By the time Ellie glanced at the clock again, it was almost midnight and her throat was in desperate need of a drink. Forcing her aching muscles to activate, she walked over to the hospital tray and picked up the water pitcher only to find it was empty. Apparently, she’d forgotten gulping down the last drop hours ago. Her mouth still begging for refreshment, Ellie decided a quick walk to the hallway drinking fountain was in order.
Just as she stepped outside the room though, Marianne’s nurse came down the corridor on her way to her sister’s room. Noticing Ellie’s concerned look, the nurse was quick to reassure her.
“I was just going to check her vitals,” the nurse explained.
“Oh, okay,” Ellie said with relief. “I’ll be right back.”
The nurse nodded and proceeded with her task as Ellie headed toward the drinking fountain. Reaching it, she held down the knob and watched as water began to fill her empty paper cup.
Movement on a small bench a few feet away made her jump, and Ellie was taken aback to find that someone was sleeping there. Taking a closer look, Ellie recognized the clothing and knew the man attempting to sleep on the uncomfortable bench was none other than Brandon. With her cup now full, she smiled as she made her way over to him. Although attempting to move silently, Ellie’s presence was soon noted, startling Brandon awake.
After his eyes had adjusted, Brandon recognized Ellie and relaxed slightly until placing his hand on her arm urgently. “Is she awake? Is she okay?” he asked in quick succession.
“There’s no change. The nurse is checking on her now,” Ellie answered reassuringly as she joined him on the bench. “Brandon, you really should go back to the Palmers’ and get some rest.”
“I can’t rest, not until I know she’s. . .” Brandon’s voice broke and Ellie blushed, looking away. Realizing he had made her uncomfortable with this overwrought concern, Brandon sat back against the bench as he brushed at his sleepy eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, “I’m going to go crazy waiting around like this.”
Ellie looked up at him and paused, not sure whether she should request of him that which was foremost on her heart. “Well . . . yes, there is,” she began, feeling selfish for Marianne’s sake, “I know Marianne would probably feel more at ease if our mom was here.”
Brandon considered her request and immediately nodded his head in agreement. He would do anything to help Marianne’s recovery.
While he left to make a few calls, Ellie returned to Marianne’s hospital room. As she sat down and resumed her careful watch of the patient, Ellie was plagued with a heavy heart. Observing Brandon’s all-encompassing love and concern for Marianne made her envious, and Ellie wished Edward could feel the same way for her. But now he was engaged—off limits—and she knew she should just forget about him. Yet doing just the opposite, Ellie pulled from her sweatshirt the familiar handkerchief Edward had given her, fingering it tenderly. She felt pitiable, embarrassed to admit she had been secretly carrying it around with her since the evening they had talked on the porch back in Seattle. It was the knowledge that it belonged to Edward and had his initials on it which brought an empty sort of comfort to her.
“Ellie,” Brandon’s voice stirred Ellie from her thoughts, and she quickly tucked the handkerchief away before turning to face him. “It’s all taken care of,” he assured. “I was able to get a hold of your mom. Mrs. Jennings will head back with me to take care of Margaret, then Diane and I will catch a red-eye flight out of Portland. If everything goes well, we should get here around six in the morning.”
Ellie nodded. “Thank you, Brandon,” she said, feeling so relieved she felt like crying.
Brandon handed her a fresh cup of coffee before departing to fulfill his task. It would be a long night for all of them.
Two o’clock in the morning rolled around, and Ellie exchanged awkward smiles with the nurse as she came in once again to check Marianne’s vitals. Observing the nurse as she performed the same task for the umpteenth time, Ellie’s body stiffened at seeing a scowl cross the nurse’s face—something was wrong. To Ellie’s further dismay, the nurse set down the clipboard and, with stethoscope in one hand, grabbed Marianne’s right arm to test her patient’s blood pressure manually. A moment later, the nurse glanced about the room with alarm and hurried out into the hall. Ellie willed her limbs to carry her closer to her sister, but she was too stunned to move. What was wrong? Was Marianne going to be okay? Before Ellie could think of more questions to ask herself, the nurse returned, this time with the doctor. Hovering over Marianne, the two talked in hushed whispers until the doctor moved his own stethoscope to Marianne’s heart and listened.
