The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others again, so tyranic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem particularly past finding out.
~Jane Austen
Tourists were out of luck this evening. If they attempted to have a pint at the pub, or buy a scone from the bakery, or even purchase cigarettes from Mrs. Pickering’s, they would find nothing but dark interiors and locked doors. The whole of the village had shown up for the Emma wrap party at the Manor. Children, adults, even elderly villagers had all been invited by the producers to show the crew’s gratitude for the warm welcome they’d received over the past three and a half months.
Even Holly’s father had decided to attend tonight’s festivities, bringing Mildred and all four daughters. He drove slowly, up close to the Manor, and parked in a prime spot. Holly wondered if he’d bribed someone for it.
Holly was relieved to peel herself out of the backseat, where all four sisters had been crammed together for the past few minutes. They’d picked up Mildred at her cottage then headed for the Manor. Duncan had also asked Gertrude to join them, already knowing her answer. An emphatic “no.” Too cold, too hot, too crowded, too loud—who knew what the real excuse was.
Walking up to the Manor’s entrance, Holly grasped Bridget’s hand to squeeze it, trying to offer a little surge of confidence. Earlier, Bridget had sat in Holly’s bedroom, watching Holly select the perfect earrings for tonight. Bridget confided that she wasn’t sure how she would react, entering the Manor again, the place she and Colin had been together, the place they had met. In fact, she hadn’t made the decision to attend the wrap party until the very last minute.
Holly had no idea what one would wear to a wrap party, but in the end, she assumed a little black dress would be a classic choice. Her sisters, walking ahead toward the Manor as she followed behind, also chose dresses, though theirs were more summery and youthful.
At the entrance, Riley saw Bridget and met her with a nervous, lanky hug. For the first time, Holly noticed, Bridget didn’t squirm or cringe at seeing him. In fact, her smile seemed genuine, and they even walked inside together, chatting. Two months ago, Bridget would’ve shunned Riley, left him to fend for himself while she went in search of more handsome, “interesting” company. But the Colin incident seemed to have made Bridget examine the world—and people—in a new light. Her priorities had shifted in the right direction.
Entering the main hall, they branched out to the enormous ballroom, where the majority of partygoers bobbed and danced to the beat of Kylie Minogue. A stark difference from the Austen-era string quartet during the ballroom dance scenes weeks ago. In fact, the Manor had been stripped bare of all its Austen-esque trappings. Everything was nearly back to normal, as it had been before the film crew had first arrived.
People talked above the throbbing bass, laughed at each other’s jokes, held plastic cups of ale, and talked in louder-than-usual voices. Holly spotted Joe and Lizzie in the far corner, working the keg. A cracking good time.
She wasn’t looking for him, but her eyes found Fletcher at once. He stood at the fringes of the party, leaning against the wall, talking to Cindy. His eyes wandered out then latched onto Holly’s. Before she could wave, he’d shifted his attention back onto Cindy. Well. At least she knew ahead of time how this evening would play out. She would evidently be Fletcher-less. Again. And it stung, more than she’d expected it to.
Holly separated from her sisters and headed over to Joe and Lizzie, at the far end of the room.
The music changed to something even livelier than before, and as Holly took a sip of the ale Lizzie handed her, she ached for someone to dance with, even chat with. She spotted Frank and started to walk toward him but saw Lily at his side. They were hunched together, oblivious to anyone else.
Noelle and Adam danced in the center of the room. He reached up to twirl her, catching her off guard. She giggled and fell into his arms, holding her baby bump while Holly tried to contain her envy. It wasn’t working.
Finishing off her drink, she set down the half-empty cup and gravitated back through the ballroom’s double doors where she’d first entered. As she passed through, she caught a sliver of someone’s conversation rising above the other mumbles of the crowd. A couple of actresses talking. Holly kept moving but slowed her pace, curious, as she heard Cindy’s name mentioned.
“Bought her ticket today,” one of the girls said.
“For America?” the other asked. “I’m so jealous! Lucky, lucky girl.”
If they’d been people she actually knew, Holly might’ve been comfortable enough pausing to get the details. But she didn’t know them, so she moved on as though she’d never heard.
Cindy. Going to America? Surely not. Fletcher wouldn’t… surely he hadn’t…
Holly stopped before she could draw the inevitable conclusions and made her way to the back gardens. Fresh air awaited. Stepping onto the stone porch, she recalled that this was the exact spot she and Fletcher had danced in their Jane Austen attire a few weeks before.
Continuing on, not knowing where she wanted to go but knowing she wanted to keep moving, Holly walked down the marble steps and wandered out into the lush garden. She slipped off her shoes and felt the cool, manicured grass between her toes as she walked toward the center fountain, the rushing sound of water filling her ears. The sky was nearly pitch black by now, but the generous floodlights that shined down from the Manor lit up most of the garden, creating long, uneven shadows on the lawn.
She’d worn a light shawl and now wrapped it tighter around her bare shoulders, obliterating the chill.
