Jump to new as of November 28, 1999
Beginning Posted on Monday, 12 April 1999
June 13, 1998
Today would have been my wedding day.
I would be putting on my dress, getting ready for pictures, eager to see my best friend, my love, my dear sweet boy.
Instead I'm sitting here at the computer, writing everything down to keep from going crazy. Mom said it would help. Heaven knows she ought to know. Is that what got her through those years without Dad?
Dad -- okay, so it's weird to adopt a new13dad when you're 26 years old. But he is more like a father to me than the worm whose DNA lies in my cells. I'm glad we all found each other. It's so obvious that Mom and Dad were meant for each other, and that I was meant to be his daughter.
But I'll start crying if I think about things that were meant to be. Oh, silly, precious, stupid Carter! Why did you have to be so impatient -- so uncharacteristically greedy?
I probably should have taken that summer internship. It would have kept me busy -- helped me to get my feet wet, ready for "real" medicine after the past two years of research. At least I continued with my dream to be an M.D.-Ph.D. instead of changing to something more in keeping with a lawyer's wife. So now I have my career if nothing else.
Why isn't it more rewarding to do the right thing? Mom thought she was doing the right thing by obeying her father, and it cost her 35 years with the man she loved, not to mention costing me the father I should have had.
Why couldn't I be someone else other than Emily Elliot? Anne's daughter, who takes after her mother, always makes the noble, sacrificial choice. Because I know that as long as I am Emily Elliot, I will always end up doing what is difficult. Just like Mom did so long ago....
I first heard the story from Aunt Mary. I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, because even at age twelve I could tell that Aunt Mary had a tendency to embellish and exaggerate. Mom wouldn't answer my questions at the time. But now I know that for once Aunt Mary didn't stretch the truth one bit.
Posted on Monday, 12 April 1999
More of Emily's story, as heard from her Aunt Mary.
It was April of 1963. Mom, well, she was just Anne then, was a senior in high school. And she found the man of her dreams.
These days my med school classmates would probably get arrested for dating a high school girl, or at least get featured on some trashy talk show. But back then girls often got married at eighteen, so there was nothing unusual about Frederick Wentworth, medical student, falling hard for Anne Elliot.
Everything seemed too good to be true. I mean, she met him in church, for crying out loud, where his brother was a minister. He was handsome, brilliant, gentlemanly. Even Aunt Mary admitted that he was apparently perfect, except for one small detail.
My grandfather was the problem. Walter Elliot, Mr. South-will-rise-again. He is the only male I have ever known who was rooted so deeply in the year 1861. Frederick Wentworth was, in his opinion, a white-trash Yankee, and there was no way his daughter was throwing herself away on such a low-class marriage when she could go to Ole Miss, join her mother's sorority, and find a "real Southern gentleman".
Anne was torn. She had been raised to honor her parents, even when it hurt. Even when her father was unreasonable, she had always obeyed.
That night that sealed all our fates was hot and miserable down in Mississippi. More than one storm was rising as Frederick Wentworth went to Walter Elliot to ask for Anne's hand in marriage.
The thunder rolled while the voices shouted. Lightening flashed while tempers flared. And the rain beat down, washing away all Anne's hopes.
Wentworth tried valiantly, but my grandfather would not budge an inch. He had better plans for his daughter, he said. So Anne's love, the one who should have been my father, had only one recourse.
He tried to get Mom to elope with him. He used every argument he could think of. She could get her high school equivalency diploma. Mr. Elliot would relent once he saw that the situation was irrevocable. No one would condemn her for rebelling against her father's irrational restrictions.
But Anne Elliot could not bring herself to do it. Only two years ago did she finally tell me parts of the conversation.
"It would be a dark spot on our marriage from the beginning," she insisted.
"Don't you feel the way I do?" Frederick pleaded.
"Yes, maybe more. If this were about feelings, I would already be driving away with you. But this is about doing what is right, Frederick, no matter what we feel. Let's wait. Daddy will change his mind eventually."
But Frederick Wentworth was stubborn. "That's not good enough, Anne. Don't expect me to wait around for you to quit being Daddy's little girl." And he walked out into the night, never to return.
Posted on Wednesday, 14 April 1999
When I first heard the story of Frederick Wentworth from Aunt Mary, I cried. "Why couldn't he wait?" I wondered. By this time my parents were already divorced and I was virtually without a father. My child's mind romanticized Wentworth as the ideal dad. The woman who was just beginning to awaken in me recognized a little of the pain of true love lost.
So Mom had a Romeo-and-Juliet type story in her past. I can't say the same for myself. No lightening split the sky when I met Carter, just a flying frog stomach.
February 1987.
It was my freshman year of high school, and I was excited because this was the semester we would begin dissections in biology class. Of course, this was considered quite strange since girls were supposed to be squeamish about such things.
I was cutting away furiously on my frog, frustrated with my giddy lab partner who didn't want to touch anything. Part of my excitement was due to the fact that I had not yet really grasped the concept of microscopic objects. Something in me was hoping to see the frog's DNA in that cute double-helix shape.
Our assignment was to remove the various frog parts and lay them on the table. The stomach was being particularly stubborn. No matter what I cut, it still persisted in remaining attached. Finally I began digging frantically underneath the stomach, and it rewarded me by coming loose suddenly and flying across the room, right into the hair of the new boy in our class.
Everyone laughed, glad for any distraction. The boy was embarrassed and acted as though he could sink into the floor. I was oblivious to everything except to the fact that I had finally succeeded. I simply walked over to him and asked him politely and absentmindedly for the stomach.
Carter says he fell in love with me then. I can't say the same for my feelings. I don't even remember that it was him who caught the stomach in his hair. My first memory of Carter is from the next day.
Even as a freshman, I had a reputation for being a brain. Everyone had already decided that I would be the class valedictorian. What kept me from being despised by my fellow students was that I cared nothing about grades. I was not one to become stressed about getting As. Teenagers are quick to pick up on a person's weaknesses. My intelligence was not something they could use against me, especially since I was willing to "share the wealth," so to speak, by volunteering to tutor my peers.
So it happened on this particular day that I was walking by just as some of the football players had stuffed the undersized new kid into a locker. Poor Carter was banging on the inside of the door and yelling to be let out when the guys spotted me.
