Page 64 of The Austen Escape
I pulled my hair back in the same high bun Isabel had fashioned. This time I left no loose tendrils or curls. It felt dramatic and bold too. Soft leather boots and a black shawl, taken from the wardrobe’s lower drawers, completed the outfit. I headed to the stables.
The gravel on the drive surrounding the house shifted and scraped under my feet. Rain had pattered the windows in the night and left the gravel moist and gripping and the grass glistening with drops in the morning light. But the air was dry. All the dampness had been pulled out with the rain, and the air was also cold, crisp. Each breath made a little puff of steam, and I almostturned back for a heavier dress or a jacket. Instead I tucked the shawl tighter around my shoulders and picked up my pace along the path.
“You’re here.” Duncan stood brushing Tennyson.
“Am I late?”
“They went for a walk. Isabel was keen to go, Nathan keen to stay, but she won in the end.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I felt my buoyancy deflate with a slow leak.
Duncan pointed the brush down the path. “If you hurry you might catch them.”
“It doesn’t matter. Is anyone else around?”
“The Muellers are on a gig ride with Goliath. The Lottes are fishing on a north stretch of the stream, if you want to join them.”
“I think I’d rather walk.” I pointed down the path, the opposite direction he’d said Isabel had taken. “Will you tell Nathan I headed this way?”
I passed the spot where Nathan and I had fished. I walked to the stream and looked down into the cranny right by the bank. I wondered if any fish were hiding there today. Then I lifted the skirt of my dress and lengthened my stride... Time to walk. The path split. I headed down a small slope and, circling a hedgerow, ran into Gertrude.
“Good morning.” She seemed surprised to see me. She was dressed in black pants, her bright-pink rubber boots, and a black sweater. “Forgive me for not being in dress. I was visiting Mr. Chessman and thought I wouldn’t be seen.”
I waved away her apology. “Grant?”
“His grandfather.” She joined me. “He’s been here longer than I have.” She smiled. “If ever the world went sideways, a visit to his cottage always set it right—ever since I was a little girl. When I losemy patience with the Stanleys, I remember they let him keep his cottage and his salary, and I stop.”
“Isabel met him yesterday.”
“He mentioned that. He thinks his grandson is quite taken with her.” Gertrude looked at me. “This is where these escapes can get dangerous.” Her tone held a warning.
“I can imagine.”
“Life often doesn’t look the same. Can’t look the same afterwards.”
I wondered if Gertrude was talking about Isabel, me, or herself. It was hard to tell. “I’m beginning to think I don’t want it to.”
Gertrude pressed her fingers to her lips, as if she was trying to stop a smile or tears. I wasn’t sure which.
“I need to get back to the house.”
She went on up the path as I headed down. The realization of what I’d just said struck me. I didn’t want life to return to what it had been. It wasn’t just Isabel. It wasn’t just Nathan—as much as he seemed to be smack in the middle of everything. It was about music, fear, voice, running away, and tucking close. It was about family and swirling emotions I couldn’t name but felt in my heart as it pounded with each step. Everything was already different.
The path met up with the stream again. It was wider here and rushed faster. There was a log over it and a verdant sloping hill on the other side. I stepped onto the log and made it halfway across when it shifted beneath me.
The time-space continuum distorted. Space compressed. Time elongated. It took me three full sentences to fall.
1.That water will be freezing and, wow, it looks deep.
2.I’m going to ruin this dress.
3.This is really going to hurt.
The last sentence got my attention, and I twisted so that my shoulder and not my wrist crashed first. I landed in the icy water while thinking up sentence four.
4.Oufff.
I pulled myself upright but couldn’t find solid ground on which to plant my feet. I slipped and landed smack on the stones. One ruined dress. One bruised shoulder. It reminded me of a scene I’d read in one of Austen’s novels, but I couldn’t place it and now wasn’t the time to ponder. I reached forward to start my crawl to shore.
