But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever.
~Jane Austen
Twiddling the pink highlighter, Holly tried to figure out what was important enough to mark, but nothing in the chapter seemed relevant. Or mildly interesting. Shutting her textbook, knowing she’d have to face it again this evening, she capped the highlighter with a sigh.
She heard the front door and was grateful for the interruption. Frank rounded the corner, and she could tell instantly that his first official date—butterfly hunting—with Lily had gone well. Nauseatingly well. The goofiness of new infatuation was stamped all over him.
“So?” Holly pulled out a chair for him. “Tell me everything.”
She hadn’t exactly meant everything, such as the precise shade of Lily’s scarf—lime green—or the details of her smile—“It goes adorably lopsided sometimes!”—or the timbre of her laugh—“sing-song-y.” Still, it was sweet, seeing him so smitten.
“I never believed in love at first sight,” he said, speaking faster than usual. “But, Holly, that’s what this is. A feeling, deep in my abdomen”—he said, pointing to his abdomen—“that we fit together. That we belong together. I think this is it, Holly. I genuinely do.”
“I’m happy for you, Frank.”
“And to top it off, we found a magnificent swallowtail butterfly. We weren’t even looking for it! I spotted it at the park where we walked after lunch. The most spectacular wingspan and vivid mustard color…”
If Lily could listen to him drone on about bugs this way and not lose her mind, she was either a saint or it truly was love.
Later, on the way home, Holly experienced the same pinch that she had felt on the night of her faux-date with Frank all those weeks ago. That same ache, as though something was missing. She wasn’t exactly jealous of Frank. It wasn’t so much a “Why him?” but rather a “Why not me?”
Thinking of her father and Mildred, of Frank and Lily, it made her wonder: was there some matchmaking game the universe played, where only certain people were destined to find a soul mate, while the rest of humankind floated about, searching but never finding?
Or, worse, did everyone actually have a soul mate, but some missed their one opportunity—fell through that one crucial crack of time where their soul mate stood, waiting? Perhaps it was all about timing. And once that timing was gone, it was forever gone.
Holly had always hoped that one day, someday, it would happen for her. That the timing of her life would unfold neatly, like chapters in a book. That once her commitment to her sisters came to some sort of clear end—once she was fully free, fully ready for it—then her “love” chapter would start and that “he” would be standing there, waiting. But as the years piled on top of themselves, it was harder and harder to see that “love” chapter ever happening. And even if it did, it seemed too far away to be a reality.
By the time she arrived home, all Holly wanted to do was have a glass of wine, sulk into it, then go to bed. But then she opened the wooden gate, walked down the stone path of Foxglove, opened the front door, and saw Rascal skid around the corner, scurrying on the slick floor with his sharp nails, desperate to greet her. He stumbled and flopped most of the way until he reached her shoes, yipping and panting. She leaned down to pick him up, unable to stop a smile. This was her little man, one who would never make her cry, who was always so happy to see her. Right now, he was all she needed.
“Is Rosalee going to be famous?” Abbey asked as they approached Chatsworth Manor’s grand entrance. Twilight had settled by the time they’d arrived, and patches of warm, gold light beamed from the windows, beckoning them closer.
“I doubt it. Not for three lines of dialogue.”
“When is it? I don’t want to miss her scene!”
“Fletcher said seven. We can check with him first, to make sure…”
Holly could hear guitar music floating from inside the main entrance. Greensleeves.
“Do you want to go find the twins?” Holly asked. “I think I hear Fletcher. I’ll check with him about the scene.”
Abbey had already changed direction, heading back around the Manor. “Okay, bye!”
Inside, beyond the gothic arched door lay a spacious reception area with deep crimson carpeting and oak trim throughout. An elaborate wooden staircase was its centerpiece, with other rooms branching out, leading to a library, dining room, and parlor—where the music was coming from. Holly walked across the thick carpet, beneath the extravagant chandelier, to follow the sound. To find Fletcher, her own Pied Piper.
He sat on a bench in the corner, his guitar propped on his knee as he played. He’d switched to Mozart. Holly paused and watched him, hesitant to interrupt. When he finished, she clapped softly.
“Hey.” He leaned his guitar against the bench.
She crossed the room to sit beside him. “That was beautiful.”
“Thanks. Just messin’ around, killing time.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back.
“I think we’re early. I brought Abbey—she’s finding the twins now.”
“Right. Rosalee’s scene. Change of venue, by the way,” Fletcher said. “I forgot to tell you. It’s been moved to the village. They’re getting the dress shop ready now.”
