“Probably Amazon,” Mary guessed as she went to answer the front door.
Mary unbolted the lock and peered through the chain. “It’s Lydia!” she shouted. Mary loosened the chain and let her sister in.
Lydia wore pencil jeans and a tight sweater. She teetered on stiletto heels. Her hair was long, pulled up into a high ponytail that cascaded down her back.
Lizzie, Kitty, and Jane joined them in the vestibule.
“That was some train!” Lizzie said, hugging her sister. “You smell divine.”
“Mademoiselle by Christian Dior. Thanks. I blew off the train. A corporal out of Fort Belvoir was driving up for a meeting and offered me a ride. Very handsome. Single. About thirty-two. Just right for our Mary. I had the most wonderful four hours looking at his perfect profile.”
“How was he from the front?” Mary asked.
The girls laughed.
“Not bad. The eyes are a bit flinty, but a good strong nose and chin,” Lydia reported.
“How do you grow your hair out so quickly? I might need biotin.” Kitty patted the barrettes that held her hair in place.
“I don’t grow anything. It’s a weave,” Lydia explained as she flicked it.
“Oh.” Lizzie and the girls examined Lydia’s hair like it was a sculpture in a museum.
“Are you hungry?” Jane asked.
“Of course. I hope you have carbohydrates.”
“Tons,” Mary promised.
Mary, Lydia, and Kitty went into the kitchen. Lizzie pulled Jane back into the front parlor as she followed them.
“What are we going to do about Mary?” Lizzie whispered.
“What do you mean?” Jane asked.
Lizzie ran her hand over the arm of the old velvet-covered chair. “She wants to stay in the house.”
“New York City holds an allure for single women. It always has. This is no place to bring up a family.”
“We were raised here, Jane,” Lizzie countered. “And if I’m honest, I dream of the day I can return.”
“I thought you loved your garden.”
“I do. But there are all kinds of gardens. I could put a garden on the roof someday.”
“I’m afraid the house will be long gone by then,” Jane said.
“Mary loves the old barn. I would have liked to help her keep it. But where will we find the money to fix it? I have college to worry about.” Lizzie bit her lip. Fitzy and little Mary were a few years away from college, but Lizzie was planning ahead. Her husband had done well, and Lizzie’s marketing company was breaking even, but as with all women raised in homes with financial insecurity, the fear of poverty loomed in the corners of every endeavor, squashing ambition. Lizzie avoided risks, but it was necessary to take them togrow the business. Lizzie Bennet Darcy played it safe, even when she knew it would prevent her from reaching her potential.
“My husband and I will help,” Jane said, looking around. “But look at this place. It’s falling apart. We’d have to fix it up to sell it for the proper price.”
“In this neighborhood? I wouldn’t worry.”
“Mary fixed a pipe upstairs by herself.” Jane rolled her eyes.
“Poor thing.”
“She won the playwriting prize, but every penny is going to fix the sidewalk,” Jane said sadly.
