Chapter 14 Emma Jane
Emma Jane
Ionce thought Jane Austen was on my side but that notion is shattered glass on the ground, much like the plate I dropped onto the hardwood floor ten minutes ago.
“Why must I be here tonight?” I ask, setting the long, red oak table with her finest, floral-patterned china. I matched Knightley and Mallory, so I don’t necessarily need to ‘get to know them’ more.
“To show your support,” Jane reiterates for the thousandth time. “You sat on your chance to tell him how you feel.”
“I never had the chance! We had our conversation after he informed me he was asking her to be his girlfriend, if you recall.”
Jane pegs me with a look and swishes her hand in front of her face. “No, ma’am. This is on you, sweet child. You could have told him before our conversation.”
I have no comeback because she is justified as always.
The front door to Killington Mansion, Knightley’s childhood home, opens, but the kitchen is not in sight of the foyer.
Creaks in the floorboard echo through the house as the guest approaches the kitchen.
Before long, a voice I know—rich and deep—says, “You’ve outdone yourself, Mom.
The food smells amazing.” He rounds the corner, and I whirl away from him and busy myself straightening the edge of the white lace table runner since my emotions won’t dissipate from my face.
I feel the frown, the heaviness in my chest, and the pinch of my brows.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix my face into a welcoming expression, much less a blank one.
What’s happening to my control?
He approaches me from behind, and my back warms from the late-September Mississippi heat radiating in waves off of him, much stronger than the normal heat he puts off when he’s near me. He must have been at my father’s place and walked over here. “Thank you for helping my mom out.”
I inhale deeply before turning to meet him; he steps back as I move. “Of course. I’ll always be around to help Jane with insignificant dinners such as this one.”
His blue eyes bore into me, a flash of indignation crossing them.
“Insignificant?” He sputters a laugh before grabbing my forearm and dragging me out of the dining area, through the kitchen, where Jane watches with a smirk on her face, and then into the hallway before going through a swinging door and landing in his father’s old office.
“Let me remind you, lest you forget, you wanted this. You matched me and Mallory together. You set up the date. You said I needed to do this. You said it would help your business.”
I cross my arms, refusing to meet his eyes. I can’t control the pout in my voice when I speak. “Yes, and?”
Knightley lets out another laugh of disbelief as he runs his hand down his face. “Now you’re upset and angry at me for following your wishes? I don’t understand you, Emma Jane.”
He waits for me to respond, but when I remain silent, staring out of the old dusty window toward the backyard garden, he stalks out of the room, the door swinging closed behind him. The sound ricochets around my head.
I collapse onto the mustard brown settee, a cloud of dust billowing around me as I inwardly scream. What’s wrong with me? What happened to my control? Why can’t I bring myself to fake a smile or even tap into my snarky charm?
Jealousy swims in my veins. It’s like a flesh-eating bacteria, eroding me from the inside out.
“God, please help me,” I cry out through falling tears.
I don’t want to feel this way. I want to be happy for my friend.
“Take these feelings from me.” I want him to be happy.
I don’t want to lose him. The only way to never lose him is to make him mine forever.
But that opportunity has sailed on the S. S. Mallory.
Knightley is right. I caused this. I set him up on the ridiculous premise I could use him for my endeavors.
I tried to force Henrietta into the arms of not one but two awful, no-good men.
All because I matched one couple who already liked each other, as Knightley once pointed out.
Why am I like this? Calculating and… and…
Manipulative.
The word bites my skin, and I cringe.
I don’t mean to be, but I—
I just want people to like me.
Shaking the thought away because it feels like a thousand pounds crushing down on my chest, I turn my attention back to matchmaking.
Why did I want to start this business anyway?
The ugly truth rings out clearly as I search my heart for the answer: I want something more than living off of Papa’s money, working at Books and Beans, and pleasing the entire town of Hartfield.
I love my job at Books and Beans, but I can’t stay there, never moving up and challenging myself.
I need a challenge. There are only so many coffee combinations I can create.
I want a challenge in business practices.
I want to take the coffee shop and bookstore to a new level.
But I can’t because it’s not mine to change.
Papa is a whole other situation. I have to be there for him, and I will not bail on taking care of him.
I will not place him in a nursing home. I want to stay with him until he’s no longer with me.
I love him. He sacrificed so much to raise me and Bella, and this is the least I can do for him. I cannot and will not leave him.
And Hartfield.
I love this small town. I love the antebellum homes that spaciously line this road. I love our church. I love the people. I love them so much I’ve strived to be their town gem, their southern belle, their debutante princess as they’ve wanted me to be.
Did they want it?
Or did I do it for myself? Out of my insecurities that I’m not enough for the people around me? That I have to make up for the death of my mother?
It’s as if my entire paradigm is shifting, and the perfect control I once held is slipping through my fingertips, preparing to shatter on the floor at the right moment.
“Mallory, you are a precious soul. How did Knightley get so lucky to snag you up?” Mary Bates’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Not to mention the current content of her speech.
Mallory laughs, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. Her silver earrings are bows, and I don’t know if I’m more jealous over her fashion sense or her relationship with Knightley.
“Well, we have Emma Jane to thank, of course.”
The table applauds, and I want to crawl under the long, wooden rectangle and hide like a child trying to sneak dessert before the main course.
But instead, I paste on a smile and nod my head as if I’m winning an award. When I catch Henrietta’s eyes, she flashes me a weird look. Like she’s uncomfortable. She glances away and whispers something in Marcus’s ear.