“You were right to call me,” he informed the nurse before turning to the bewildered Ellie. “She’s gotten worse. Your sister’s not responding well to the penicillin.” The doctor held up Marianne’s chart and rapidly flipped through the documents till he found what he was looking for. “Stop pencillin immediately and increase the saline flow by twenty cc’s,” his authoritative voice commanded and the nurse obeyed. After watching the nurse complete this task, he came toward Ellie. “Prepare yourself,” he said ruefully. “If you believe in praying, I’d suggest you earnestly do so now. All we can do at this point is make her comfortable and hope she pulls through.”
“Aren’t there any other medications you can give her?” Ellie pleaded as she tried wiping away her tear-brimmed eyes with trembling hands.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor shook his head. “She seems to have had an allergic reaction to the penicillin. Until we can stabilize her immune system, it wouldn’t be wise to introduce any other antibiotics. Please, believe me when I say we’re doing everything medically possible.”
Ellie was able to regain control of herself long enough to nod acceptingly to the doctor before he left the room. Once he was out of sight, Ellie kneeled beside Marianne and grabbed her sister’s hand tenderly. Closing her eyes, she began to pray, “Dear God . . . please let Marianne live . . . please. . . .” Before Ellie knew it, she was sobbing. It didn’t matter that the nurse was still there to witness this rare display of emotion, Ellie only cared about Marianne and convincing her sister not to give up. Opening her dewy eyes, Ellie began to plead with Marianne. “Marianne . . . you can’t do this to me . . . I need you. . . .” Laying her tear-stained face on Marianne’s lap, she continued to beg for the life of her sister.
A few hours later, Ellie slowly opened her heavy eyes. She must have fallen asleep on Marianne’s lap, or was she still dreaming? It felt like someone was softly stroking her hair. Her shoulders involuntarily tensing, Ellie slowly looked up to confirm what she dared to hope was true. Awake, and greeting her with a faint smile, was Marianne. At first all Ellie could do was stare open-mouthed at her sister, but recovering quickly, she exclaimed, “Marianne! You’re awake!”
Marianne slowly nodded, still too weak for much chatter. Although Ellie wanted to bombard Marianne with questions, she reached for the nurse’s call button instead. Someone needed to know that her sister was awake.
While they waited for the nurse to come, Ellie took Marianne’s hand in her own. “Oh, Marianne,” she felt her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t think you would make—”
“Yes, I know,” Marianne interrupted with a penitent smile, “I heard you earlier.”
Ellie blinked her eyes, looking strangely at her sister. Though she had made those pleas to Marianne in the throes of her despair, she hadn’t really believed they would be heard. Had the doctor been correct in his assumption about the unconscious state? The sound of the telephone ringing put this revelation on the back burner. Answering it, Ellie hoped the call might be about their mother. Marianne, meanwhile, closed her eyes and rested.
“Hello?” Ellie asked into the receiver.
“Miss Dashwood?” came the receptionist’s voice, “There’s a visitor for Marianne at the nurse’s desk—”
“I’ll be right there,” Ellie eagerly interrupted. Hanging up the phone, she turned
back to Marianne and smiled. “Brandon and Mom are here!” Although they had arrived several hours earlier than expected, Ellie was ecstatic about having such great news to share.
Marianne opened her eyes. “Mom?” she asked with surprise, “But how?”
“Brandon took care of everything,” Ellie began, “He went to Portland and brought her back!” Marianne lowered her eyes, storing this information in her heart. “Oh Marianne,” continued Ellie, “Brandon has done so much—” But she stopped herself right there. Although she’d become a strong advocate for Brandon, it had to be Marianne’s decision whether she liked him or not. Ellie didn’t want to trouble Marianne, weak as she was, nor did she wish to waste any more time before bringing in their visitors. “I’ll go get them. Be right back.”
Hugging Marianne gently, Ellie scurried out the door and past Marianne’s nurse who was on her way to check on the patient. Reaching the nurse’s station, Ellie was surprised to find neither Brandon nor her mom waiting there. Facing the nurse positioned behind the desk for an explanation, the confusion in Ellie’s eyes was apparent.
