Five Sisters (54 page)

"You've been talking all day about how you know she'll love it."

"That doesn't mean
it's
perfect," Brook turned away and began trying on some of the women's hats jokingly, "And I haven't been talking about it
all day
."

Ethan laughed, "That's the understatement of the century."

Brook began looking in the mirror, trying to act dainty and feminine in an effort to make Ethan laugh and, thus, change the subject of the conversation. He lowered the brim over one eye and pursed his lips together in his best mock-lady.

But Ethan only chuckled and shook his head, "Nice try, but you're not changing the subject, Brook. I've
been wanting
to talk more about Emy for a long while now."

"There's really not much to talk of."

"To the contrary, my friend.
In fact," he swept the hat off Brook's head and set it on his own, "I'm not the only one finding interest in you two. Mary came to me this morning, on part of all her sisters- besides Emy, of course- and asked if I would talk to you about it today if I had the chance."

"Why don't they just ask Emy?"

"Ask Emy!" Ethan asked in shock, "Never! How horrible would it be to question that poor girl and make her suffer in embarrassment by associating her with the likes of a repulsive young man like yourself?"

"I understand your concern," Brook joked.

"So . . ." Ethan said slowly, unsure of how to go about the subject, "What's the story?"

"It hasn't been written."

"Not a page?"

"Perhaps a page."

"Does that mean . . . ?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Well I have to report back to the girls with
something
."

"Emy and I are . . ." Brook began unsurely, picking up another hat and spinning it around his finger, "We're . . ."

"Yes?"

"Well . . . Well, I'm awfully fond of her, if you hadn't noticed."

"Is that so?"

"I, er . . ." Brook stammered, "I like her. I like her a lot. I, er . . . Well . . . I hold her in very high regards."

"High regards?"

"And I think she likes me too . . . Well, I, er . . . I should hope so. Because, we are . . . We're courting and I . . . And I should think Emy would be fond of me if she agreed it would be alright for me to call on her, shouldn't you think so?"

"I should, I should," Ethan agreed, now smiling, "That wasn't so hard to admit now, was it? You could have just come out and said it, but your route worked just as well, I think," he patted Brook on the back with a chuckle, "I'm sure Mary and her sisters will be very glad to hear the news."

"You think so?" Brook questioned, the uncertainty now cleanly apparent in his voice, "Because I was worried they wouldn't be so happy with it. Not that they don't like me, but I just . . . Well, Emy's always been their 'sweet Emmeline' and I was afraid they wouldn't think I deserved her or that she was too pure for me or that I was just some . . . some evil varmint that wasn't worthy of their dear sister."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, "You've thought about this way too much, my friend. They certainly don't think you're
too
terrible. And as long as Emy's happy, they shouldn't mind it."

"You think so?"

"'Course," he paused, "And do you know what else I think?"

"What's that?"

Ethan grabbed the hat off Brook's head and grinned, "I think this would be perfect for Mary!"

*****

As soon as Emy found a pretty new painting for Brook, one she was quite sure he would like, she and Nora decided they really didn't need to shop anymore. Instead they entered the candyshop and, only a minute later, exited with two bags of chocolates and fruity hard candies. With these goodies in hand, they headed down the lane and savored the pieces on their tongues, gazing at the different stores they passed.

Before long, they'd unknowingly walked down towards the harbor, where hundreds of ships were bobbing up and down in the deep, navy waters. The ocean spray splashed upon the docks and there were groups of sailors all around: some relaxing upon their ships with a pint at hand, some carrying crates and barrels of smelly fish, and some walking down the docks toward the city with their hands stuffed in their pockets for warmth. One of those men walking inward was shorter than the rest and his hair was made of limp, flaxen curls. Instantly, he caught Nora's eye and she froze in place. It couldn't be. Or could it?

He was of the right height, the correct stature, he wore the usual shabby clothing, and his shoulders were held low. Nora was on her tip toes now, trying to get a better view; her heart beating out of her chest.

But then, as he came closer, she realized he wasn't wearing any glasses. And his skin was far too clear. It wasn't Sawyer. It couldn't be.

"Is something wrong, Nora?" Emy asked from up ahead, only just realizing that her sister had stopped walking and was standing several meters behind her.

"No, no, nothing," Nora said, forcing a smile, and rushed forward to join Emy as they continued down the lane.

*****

Unable to guide Nathaniel's wheelchair through the shops without smashing people's feet or running into things, Gail soon decided that they ought to stay outside instead. They headed down the lane lazily, the wheelchair making two long, skinny tracks through the snow.