Johnny was one of the students dependent on me for his academic survival. "Emily, ole buddy, ole pal," he said, putting his arm around me. "I've got a big math test coming up." He was a junior but in the same math class as me.
I heard the cries of Johnny's victim and quickly hit on a plan. "I don't know, Johnny, I really need to study for that one myself."
"Oh, come on, Emmy, you've got to help me out! You know what Coach does to us if we fail a test?"
"Does he stuff you into a locker?" I asked sweetly. "Let's see, I can help you, but the book I need accidentally got into the wrong locker. That one right there," and I gestured where the sounds were coming from. "Be a good boy and open it for me please."
Johnny knew he was defeated. He opened the locker and a pitiful figure slunk out. He was small, even for a ninth-grade boy, with dark eyes that seemed too big for his face and a bad haircut. He tried to escape but Johnny grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey doofus, you need to thank Brains here for saving your skinny little behind," he said.
"Thanks," Carter mumbled without looking at me.
"Watch your back, kid, we're not through with you," Johnny warned him.
"Yes you are," I contradicted. "Unless you suddenly don't need help with math anymore."
"What's up with that? Is he your boyfriend or something?"
"Nope. Never met him before. I'm nice and like to help people, just like I help you. I'll catch you in study hall. Don't forget your math book." And I went on to class.
"Wait!" came a voice behind me. I turned to see the kid I had rescued.
"Thank you," he said, looking at me this time.
"No problem, but you really should stay away from those guys," I advised. "You're new, aren't you? What's your name?"
And from there I became acquainted with Carter Merrill.
Part 4 Posted on Wednesday, 14 April 1999
Mom was home when I returned from school that day. "No teachers' meeting?" I asked.
"Not today." Mom smiled. "Sit down and tell me about your day."
That was more invitation than I needed. I had never exchanged the child-like impulse to tell my mother everything for the sullen attitude of a teenager. "I met this boy today," I said.
"Oh dear! I wasn't quite ready for that for another year or two." Mom tried to act teasing, but I could tell she wasn't.
"Mother! Not that kind of boy. A little boy. I mean, he's in my class and everything, but he looks about twelve. I had to rescue him from Johnny and his friends today. His name is Carter and he must be rich because he stays with a housekeeper while his parents are traveling all over Europe. But he seems like a little lost puppy dog, real lonely, you know. He just moved here last week, and he said I'm the first person who's talked to him. Maybe we could invite him to dinner sometime, you think?"
Mom was amused by my monologue. "I see my little mother hen has found a chick to take under her wing. Yes, Emily, your friends are always welcome here."
"Okay. Cool." And my mind flitted on to something else. "Did I get any mail?"
"No, honey. When you do, I'll be sure and tell you."
"Rats. I need to get on some mailing lists. At least then I'd get junk mail."
"You can have everything marked 'Occupant'," Mom promised.
The phone rang, and, being a teenager, I raced to answer it. "Hello?"
"Emmy, sweetheart. How's my girl?"
"Daddy! Hi! I'm doing great, how about you? It sounds really loud. Where are you?"
"Oh, just with some friends, baby. I'm in London, thought I'd make the call on someone else's bill."
I heard a female voice purring, "Willie, darling, quit talking to your bimbo, you're my date tonight, remember?" I almost hung up in disgust but Daddy wanted to talk to Mom. She talked, or rather listened, for a couple of minutes and then hung up.
"What's with him?" I asked.
"It looks like I'll be teaching summer school again, Emily," Mom said apologetically.
I shrugged. "I'm not really surprised. But every time he calls…."
"I know, honey. You hope something has changed. But William Elliot is never going to change."
"If he isn't going to change, then why won't you ever get married again?"
"Because I made a vow, and as long as he's still alive, that vow is binding. And if he were to change by some miracle, it would be my duty to take him back."
"It's hard to do what's right, isn't it?"
"Yes, Emily, it is. That's why I'm proud of you for practicing it now, like when you helped that little boy. Then when the hard decisions come, you'll be ready."
Oh, Mom, how prophetic those words were! But you were wrong about one thing. I wasn't ready. I could never be ready.
Part 5 Posted on Monday, 19 April 1999
I guess Mom is the last person left in the world who takes marriage vows that seriously. Even our minister told her that under the circumstances she would be justified in remarrying. But Mom insisted that she made a vow for life and she would keep it even if her husband did not.
Mom never would talk bad about my father to me. She didn't want to turn me against him. Of course, William Elliot managed to do that without help from anyone. His phone call from London when I was fourteen was just a typical example of his behavior. He was a lifelong party animal, never staying in one place long enough for Mom to track him down for child support. He promised money, but never followed through. I spend my life wondering why Mom married him at all, especially after I heard about Frederick Wentworth. Then I blamed my grandfather, figuring that he pressured her into marrying Daddy.
When Grandfather died, I didn't even want to go to the funeral. "I'm not going," I insisted with all the rebelliousness in my seventeen-year-old heart. "He never loved me. He never loved you. He made you marry that toad I have to call my father."
My mother tightened her lips as she always did whenever I pushed her too far. "Emily Anne Elliot, you will go and show your respect. And I will not hear another word from your mouth insulting your father. I was not forced to marry William Elliot. I honestly cared for him. He was, to all appearances, a kind, loving man."
Mom's anger always succeeded in subduing me because it happened so rarely. "What was Daddy like?" I asked softly. And so I heard another story of the young Anne Elliot.
Anne was spending the summer of 1967 in Savannah, Georgia, with her best friend from college. Susan was getting married in August, and she wanted Anne with her to prepare for the wedding. Anne was happy for the opportunity to enjoy herself before she began teaching school in September.
Savannah was beautiful, and Anne loved taking long walks through the historic streets. It was hot, but that didn't bother Anne, a Mississippi girl. One day she returned to Susan's house from her walk to find visitors.
Susan's fiancé was there, which came as no surprise. But on this particular day, he had brought with him his best man for the wedding -- William Elliot.
Even though Anne's memory of Frederick Wentworth was still strong, she couldn't help but be impressed by William Elliot and flattered by the attention he paid her over the course of the summer. He was handsome, charming, intelligent, and professed a strong faith in God. Furthermore, he could trace his genealogy back to the same Elliot family that Walter was so proud of. He had a promising career in the banking industry, provided he didn't get drafted.