“Hello,” the nurse greeted, connecting the dots that Ellie was the woman she had called about the guest. “The visitor is waiting for you in the lounge.”
The visitor? Only one? Surely the nurse must be mistaken—or perhaps Brandon had dropped off their mother and then went to park the car. That must be it.
Looking to where the nurse pointed, Ellie quickly made her way to the closed door not far from the desk. Opening it, she entered the darkened room to see a figure facing the window. Ellie stepped inside and the door closed sharply behind her, startling both her and the stranger who turned suddenly to face her. Gasping, Ellie’s heart was gripped with trepidation. Before her was a ragged, emotionally exhausted, inebriated, and dripping wet Willoughby.
“How is she?” Willoughby asked, his voice disclosing his misery. Studying his tear-swollen eyes, Ellie felt sorry for him until remembering that he was the cause of Marianne’s present condition. Was the guilt finally getting to him now that he thought Marianne was sick and dying? Turning quickly on her heels, Ellie reached for the door knob.
“No!” Willoughby pleaded loudly, “You have to tell me how she is! Please!” he begged in a softer voice, causing Ellie to hesitate. Sensing he was gaining ground, Willoughby continued as he advanced toward her, “I heard Marianne was ill and that she might even die. I came here as fast as I could. Please, can I see her?”
“That’s impossible,” Ellie stated flatly, refusing to look at him.
“Then, please,” Willoughby placed his hand on her arm. “At least let me explain my actions . . . it’s important to me that Marianne knows how much I cared—still care,” he corrected himself.
Although Ellie’s inner voice questioned the sincerity of Willoughby’s feelings, seeing as he’d been able to cruelly abandon her sister, her heart told her she should at least hear him out, for Marianne’s sake. “I can’t promise you that I’ll share anything about this conversation with her,” Ellie conceded, still avoiding his gaze.
“That’s fine—maybe someday you’ll find it in your heart to tell her what I had to say. The thought of her dying. . .” Willoughby’s voice cracked, “. . .has made me realize my actions need to be explained.”
Slowly nodding her head, Ellie moved to an open chair and sat down, ready to listen. While she believed there would never be an excuse good enough to vindicate Willoughby’s actions, Ellie had to confess that his explanation might help Marianne heal.
Not wasting any time, Willoughby began to recount his side of the story. “When I met your sister, I was instantly attracted to her beauty. Even so, I had no serious intentions with her beyond amusing myself during my stay in Oregon.”
He paused, and Ellie felt her blood begin to boil. She certainly wasn’t going to sit here and listen to this! Willoughby thought of Marianne as his mere ‘play thing’, did he? Moving to get up, Willoughby had to stop her once more.
“Ellie—please, don’t—” he pleaded again, “I’m not finished! I haven’t told you that everything changed for me when I began to know Marianne!” Hearing the raw emotion which clouded his voice, Ellie paused, giving Willoughby a second chance to continue. “All at once,” he carried on, “I saw the true treasure that Marianne is, and before I knew it, I found myself hopelessly and madly in love with her.”
Meeting Willoughby’s gaze for the first time, Ellie couldn’t deny the heartbreak behind his eyes. Expressing her sympathy with a slight nod, a momentary truce was formed. Knowing she would now stay and hear him out, Willoughby relaxed somewhat. Confirming this, a humbled Ellie returned to her seat.
Willoughby rubbed his jaw and looked squarely at Ellie. “Love was a new emotion for me, Ellie, and I was overwhelmed by it.” Ellie shied away from his searing eyes and blushed. “But. . .” his voice faded as he struggled to resume, “. . .the evening before I planned to tell Marianne how I truly felt about her—and that I wanted her to marry me—something happened. . . .”
Ellie felt her heart begin to race at this revelation. So Willoughby really had intended to propose. “You were found out. . .” she thought out loud, and Willoughby looked at her oddly. “I know about you and Skylar,” Ellie explained with another blush.
