see the Saturday mailman waving as he drove away. Ellie blushed as she waved back and slowed her pace until he was out of sight. Then, with excited hands, she opened their apartment cluster mailbox with a small metal key. Pulling out the stack of newly arrived mail, Ellie sorted through it and was disappointed at not finding a letter from Edward. Instead, there were only a few bills and a mailbox key, indicating that one or more of their postal items was too large for their mailbox. Using the key to open the large compartment below the rows of apartment mailboxes, Ellie discovered an 8x10 manila envelope with something large and heavy inside. “Finally!” she exclaimed upon seeing it was from Edward. Although she was surprised by the size of the package, having expected only a letter, Ellie could hardly contain her anticipation. Ripping it open, her eyes caught sight of a note within and she didn’t bother discovering what else the envelope contained as she hurriedly fished it out. Excited to find what was obviously a personal letter from Edward, Ellie began reading its contents. However, as she made her way back to the apartment, her pace slowed to a standstill mere steps from the front door.
Marianne, who was sitting at the table helping Margaret with a piece of artwork, paused to look up at her older sister as she entered. “What’s in the mail?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Ellie put the rest of the mail and the manila envelope down on the counter and avoided eye-contact while finishing Edward’s letter.
Diane, not hearing her oldest daughter’s reply, glanced up from her pot of soil with flower in hand, wondering what was wrong. Marianne, in turn, stood up and walked to the stack of mail, pretending to be interested in it while attempting to peek at the document in Ellie’s hand. She was surprised when, without a word, Ellie handed her the letter before walking over to the sink and filling it with warm sudsy water. Ellie then proceeded to rigorously wash the stack of dirty dishes. The Dashwoods immediately knew something was amiss. It was common knowledge that Ellie cleaned when distressed.
With the letter now in her possession, Marianne momentarily watched Ellie do the dishes before glancing down to discover what had so disturbed her sister. She noticed her assumption had been correct. “It’s from Edward,” she confirmed, making eye contact with Diane and Margaret.
“What does it say?” Margaret asked, losing patience.
Marianne looked back down at the letter. “Dear Mrs. Dashwood, Ellie, Marianne, and Margaret: I hope my letter finds you all well and settled into your new place.” Pausing, Marianne skimmed down the sheet of paper to find something more interesting to share—and also to discover what contributed to Ellie’s present gloomy behavior. Locating more substantial news, Marianne continued, “I had hoped it possible to come visit you all soon but unfortunately. . .” she paused once more, looking at Ellie and then back down at the letter, “Unfortunately, other commitments keep me tied down in New York for the time being.” Marianne glanced at Ellie again, her own features now tinged with sadness. “This disappoints me far more than it will you. Until then, please enjoy the gift that accompanies this letter. It’s a small keepsake from my time spent with you. Sincerely, Edward Ferrars,” she finished. All eyes turned to the purposely busy Ellie.
Marianne opened the manila envelope and pulled from it a large picture frame. Showcased was the picture of Diane and her daughters—the very one Ellie had admired in the darkroom the day she had stumbled upon Edward’s makeshift workspace. Although this thoughtful gesture would have normally brought about gleeful thanks from all of them, it now only served to disappoint as the giver had mailed it instead of bringing it personally.
Margaret hurried over to Marianne’s side to get a better look. “Why isn’t he coming?” she whined, asking what everybody was wondering themselves.
Diane went to Ellie and laid her hand comfortingly on her daughter’s shoulder. “Because he’s busy, Margaret,” she explained to her youngest. Searching her eldest’s face, she could sense the emotions
Ellie was working hard to keep bottled up. “Ellie, I can do that,” Diane offered to finish up the dishes.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ellie refused without looking up at her. “I feel like doing the dishes.”
Knowing her daughter’s assurance was empty, Diane signaled to Marianne that it was imperative Ellie be given some space.
Acknowledging her mother, Marianne playfully pulled Margaret toward the pantry. “Margaret, there are some raspberry bushes just beyond the field behind the apartments. Let’s go pick some.”
“I don’t want to,” Margaret complained.
“Margaret, go with your sister,” Diane endorsed. Her look of warning told Margaret she would brook no refusal.