Anne had not thought much about marriage since that fateful night when she was eighteen. She was too quiet to be noticed much in college. But she realized that she wanted to get married someday. And so Anne was easily convinced that she loved William Elliot, and she returned to Mississippi with an engagement ring on her finger.
I've always been suspicious of that rapid courtship. The thought has entered my mind more than once that perhaps my father found marriage preferable to Vietnam. I never voiced that opinion, though. It would sound like a slight to Mom.
My engagement ring is still sitting over in my jewelry box on the dresser. I don't know what I'll do with it. Maybe when I die someday as an old, respected, Nobel-Prize-winning doctor and researcher, I'll be buried with it on my finger.
Carter tried his best to surprise me. But he was just too hyper that night at dinner. He had told me he had a plan. I have to admit I didn't help matters any.
"So what's the plan?" I asked as we waited for our table.
"Just wait," he said.
"Well, what does this have to do with me finding my own place?" I continued. "I mean, I really feel like I should leave the newlyweds alone."
"Emily, just wait until we get our food. I don't want to talk right here," Carter pleaded.
He kept putting me off, and I kept teasing him, playing dumb. Ever since I told him I was going to move out of my mom's house, he had been like this, telling me not to do anything too quickly. I knew he had to be planning to propose. He was too nervous for it to be anything else.
But even my anticipation didn't dampen the joy in my heart when he whispered those magical four words and placed the diamond on my finger. It was truly the happiest moment of my life, that night one year ago.
Part 6 Posted on Sunday, 2 May 1999
Summer 1996
Excited does not begin to describe my feelings when I woke up that morning in July and realized that this was the day I would begin my two years of research. I was fortunate enough to have been selected to work on a special grant at the University of Tennessee-Memphis in the area of genetic syndromes. I would be meeting with my advisor and mentor on the project, Dr. Morgan. He had promised me a role as a full participant in the research, not just as a "gopher".
The door to Dr. Morgan's office was standing partially ajar as I approached. I could hear him talking to someone inside, so I knocked cautiously and called out, "Dr. Morgan?"
He said, "Come in." At the same time, I heard a voice, not that of my professor, give a gasp and cry out, "Anne?"
I entered the room, confused, but determined to stay poised. "No, I'm Emily," I said, smiling brightly. "Anne is my mother."
"Frederick, remember, this is the young prodigy I was telling you about," Dr. Morgan reminded him. "Emily Elliot. She is going to be working with us."
The man colored and mumbled an apology. "So sorry, something about your voice, sounded familiar...."
Dr. Morgan tried to alleviate the tension. "Emily, this is Dr. Frederick Wentworth, one of my collaborators. He is moving here to be closer to the base of operations, so to speak."
The name pierced my soul. I suddenly felt weak. I had to summon every bit of strength in my body and heart in order to shake hands with and speak to this man without displaying the shock I was in.
This was Mom's love!
"You look like someone I knew a long time ago named Anne Elliot," said Dr. Wentworth, now with full composure. "The resemblance is remarkable. I must have heard your name spoken by Dr. Morgan and the wires got crossed up here somehow." He smiled as if to dismiss everything as coincidence.
"Your mother's name is Anne, isn't it?" Dr. Morgan asked. "But that's her married name," he remembered.
"And her maiden name as well," I explained. "Since she and my father happened to have the same last name, she never had to change it." This piece of information was actually intended for Dr. Wentworth. Surely it would not take him long to put the pieces together. How quickly things happened, I marveled. Maybe there was still time for happiness in Mom's life.
May, 1994
My graduation from Memphis State University was too long, of course, but I had a great time. Carter and I both graduated from the college of arts and sciences. I teased him about having to sit a row behind me because I was summa cum laude and he was only magna cum laude. He teased back by saying that he would be making money before me, since he was going to law school, and I was going to medical school. So we laughed and cut up through the entire ceremony, with plenty of confetti hidden up our sleeves to throw at the end.
We all went to dinner together after leaving the Pyramid. By "all" I mean me, Mom, Carter, and his dad. Carter's mother did not show. She had become an absentee parent since the Merrills' divorce when Carter and I were in tenth grade. Mom had been an enormous source of encouragement to Mr. Merrill. We speculated on the possibilities of that relationship, but Mom had always kept everything on a platonic basis.
The evening was very pleasant, dinner was overpriced but wonderful, and I was sitting with Carter in the study at my house. We were having a great time playing computer games and joking about what good use we were making of our diplomas.
Carter stood up to go get some water. As he did, he bumped into the roll-out shelf where my computer keyboard sat. The shelf came out of its track and fell, the corner digging into Carter's bare foot.
The cut was not deep, but he acted like he was going to bleed to death. Men are such babies! I thought as I went to the bathroom for the first aid kit. Carter was whimpering about possible shock and trying to keep his foot elevated.
I cleaned his wound and applied an antibiotic while he lay on the couch, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "So I take it you don't intend on being an ambulance-chasing lawyer," I said.
"I'll just leave all the blood and guts part to you."
"Are you ever going to grow up?" I asked teasingly.
Carter opened his eyes. "I'd like to," he said. "Maybe you could help me."
"Help you? How?" I said, completely unprepared for his answer.
"Come here."
I moved from my position beside his feet over to the other end of the couch. I was kneeling beside him, our faces close together. I had no clue as to what Carter was thinking until he kissed me.
And my world turned upside down.
I don't know how long we stayed there, locked in that one simple, sweet kiss. My thoughts were racing. This is Carter! He's like a brother to you. You remember him as a scrawny little misfit. You know everything about him. How can there ever be any romantic feelings?
But only one thought remained uppermost in my mind: I never wanted to let go.
We finally pulled back from each other and just stared. Neither of us knew what to say. It was all so very new.
"How's your foot?" I finally asked.
"I don't care," he answered and sat up on the couch, pulling me up beside him.
"Carter, what's happening here?" I asked helplessly, not knowing what to think.
He cupped my face in his hands and drew it to within an inch of his own. "I have been waiting half my life for this," he said huskily. "Don't you know I'm so in love with you I can hardly see straight?"
"No! I mean, no. I didn't know." I just sat in disbelief. He loved me? No man had ever told me he loved me. I knew I was pretty, but it was as though I was invisible to men. And Carter of all people! I stared at him as though seeing him for the first time.
"Emily, I know what you're thinking. Please look at me objectively. I'm not the same kid you rescued from the locker seven years ago. I am grown up. I'm a man who loves you and wants to be with you forever. Please tell me I have a chance, Emmy, please."
