Chapter 26
Aurelia sat at her desk the following day, writing in her notebook in between visits from customers. She decided to take a lunch break so that when Antonia called to check in on her later, she could truthfully say she’d left the building at least once since dinner at David and James’s place.
As she ate at a favorite spot, sitting at a counter overlooking a small park, she kept thinking back to Laurie’s words—‘I myself am in a sequel.’ Aurelia guessed that Cristobel hadn’t told Laurie much about his sequels because she hadn’t wanted to worry him with any difficult truths about his future.
Overall, he would lead a good and happy life, but it wouldn’t seem fair to tell him about the challenging times that were ahead of him.
Aurelia had to admit that she wouldn’t have wanted to know about the events of the past year; it was hard enough living through it all without having to dread what was coming in advance.
But Vronsky had already lived through what might be the most difficult time of his life.
True, if Tolstoy were alive, he might write a future for Vronsky that was as dark and tragic as what had happened to him in Anna Karenina.
But what if Tolstoy wasn’t the one to write Vronsky’s sequel?
What if someone who knew Vronsky could help him write a new ending to his life?
Then he’d be able to control what happened to him and create his own future.
It would be like Rachel’s and Marianne’s castles in the sky on a larger scale—not just to imagine Vronsky’s future but to write it.
A waitress came by to clear Aurelia’s dishes, bringing her back to reality.
A new story for Vronsky, but who would be the author?
It’s one thing to jot down thoughts about his future in my notebook, Aurelia told herself, but another to actually write a sequel.
She dismissed the idea, feeling anxious that it had come to her so easily.
That night, Marianne and Rachel once again wanted to discuss plans for Vronsky’s imagined future.
“What has you all so eager?” Marmee asked as she came over to join them.
“We’ve been thinking of ideas for Alexei,” said Rachel.
“Yes, something for him to look forward to since his novel ends so cruelly,” Marianne said.
“Laurie told us about your sequels, and how it cheered him to know his life would be a happy one,” Rachel continued.
“And we wanted to do the same for Alexei.”
Aurelia held in a laugh as she listened to Rachel and Marianne; their conversations were practically synchronized.
Marmee looked to Aurelia, her gaze steady and piercing, and Aurelia’s good humor ebbed away.
“I think that’s a wonderful way to put Aurelia’s writing skills to use. I’m sure Count Vronsky will appreciate your efforts.”
Aurelia’s eyes widened in disbelief. What was Marmee doing?
“You’re a writer, Aurelia?” Marianne asked excitedly.
“Then you shall write his sequel!” Rachel declared, as though it were settled.
“No, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Aurelia said, shaking her head rapidly. “I haven’t written anything in a long time—”
“What better way to rediscover your talents?” Marmee asked. “Here we have Count Vronsky in need of some hope, and you are uniquely able to provide him with it.”
Aurelia stared at Marmee, unable to hide the exasperation that began bubbling up. She’d told Marmee she couldn’t write anymore, so why was Marmee volunteering her?
Vronsky, hearing his name, walked over.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s nothing—” Aurelia began.
“Aurelia is a writer and she is going to write a sequel for you!” Marianne exclaimed.
“Now you won’t just have to imagine what happens next in your life. She can make it happen,” Rachel added.
Vronsky considered this, his brow furrowed.
“But whether we write it or imagine it, what is the difference?” Vronsky asked. “You cannot mean to publish it, can you?”
“No!” Aurelia replied with a start.
She felt absolute terror at the idea of publishing something like this. It seemed like sacrilege just thinking about writing a sequel to Tolstoy’s masterpiece, but to present it to the world was a few steps further over that line.
“No, we hadn’t talked about publishing anything. I… I’m not even sure I can write it,” she added.
“I’m certain you can,” Marmee said determinedly.
Aurelia looked around the shop in a panic, as if she might spot an escape hatch. Instead, she caught sight of Sergeant Cuff, who was lurking nearby. He made his way into the center of their little group.
“A sequel! Yes, that just might do it,” he said.
“Do what?” she asked, her voice betraying her anxiety with just those two words.
“Night after night you have observed that the books you have laid on the table there”—he gestured to the front of the shop—“release characters into the shop. Write this story you propose and try putting it on the table. If this experiment succeeds, then Count Vronsky or someone else from your new story will appear and confirm that he is, at last, happy with his ending. Furthermore, I suspect the next time you leave a copy of his first novel on the table, he will not appear. Instead, two characters who are satisfied with their ending will appear in his place.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Cuff,” Marmee said, looking pleased with herself.
Cuff gave a dramatic bow, as if he were on stage taking his applause at the end of a performance.
For a moment, Aurelia’s anxiety took a backseat to her curiosity. Earlier that day, she hadn’t taken the idea this far. Was it possible that writing a sequel could, as Cuff believed, really change Vronsky’s future?
She and Vronsky exchanged glances. He looked doubtful, but Aurelia could tell he hadn’t completely dismissed the idea. She waited for his verdict. It was up to him, now—if he wanted to do it, she’d have to agree. How could she refuse when it might release him from his constant state of grief?
Vronsky took a deep breath, then let it out in an expressive sigh.
“I am dubious as to the outcome, but I am intrigued by the process. I would like to see what Aurelia would write of my future. Therefore I shall leave myself in her hands.”
He turned to Aurelia. Though she was still overwhelmed at the idea of writing again—and writing something so unique and important—she was also honored by his decision to trust her with a project that could, if Cuff was right, change the course of his life.
She took a moment to collect herself, then held out her hand, as if to shake his. Vronsky let out a laugh, moved his hand next to hers, and they pretended to shake in agreement.