Acquiescing, Margaret took one of the baskets Marianne shoved at her before following her sister to the front door. The young girl slinked slowly outside, clearly not enthusiastic about the quest for raspberries.
“Why do we have to go?” Margaret complained as they made their way past Mrs. Jennings’s place.
“Because Ellie needs to be alone,” Marianne explained, leading the way toward the field.
Back inside, Diane once again tried to comfort her injured daughter. “Ellie, talk to me,” she pleaded softly.
Ellie didn’t look up—couldn’t look up—knowing her eyes would betray all the hurt her heart was trying to hide. “It’s okay, Mom. . .” she glanced instead at her mother’s hands which were resting on the counter. “He doesn’t owe me any explanation.”
Diane knew there would be no point in pressing Ellie to talk. Her daughter had always been mostly private about her feelings. It was only when Ellie was at her breaking point that she ever came crying into her mother’s arms. Diane knew that when her eldest was ready, Ellie would know where to find her.
Meanwhile, Marianne and Margaret had successfully located the raspberry bushes and were busy filling their baskets with the ripe and delectable fruit. Marianne could already taste the scrumptious raspberry turnovers her mother would make in return for their hard work. The mere idea made her mouth water. Momentarily distracted by her thoughts, Marianne glanced over at her sister and was appalled to find Margaret gobbling down the berries on her side of the bush.
“Margaret, stop eating them!” Marianne commanded. “We won’t have enough!”
“But my basket’s getting heavy!” Margaret stated defensively, nevertheless quickly returning the berries from her hand into the basket as she dutifully resumed her picking. She knew the irritation in Marianne’s voice was only a warning at this point.
“You can put them in mine,” Marianne replied as a remedy and Margaret nodded.
Several minutes later, Margaret’s basket was barely halffull. Just as Marianne had warned, the youngster was now having trouble locating enough berries to fill her basket. Unfortunately the location they were picking from was now sparse, and at this rate, they’d only have enough berries for several turnovers and nothing more unless they got lucky and found a berry jackpot. To her delight, just then Margaret spotted a scrumptious looking clump further back in the bush and reached for it. But as she did so, several thorns grabbed hold of her arm and scratched it. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, pulling out quickly from within the greenery. Examining the scrape, Margaret squeezed the cut, pushing blood from the wound. “I’m bleeding!” she complained, holding up her arm to Marianne who glanced at it with sisterly concern.
“Let me just get these last few, and then we’ll go home and get you a bandage, okay?” Marianne tried to reassure, wanting a few more moments to pick as many berries as possible.
Margaret nodded and babied her scrape while Marianne continued picking from the bush. Leaning in to grab a juicy clump, a branch scraped across her cheek, leaving a mark. Marianne touched the wound and found that she was now bleeding as well. Sighing, she signaled surrender to the whimpering Margaret. “Okay—let’s go,” she acquiesced.
Picking up their baskets, the sisters started making their way back home in silence. They continued on like this for several minutes until reaching a large grassy field surrounded by looming trees and marked by a white picket fence.
Feeling adventurous, Marianne turned back to Margaret with flashing eyes. “Whenever I see a field like this, Margaret,” she began, “I always want to run through it and sing ‘the hills are alive!’” Margaret scoffed at her older sister as Marianne began running and twirling in the field like Maria from the Sound of Music.
“The hills are alive. . .” Marianne sang as Margaret lagged behind.
“Be careful!” scolded Margaret, shouting at her, “You’ll drop the berries!”
“. . .with the sound of music!” Marianne continued singing, ignoring her younger sister’s warnings. “Come on, Margaret!” she egged her on, encouraging her sister to keep up. Giving in, Margaret began to carefully chase after Marianne, twirling now and then very cautiously.
Marianne, meanwhile, felt like a gazelle as she moved over the grass. “The hills are ali-ahhhhh!” her breath suddenly caught. Marianne never finished the lyrics because as she was so elegantly gliding, her foot caught in a hole, sending her flat to the ground like a pancake. She writhed in pain as she pushed herself up, squishing some of the berries that had been scattered about during her descent. Marianne felt shock waves of pain coming from her ankle which quickly began swelling up.