I just kept staring, speechless for once in my life. Of course I loved him, he was my best friend in the entire world. But could I be in love with him? I looked at him with the intention of analyzing his attractiveness. Analysis was impossible, however. I only knew that I wanted him to kiss me again and hold me close.
"Carter, I'm so confused and surprised and -- just hold me," I pleaded.
And so he did.
Part 7 Posted on Wednesday, 5 May 1999
I woke up the next morning with my heart pounding. All night long I had dreamed of Carter holding me, kissing me, telling me how much he loved me, whispering sweet words about how beautiful and wonderful I was. Other things happened in the dream as well, things I would never allow myself to think about when conscious. But then we kept saying good-bye and crying.
I crawled sleepily out of bed and did what I had been doing my entire life – I tiptoed into Mom's room. She was not sleeping, but sitting in a chair reading. "Mama," I said and knelt down beside her, laying my head in her lap.
"Mama? You're either sick, sleepy, or something's really wrong if you're calling me that," she said. "What's going on, baby?"
"I don't know!" I cried. "It's either horrible or wonderful, I can't decide."
Mom stroked my hair and remained silent, waiting for me to confide in her. But I did not know how to begin. I had always told her of my "crushes" on boys, but this was different. Finally I just said, "I just can't talk about it."
"You're just exhausted," Mom said, trying to ease the situation. "You've had a big week with exams and graduation. What time did Carter leave here last night?"
I groaned. "About two." I pulled my hair down around my face so Mom could not read my expression.
Mom acted surprised. "You two were certainly quiet. Usually I can't even go to sleep while he's here because you're talking and laughing so much."
If I had never before believed in mothers having a sixth sense, I became a believer right then. She knows. But how? I wondered.
One of my bad habits is to act overly dramatic when I have something to confess. That way, whatever I end up telling is not as bad as what I have led the other person to believe. When in the middle of the situation, though, I never realize what I am doing. "I feel so terrible, so guilty," I said, beginning to cry. "I shouldn't be having all these thoughts and feelings. It's not right."
"Sweetheart, feelings are feelings, it's what you do with them that's right or wrong."
"No, Mom, you don't understand." How could I tell her about what had happened between Carter and me, the emotions raging inside me, the dreams I had experienced?
"Does this have something to do with Carter?" Mom said quietly.
I could only nod, grateful for not having to say his name myself, and cried even harder.
Mom had only one more question. "Which one of you made the first move?"
Was that amusement I heard in her voice? "He did," I admitted, and the whole story came pouring out, including the dropped shelf.
My mother is the most wonderful person in the world for listening without passing immediate judgment. She did have some concerns, for which I could hardly blame her. "Did it go any farther than what you're telling me?" she asked.
"No!" I responded vehemently. "I wouldn't dream of that." Then I blushed, realizing I had inadvertently lied. "Well, I wouldn't do that, anyway."
"The subconscious can be a powerful thing," Mom commented wryly. "So, what are you going to do about it?"
"About my subconscious?" Just the relief that came from telling Mom everything had restored my sense of humor.
"About Carter, silly girl. He finally told you he loves you, though what took him so long I will never figure out. I would have warned you, except that I did not want your opinion of him to be clouded by my suspicions."
I thought, trying desperately to come up with an answer to the question that had been haunting me ever since Carter first kissed me. "I don't know," I said finally. "He's had seven years to decide he loves me. I can't figure this out in less than a day.
"Tell me what to do, Mama. I know that if I accept this new dimension to our relationship, it will lead either to us getting married or to my losing his friendship. And the idea of getting married scares me to death."
Mom took a while to respond. When she spoke, it was as though she was thinking of something very far away. "There's only one way for you to know. Picture your life with and without a person. When you can't imagine life without someone, then don't let them get away. Can you imagine life without Carter?"
Memories flooded my mind, memories of the past seven years of happy and sad times, milestones in our lives. Carter was there for every one of them. I looked ahead to the future. As many plans as I had laid for a distinguished career, at the end of the day, it was always Carter whom I imagined telling about everything. No, life without Carter was unthinkable. Life without that gentle face and dark eyes and sweet lips was unthinkable. I finally grinned at Mom and shook my head "no".
"Good," she agreed, "because I've become used to having the boy around myself."
Part 8 Posted on Sunday, 9 May 1999
July, 1996
I was in the lab, my eyes buried into a microscope, my mind in a minuscule world that seemed thousands of miles away from human existence. Finally able to determine that the specimen would be appropriate for our study, I carefully moved it into a vial and labeled it for future analysis. I was looking around for any other unfinished tasks that needed completion before the end of the day when Dr. Wentworth interrupted me.
"You've been at this long enough," he told me. "When did you last eat?"
I grinned at him. "Oh, I always eat," I assured him. "My dedication does not extend to meal-skipping."
Dr. Wentworth was not satisfied. "I mean, when did you last eat something that didn't come out of a machine?"
I was stumped. "You have me there," I admitted. Then I decided to take a risk. "Are you offering me some food?" He had been extremely impersonal ever since our initial meeting, almost as if he were afraid to be otherwise. I had the advantage of understanding his reserve, but Dr. Wentworth obviously did not know how much I knew.
Overall, I was impressed with Frederick Wentworth. He was a brilliant man, dedicated, ethical, kind, and friendly. Well, he was friendly with everyone except the daughter of his lost love, but I could hardly blame him for that. And speaking from the perspective of a 24-year-old, he wasn't bad looking either. Maybe Harrison Ford without the sexy smirk, yeah, that was it. Wentworth sort of had the whole "Jack Ryan" look going on. I pictured him with Mom. She was still beautiful, nowhere near the stereotype of women past fifty.
My risk-taking was not in vain. Dr. Wentworth offered me dinner at Neely's, a nearby barbecue restaurant. I did not hesitate to say yes. The only question in my mind was which one of us would be the first to bring up the small matter of Anne Elliot and the spring of 1963.
Dr. Wentworth was a very attentive and witty dinner companion. He entertained me with stories of lab mishaps from his own days as a student. The turning point in the conversation came when our server mistakenly referred to me as his daughter.
I hastily corrected her, but she left with an even worse impression. After the poor woman was out of earshot, I could no longer keep a straight face. "Well, I think she believes I'm not your daughter, but I'm not sure I want to know what she thinks now," I said, laughing.