She reached the fountain and saw something shimmer beneath the water. She couldn’t remember her specific wishes as a little girl, visiting the gardens here with her mother, dropping in coins. But they surely had something to do with fairy tales: a prince or a castle, or even a pony.
What would her wishes be now? They would probably be wishes for other people. That her father would find supreme happiness with Mildred. That Abbey would grow into her own self, comfortable with how smart and special she was, that she would make peace with the memory of their mother. That the twins would find their individual ways and grow to be selfless, goal-oriented women who made good, rational choices.
And for herself? Maybe to enjoy her life, rather than overanalyze it. To look at her life for what was, what it had been, and accept it, then and now, flaws and all.
“Holly?”
She gasped and twirled around to see Fletcher, standing a few feet away.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. He wore a tan blazer—the same one he’d worn to her garden party ages ago. His hair was longer now, touching the back of his collar.
“No, it’s fine,” she said, willing her pulse to slow to a normal rate. “I didn’t hear you. I guess turnabout’s fair play.”
“What do you mean?
“Remember?” she prompted. “That first day when you were rehearsing your lines here, at the back of the garden”—she pointed behind them—“and I snuck up on you?”
“Oh, yeah. Only you got to catch me looking like a raving lunatic, while I get to catch you looking, well… beautiful.”
She blushed at the unexpected compliment. He seemed back to himself, his old self, relaxed and charming and easy to be with.
But then Holly remembered Cindy and America, and her insides churned.
Fletcher stepped toward her and turned to sit on the fountain’s edge, hands on his knees. She could finally see his face in the floodlights.
“Sit with me,” he coaxed, patting the fountain’s edge.
“Promise you won’t tip me in?”
“Well, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind until just now.” He grinned.
She sat beside him, gathering her shawl a little tighter. “Where’s Cindy?”
“Not sure. Probably saying goodbye to the director.” He rubbed his hands along his jeans a couple of times then crossed his arms, banishing the chill. He seemed fidgety. “I saw your sisters inside. They look well. Happy.”
“Yes, they’re good. In spite of everything.” She remembered that he still didn’t know about Abbey’s memory recollection, or all the drama surrounding her father’s engagement, or even her purchase of the bookshop. In the past few weeks, it seemed he’d disappeared from their lives as suddenly as he’d entered it.
The petty side of her wanted Fletcher to fish, to have to work for it. To ask individual questions about Holly’s life, pull the information out of her. He owed her that, didn’t he? For all the times since the balloon ride that he’d avoided her texts, or brushed her aside in favor of something—or someone—else more important. Even now, the pause lingered, and he still didn’t seem interested enough to ask her. To catch up. To resume their carefully built friendship. She’d invested time into it, and now, looking at him, distant and disengaged, she wasn’t entirely certain it had been worth it in the first place. To have opened up her life to someone who seemed now not to care at all. Someone who was leaving, going across the ocean in a couple of days, anyway. With someone else.
Fletcher uncrossed his arms and stood. She couldn’t tell whether he was about to leave or was about to say something profound—his expression was uneasy, his eyes frustrated. He parted his lips as he took in a breath. “Holly, I—”
Holly’s phone buzzed, and out of habit, she glanced down. A text from Abbey, using Rosalee’s phone. I’m tired. Walk home?
Holly turned the phone over, wanting to give Fletcher a chance to finish. But all he said was, “Go ahead and answer. I need to get going, anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair with a shrug.
“It’s just Abbey,” she said, quickly texting back: Meet you at front door.
Fletcher had already taken a couple of steps toward the Manor when she looked up again. Before he disappeared, she wanted to stand up and grab his sleeve, spout the truth in one long breath. I miss your friendship. I miss your hugs, our talks. I don’t want you to leave yet. I’m not ready for you to go. Please stay a little while longer. I have so much to tell you… But something kept her from rising. “You’ll be at the book club on Monday, the final meeting?” she asked. A mundane question. A safe question.
“Yep. I’ll be there.”
In the split second before he walked away, Holly saw in his eyes something that looked like disappointment. But maybe it was something else entirely. Once upon a time, she knew him so well she could read the details in his eyes. But not anymore. Those days were gone.
The next morning, Holly heard a knock at the door, well before her alarm would go off for church.
“Come in,” she called, groggy. Then, “Hey you,” as she saw Abbey peek in.
Holly rose up on her elbows as Abbey approached, holding a wriggly Rascal—he was getting so big. Abbey let him loose on the bed, and he immediately pounced on Holly’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her as he leapt to plant a wet kiss on her cheek.
“Ugh! Ridiculous dog.” She pushed him playfully away. “What a wake-up call.” She turned back to Abbey. “What are you doing up so early? Church isn’t for hours.”
“I couldn’t stay asleep. Guess what Bridget wants to make tonight?”
“I have no idea.”
“Casserole.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. One of Mum’s recipes that she found in a drawer last night.”