“Marianne!” Margaret screamed, running and dropping down to her knees next to her sister. “Are you okay?” she asked, nearly in tears. Marianne followed Margaret’s gaze down to her chest, which was stained red. “Please don’t die!” Margaret pleaded.
Quickly searching herself for any mortal wounds, they were both relieved to find that it was merely the berries. “It’s just my ankle,” Marianne assured before writhing again in pain. She winced as she tried to move her foot from where it was still trapped in the hole, and fell back in agony.
Margaret felt helpless, unsure what to do or say, or how to even comfort her injured sister. Suddenly, an idea struck her. Setting down her basket, she rose from the ground. “I’ll go get help,” she declared bravely.
Turning quickly, Margaret yelped when she almost ran into an approaching jogger. A stifled scream escaped from her lips at the surprise and Marianne quickly looked up at the stranger with bright eyes and a speechless tongue. But it wasn’t just fear that gripped Marianne’s heart at seeing the handsome man standing before them. Blushing, Marianne’s hand went to her chest, embarrassed at being found incapacitated like this by a man with such chiseled features. It was at that very moment Marianne remembered both the scratch on her face and her berry-stained dress. Trying to make amends with her clothing only made matters worse however, and she quickly gave up, feeling his gaze on her.
“Can I be of assistance?” the jogger asked, his eyes never leaving Marianne’s.
“It’s my sister. She’s hurt her ankle,” Margaret explained.
He knelt next to Marianne and motioned for permission to examine her ankle, to which she agreed with a nod. “You took quite a spill there, ‘Maria,’” he commented, sending Marianne a pointed smile as he gently released her aching foot from its trap. Had he seen her fall? That would explain why he responded so quickly—yet Marianne was horrified by the idea that he could have witnessed such a humiliating spectacle. He must think her an idiot! Her face flushing, she didn’t have long to wallow in her unease.
His touch on her skin as he examined her ankle caused her heart to flutter. His hands were so large and warm, so capable, that she hardly felt the throbbing pain radiating from her injury. Marianne could hardly look at him though, aware as she was now that he had observed her Sound of Music theatrics.
“Well. . .” he said, flashing the sisters a smile which caused both their hearts to somersault, “surprisingly, your ankle’s not broken. However, I wouldn’t recommend walking on it. Mind if I escort you home?” he asked. Marianne could only reply with a half-dazed nod.
To her utter surprise and delight, the stranger proceeded to pick her up.
Gasping, Marianne wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight, all the while completely aware of his nicely built chest pressing against her side. As they began to trudge toward the apartment, all Marianne could think about was, not how much her ankle ached (which she would most certainly feel later), but how close his face was next to hers, how wonderful he smelled, and how perfectly handsome he was. He noticed her watching him and she blushed, quickly looking away. Stumbling behind them was Margaret with both baskets in hand, for once completely speechless as she watched what seemed like a scene from one of her older sister’s favorite movies.
When they eventually arrived at the complex, Margaret finally felt useful as she guided the stranger to their unit. As they approached the door, Diane caught sight of the commotion. Her eyes instantly fell on the sight of Marianne in a man’s arms, with what appeared to be blood covering her chest.
“Oh, dear God!” Diane cried out, running to the door and opening it for them. “What’s wrong?!? What happened?!? Have you been shot?!?”
“She hurt her ankle,” Margaret explained to calm her mother down.
“But the blood. . .” Diane motioned helplessly to Marianne’s dress.
“Mom, that’s just berries!” Margaret appeared exasperated. It was obvious she was trying to seem mature in front of the stranger.
Having heard all the ruckus, Ellie emerged from the other room. She was surprised to find Marianne in the arms of a handsome stranger and watched as he laid her sister down on the couch.
The jogger was muscular and had wonderfully broad shoulders. His dashing brown eyes, which never left Marianne, were nicely accented by his manly chin with its five o’clock shadow. He had dark hair and a tan complexion, evidence that he spent much of his time outdoors.
A Modern Day Sense and Sensibility: An Adaptation of Jane Austen's Classic Page 9
