“And let Karen fire me? She’d love that.”
Isabel squished a pillow into her lap. “But you don’t know that. That sentence might not have been about you. And you said Nathan sounded like he was against it.”
“What about telling me Craig had been wrong all along?”
“So you’re the scapegoat. Nathan was probably frustrated that Craig dropped the ball and now you’re the scapegoat. Sounds like Karen needs one.”
After five years of stories and lots of Friday nights, Isabel knew WATT well.
“Having your ‘boyfriend’ stick up for you is no better.” I made the word boyfriend sound ugly to make it easier to let go.
Isabel caught it and let out a long, slow breath. “I see . . . Then I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything. I didn’t know how much he really meant to you, and what I did plays into all this. Yes, it’s your job, but everything about Nathan and how you feel about all this, I’m in there too. You wouldn’t doubt him if it hadn’t been for me.”
“One has nothing to do with the other.” I climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
“One has everything to do with the other,” Isabel called after me.
I ignored her and brushed my teeth and hair, dressed in jeans and a cream sweater, and dabbed on a little makeup.
She said nothing further as I darted around the room to finish my packing and slip on my ballet flats. I finally zipped up my suitcase and stood next to her bed. “Call me when you get back?”
She threw the covers back and jumped up to hug me. “You know I will. And if you’re serious about all this, I want to throw you a moving-away party. You know your dad will come into town for it. He’d want that.”
“You two . . . Don’t do that. It’s not going to feel like anything worth celebrating.” I looked toward the door as if I expected Nathan to knock for the seventh time. “All this got so messed up.”
“Not messed up.” Isabel slid her hands down my arms and captured my own. “It got real. So don’t . . . don’t do anything rash until you can see it clearly. Okay?”
Gertrude met me at the bottom of the stairs. “I was coming to get you. Your car is here.”
I held out her gray Barbour coat. “Thank you for this. I’m sorry I forgot to leave it in the mudroom yesterday.”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” She laid the coat across the stair’s handrail and gestured to the far side of the hallway. It felt like we were in the Pump Room and she was inviting me to step out of the circuit to gossip. She turned as we stepped into a small alcove.
“Before you go . . . I wanted to say thank you. You helped me realize surviving isn’t the same as living. This, in many ways, has been my play in the center of Mansfield Park too.” Her eyes trailed behind me and up the stairs. “I got stuck here somehow, and when the house sold I couldn’t move on. But you . . . you played the piano, you forgave Isabel, you risked your heart with Nathan . . . Even what you are doing now.”
I found myself unfolding, agreeing, even feeling like it might be true, until she mentioned “what you are doing now.” My heart hiccupped. That did not feel like courage.
She dabbed her ringed pinkie finger to the corner of one eye. “My niece lives in France, and she’s begged me for years to come be with her family. You showed me last night that I could do it. It’s time to go, to move on and be with family. I almost missed my chance.” By now she’d stopped dabbing and let the few tears trickle down her cheek.
“I’m happy for you, Gertrude. Will you keep in touch? I’d love to hear about your life there, and your family.”
“It won’t all happen right away. I’m not that brave. But, yes, I’d like that. I want to hear about your next chapter too.”
We’d only known each other a short time, but I didn’t want to let her go. Oddly, her story seemed to mirror, inform, interweave, or somehow run alongside mine. It was like music—I’d stepped away before, now I felt almost desperate not to. Some things, some people, I needed to carry with me.
She pulled a tissue from her pocket and gestured to the side hall. “You should go find the others. The Muellers postponed their gig ride and are sitting in the Day Room, and the Lottes are playing chess in the front parlor. No one wanted to leave the house until they’d said good-bye.”
I hugged Gertrude, then set off for the Day Room. As I tapped on the Day Room door, Nathan leapt from the library.
“Were you really going to leave without talking to me?” He sounded weary, and a touch angry. He looked both—and hurt.
“No, I wasn’t. And I’m sorry about last night . . . Give me a minute?”
Nathan tilted his chin to the Day Room. He said nothing, but his crossed arms spoke volumes.
I pushed open the door. Helene and Herman were squeezed into the armchairs. Both looked up and struggled to stand as I entered the room.
“I wish you weren’t leaving us.” Herman pulled me to him, then handed me off to Helene in one smooth motion.
She was dressed in dusty blue today, and it matched her pale eyes. She had a red-and-blue woven shawl over her shoulders, and her little mobcap was askew. Her white hair fluffed out at odd angles.
“Dressed as you are, we must seem very silly to you.” She pulled me close. There was nothing but warmth in her voice.
“Not at all. You are enjoying a very important anniversary and I loved it, even the dresses. I loved playing the piano, dancing, your wonderful and wise interpretation of Mrs. Jennings, and my gig ride with you both. I won’t forget any of it.”
“But you must go home. Gertrude said your work needs you.” Herman patted my arm.
“We will miss you.” Helene pressed her lips together as if she might cry.
“I will miss you too.”
“Your . . . your friend is staying. She promised to share with us some little-known Regency customs today.” Herman touched his finger to his neckcloth.
“Ask her lots of questions, okay? And be sure to get her to tell some of the behind-the-scenes about the books. She knows all about them—far beyond the characters.”
We shared hugs, promises to keep in touch, and a few memories more before I slipped back into the hallway. One step and one deep breath carried me across it and into the library. Nathan was gone.
I returned to the front hall. He wasn’t there, nor was Gertrude. The hall felt cold and too large for only me. I stepped into the front parlor and found Sylvia and Clara at the chessboard. Aaron sat looking on. He looked uncomfortable sitting in a needlepoint chair watching chess. He was a Mr. Bingley, meant for the outdoors.
“Are you winning?” I tapped the top of Clara’s head.
She grinned up at me. “I am.” She slid out of her seat and hugged me.
“I will miss you, Clara.”
Sylvia gave me a hug, as did Aaron. “We’re sorry to lose you. It won’t be the same.”
“Who will play the piano?” Clara tugged my sleeve.
“Gertrude said she hired someone who plays even better than I do, and your dancing instructor is staying.”