Hopefully, the listlessness would continue to lessen. His having gone to the effort must prove promising in that regard.
“Lydia. Kitty. Jane. Mary. Elizabeth,” he said to each, their names all the greeting they might expect as they observed their father sit in his once favourite chair; the chair, like their mother’s, as he had left it.
The logs crackled. Paper rustled as Jane shifted the bookkeeping to one side. And the air, silent and warm, save for the hint of a whistling wind and the chill brought to those nearest the window, grew heavy.
Gulping, Elizabeth’s gaze wandered between her sisters. Each perched awkwardly on her seat, as if prepared to fly toward their father, and yet, they sought to keep their eyes on their work; the glances sent his direction fleeting in their own way, though as frequent as those they had earlier sent toward the door.
She had told him they would not expect him to speak. Did that mean they ought not address him at all? Or, if so, that they ought not speak to one another even?
“A cold winter,” Lydia said softly, her sisters’ eyes cutting toward her then their father.
His face fixed toward the glow of the fire, Elizabeth could almost make out her father’s eyes turned toward Lydia.Perhaps listening to them talking to one another, would help? Force him out of his own thoughts?
Still, talk of winter might not be wise. Aunt Phillips had been gone only four years; lost in that horrid snowstorm. Lydia did not remember it as he would.
“It is cold. Though the autumn proved mild,” Elizabeth noted, the awkwardness of the conversation making her lips pull into an equally awkward smile.
“A good thing for the harvest,” Mary said, tone far more genuine than her sisters’. “The tenants and the estate needed it after the woes of January. First those days of snow–which I read caused one vicar in the north of Somerset to cancel Sunday prayers–then all the flooding and rain and wind by the month’s end. I never recall such a month. Still, the fine autumn we had puts those woes to rest; and this winter, though not warm, certainly is nothing to the last. A blessing.”
“True,” Jane added, “the blessings have been great. The books speak well of the harvest, and to the future.”
“That small field toward Meryton–the one which abuts Longbourn–I have heard it is for sale,” Kitty said, leaning forward in her seat as she looked between her sisters. “We should consider purchasing it. It is excellent for growing root vegetables, and the price is not too dear. One or two years of good yield would see it return the investment; three should the earnings be lower than usual.”
Elizabeth’s previously strained smile turned to a genuine grin; Kitty’s words evidence that including their sisters in work had been worthwhile.Now, all they needed was to draw their father out.
Thus, the sisters gave their support to Kitty’s plan, discussing how it would benefit Longbourn and its tenants, and thinking of additional ways in which they might bring stability and prosperity to all. By the fire, their father continued to face the warmth of its flames, yet, more often than not, the tilt of his head would be toward his girls, and the cut of his eyes rarely left them. Though he did not smile, or indeed, even frown, he still remained long into the night until, with his girls, he headed off to bed.
Weeks passed and in them a new routine found form. Every evening at ten past five, their father would enter the drawing room. His greetings, at first limited to their names, in time included a pleasant note on whatever task they were engaged in or some similar topic, recalling in his address his once subtle jests, though rarely did his eyes shine with the humour they formerly had. Still, each addition of speech, every near smile, gave rise to a hope that their father might one day return to them; this hope furthered as his appearance began to echo its former form. Indeed, by the closing of 1809, little of the haggard stranger who had first graced their drawing room remained, his figure beginning to fill, his face no longer swallowed by a massive beard, his hair and clothes washed, and the weariness of his eyes lightened. The evidence of his long mourning and his poor spirits remained in many ways–perhaps they always would–yet, some spark of who he once was might recommend him to friends and family in time, and in that, his daughters held hope.
∞∞∞
Hertfordshire, England – 1810
Time. She had heard it healed all wounds. Unfortunately,Elizabeth considered one evening as she observed her father by the fire,that saying was one she did not agree with.
Time certainly helped, but it alone did not cure, it only eased wounds at best–sometimes merely through the grace of a failing memory.
No. Time alone did not cure. Love. Inventiveness. Resolve. Hope. God Himself. Things along those lines were necessary to push the passage of time into its office of use.
To push? Yes. A little push could be exactly what they needed. A little inventiveness, and love, and hope, and prayer, and a great deal of resolve... for getting PaPa to shift himself would be a monumental challenge.
Her plan settled in her mind, Elizabeth convinced her sisters to walk with her to Meryton the next morning, the November chill sharp and bitter to their lungs as frost clung to the ground, the crunch of each footfall upon the hardened earth mingling in the air with the sounds of bird song.
“Why are we walking to Meryton this early?” Kitty asked, her words polite, though a surly tone could be heard laced within.
“Kitty would have remained snug in bed until the sun rose high,” Lydia laughed, “she has a strong aversion to the cold.”
Rubbing her arms, Kitty frowned, her huff of indignation clouding in the air, “With the winters we have been having, it is no wonder… In any case,” she added, her lips curling upward, “I have heard your grumbling at having to rise early.”
“Only on principle,” Lydia said curtly. “Your staying abed comes from the cold. Mine, from a dislike of rising early for a day of drudgery. Did you know that yesterday I helped in the kitchen in the making of salves and they took seven hours. Seven! Drudgery. Utter drudgery. If I am expected to do the same thing for that many hours, you may well find me remaining in bed as long as I am able. I need variety!”
“When we plan our duties for next week, we shall try to do better,” Elizabeth conceded, eyes sparkling with mischief before she pulled her lips tight, the reason why she had required them out on such a cold morning forced to the forefront of her mind. “As for your question, Kitty… I wanted to speak with you all privately. PaPa has improved a great deal, but it is because of this that I believe we can help further. You recall Aunt Gardiner’s letter a month or so back? Well, she said the invitation she made to have Father visit is a standing one. We dismissed it easily enough, Father almost never leaving the house, yet, I do believe it would be a help to him. To see his wife’s brother; the children too. To get away from Longbourn. If we did not have the estate to run and all of the happenings we enjoy, Longbourn might easily seem as dull and dreary to us as it must be to him.”
Her sisters drawn close, Elizabeth studied the faces of all in search of approval or disapproval as it may come, the silence as unwelcome as the biting chill.
“I know you are right,” Mary said, her arm wrapping around Elizabeth’s as they walked. “In spite of Father’s strides, he is far from… from being whole. Visits from our uncles and a few neighbors have helped, but it is too easy for him to retreat to his study when he is despondent. At the Gardiner’s they would be considerate of his needs, but such periods of quiet loneliness would not be possible. All I fear in this is that he may refuse to go.”
Taking Elizabeth’s other arm, Jane’s face knit, “We could ask Aunt to extend the invitation again? We often read her letters aloud in an evening, and that might allow us to broach the subject easier?”
