Chapter Mrs. Bennet #5
Mary shot Lizzie a look. No one in the Bennet family could ever keep up with Lydia’s love life. They were always polite but didn’t get involved with her husbands. Lydia had more stepchildren over three marriages than Mrs. Bennet had grandchildren.
“Go ahead you two. Make faces. There is no title high enough for the husbands of my daughters,” Mrs. Bennet insisted.
“You have a soft spot for Lydia,” Lizzie said pleasantly. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s hard not to choose a favorite daughter.”
“I refuse! I love all my girls equally.”
Dr. Martinelli entered the waiting room. He was tall, his jet-black hair combed back. He smiled and approached the Bennet women.
“Mr. Bennet told me to look for the girl group,” the doctor said.
“That’s us.” Lizzie smiled and stood.
“Oh, Doctor, what is the news? How is my dear husband?”
“He is resting now. The tests showed us he has a blockage in his aorta. He’s in and out of A-fib.”
“I knew it!” Mrs. Bennet cried out. “A racing heart will kill him!”
“Luckily, your husband did not have a heart attack. This was a pre-episode. We’re going to continue our testing. He may need an ablation.”
“Surgery?” Mary asked.
“It’s the least invasive of invasive heart procedures.”
“Does that explain the fall?” Lizzie asked.
“It could. He may have been lightheaded, lying down, and then got up too suddenly.”
“When can we see him?” Mary wanted to know.
“He’s resting now, but you can go in any time you wish.”
MR. BENNET’S GIRLS MINUS ONE
The machines beeped behind Mr. Bennet’s hospital bed.
The graphs of green, pulsating blue dots, dings, and beeps reminded Jane of her brief stint as a runner on the stock exchange floor when she was first out of college.
Lizzie took the colorful lines on the screens as signs of hope.
Mrs. Bennet looked up at the same screens utterly confused because she could not read their meaning.
Kitty refused to look at the machines and instead kept her eyes on her father.
She was internally beating herself up that she didn’t do enough for him, didn’t call, visit, or see him enough.
Mary was confident. Her father was getting excellent care.
He would bounce back. She was sure of it.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes fluttered open. He looked around the bed at his daughters and wife.
“Have I died?”
Mrs. Bennet gave his arm a gentle jab. “Always with the jokes.”
“I lived, didn’t I? The grimmest joke of all.”
Mary, Jane, Lizzie, and Kitty took turns kissing their father on the cheek.
“You need to be positive, Papa,” Lizzie said.
“Why?”
“Because it makes it easier on me,” Mary joked.
“Well, for you, Mary, I will fill to the brim and spill over with hope.”
“Now you’re talking.” Kitty smiled.
“Kitty, you came so far. Did you walk?”
“I got muddy in the pumpkin patch.”
“You tracked mud all the way from Massachusetts.”
“And I’m glad I did. No one wanted to sit next to me on the Acela.”
“I wish you would have called. There was no need for you to come all this way.”
“I wanted to, Pa.” Kitty squeezed his hand. “Am I still your favorite?”
“Don’t tell the others,” Mr. Bennet teased.
“I never would.”
Lizzie put her arm around Kitty, but it didn’t help, she cried anyway.
“Now, no tears,” her father said.
Mrs. Bennet fished for her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “It’s a pity to grow old and useless. All these years, all this affection, and for what? To wind up in a hospital being snaked by a copper coil?”
“You always know what to say to make me feel better, my dearest,” Mr. Bennet said wryly.
“I do my best.” Mrs. Bennet blew loudly into her handkerchief, startling everyone. She dabbed her tears.
Mr. Bennet closed his eyes. “Pay no attention to your dear mother, girls. You see, I’m on the comeback. Don’t you worry!” Mr. Bennet opened his eyes and looked at them. “I have big plans. I have much to accomplish in my dotage.”
“Like what?” Jane put her hand on her father’s shoulder.
“Oh, a list of things. Getting from point A to point B, for starters.”
“Good one.” Mary laughed.
“Walking with a cane,” Kitty offered.
“That doesn’t even take practice,” Jane said. “And you look regal using one.”
“We’ll see, Jane. I’m all legs, and they prefer to go akimbo. I have some neuropathy in my feet. When you can’t feel your feet, good luck feeling the ground underneath them.”
“There are more bones in the feet than in any other limb,” Mary said.
“And all of mine ache,” Mr. Bennet admitted. “Ladies, I want you to go home now. Mary will prepare dinner. Now go on. All of you. Home to Jane Street. I need my rest.”