"I don't know what this world's coming to when a professor can't make sure his star pupil is properly fed without causing suspicion," Dr. Wentworth teased back.
I decided to take the plunge. "Although, Dr. Wentworth, I think we both know that had Walter Elliot not been a jerk to the nth degree, I might have been your daughter."
The dumbfounded man nearly dropped his forkful of baked beans on his tie, and I knew I had made an impression. "Emily, how much do you know?" he finally asked. It was the first time he had called me by my first name.
I've gone this far, may as well finish cleaning up, I told myself. "I know everything except for the answer to one question. Why did you give up so easily?"
I thought the distinguished professor was going to cry. He sat for a few moments, hardly breathing, before finally answering sadly, "I don't know. I just don't know."
Okay, this is awkward, I thought as Dr. Wentworth fought to retain his composure. Then I asked him, "Is there anything you would like to know about the past 33 years?"
"Please – anything." I was no longer his student, I was his lifeline, his only connection to the woman he still loved desperately. So I told the story the best I could.
"Mom never dated anyone through college, but after graduating she met William Elliot through mutual friends. He wooed her, won her, and married her very quickly. The marriage went fine until Mom learned about his shady business dealings. She was all set to leave him in the summer of '71, but then I came into the picture. Mom chose to stick it out rather than to bring a baby into the world without a dad.
"Unfortunately, my father's moral failings extended to his personal life. By the time I was three, the situation had become bad enough that Mom decided that an absentee father would be preferable to what William Elliot had proved himself to be. They divorced in 1975.
"Since that time, Mom has not been on one date, has never even considered remarriage, though goodness knows she's had opportunities. She insists that her vow to William Elliot was to stay faithful for life, even though – even though anything."
"Where is your father now?" Dr. Wentworth asked, as though he would like to put an end to the man's life immediately.
"His party lifestyle caught up with him last year, and he passed away." I decided to leave it at that. No one really needed to know about the different diseases my father had picked up along the way, or which one had finally killed him.
"You don't sound very mournful."
"I only mourn for what could have been, for the wasted years of a good woman's life."
Chapter 9 Posted on Tuesday, 11 May 1999
"Does Anne know that you're working with me?" Dr. Wentworth asked.
I shook my head. "I haven't told her. I didn't think it would be right to upset her." I paused. "Do you want to see her?"
He smiled and took my hand across the table. "Of course I do," he answered. "But that isn't your job. Our years of separation were my fault. So it's my responsibility to make up for it now."
I remembered a question I had been dying to ask. "Haven't you ever been married?"
"Only to my job. A very poor substitute, I might add. Always remember that, Emily."
I grinned and told him about Carter, whom I had been dating for two years.
The transition from best friends to dating couple had been rather awkward for me. Everything was so confusing. Did we change from our usual format of "hanging out" to formal dates like him taking me out to dinner? What did we talk about now? Or would things be just the same only with some occasional kiss time?
Carter was very sweet about it. He liked to plan surprises, taking me to all the most romantic spots in Memphis: the Botanic Gardens, Dixon Gallery and Gardens, Victorian Village. Yet he still teased and laughed with me, just as he had always done. Within a month, I wouldn't have traded the change in our relationship for anything. I only wondered what took my silly boy so long to tell me how he felt!
All too soon, school took over both our lives. The first two years of medical school were a nightmare for me. I had never been a good note-taker, so the hours of lecture each day were a constant battle for me and my pen. Labs were much better, and I became a leader in my class in that area.
Carter threw himself into his law studies just as thoroughly. He managed to have time for a job, though, something that was necessary since he was determined not to go into debt for school. A Memphis law firm saw potential in him and took him on as a clerk and errand boy.
The only thing that ever bothered Mom about Carter was his obsession with money. I brushed it off as just anxiety from what had happened to his father, but Mom was more concerned.
Mr. Merrill had lost nearly everything in the stock market crash of '87. Suddenly Carter was no longer the rich boy. His mother left the family, unable to handle their sudden change in status. Carter was determined to build back his family wealth and never to be poor.
I admired his ambition. Perhaps his reasons were a little off, but at least he had sufficient motivation for working hard.
The day after my dinner with Dr. Wentworth, I came home to find an enormous vase of roses on the kitchen table. I was so stunned that I could only ask Mom, "How many are there?"
Mom got a funny look on her face. "Thirty-three, I counted."
"Who are they from?"
"The card didn't say. It only said, 'Thirty-three roses to atone for thirty-three years.'" Mom was extremely flustered. She knew even better than I the significance of the past thirty-three years.
I gave her a hug, not knowing what else to do. I didn't want to break Dr. Wentworth's confidence, but I couldn't stand to see Mom so miserable. Family loyalty won out. "He's come back," I whispered. "I've seen him."
Mom stared at me. Then she murmured an apology and fled to her room.
Part 10 Posted on Tuesday, 15 June 1999
To say that Mom and I have always been really close would be an understatement. We have been each other's best friends, telling each other all about our lives, our work, our frustrations, our secrets. The only thing that Mom ever kept from me was certain aspects of her past with my father, and even that she revealed to me as I grew old enough to handle it emotionally.
So it was a blow to me when, the night I came home from a date with Carter to find Mom on the phone, she changed to the extension in her bedroom with forceful instructions to me to hang up as soon as she got back on the line. Not that I would have eavesdropped (okay, maybe I would have), but why did she have to make such a big deal about it?
I voiced these complaints to Carter. "She didn't say I couldn't listen in," he offered.
"Spoken like a true lawyer," I teased. "But I know it has to be Dr. Wentworth. Who else would she be talking to so seriously?"
"It could be anything, Emily. Just be patient, okay? I'm sure she'll tell you all about it after she gets off the phone."
But she didn't. Neither did she tell me where she was going when she left the house two nights later dressed up like she was attending an Inaugural Ball at the White House. When did she even buy that dress, anyway? And, the most important question to any female, why didn't she take me shopping with her????
I sat home that Saturday night and fumed. It didn't help that Carter was out of town for his job. Matters only became worse when Aunt Elizabeth called.
"No, Aunt Elizabeth, I don't know where Mom is right now," I said as politely as I knew how. "She is out for the evening."
