Miss Bates' Something Blue
I've always thought that Miss Bates deserved a chance at love.
Miss Bates had not been in this part of the attic since she and her mother, Mrs Bates, had been required to retrench to their current, modest abode. But now, on the eve of her dearest niece's, Jane Fairfax's wedding, Miss Bates had found courage enough to face the lovingly carved box and its several contents.
The stubby candlelight shone over Miss Bates' plain, cheerful face, touching on the curl-rags in her just-greying hair, and sinking into the folds of her patched, patterned shawl. She held her hands limply together on her folded knees. Almost, she could have been praying. Like a child, she let loose, a little, silly laugh to cover the quivering of her chin.
"Oh well," she said brightly to the ghosts of her past. "I can't," looking around, "can't stay up...here...all night." Again a nervous giggle and the musical, "Oh well. Mmm."
No lock bound the chest; much like some wittier folk like Miss Woodhouse might say that no lock bound Miss Bates' tongue. "And, well, yes, she's probably right," Miss Bates murmured, setting the prop in place to hold the lid.
The light grew in the cramped attic as it reflected off the contents of the trunk. In small seed pearls, and silver-shot lace, an exquisite wedding gown lay, still wrapped in the tailor's ribbon. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, which she awkwardly shoved away with the palm of her hand, smiling, "Oh dear," and "Oh my," with every fresh sob.
A small corsage of flowers, carefully tucked within the ribbons and pressed over time caught her eye, eliciting a momentary smile. "Mmm. Something blue," she hummed, reaching out for the poesy.
So doing, her clumsy fingers happened upon an envelope lost in the trunk, but never truly forgotten. She gasped an "Oh!" and pulled the letter out. "Oh," she repeated, fonder this time. She did not say the name of the author -- she had no need to: her whole being still quivered with his memory.
Charles Stanton scrawled across the page as surely as it did across her soul. A poor shipmate aboard the ill-fated Morning Star. His letter still smelled of salt water and hot tar. The dress had been ordered twenty years ago, to adorn his lively bride. The letter had been written as long before, to adore the bride-to-be he was returning to. The letter had arrived, carried by a vessel immediately home, while the Morning Star first docked briefly in Algiers to let the Captain and his new bride enjoy a well-deserved honeymoon. A Captain Muldroon had replaced him for the remainder of the voyage.
As close a man as you ever did see, love, the letter ran. Said not a word to even first mate Henderson, although they was cabin boys together, they was, aboard the Triumphant during the French trouble in the Americas. All he's let out -- and this through Henderson -- is that we'd best write home. And so I'm writing you, Fanny, not knowing when I'll see you again, nor when we may wed. I suppose I should say soft, genteel-like words now, eh? But what'd I say that's not said far better in a book? I'm no good with words, although I use my fair share, I dare say. But I'll try, seeing as Henderson let slip to me that the Captain never says a word he don't mean. I can't form nice strings of sweets together, my mind is too a-boggle for that, so I'll put down what I'm thinking and hope you'll forgive if I don't say nothing fine. Ah, Fanny, I'm setting here and just thinking of you laugh. Nothing else. Just the way you giggle and hum, when you aren't talking, that is. And I'm wishing you were right by me, now, laughing and making light of all my worries with your "Oh wells," I teaze you about so often. And I'm thinking of how red your nose gets when you're seeing me out of port, or better, when you're greeting me in. And how red and chapped your knuckles are in the wind, too. But then, inside, how you'll laugh at me when I pace and gaze out the window to make sure the sea's still there. I can't think why you want to marry me, Fanny. And live your life cold and chapped in some seaport or another, awaiting a callous tar, like me -- but I thank God you do, Fanny. I thank God you do. Ah, well, Henderson can't give me no more time to write. So I'll end clumsily here, and think of how you'll laugh at me. Wait for me, Fanny. Your devoted,Charles
The letter that had arrived three months later ran quite differently. Miss Bates need not find it within the trunk. This, too, she knew too well.
October 1796My dear Miss Bates,
It is with deepest sorrow that I take the liberty of writing to you. I served with your betrothed, Charles Stanton, aboard the Morning Star, and often heard him speak warmly of you. I knew he would want me to write you. On 20 August, 1796, en route to England at long last, we were hit with a vast storm off the Coat of Ivory. Many men were lost to sea that day -- Charles among them. He acquitted himself nobly, saving many lives before losing his own. I myself owe him a far larger debt than I could ever repay. Again, my deepest condolences on your loss. If there ever is any way in which I can aid you, please do not hesitate to call upon your servant,
J. Henderson
Deep azure tears had found their way down Miss Bates' good face, causing her nose to drip a little. Again, her hand was employed, until she found an handkerchief she had tucked up the sleeve of her nightdress. "Mmm," she laughed, "something blue."
She had not the imagination to picture her Charles valiantly saving lives, nor had she the crudity to depend upon Henderson's good will for support. Neither fancy nor reality could comfort Miss Bates, as she knelt alone in her attic. Only her "Oh wells" saw her through the night.
The next morning, Frank Churchill himself brought down the box. Jane Fairfax opened it as all the rest admired.
"But where did you get this, aunt?" Jane inquired.
"Well, I dare say, it's a long story and you won't want to hear it. An old, old story, mmm. But if it fits you, Jane, you might wear it today for I do not think it is quite out of fashion entirely, although I do not account myself a good judge of young ladies' tastes these days but I did think...."
Jane stopped her aunt with a kiss. "It is lovely."
"Just the thing!" Frank exclaimed, lifting the dress from the box. "Something old and something new!"
"And something borrowed," Jane added, squeezing Miss Bates' hand.
"Leaving only...oh, what is it, Jane?"
"Mmm," Miss Fanny Bates replied, blinking back happy tears. "Something -- something blue."
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