THE UNEXPECTED REUNION
Lizzie settled her mother in her bed.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I took a Klonopin,” Mrs. Bennet admitted. “My nerves should settle now.”
Before Lizzie could turn out the light, her mother was snoring.
Lizzie went out into the hallway and down the steps.
She stopped in the front parlor and took a look around before going through the pocket doors to the back parlor.
This had been her favorite room in the old house.
Books from floor to ceiling. Afternoon sun, she remembered.
And the kitchen close by, to make a quick cup of tea to accompany her reading.
Lizzie turned on the small lamp on the side table before going through the door into the kitchen.
Mary had set the table with a cloth and a candle.
The soup bowls, Italian from Deruta, were stacked next to the Crock-Pot.
The black-and-white marble floor was polished.
The walnut table with the additional leaves was stretched to accommodate ten.
Mary had not made it smaller since last Christmas because she liked to spread her scenes out on the table and look at them in small piles.
She moved the action around on the table just as she hoped to do on the stage.
“Smells wonderful in here,” Lizzie said.
Mary removed a loaf of bread from the oven. She placed a crock of butter next to it. “Let it cool,” she said to her sisters.
“I can’t believe you bake your own bread,” Jane marveled. “Where do you find the time?”
“I found the old breadmaking machine in the basement,” Mary said. “And wouldn’t you know, our parents consume a lot of bread.”
“You take such good care of them,” Kitty said.
“Thank you, Kit. I made up all the beds. I’m sorry if your mattresses are on the lumpy side, but they’re on my list to replace when we get some extra funds coming in,” Mary said pleasantly.
“We can help put a fund together,” Jane offered.
“You do enough. All of you. It takes five daughters to take care of two parents, evidently,” Mary explained.
“Lydia says she’ll be here by morning.” Jane looked down at her phone.
“We’ll have to take an official reunion photo once she arrives.” Lizzie smiled.
“We’ll go out on the stoop,” Jane agreed.
“Better lighting out there,” Mary joked.
The girls helped Mary serve the stew. Jane uncorked a bottle of wine and poured the burgundy Orvieto into glasses.
Jane raised her glass as Mary sat down and joined them at the table. “To Mary. Our brilliant artist. Our playwright. Our sister. God knows she can tell a story.”
“And God knows she’s got plenty to choose from,” Lizzie added.
“Congratulations on your prize!” Kitty said as the girls clinked their glasses for good luck.
“It’s not a big deal,” Mary said.
“Oh really? We think it is! You’ve been taking classes at HB Studios since we can remember.”
“I enjoy the classes. Winning the prize is extra.”
“We’ll all come to the premiere,” Jane promised.
“Pa will be better by then,” Lizzie said. “But we should think about the future.”
“And the house.” Jane nibbled at the stew.
“What are you thinking?” Mary’s voice broke as she cut the bread.
“We have a guesthouse,” Lizzie began, “and we could take Mom and Dad with us.”
“What would happen to the house?”
“We’d sell it,” Jane said softly.
“And what about me?” Mary asked.
Her sisters had not thought her fate through, or if they had, they weren’t about to admit their plans to Mary.
“I would like to stay here and take care of the place as I’ve always done.”
“The place is falling apart.” Kitty looked around the room. “Needs a renovation.”
“The downstairs bathroom has never worked properly,” Lizzie said.
“Pa never had the funds to fix it,” Jane said defensively. “Old houses are expensive.”
“This house was always old. It was always in need of renovation. It was never brought up to code. But that’s what’s wonderful about it,” Mary said.
“It has history. It persists. It’s not a grand brownstone; it’s a home.
And I love every corner of it. As long as I can climb the stairs and care for our parents, I don’t think moving them to Connecticut is a very good idea.
Mama is afraid of bugs and anything that tweets, including a phone.
Papa works in his office every day, or pretends to, but it gives him a purpose to move papers around. ”
“He’s been pushing those papers since we were little.” Jane smiled.
“You know, our father is a writer. He never got much encouragement for it.” Mary looked around the table at her sisters.
“He gave up too easily when his book was published,” Jane said.
“Writers don’t give up. Not ever. But we spend a good deal of time wondering how we can reach an audience who may see the world in the same way we do.
If you want to know the truth, I would write plays whether I won a prize or not, but getting the prize validated all my years of working at it.
Pa never had that—he never got that moment of recognition, that his work was amazing, which it is.
He has gone unappreciated; sadly, our mother looks to the world to approve of his work, instead of offering it to him herself. ”
“Are you saying our parents are a bad match?” Kitty wondered.
“When it comes to Pa’s writing life, there were challenges, for sure. But he loves her.”
“He understands her,” Lizzie said.