"And you? Why aren't you out with that little boyfriend of yours?" she asked in a sugary sweet drawl. Little boyfriend indeed! I thought. As if we were in junior high. Elizabeth didn't like Carter ever since she found out Mr. Merrill worked for a living. She was stuck somewhere in the same century that Grandpa Elliot had lived and died in. Not that it ever did her any good, I often thought maliciously. She had never married and spent her life re-living her "glory days" as Cotton Carnival Princess.
But my aunt wasn't finished. "Wherever could Anne be?" she asked. "Some teacher function, I suppose." The word "teacher" was spoken with contempt.
How I would have dearly loved to tell her that my mother had left looking like Princess Diana and was going to meet a man that Elizabeth would have given her right arm to get hold of, and that said man was going to whisk Mom away to Switzerland, where they would elope and live happily ever after in a lovely little chateau in the Alps. For all I knew it could be true. But I didn't know, so I kept my mouth shut. Stupid Aunt Elizabeth didn't deserve to know anything. Then a wicked thought struck my mind. "I believe she went to dinner with the mayor," I lied. "He seems to be quite crazy about her since they met at a Board of Education meeting. He used to be the superintendent of schools here, you know."
That finished the phone conversation in a hurry. Aunt Elizabeth did not know what to say. I could only imagine her jaw gaping like a fish as she remembered that our city mayor is African-American. She took after Grandpa Elliot in the racism department too.
I lost a dear friend because of Grandpa Elliot's big fat bigoted mouth. Tanya was one of the sweetest girls I had ever known. We were best buddies in eighth grade, until I made the mistake of bringing her home with me while Grandpa Elliot was visiting.
I will never forget the words that came from his lips.
"Anne, you let your girl play with ******** now?" he asked contemptuously, not even bothering to be discreet about it.
I was horrified. Mom was furious. I could not stop apologizing to Tanya. She was classy about it, kept telling me not to worry, she knew I couldn't help what he said, all the nice polite platitudes. But things were never quite the same, and we eventually grew apart because of the awkwardness. No one was to blame -- except Grandpa Elliot.
So I didn't care much for my mom's family. Well, Aunt Mary was okay except for being a hypochondriac airhead. She was married to a former football player with more muscles than brains. Their two sons weren't much smarter, genetics being what they are. My filial connection to the world was through Mom. And she had deserted me.
And the clock chimed midnight....
Part 10 Posted on Thursday, 17 June 1999
Mom came in at 3:00, with a Mona Lisa smile, a faraway look in her eyes, and a single rose held in her fingers.
"You shouldn't have waited up," she said absently.
I was feeling very grumpy, having never been suited to late evenings. "You shouldn't be so mysterious," I countered.
"My little mother hen," Mom said affectionately. Then she kissed my cheek and disappeared into her room without another word.
I couldn't find out anything from anyone. Mom would dutifully inform me when she was leaving, but would give me no additional information. The late nights continued.
It was impossible for me to forget the situation by going to work, because Dr. Wentworth was there. I was constantly searching his manner and conversation for any clues as to what was going on, but with no success. I was greatly annoyed with virtually everyone in the world.
Poor Carter felt the brunt of my frustration. I was irritable with him because he was the only person to whom I could vent. (Mom didn't count, she just ignored my rantings.)
Carter didn't understand my stubborn curiosity. "Emily, you really don't have to be aware of everything going on in your mom's life," he tried to reason with me. "Both my parents have dated people, and I didn't give myself an ulcer from wondering about all the details."
"You're different," I argued. "You're not as emotionally connected to your parents. You and your dad act more like barely-acquainted roommates than father and son."
"I just don't feel the need to tell him everything." Carter's tone softened. "I'd rather tell you."
I sighed. Carter was trying to distract me. With those eyes, he was doing a pretty fine job.
Carter sat down in a chair and pulled me onto his lap. "Hey, science chick," he said in an exaggerated "pick-up line" tone, "Don't you know it's a proven fact that you can't kiss and worry at the same time?"
I giggled. "I'll need to see your research," I replied.
"It's still in progress. Would you like to be a subject?"
"If the research is still in progress, then it's not a demonstrated fact. So I'll have to reject your hypothesis as unproven."
Carter groaned. "You're too smart. What does a smart girl like you want with me anyway?"
I grinned wickedly at him. "I never have to worry about you cheating on me."
"Very true," he agreed. "But why do you say such a thing?"
"Because you are pathetic at flirting."
Carter protested loudly at this, as I knew he would. But he had succeeded in taking my mind off of Mom -- for the time being.
After a month of Mom's strange behavior, I could stand it no longer. Being alone in the house one Saturday afternoon, as Mom had taken to leaving soon after lunch on Saturdays, I entered her room with only a small pang of conscience. I began systematically searching for something, anything that would give me an idea of what was going on.
Actually, it was easier than I expected. A small cardboard box lay in the corner of her room.
I opened it.
It was as if I was transported into Mom's world, the world I had seen glimpses of but never fully understood. The world of a girl whose heart's desire was stripped from her at age 18.
And who, at age 51, was being given another chance to let her heart live.
The confirmation was here. Everything I ever wanted to know about Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth, past and present, was in this box.
Posted on Tuesday, 20 July 1999
The journal was a simple red spiral notebook, yellowed with age. The handwriting was that of my mother, yet different somehow. Younger. More girlish. Maybe even -- silly.
Anne Marie Elliot + Frederick Alan Wentworth.
Anne and Frederick -- together forever.
Frederick & Anne Wentworth.
Descriptions of Anne's first kiss. I devoured the pages with my eyes and mind and heart. It was as if I was an adopted child finding out about my birth family for the first time. For this should have been my history.
Then the tone of the diary changed -- so abruptly, so pathetically. The happy girl, so in love, changed to the serious, slightly sad woman that I had always known.
And the journal stopped. It was as though Anne had nothing left worth writing after he left. Nothing except bitter recriminations against herself and agonizing over whether her decision had been right, knowing she would never have a chance to change her mind.
I laid the journal aside and began sifting through the other items in the box. Most of them had already been explained in the notebook. They were ticket stubs and other souvenirs from the brief but eternal relationship.
The newer items were of greater interest to me. Just small things, really. Matchbooks from different restaurants and so on. I continued searching, hoping to find a new journal, one that would give me more insight into this revival of the romance.