“Mrs. Bennett’s shop?”
“Yeah. The director thought it would look more authentic—and less expensive—than having to create a set for it. They had the set designers go in and jazz it up, make it fit the era.”
“Mrs. Bennett must be thrilled! Can we still watch it being filmed?”
“I don’t see why not. There probably won’t be much room in there with all the equipment, but I’ll see what I can do. We should head down in half an hour, probably.”
“Time to kill, then…” She reached across for his guitar. “May I?”
“Of course.”
She balanced it on her knees, placing awkward fingers on the strings. “Tell me more about this fancy-dress ball.” She strummed lightly. “Eww. I’m terrible.”
“Here.” He leaned over to place his fingers on top of hers, guiding them to the right frets.
His breath tickled her neck as her fingers created an awkward claw.
“Okay, hold still.” He released his fingers.
“Now?” she said.
“Now.”
She pressed down the strings until they hurt her finger pads then strummed with her other hand. A beautiful chord rang out.
“Magic!” she said with a smile.
“See? Not so hard.”
“Yeah. Not so hard when it’s one chord, and you tell my fingers where to go.” She handed the guitar back to Fletcher.
He strummed soft chords as he spoke. “The ball. Well, it’s Friday night, and we’re shooting three separate scenes. It might even take all night.”
“I heard that the whole village will be extras.”
“Just about. You should be one, too. Dress up in one of those gowns, do up your hair.”
“No thanks.” She smirked.
“Why not?”
“Too much sitting around, take after take.”
“Yeah, but these are special scenes. The most expensive in the script. There’s dancing. And a live quintet.”
“Really? Well, that does sound interesting.”
By now, the random chords had merged into a beautiful series of chords that transformed into a song.
“How are the girls doing?” he asked. “And your dad?”
Holly leaned against the paneled wall. “The same. Rosalee won’t talk about the engagement, but I think she’s coming ‘round. Abbey seems pretty well. She’s too transparent to hide much from me. I think I’d know if she was gutted by it. But Bridget, well, that’s another story.”
“She’s here all the time,” he said. “Always hanging around with Colin. I’m not sure how mutual it is.”
“I’m worried about her. I don’t want her heart getting broken.”
“I don’t think it’s as deep as all that, but you might wanna keep an eye on her. She’s really cranked it up the last few days.”
“Cranked it up?”
“The flirting. She’s making it kind of obvious, how she feels about him. And that probably feeds his ego even more. There are rumors he has a girlfriend back in Essex.”
“Bugger. I was afraid of that. This could end badly.”
“Maybe not. She’s a smart girl.”
“Sometimes. But, she can be a loose cannon.”
“Takes after her sister,” he said with a straight face, still strumming.
“Which one?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll let you decide that.”
She slapped his arm, changing the chord to a dissonant mess.
Surreal enough, watching her sister in Regency attire, standing in the middle of Mrs. Bennett’s dress shop, uttering lines Fletcher wrote. But even more surreal for Holly was watching her sister transform into something she’d never seen before. Rosalee had abandoned her usual shy, indifferent expression and replaced it with a focused determination. She knew exactly what she was doing. Certainly, the makeup and costume helped alter her appearance, create the character. But even aside from that, Rosalee’s lines rolled off her tongue with a grace and ease Holly hadn’t expected.
And she didn’t overdo them with wide eyes or a forced lilt in her voice, the way so many brand-new actresses might have done. With every take, she was having a casual conversation. Natural, graceful, as though the camera didn’t exist. As though she’d done it a million times before.
In fact, it was the other, seasoned actress who had trouble with her lines. The twenty-five-second scene had been filmed eight times over the past hour, and never once because of Rosalee.
After the ninth take, Holly saw the director mutter something to his assistant, who then pulled Fletcher aside.
“Give another line to the new girl,” Holly heard him say. “And take away two from Bernadette.”
Fletcher took his pencil and script to the back corner of the shop to make the changes, and Holly seized the chance to give a giddy “thumbs-up” to Rosalee. What she wanted to do was rush up and give her sister a quick squeeze, tell her how proud she was, then sit back down. But she didn’t want to interrupt the creative process, or jinx anything for Rosalee.
She wished Bridget could’ve come, would’ve come, to the filming. She’d offered some limp excuse about a study group, but Holly, and, most likely, Rosalee, knew it had been a lie. Knew that, instead, Bridget could hardly see straight with jealousy over Rosalee’s wee role in the film. Bridget would rather be absent than support her twin.
