Chapter 46
Over the following week, Aurelia flew through the next few chapters of Vronsky’s story.
They wrote together at night, but her daily editing sessions began to incorporate more and more additions.
Each night Vronsky would review what she’d written on her own, nodding his approval or pointing out something he didn’t like.
Both of them felt pressure now, wanting to finish his story so they could get it published and try their experiment, relieving him from his monotonous ending.
But something else was driving her, too: she was finally doing it, finally writing a novel after years of wanting to without getting very far.
She’d written short stories before but had never written more than a few chapters of a novel.
Now she had an editor and a publishing contract; she’d proven she could do it.
And she’d never felt this confident with every word she wrote, with every paragraph she finished.
The positive feedback she’d gotten from the characters—and Oliver, too—was wonderful, but what kept her going wasn’t just that she was helping Vronsky; it was also that she was doing the thing she’d always wanted to do, doing it well, and feeling so very good about it.
By Friday afternoon, Aurelia dropped off the next draft with the receptionist at Oliver’s office.
But later, after so many late nights and long days of writing and editing, she missed her evening alarm and woke up disappointed the next morning—and still tired even though she’d had a few extra hours of sleep.
That night, she stepped forward as soon as the characters appeared, catching Elinor and Marmee first.
“I’m sorry I missed you all last night,” she began. “I didn’t wake up to my alarm—I was a little overtired, I think.”
Marmee’s eyebrows drew together as she took in Aurelia’s worry.
“We understand there are times when you’ll miss a night. You need to live your life and see your friends and family outside the shop.”
“Oh, right. Yes.” It was Aurelia’s turn to knit her brows. “Still, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“I do not believe we have heard you speak of your friends for quite some time,” Elinor said. “I trust they are well?”
“Yes, they’re all fine. They’re annoyed that I’ve been so busy with the book, but they understand.”
Before Marmee could give her a lecture, Aurelia made her way over to her desk, eager to get back to work on Vronsky’s story.
Opening her eyes several hours later, it took Aurelia a moment to process where she was and what had happened. She sat up, rubbing the spot on her cheek that had been resting against the papers on her desk.
“Oh,” she said, looking around at the characters who were quietly observing her. “I fell asleep? I’m so sorry.”
She stood, stretching her strained muscles.
“Have I wasted the entire night?”
She looked to the clock and saw that there was only an hour or so left until dawn.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, finding Vronsky’s face in the crowd.
“Please, do not apologize,” he insisted. “Most people do sleep at night, Aurelia.”
“Yes, we worry you’re not taking care of yourself as you ought. Perhaps you should go upstairs now and rest a bit more?” Elinor suggested as she walked over to her.
“No, I don’t want to lose any more time,” Aurelia insisted, running her hands over her eyes and holding back a yawn. “Let’s keep working.”
Marmee joined Elinor and Aurelia, reaching out a hand as if to rest it on Aurelia’s arm as she said, “There is a particular story about your Aunt Marigold that I have yet to share with you. I think it might be time for you to hear it.”
“I thought I’d heard all of Marigold’s stories by now?”
“I was not inclined, at first, to share this particular story. I thought if Marigold hadn’t told it to you, perhaps she had her reasons. But I see now that it may benefit you to learn about this chapter in her life. Shall we make ourselves comfortable?”
Marmee gestured to the mezzanine. Aurelia looked to Vronsky, who nodded, refusing to rescue her from what Aurelia suspected was the lecture she’d avoided earlier.
She reluctantly followed Marmee and Elinor up the spiral staircase and by the time they sat down on the window seat, Rachel and Marianne were right behind them.
“May we join?” Rachel asked. “We sensed some intrigue on offer.”
They arranged themselves across the window seat, with Marmee and Aurelia in the middle.
“As I’ve told you, I knew your Aunt Marigold,” Marmee began. “I met her during the first year that she owned the shop, and I visited her many times throughout her lifetime. I considered her a dear friend,” Marmee added warmly, leaning toward Aurelia.
“Not long after she had been running the shop, I appeared one night and met a dashing young man named D’Artagnan.”
Aurelia’s breath hitched at the name. It had been weeks since Mark had mentioned The Three Musketeers, and she’d completely forgotten to ask Marmee about it.