Willoughby nodded and looked away shame-faced. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done, but believe me when I say I didn’t take advantage of Skylar like she would have everyone believe.” Ellie’s expression turned skeptical, and Willoughby further explained, “Skylar was very free with her affections, if you know what I mean. I never really pursued her, but I will admit that as a single man at the time, I willingly received her advances.”
“So when you’d had your fill of Skylar, you just left her, knowing she was carrying your child?” Ellie asked, a tinge of disgust to her tone.
“I wasn’t even sure it was mine,” Willoughby defended. Ellie could only look away with repulsion. “Skylar didn’t tell me she was pregnant until months after I left,” Willoughby went on, “I made no promises to her, Ellie—it was just a spring fling, she knew that.”
Morals like Willoughby’s were so foreign to Ellie. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. One thing Ellie did know for sure, however, was that she still had more questions for Willoughby which needed answering. “What about the letter you sent to Marianne? Do you have an explanation for that?”
“That letter was dictated to me by my then fiancé,” Willoughby began, “She said she’d call off the wedding if I didn’t send the letter to Marianne. I didn’t know what to do—I had lost everything I’d ever wanted because of Skylar, I couldn’t lose my future.” Willoughby sat down at the window in surrender, overburdened with regrets.
“Why couldn’t you have just explained all of this to Marianne at the time?” Ellie asked, feeling quite bewildered herself.
“I was ashamed of what I’d done,” Willoughby unconsciously raised his voice as if scolding himself. “I couldn’t handle Marianne knowing the truth at the time; I didn’t want her thinking badly of me.”
“You mean you’d rather have her think of you as the selfish idiot who broke her heart?”
Hearing Ellie’s sarcastic comment, Willoughby jolted from his seat and came toward her. “Does she. . .” his desperate voice asked, “. . .does she hate me?”
Ellie looked away to avoid answering his question. She knew Marianne harbored no ill feelings for Willoughby but didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Ellie’s silence said enough though, and Willoughby turned away from her like a wounded animal. Had she lied and said her sister hated him, Willoughby would have felt exonerated for his cowardly retreat. Yet Marianne, almost angelic to him, was the one lying on her death bed. With his back to her, he ran a hand through his hair in agitation.
“Marianne . . . Marianne. . .” Willoughby moaned before turning quickly to Ellie and begging, “Please tell her that my present life is my punishment.”
Ellie looked puzzled�
��Willoughby had everything, right? Money, status, a beautiful wife—what more could he want?
“Never having felt so deeply for someone before, I stupidly thought I could just get over her,” Willoughby explained, “But I can’t. Every day, I see Marianne’s sweet face—her laughter—the joy she brought into my life—it haunts me. I thought money and status would make up for it, but—it doesn’t.” He sat down next to her in agony, his dark thoughts overtaking him. “It’s like I’m only half-alive without her to complete me,” he added quietly. Then, in a voice suddenly emboldened with passion, he found the courage to continue, “I face a life, Ellie, where every day I’ll regret letting her go—and it kills me to know that someday, another guy will get the pleasure of waking up to her each morning.”
Ellie was speechless as she sat before Willoughby. Despite herself, she was actually able to feel pity for him after observing his obvious pain and misery. For a split second, she actually wished Willoughby’s past hadn’t been exposed. Oh, that he and Marianne could have been together—that the two of them could have shared in a love which for them was pure and true! Yet, Willoughby’s behavior before meeting Marianne had paved the way for their unhappy ending. While he would forever suffer for his past and present actions, Marianne had another chance to fall in love, hopefully this time with a man who would be constant and true.
Cutting through Ellie’s reverie, someone knocked on the door and then opened it without waiting for a reply. The light beaming in from the hallway blinded Ellie and Willoughby, making it difficult at first to recognize the intruder standing in the doorway. It was the nurse Ellie had spoken with earlier.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse apologized, observing the pained face of Willoughby. “Your mother and Brandon are here. I’ll go ahead and take them into your sister’s room,” she said before leaving the two alone again.
Ellie turned back to Willoughby and was surprised to find him gazing intently at her face. “You will tell her, won’t you? Tell her that I love her—will always love her?” Willoughby’s eyes pleaded.
A Modern Day Sense and Sensibility: An Adaptation of Jane Austen's Classic Page 20
