'Till by Turning....

'To turn, turn,

Will be a delight.

Till by turning, turning,

We come round right.'

~ from Simple Gifts

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Heres a short piece, with several details changed, of Edward proposal to Elinor, through the eyes of the littlest Dashwood: Miss Margaret.

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Pushing aside a stray curl, Miss Margaret pulled the latch closed firmly behind her and, turning, regarded the entrance to Barton cottage with an exaggerated sigh. "No!" she breathed. "It is too much and I just can't stand it any longer!", she finished with a passion that would have satisfied even Marianne. Choking back another sigh, she compressed her lips firmly and stomped off for her hide-away. Anything, anywhere, to escape the horrible gloom that, she decided, seemed stuck to the walls, windows, and faces of all within the cottage she had just exited.

She was cross, too. Hadn't Elinor, patient, sweet Elinor, who was never out of sorts, just snapped at her for simply missing four words in her French lesson? Truly, she hadn't done anything so very terrible. No, she'd decided, sagely, it had to be something else - at least she very much wanted to think so! -- that was upsetting Elinor. And she'd been right! (What a blissful feeling!) Now she knew. But somehow, the knowledge of it had destroyed all the fun of being right.

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Margaret could date the time this horrible feeling had entered the pit of her stomach from that dreadful night Colonel Brandon had appeared in the middle of the night. She'd clenched her hands to her tummy, hoping that somehow it would help the queer feeling she had inside, and squeezed her eyes shut tight to stop the tears from coming.

But it hadn't helped.

She'd felt sick all the same. And she'd sobbed.

Everytime Marianne's image appeared before her she couldn't help herself and she'd cried quite desperately. For some strange reason she couldn't very well remember the times Marianne had scrubbed behind her ears so hard it hurt. Or how terribly she'd scolded her for simply telling Mrs. Jennings that Elinor's beau's name started with an 'F'. Which, really hadn't been fair, she reasoned, she was sure she hadn't said anything so terrible. At least not to deserve the thorough scolding that had followed.

But no matter, she simply couldn't be mad at Marianne for anything, anymore, she realized. And she sent up a little prayer to the throne above that Marianne wouldn't die, and that everything would be happy again. And she had to admit it. Somewhere, deep in the depths of her sweet, childish heart she hoped, and wished she could bring herself to believe in it, that Marianne wouldn't be so very sick after all. And, somehow, the thought of seeing Elinor's cheering smile again warmed her through and through and she fell, gratefully, into an untroubled sleep. Even when the carriage had jerked to a stop in front of the Palmers now-deserted house, Margaret had slept on peacefully.

But when she awoke the queer feeling had returned because Marianne, though not dying, was very ill, and even though Elinor had tried very hard to greet her with a customary smile, it had somehow failed to warm like the one she had cherished in her dreams.

Marianne had come home. Had gotten stronger. But something still wasn't right. She was pale and moped around daily. Picking at her food, and dissolving into sobs at even the best-intended comments Margaret had made.

It had been long enough since she'd been home and well, too. (And thanks to the depressing atmosphere, every singe minute of it had been unbearably long.)

It had been too long, Margaret decided firmly.

"Wicked, wicked, Willoughby!" she cried, now in the safety of her tree house. Strutting to her little window with affected elegance, she waved an imaginary sword. "If only I were big and strong, I would fight him!" she cried imperiously. "...And makehim marry Marianne!" she finished with a satisfied nod.

But no, she shook her head a little dubiously now. And then, quite emphatically, "I'm sure I wouldn't want such a dreadful man for my brother-in-law."

In spite of the family, and especially Margaret's former fondness of Willoughby, she now disliked him even more fiercely than the rest.

Unexpectedly a faint smile crossed the little beauties features, as a familiar face appeared in her minds eye. "Well, one things for sure, I know I wouldn't've minded Edward for a brother-in-law." And simultaneously, the smile faded and was replaced by another painful sigh. Because she now knew that would never, ever, be.

Elinor's bad moods had suddenly made sense, when, just before she finished that dreadful French lesson, Thomas had come back from town and brought in the shopping.

"....and Mr. Ferrars is married now to Miss Lucy Steele, that was. ...But ye already knew that, I guess..."