“I’m glad she got this match right. Our poor Henrietta went through not one but two failed matches because of Emma Jane.
Not to mention both men were sleazes. Can you believe that so-called reverend said those nasty things to my Henrietta when he decided not to date her because she wasn’t Emma Jane?
” With every word that Henrietta’s aunt continues to speak, recounting the awful behavior of our former reverend, my stomach sinks into a pit of despair.
All eyes at the table flick to me, and as Mrs. Bates continues to spew from the mouth, their expressions go from curious to disbelief and settle on shame.
Or is it because I feel shame in my gut that I believe everyone is looking at me in that capacity? It’s too much to bear. Their stares, Mrs. Bates’s high-pitched shrill, the disappointed look from the red-headed man sitting across from me. Henrietta’s sympathetic expression.
How does she carry sympathy for me? Mrs. Bates is right. I did this, I—
I can’t breathe.
All of the thoughts from before dinner come barreling back to me.
As I stand, my chair falls. The noise of it crashing to the ground reminds me of the sound I’m making as I fall from the pedestal I’ve stood upon for years.
This is it. This is the moment where everyone discovers I am not perfect.
Where everyone disowns me and shuns me. Where I lose everything I’ve tried to maintain.
Where I become unloved. Where my castle crumbles and my reign comes to an end.
I’ve let everyone down. Put my best friend into awful situations with awful men.
All because I needed to be perfect. Needed to make people like me and see my worth.
“Enough!” Henrietta’s voice booms from the opposite end of the table.
She stands, slamming her hands on the table.
The table quiets, but I don’t have the strength to rip my gaze from my black, sparkly shoes.
She clears her throat. “Emma Jane has apologized to me, and I have forgiven her. Aunt Mary, you have no right to give a tongue lashing to my friend like this. I told you before we left the house for this dinner to not peep a word. We will talk about this further at home.”
“Child, how dare you—”
“No.” Henrietta’s voice is firm. “At home.”
I hear chairs scratching against the floor, and then Henrietta is at my side. I gather enough courage to meet her eyes. She smiles and pulls me into a hug. “I love you, E. J. Please don’t take what she said to heart.”
As she walks away, tears stream down my face. What did I do to deserve a friend like her? I don’t deserve her, and that is the truth of the matter.
Henrietta leaves, dragging Mrs. Bates with her.
Marcus waves goodbye before following them out.
Halle and Grant say their goodbyes. Mallory pulls Knightley to the side while Jane comes around to embrace me.
I crumble in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
“She’s right, Jane. I don’t deserve the love of this town.
She’s right to call me out. I didn’t know Frank and Elton were the way that they are.
I swear it. I never would do something to intentionally hurt Henrietta.
She knows that, right? She says she does, but does she really?
” I can’t bring myself to voice my thoughts from earlier.
Not to Jane. I have to work through these character flaws on my own.
With God. And pray I’m forgiven for my mindless mistakes in desperate attempts to be enough.
My words are jumbled and broken between trying to catch my breath and speak my heart. Jane pats my back, whispering in my ear, “You’re okay, Emma Jane. You’re okay. She knows.”
I stop trying to talk and cry in her arms until the tears start to run dry. Knightley brings a box of tissues over, telling his mom that Mallory left, and we all three sit down at the table as I blow my nose and dry my face. Moments pass as I shut my thoughts down, trying to collect myself.
The front door opens, and someone walks in, but I can’t bring myself to look up.
“Can you give us a moment?” It’s Henrietta’s voice. Jane and Knightley must agree because they get up and leave the room. When she places her hand on my thigh, the deluge resumes.
“Henrietta, I am so sorry. I never meant to try and set you up with pitiful men. Had I known their colors, I never would have—”
“Shh.” She continues making a gentle shushing sound even as I cry. “I know you didn’t. I didn’t know either.”
“But you did,” I continue sobbing, trying to get my words out. “I should have listened to you about Elton Philip after the first date went disastrously. I’m so sorry, Henrietta. You are my best friend, and I was being completely selfish.”
“I forgive you, E. J. I forgave you when you apologized after the incident with him.”
I hug my best friend, and she begins to cry. We both hold each other, crying, until we can’t anymore.
“Why are you crying?” I ask, trying to laugh to lighten the mood.
“Because my best friend is,” she exclaims, grabbing a tissue and blotting her eyes. “What’s going on, E. J.? This,” she sweeps her hand up and down my frame, “surely isn’t all about me.”
“I don’t know, Hen. I’m just…” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I’m a mess. I need to tell you something, but I can’t say it here. Not right now. Do you want to go for a drive or something?”
“I’d love to. I’ll drive and drop you off when we get back from wherever we end up. Then I’ll go deal with my aunt. I’m so sorry she said those things about you.”
I sigh. “She wasn’t all wrong, you know.”
“Regardless. It wasn’t her place. Not at a happy little gathering like tonight was supposed to be.”
Henrietta stands, tugging me to my feet. I follow her out of the house before remembering I left my purse in the sitting room.
When I open the door, Knightley is standing there as if he was going to walk outside. “Um, excuse me. I’ll just—” I try to scoot around him, but he steps in front of me.
“Are you okay, Emma Jane?”
“I will be okay,” I say, not meeting his eyes.
“I’m here for you.” His voice is a pained whisper, and after a beat, I gather the courage to look at him. His blue eyes are dark, his jaw set.
I manage a soft smile, my heart breaking as I say, “You can’t be. Not anymore.”