“D’Artagnan was from a French novel called The Three Musketeers,” Marmee explained to Elinor and Marianne, whose own book was published before Dumas’ novel.
“Like Count Vronsky, D’Artagnan was the only character to appear from his novel. Also like Count Vronsky, D’Artagnan first came to the shop feeling the pain of knowing that a woman whom he loved had lost her life.”
Aurelia only vaguely remembered the novel, but she tried to conjure up the storyline as she listened.
“It wasn’t long before all in the shop understood the deep feelings that were developing between D’Artagnan and Marigold,” Marmee continued. “They made each other very happy and spent many hours talking and laughing together.”
“They were in love?” Aurelia asked incredulously.
“They were indeed,” Marmee said with a smile.
Aurelia found herself smiling, too, at the thought of her aunt’s secret romance.
“I visited the shop many times over several years, and each time I could see that Marigold and D’Artagnan’s love was just as strong.” Marmee paused. “And yet, there came a time when they began to argue, and it was difficult not to hear the nature of their arguments.”
Hypnotized by the story, Aurelia gave a nod, encouraging Marmee to continue.
“Time does not pass for us since we remain just as we were at the end of our story. D’Artagnan was a noble man, something like a knight, and he began to feel that his love for Marigold was keeping the rest of her life in abatement.
She had to sleep at odd hours in order to stay awake every night, and she spoke less and less of her friends and family.
Marigold insisted she would not trade her love for D’Artagnan for a normal life, but he would not relent.
He asked her again and again to take his book off the table and allow herself to maintain a life outside of this shop. ”
The small audience gathered around Marmee had hardly taken a breath. Marianne wiped a tear from her eye and Rachel clasped her hand consolingly.
“Marigold was heartbroken, truly. But I think a part of her knew that he was right. What kind of life could they share with Marigold shut up in the shop and D’Artagnan living his novel during the day, their only contact happening during the few hours between midnight and dawn?”
“And did she accede to his request? Did she cease to place his book upon the table?” Rachel asked.
“She did. For a time, he refused to speak with her until she agreed. Their last week together was very difficult, but they made their peace with one another before parting.”
“That is the most tragic tale I believe I have ever heard,” Marianne said, sniffling.
Rachel placed an arm around her and they rested their heads together.
“It truly is a sad story,” Elinor agreed.
“I think Marigold mourned D’Artagnan for a long time,” Marmee continued.
“But I also think they were right to let each other go. Marigold later admitted that she had indeed spent so much time with him and the rest of the people who gathered in her shop each night that she had let her friendships and family fall to the wayside. Do you not see a parallel in your own experience?” Marmee asked cautiously.
“You’re not suggesting…? Count Vronsky and I are just friends—”
Aurelia could hardly get the words out in her shock at thinking anyone would interpret their friendship as something romantic.
“Oh no, dear! I only meant that you seem to have become just as absorbed in the shop’s evening activities as Marigold did, even if your interests are distinct.”
“Well, I’m busy with the book, of course, and I like spending time with all of you. But I’m making it work.”
“You may not think it now, but I fear the time we’ve spent together has kept you from a life outside these walls. A life with friends who exist beyond the page,” Marmee said.
“No, everything’s fine! Things will get easier once I’m done with the book,” Aurelia insisted. “Until then, my friends just have to understand that I need to spend my time writing.”
“And what of Oliver,” Marianne whispered, suddenly mischievous after her tears. “Are you finding time to become better acquainted with him?”
“Marianne!” Aurelia groaned. “He’s just my editor—and friend, I suppose.”
“If you insist,” said Marianne with a smile. “But perhaps he could be your D’Artagnan, Aurelia? If you gave him more of your time?”
Aurelia rolled her eyes and shook her head, laughing to see everyone looking at her hopefully. Then she spotted Vronsky sitting at her desk, waiting for her.
“Thank you for sharing, Marmee. I should get back to writing, though.”
She headed for the spiral staircase, hearing whispers and laughter behind her, and shook her head again.
Marmee’s warning had a ring of truth to it.
There was a certain kind of comfort and safety in spending time with characters who would never change, never grow old, and never get ill, but she was hardly a shut-in.
She still went out for her walks, and she talked to Antonia, David, Kali, and her dad every week, even if she didn’t see them every day.
She told herself once again that her life would get back to normal after the book was finished—giving her all the more reason to keep working on it.