Finally I found a notebook with a piece of paper attached to the front. It read, "Emily, I love you, but if you open this book, I'll have to hurt you. Love, Mom." I took a deep breath and opened the book, knowing I'd feel horrible later.
Inside the book I found the old Anne Elliot again. She wrote page after page describing the flowers, the first phone call, how apologetic and remorseful Frederick was for his years of stubborn neglect. They actually talked about me a little bit, but I have to admit not much. Then their first date, during which they slow-danced the night away as if they were the only two people in the world. "I never thought I could feel beautiful again," she wrote. "But romance knows no age. Frederick is as beautiful as ever, and he's older than I am. It is as if the past years never existed."
Then I got to the part that Mom most certainly did not want me to see. "It has been so hard for me to force myself to come home at night, rather than to stay with him. Every time I leave, I'm afraid something will happen again to keep us apart. The irony is incredible. The only man I really want I must keep at arm's length. Once again my morals get in my way. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to marry him! But not until we get reacquainted. The inability to keep my hands to myself is not sufficient reason to get married. Those kisses though! I teased him and asked him who he had practiced on, since he had improved so much. And the sweetheart -- he said he had only practiced with me in his dreams! I was almost seduced then and there. Thank goodness he is a gentleman."
Okay, this was a little much. Good grief, this was my mother I was reading about! No wonder she was so understanding about Carter. I slammed the book shut and replaced everything in the box. I wasn't really angry, just slightly shocked and more than a little amused. You live with somebody for twenty-four years, you think you know them, and then -- well, I was just going to have to have a little fun with this.
"Any questions, Emily?" Dr. Morgan asked me during our weekly meeting.
"Just one." I turned to Dr. Wentworth. "Dr. Wentworth, what are your intentions toward my mother?"
Both men nearly choked on their coffee, one because he was completely clueless, and the other because he couldn't believe my boldness. He got me back, though, as soon as he regained control over his swallowing mechanism.
"We're getting married next month. Would you like to come?" he asked calmly.
My eyes widened, but I had to play the game. "Congratulations, sir. I'm glad to hear it."
I slammed the door when I got home, wanting to make good and sure that Mom heard me come in. I added a loud "Mother!" just for good measure.
"When were you going to tell me?" I asked when she came into the room.
"When the time was right."
"Which would be -- when? This is crazy. Not you marrying him, I understand that completely. But why all the secrets?"
Mom actually looked remorseful. "Emily, I'm not like you. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve. It was very important just to keep this to myself for as long as possible. Then I couldn't figure out how to tell you. It's not the easiest thing in the world, telling your child you're getting married."
"Did you think I would kick and scream?"
"Of course not, I don't know what I was thinking. But please don't hold it against us. You can't imagine how happy I am. It would ruin things if I thought you were angry at either of us."
I couldn't be angry. Not when I looked at the big picture. So I ran to Mom and hugged her. "Best wishes," I said. "That's what you're supposed to tell a bride, you know. The groom gets the congratulations."
"Thank you, sweetheart. I'll take the congratulations too, though. I do believe I've made the best catch in the world." And Mom got a dreamy look in her eyes that could only be explained by the journal I had surreptitiously read.
I decided I had to confess. "You're not just marrying him because you can't keep your hands off him, are you?"
"No, also because he has a burglar-proof safe in which I can keep my journal away from prying eyes."
I feigned disappointment. "Aw, you mean I don't get to read about your honeymoon? I was thinking it could prove quite educational."
Mom did her best to look scolding. "Emily Anne, I'm still your mother. Don't you have to go call Carter or something?"
"I'm being rejected already. Nobody loves me." But Mom knew I was only teasing. I was really ecstatic. Nothing could be more perfect. Mom's dreams were finally coming true.
Posted on Thursday, 22 July 1999
I want to be fifteen again. I want to be Mom's little girl. I want Carter back -- even as a friend. It would be better than nothing.
Once Carter was no longer being tormented by the school athletes, his personality changed from that of a scared rabbit to that of a laughing, happy teenage boy. He was still different, though. He exhibited none of the obnoxious characteristics common among adolescent males, such as obsession with bodily functions and male-female physical relationships. He was more likely to tell political jokes, which he would then have to explain to me.
So we were an odd pair of best friends. Neither of us fit a stereotype, though I tried multiple times to "fit in" and be a popular homecoming-court girl. But I was too forthright and never quite stylish enough.
By the time we were seniors, Carter had turned into a "pretty boy" of sorts. Not that he was absolutely perfect-looking, but he had good facial bone structure, which when combined with his preppy style, dark eyes, and unique smile, drew the attentions of more than one girl at school. He ignored their attempts at flirting, leading to ugly (jealous) speculation on the part of other guys.
The big scandal of the year was when Carter Merrill got into a fight with two basketball players -- and came out the winner. Rumours flew as to the cause of the fight, especially when Carter refused to give any explanation.
"Aren't you even going to tell me what happened?" I asked him. "What was worth getting suspended?"
"I don't want to tell you." He pressed his lips together and raised his chin, indicating a serious onset of Merrill stubbornness.
But I had an ace up my sleeve. "Fine. Then I don't want to tell you who's taking me to prom."
"I'll find out eventually."
"Yeah, when I show up that night. Like you can restrain your curiosity that long."
I saw his face relax and his eyes roll in resignation. "It's not pretty, Em."
"Neither am I, but I still look in the mirror every morning. Let's hear it."
As it turned out, the other guys had been teasing him because he had turned down a popular girl's offer to be his prom date.
"You like girls, Merrill?" one asked insinuatingly.
"Some of them," Carter answered as he kept walking. And it would have ended there except for what the other jock said:
"Merrill likes Emily Elliot. Who knows why, unless she gives him what he wants -- and I don't mean help with homework either."
That particular guy suddenly found himself pressed against the wall with his shirt collar bunched up uncomfortably around his neck.
"I'm going to be very clear, and you're going to listen very carefully. The only way any man will get anything of that sort from Emily Elliot is if he puts a wedding ring on her finger and promises to love and cherish her for all time. I realize you wouldn't know a real lady if she kicked you where your brain appears to be, but Emily is one. So shut your ugly mouth up."
From there Carter's adrenaline took over, and he doesn't really remember anything else about the incident. The physical evidence gathered by school administration indicates that the jocks got the worst of it, so it must have been some adrenaline surge.
