This is not my best writing and I'm not planning on continuing this story. I just wanted to pay tribute to Mary Bennett, the often ignored character in Jane Austen's classic novel, Pride & Prejudice. I felt she deserved something, some little story of her own in which she gets an epiphany about herself. So here it is. Enjoy.
Mary Bennet was in need of a new book. She rigorously searched the shelves of the bookstore for a compilation of Shakespearean sonnets she'd seen a week prior. So intent was she in her search that she'd failed to notice the bookstore owner's son, Andrew Lewis, watching her from the counter.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Bennet." He called out to his regular visitor. She jumped slightly, shaken out of her concentration.
"Oh. Good afternoon." She gave him a quick, polite smile and continued scanning the books in front of her.
"Looking for anything particular?" He asked her from afar.
She furrowed her brows, reading the title on a rather thick book.
"Uh, no..." She replied, moving on to the next aisle.
The Lewis family were long time acquaintances of the Bennets and the Bennet girls had practically grown up with Andrew, who was around Elizabeth's age, and his younger sister, Emily, who'd been a favorite of Kitty's. Andrew would often spot Mary in the book store, devouring one book after another. Of all the Bennet sisters, he knew the least about Mary. Aside from which books she preferred and which she did not like as much, he couldn't deduce anything else. She was quieter than the rest and kept to herself as often as she could. Nevertheless, he'd always thought she was an intriguing girl.
Mary's frown deepened as she crossed back over to the other side of the shelf, wondering if she might've accidentally missed the book.
Suddenly, Andrew appeared at her side.
"Looks to me like you're searching for something specific." He said, leaning against the shelf.
Mary ignored him and continued looking.
"Maybe I could help you find it." He offered, taking a step closer.
Mary shook her head.
"No, that's...that's alright." She bit her lip. "If it was here, I would've found it already. Someone must've come in and bought it."
The disappointment in her voice was evident.
"Which book?" He asked. Mary sighed, finally looking in his direction.
"A Collection of Shakespearean Sonnets." She told him, feeling a little shy.
"Hm..." He crossed his arms and looked over the shelves. "Well, I don't remember anyone buying that from us this last week."
She watched him as he studied the spines of the books in front of them. He was so much taller than her, she didn't know why she had never took notice of that before. He had his long, brown hair tied back out of his face, though a few, loose tendrils had escaped.
He let out an abrupt gasp that made her jump.
"Oh, you don't mean..." He disappeared, entering the back room through a nearby door. He came out in less than a minute, carrying a large text in his hands and wearing a smile on his face.
"This?" He asked as he saw her lighten up. She took it out of his hands, running over the cover with her gloved fingers. "I'd seen you looking it over last week and kept it safe in the back room, knowing you'd come by sooner or later to pick it up." He explained.
Mary couldn't contain her spreading smile. She was taken aback by his attentiveness and consideration.
"Thank you, Mr. Lewis." She said earnestly.
"Shakespeare. Great choice. And may I recommend Sonnet 18? One of his better known pieces..." He told her, walking toward the counter. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate-"
"-Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date." She finished, looking down bashfully. "I know that one, it's one of my favorites." She mumbled, following him to the counter as she flipped through the pages.
He chuckled, noticing the curious way her slender fingertips traced the binding of the book. Mary Bennet continued to surprise him.
As he'd expected, she returned in a matter of days, with a new book on her mind. There was no one else in the store and his father was busy picking up a new shipment of books in the next town.
He put away a large stack of encyclopedias and went to her.
"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed. And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed." He recited as he approached her. She looked up at him, a smile quickly forming on her mouth. She had her hair in a long, black braid down her back and was wearing a dress in a lovely shade of blue. He waited for her to finish the next part of the sonnet.
"But thy eternal summer shall not fade," She replied dreamily, staring into his eyes, arresting him with the intensity of her gaze. "Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st. Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st."
He opened his mouth to finish the rest, but stopped himself.
"I never got a chance to congratulate you on your sisters' marriages." He spoke, changing the subject. Mary paused for a moment.
"Why would you congratulate me?" She inquired, making her way through the store.
"Well, you must be happy for them. It's an enormous blessing for your whole family." He said, following after her.
"All except for Lidia's marriage." She stated bluntly. Andrew raised his brows. "But nothing can be done about that now."
"What is your opinion of their marriage?" He asked instead.
"Father says some people should not marry at all." She answered, picking out a book and taking it out. He sensed a note of despondency in her voice and wondered if her father identified Mary as one of those people. Or worse. If she put herself into that category.
"And what is your opinion on marriage in general?" He couldn't help asking.
Mary paused and thought about his question for a moment.
"Well, the Bible says that it is not good for a man or woman to be alone. And Socrates-"
"Enough with the books, Ms. Bennet." He interrupted all of a sudden. She looked up at him, confused. "You're always referencing books and other people. I want to know what you think." He said as kindly as he could. Mary frowned. "You must have formed a single opinion once in your life that wasn't based on what someone else told you to think or believe." He gently added.
Mary furrowed her brows and tried to gather her thoughts together.
"I, uh..." She stuttered, unable to respond or articulate anything. She looked hard at the floor, processing his words. She searched inside herself for an opinion, a conviction, even of the smallest kind.
Her eyes lit up as she grabbed hold of something.
"I hate the piano."
"...You hate the piano." He reiterated, waiting for her to explain. "Hate is a powerful word."
"But I do...Or, I hate playing it. The instrument itself is beautiful in the way it sounds, if someone knows how to play it right."
"And you don't?" He asked. He'd heard her play before and, though she certainly wasn't the worst, he'd heard plenty better.
"I don't." She stated. "I did my best to learn. I'm a good learner. But my diligence didn't make up for my lack of talent." She said with all sincerity and without any sadness.
"Why did you learn to play then?" He asked.
She couldn't answer him that. She bit her lip as she searched for a reply.
A small smile formed on his mouth.
"Well, what is it you do like? What are you passionate about?" He asked instead.
She had to think about that. Her automatic response was "reading", but she changed her mind. She liked to read because she liked to learn about different things. Her drive to learn sprouted from a need to be good at something, to distinguish herself from among her sisters. She wanted to find something she was good at, something she liked, something she loved to do. That was why she devoured the information she read from books. That was why she forced herself to learn piano.
"I...I don't know." She finally gave up, looking a little lost. This epiphany didn't exactly make her feel any better.
Andrew let out a laugh.
"And that is your finest conviction yet." He said happily. "Don't fret." He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "You're still so young. We both are. We have the rest of our lives to make them." He grinned at her. "More convictions than our minds will be able to contain."
Mary stared up at him, this shopkeeper's son, who's whole life revolved around literature. This boy who had probably read more books than she had. This boy who had more wisdom than she'd given him credit for.
"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see," She quietly recited.
"So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." He finished.