The only thing that had stopped her crying out right there and then had been Elinor's pale face as she'd murmured, "..I simply cannot...." and left the room, hurriedly.

************************************************************************ So now she knew. And it certainly didn't give her any satisfaction at all. Elinor never could marry dear, dear Edward, after all.

It wouldn't hurt quite so much, she thought, just if she hadn't liked Edward quite so much! But more than that, Elinor had deserved him.

Life was just soooo not fair!

With a heavy heart, the littlest Dashwood, moved slowly from her window and lay down on the hard cubby floor. No matter if it was hard. Anything was better than having to endure the cottage.

In her minds eye Edward appeared before her again. But he wasn't the only one in the scene. Her own rosy face appeared, and she was waving a real toy sword... Then suddenly, the swords weren't pretend anymore. Willoughby was standing in her place. Edward wasn't smiling, anymore... He stood rigid, grasping the weapon murderously. Shouting something... She strained to hear... what was it? "You will marry...." who? Then she heard it, "You will marry Marianne.. Or pay the penalty with your life!.." Willoughby? marry Marianne??! Wait a minute, she gasped, this wasn't to happen... Something not right... oh yes. Marianne couldn't marry Willoughby...she mustn't. He is a bad man! No, she decided desperately, she'd rather have Marianne stay single than have her married to him!.. But Edward still shouting, "You will marry Marianne, do you....or I will...." No....no...no!! he mustn't..she can't let it happen...must stop Edward. Tell him... Her throat quite suddenly feels very dry..she gasps for air..but mustn't give up! Must tell Edward..stop him! Gathering up every ounce of energy she has, she gives out a scream, "Edward!"

The sound of her own cry woke Margaret. With a start she realized she was lying down...on a very hard bed. Hey, what happened..? oh yes, Edward and Willoughby.. the duel. There'd been a message. She'd had to tell Edward something...? Struggling momentarily, Margaret stood. She was in the tree-house. Must have been sleeping on the floor... She hurried to the window, expecting to see Edward and Willoughby, dueling. Or might Willoughby have already agreed to wed Marianne..? Oh dear...

But there was no Willoughby to be seen. Or Edward.... But wait a minute. A man on horseback...coming to the cottage. To Barton Cottage. Dismounting his horse.. Margaret let out another cry as shed dashed down the cubby steps. "Edward!!!"

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So Edward wasn't married. And he was inside the cottage with Elinor. Surely he would ask her......

Marianne gave her a mischievous grin, hey, Marianne hadn't been smiling for ages!, "Up the tree-house, Margaret!" Another grin. For once she understood perfectly.

And now Margaret, herself, was grinning just as wildly. "Oh, look, he's sitting beside her!"

Mama looked half excited and half cross. Maybe she's afraid that if Edward finds out I'm looking he won't ask her.. "Margaret, come down this minute!" For once she pretended not to hear. Marianne, too, was breathless. "Oh, Margaret, what else!?" She let out a squeal, "He's kneeling!"

Now Marianne and Mama were grinning, laughing...crying! And then they were hugging each other tightly, still laughing and crying for the sheer joy of it.

Without another word, Margaret was down the tree-house steps, across the garden path, through the front door, hugging a stunned, but equally joyous Edward. As Marianne and Mama raced in behind her, she let out her breath all at once, "Edward, I'm soooo glad your going to be my brother!"

And not Willoughby, she finished to herself, remembering the dream.

For an instant the previous scene flashed through her mind -- the pale and drawn faces that had surrounded her, escaping them and the cottage, the dream...and it hit her. Something was different. She glanced around at the walls, windows, ceiling...and then, cautiously at the faces of her mother and sisters. No, she wasn't dreaming. It was all true. Edward was going to marry Elinor.

She was right. And for once, knowing that actually felt good!

The gloom had gone, just as surely as the sunshine had returned, streaming through the now wide open front door to Barton Cottage and reflected on the faces all around her.

Another thought crossed her mind, maybe Marianne could even marry the Colonel.. and her eyes flashed mischievously.

She glanced out at the dancing sunbeams on a stray rain droplet that sat regally atop a single blade of grass, and she felt the smile reach her eyes, thrilling her little heart and warming her very soul, "Maybe.." she thought to herself, "...life isn't quite so unfair, after all."

THE END

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