Holly hadn’t ever seen Bridget wield a cooking utensil in the kitchen—except to clean it during mandatory dishwashing duty. “I’m impressed. And a little bit scared…”
“She invited Riley over for dinner. Is that okay?”
“Riley? More than okay. He’s a nice boy.”
Rascal burrowed underneath the covers with his nose and became a hump of fabric gliding along the length of the bed.
“I wanted to ask you something.” Abbey traced her fingertip along the thread of the quilt.
“Sure, anything.”
“Mrs. Harrison said it might be good to do something… an activity… to help me with Mum, with facing the memories.”
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“And I’ve decided on something. I want to have a service for her. At the peach tree.”
Holly raised her eyebrows and studied Abbey’s face, still focused on the thread. “You mean, a memorial?”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t get to go to the funeral. I want to say goodbye like the rest of you did.”
Holly clutched her sister’s hand and fought the tears.
“So,” Abbey continued, unfazed, “this would be just the family. Underneath the tree. We can have cards and flowers and say something about Mum.”
When she was able to find her voice again, Holly whispered, “I think that sounds amazing. Come here.” She leaned in to wrap her arms around her sister, snuggling her face into Abbey’s hair. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I love you, too.”
“You’re an inspiration to me.”
“I am?” Abbey backed away and looked at her sister sideways.
“You are.”
Rascal, still under the sheets, bumped against their legs. He whimpered then growled, desperate to find the opening.
“Silly dog.” Holly lifted the sheet to see his black, wet nose poking out.
“Can we have it tonight? The memorial?” Abbey asked.
“We can have it whenever you’re ready.”
The order of things had been entirely Abbey’s idea. After church, she had called a family meeting and told exactly how the ceremony would go. She wanted each person to name a quality they remembered best about their mother then place at the base of the tree an item that symbolized that quality.
So, several hours later, Holly joined her father, Abbey, and the twins at dusk as they gathered near the peach tree.
Holly squeezed Abbey’s hand. Abbey squeezed back, keeping her eyes stoically ahead. Holly caught her father’s gaze and nodded reassuringly.
The absolute silence of the cool evening seemed profound, almost sacred. Nobody moved for several minutes, until Abbey cleared her throat and spoke toward the tree.
“I loved Mummy for her kindness. Once, we were sitting in the garden, and she saw a baby blue bird on the ground with a broken wing. She picked it up and put it inside a box, and we fed it and got it healthy until its wing healed. She taught me to treat everything with kindness and love.” Abbey walked over to the tree and propped up a picture of a blue bird, soaring in the sky, against the trunk. She had drawn it this afternoon, and Holly had helped her frame it.
Abbey stepped back beside Holly. Her turn.
“I remember Mum best as hopeful. She never looked at any situation with negativity. She would find the bright side in everything. Which was occasionally annoying.” She heard her father chuckle softly. “I feel like I get that hopefulness from her. Whenever things become unbearable, there’s always a strength inside I can draw from. And she had a big faith in God that I admired. So, whenever I feel down or lonely, I remember that there’s nothing too big or too impossible for God to do.”
Holly stepped forward and placed beside the frame a carved wooden cross her mother had given her when she was sixteen. She’d taken it with her to Kingston then hung it in Hideaway Cottage when she came home so unexpectedly. It was the first thing she’d unpacked.
Next was Rosalee’s turn, who honored her mother’s generous nature by placing a ceramic Father Christmas beside Holly’s cross, reminding them of when their mother would help them deliver clothes and toys to the less fortunate every Christmas. Then, Bridget remembered her mother’s sense of humor and placed down a toy clown she’d received as a child. “I remember her smile more than anything else,” Bridget whispered as she moved back to the circle. “I can still see it in my mind sometimes…”
Finally, it was their father’s turn. He took his time, scratched at his beard, fought back the quiver in his jaw. Holly understood how difficult this must be for him, going back to that dark place, if only for a few moments.
“Your mother was eighteen when I met her. Bonniest lass I’d ever seen. The free spirit who married a cynic. I don’t know how she put up with me all those years.” He smiled up at the tree, watching the gentle rustle of leaves in a new breeze. “But she did. So, here today, I honor her great capacity for love—with every cell of her being. There wasn’t a day I spent with her that I didn’t know, with absolute certainty, that she loved me. And I was a better man because of it. Asking her to marry me was the single best decision I ever made.”
He stepped toward the trunk and set down a petite jewelry box that Holly could only assume contained their mother’s wedding ring. The girls had all been strong during each part of the memorial, but watching him with the box created a surge of emotion. Holly let the tears fall, unashamed, and noticed her sisters were all crying as well.
Seeing this, Duncan said, “Come here…” and stepped toward them, reached out his long arms, and encompassed all his daughters in a warm group hug. Holly shut her eyes, still crying, and felt him kiss the top of her head then heard him kiss the twins then Abbey. He lifted his face to the sky and said, “Thank you, Hannah, for leaving me four pieces of you.”