"I don't know what to say," I responded astonishedly when I heard Carter's tale. "I never expected anyone to defend my honor."
"It shouldn't have been necessary. But it was, so that's all that needs to be said about it. So who's taking you to prom?"
I laughed. "Nobody."
"But you said -- "
"I never said that someone was taking me."
"Remind me not to fight anyone who accuses you of being sneaky."
"I don't think I'm going to prom," I announced to him.
"But Emily, you love all that getting dressed up and stuff."
"Maybe I'll get dressed up and sit in my house."
"Is it because you don't have a date?"
"No, because it's all artificial."
There was nothing Carter could say to that except "I'm not going either."
"Not because of me. That's not fair."
"No. Because I told Jamie Harrison I wasn't going. That was my excuse for turning her down."
"Oh."
"So, do you want to catch a movie that night or what?"
I was pretty blind. I couldn't see how much Carter cared about me, or more precisely, in what way he cared about me. I only saw myself as a plain, brainy, outspoken girl who was incapable of attracting anyone. The strange phenomenon was that I never developed a crush on Carter. But I honestly never got past that image of the scared rabbit. It probably made life a lot better for both of us that I didn't. We had seven wonderful years of friendship.
Posted on Monday, 2 August 1999
New Years Day, 1997.
While the city was sleeping off a night of partying, a quiet celebration was taking place in our home. Carter and I witnessed my mother becoming the wife of Dr. Frederick Wentworth. I felt tears stinging my eyes, but they refused to fall. I was unable to move, I was so mesmerized by the absolute beauty of this moment. I listened to the vows and knew that this couple meant every word, for they had already suffered the worst of trials. As my new dad kissed his bride, it was as though all the pain of the past disappeared from Mom's face.
After the ceremony, we drove the Wentworths to the airport, where they were to catch a plane to "somewhere warm". Dr. Wentworth slapped Carter on the shoulder and instructed him, "Take care of our girl while we're gone."
"You take care of my mom," I countered.
"Oh, I will meet her every need and want," he laughed and winked at me.
I blushed furiously. "Dads aren't supposed to say things like that," I protested.
"Then I guess I'll have to work on this dad thing," he said, but with little success keeping his eyes off his wife.
After they left, Carter took me to the airport Baskin-Robbins for some ice cream. "Are you okay with all of this?" he asked me.
I nodded. "Truly, I am. I am incredibly happy for both of them. Mom has been lonely for so long. And now she has a good man who will love her for the rest of her life."
"And you have a dad."
I smiled. "Yes. I have a dad I can be proud of. We have become such good friends these last few months. It's as if I was meant to be his daughter."
Carter took my hand. "Maybe you were."
July 1995
"My father wants to see me?" I asked incredulously. "He has visited me ten times in twenty years. Why should I go to see him?"
Mom gestured for me to sit down beside her. "Emily, I think you should go."
"But why?" I was bitter and disgusted.
Mom sighed. "Because, Emily, your father is dying."
Atlanta, Georgia.
The neighborhood was more run-down than I remembered from previous visits to my paternal grandmother. Emma Elliot was never strong emotionally, and the task of caring for a dying son had taken its toll on the nearly eighty-year-old woman.
I entered my father's room, and if I had not been conditioned by my experiences in medical school, the smell would have made me ill. I was shocked to see evidence of a tracheostomy protruding from the neck of this man who looked much older than mid-fifties. I greeted him cautiously. Before speaking to me, however, he pulled out what looked like a strange sort of microphone and pressed it against his neck. "Hello, young lady," he said in an artificial robotic voice.
Realization kicked in. "You've had a laryngectomy." It was a statement, not a question.
"That's right. You have learned something in medical school. Did they tell you that people who smoke and drink heavily in combination increase their risk for laryngeal cancer twenty times?" He then had to stop and cough, a strange cough coming from the hole in his neck rather than his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I had no idea. I could have come sooner."
William Elliot shook his head. "No, don't feel bad. I know I've been a rotten father. I don't deserve to have you here now. You've turned out to be good, like your mother."
I was slightly thrown off by this admission. All my life, my father had denied any wrongdoing. I didn't know how to respond as a daughter, so I responded as a doctor. "Has the cancer metastasized?" I asked.
"Yes, thank goodness. This way it will get me before the AIDS kicks in." Seeing my eyes widen in horror, he laughed noiselessly. "Yes, little girl, I've got HIV too. And don't ask me from where, I couldn't begin to guess. I've lived fast, I'm going to die young, but unfortunately that part about the good-looking corpse isn't going to work out."
"I don't know what to say." What was there to say? Here was a man who had destroyed himself. Did he expect sympathy? Or was he going to try to atone in some way? "What do you want me to do?" I finally asked him.
"Just talk to me, Emmy," he pleaded. "Let my last memories be of my little girl, the only decent thing I ever contributed to this world."
So I began to talk to him about anything I could think of. I did my best to forget about our gruesome surroundings, and to provide a pleasant atmosphere. And to my amazement, as the next few days passed, I saw the hard look in my father's eyes soften. And before he closed his eyes for the last time, he told me he loved me. And though my bitterness toward his behavior would linger for years, I was able to say honestly that I loved my father.
Posted on Saturday, 27 November 1999
I have to admit that the period of my engagement to Carter was the happiest of my life. His employers had wasted no time in making him an associate of their firm upon his graduation. We were both fulfilling our dreams: his, to make money, and mine, to learn more about the human genetic system. Mom was living life on a dream with Frederick. It truly appeared as though nothing could go wrong.
So after spending so many years looking for the silver lining behind the cloud, you would think I would have at least thought to look for the hint of a cloud behind this silver lining. But no, I in my naïveté only saw what I wanted to see until I was forced to do otherwise.
Carter loved his work, but I could tell he was stressed. The hours for a new law associate were horrendous. Our time together often consisted of him falling out dead asleep on my couch after working till 8 or 9 p.m. I was patient. We had our whole lives ahead of us to be together.
One night, about 4 months ago, I was expecting Carter to come over at any time. Instead, I received a phone call from him. "Are you on your way?" I asked.
"No, I'm not even in Memphis," was his reply.
"Good grief! Carter, where are you?"
"I really can't say. Emily, I'll try to call you tomorrow." He paused for a moment. "Emily, whatever you may hear, I've done nothing wrong." He then hung up abruptly, leaving me to wonder why he found it necessary to say those words.