Nathaniel was wearing his new, thick winter coat and cap. When they'd left the house that morning he'd adored them both, thinking
himself
quite dashing, but as they day wore onward his opinion of the garments dropped immensely. This was the first time he'd worn both for
a such
a long time. Although he still found the
coat's
dark gray wool very handsome indeed, and he had no objections to the cap's subdued crimson plaid, they weren't quite so comfortable as he'd hoped. But of course, living in pajamas all his life, Nathaniel's opinions of comfort were far more difficult to attain than the average person's. The back of his neck and his bared wrists soon became red as they scratched against the wool and the cap, not fitting quite so well as it should have, kept falling down upon his eyes. Needless to say, he soon found himself cursing the names of both.

"My God," he said bitterly, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, "This is ridiculous! Why in the world did I give Maureen so much money to spend on this horrid coat?" he scratched his wrists and then reached back a hand to lift the rough fabric off his neck. Just as he shifted his body position, however, his vision was shielded as the cap fell down once more, "And this goddam cap! I swear I'll rip the thing to shreds if it falls off my head again!" He grabbed it off his head and threw it into the street, scratching his ginger brown locks, which were sticking up in all directions from being hidden under a hat for so long and were now being covered in snowflakes. He frowned, "My head's not even that cold anyway!"

"It can't be that bad," Gail said, running into the street to retrieve the cap. She held it out for him but he refused.

"It
is
that bad, I assure you," he said, nodding his head with confidence.

"Oh, you exaggerate too much," sniffed Gail, slapping the cap upon her own head. She jumped in front of Nathaniel with a grin, "What do you think?"

"I've always thought it was an attractive cap," he said sensibly, "But it just won't stay on."

"Yes, but how do you think it looks on
me
?"

"I think it looks lovely."

Although he didn't say it with the sweet, charming voice most men would have used when complimenting a lady (In fact, he said it as though he were rather bored) Gail liked it far more his way than any other. She beamed with delight and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. Nathaniel let her do it, but narrowed his eyebrows when she'd finished.

"For Christ's sake, Gail," he said, rubbing his cheek disdainfully, "Why do you have to be so goddam romantic?"

Gail only smiled and continued to push his wheelchair down the lane.

*****

Even though Mary and Sara had already found gifts for all their loved ones, they found plenty to do to enjoy themselves. Women rarely refuse a day of shopping.

They looked through all sorts of shops and boutiques, trying on different jewelry and hats, spraying perfume on their wrists to sample, searching for the best fabrics to make a new gown with, and smelling all the different soaps and candles.

For the majority of the day, Sara was rather quiet and listened as Mary rattled on and on about Ethan and the wedding, Emy and Brook, what they would be doing for the rest of the holidays, and whichever other various topics rose in her mind. She noticed that Sara was being awfully silent, of course, but she found
nothing in it for Sara hadn't spoken much at all since arriving in Brighton
. Sara's only comfort now was John's enormous library, where she found an endless supply of books to occupy her time and her thoughts. It was far more appealing to sit with a novel than to attempt a pleasant conversation when her mind was rarely able to focus on the topic at hand.

"Why look, Sara!" Mary suddenly said with a bounce, dropping the hairpin she'd been admiring and pointing out the window, "It's a bookstore! We're sure to find something there to bring your spirits up!"

Sara followed her out the door with a sigh, though her heart lifted at the sight of the little shop.

As soon as they entered and Sara could breathe in that lovely scent of withering pages and old leather binding, she found herself unconsciously grinning and instantly lost herself within the maze of shelves and customers and books. She left Mary standing at the door,
who
was wrinkling her nose in distaste and claiming, "This smell is completely unbearable!" As she walked further in she continued wafting the air and saying to no one in particular, "Why, they really ought to clean this place out a bit. I can barely breathe!"

But Sara didn't hear a word her sister said; if she had she surely would have contradicted her and stood up for the heavenly scent of old books. By this point she was deep into the back of the store, her fingers running over the spines of the books as she murmured their titles to herself so silently she could scarcely be heard, "
Sense & Sensibility, Wuthering Heights, Macbeth, Les Miserables, Anna Karenina."
All the classics spread out before her and although she'd read nearly all of them before, she bit her lip in the temptation to read them all again.

It was a disorganized bookstore, to be sure, Sara soon found, for the books were not set up according to their author or their title. Instead, they were simply thrown on the shelves with no apparent order whatsoever. She took a thick, navy blue novel off its shelf, flipping through the pages with her head lowered, and began to walk around the corner when she accidentally tripped over her own foot. In an effort to regain her balance, she reached towards the wall but her clumsy feet knocked over another small stack of books as she did so.