Holly watched Rosalee fiddle with her white glove and wondered if it bothered her, Bridget’s absence. Or even their father’s. Holly had texted him this afternoon, but he hadn’t responded. Given his view of “actors,” she was surprised he’d even allowed Rosalee this small role in the first place.
Fletcher finished his work and carried his revised script to the director, who skimmed it then handed it to Rosalee and Bernadette. They were given a moment to memorize the lines and run through them before filming.
After three more takes, the director yelled, “Cut! Print!” and Holly watched Rosalee remove her bonnet with a satisfied smile.
Late that evening, as Holly flipped channels while on the couch, unable to sleep, she heard a creak behind her. Twisting her neck, she saw Rosalee tiptoeing downstairs.
“Can’t sleep?” Holly asked. “I’m sure you’re still high on adrenaline. You really were amazing tonight.”
“Thanks.” Rosalee sat, folding her legs underneath her, smoothing out her cotton night shirt. “So… I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.” Holly clicked off the telly and gave Rosalee her full attention.
“Well, I… made a decision. I want to speak to Dad, myself. About university. About theatre courses and acting. And I need you to be there. For support.”
“Absolutely. Dad’s still up. Wanna do it now?”
Rosalee swallowed hard and blinked. “Now?”
“Why not? Get it over with. I’ll be right by your side.”
“Well… I guess…”
Holly put a reassuring hand on Rosalee’s arm. “You’ll do fine. And if you need a backup, or if you get stuck, I’m right there. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You know he’s just a big ole teddy bear at heart,” Holly whispered as they stood together and approached the study door. She grasped the knob. “Ready?”
“Not really.”
Holly knew it was best for Rosalee to do this now, without thinking too much, like ripping off a bandage. Perhaps her sister’s acting skills would come into play, giving her the fake courage she needed to talk to their father.
The door creaked open, and the girls walked through to see their father puffing on his pipe, turning the page of a report. He peered at them over the top of his glasses as they entered the room.
“Girls. Come in.” He shut his notebook. “I thought you were well asleep by now. After your big night. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, honey,” he told Rosalee.
“That’s all right.”
The girls edged closer to the desk, and Holly nudged Rosalee forward with the tips of her fingers. “You can do this. Courage,” she whispered.
Rosalee stood behind the chair and cleared her throat. “I wanted to speak with you… about something important.”
“Certainly, love.” He removed his glasses, set down his pipe, and leaned back with folded hands.
“Well, it’s about tonight. Sort of. About acting, and how I feel about it. Acting.”
Holly wished she could help. But this was Rosalee’s idea. And she had to see it through.
“Anyway,” she continued, “people said I did really well tonight. With my lines.”
Holly nodded behind her, hoping the reinforcement might help.
“And, anyway, the director even offered me another audition. For another one of his films.”
“He did? You didn’t tell me that!” Holly stopped and remembered her own role here. Supporting actress.
She and Rosalee observed their father’s reaction. Unreadable.
Rosalee stepped forward, her voice stronger—no stumbling, no hesitation. “I want it, Dad. I want to try. Mr. Abrams sees some promise in me, he said. And I want your permission to try. To go to the audition. I know you don’t approve, that you want me to go to university and focus on something sensible. But to me, acting makes the most sense of all. I’ve found something I love to do, and I want to see where it takes me.”
More silence as he rubbed his thumb on top of his other hand. Finally, he spoke. “I respect your candor. And that you didn’t try to sneak around and do this behind my back. Therefore, I’ll make you a deal.” His tone was even, unemotional. “You can go to this audition as long as you make future plans for university. I don’t want your education sacrificed for your dream.”
“Will you let me study theatre? If that’s what I choose?” Rosalee asked, pushing it.
He studied her face with narrowed eyes, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he mulled it over. “After careful reflection, if that’s what you choose. Then, yes.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Rosalee sprinted around the enormous oak desk to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you! You won’t regret it!”
Holly watched, stunned. Never in a million years did she think her father would cave this quickly. Or maybe, at all. At the least, she’d hoped Rosalee’s plea tonight would etch a few cracks in the wall. But she never imagined this. Perhaps his guilt over Mildred had softened him. Or maybe he couldn’t resist the excitement in his daughter’s eyes, knowing he held the power to make her happy.
Whatever the case, Holly looked on their embrace as a truce of sorts. And as a real start toward healing this family.