Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen.
A/N: Hi, everybody, this is my first try at a Jane Austen fan fiction. I love Sense and Sensibility, but rather than try to tell the story of Marianne's marriage to Col. Brandon, I decided to skip over two generations and tell the story of Marianne's granddaughter, Prudence. So just to make it clear, the story starts in the 1840's.
My first experience with death came at the tender age of four, the occasion being the passing of my Great-Grandmother Dashwood.
As Great-Grandmother had been ill for quite a few months, and the medical experts held forth no hope of her surviving, her passing inspired grief, rather than shock. When the end came, she was surrounded by her family and friends, attended to physically by the local physician and spiritually by her son-in-law, Reverend Ferrars (known to me as Great-Uncle Edward).
--At least, this is how I remember it for again I must state that I was only four years old.
Of course, nowadays there is much difference of opinion on the appropriateness of allowing children of tender years into the sickroom, let alone the death-chamber, but my parents held that not only was Death the Great Passage into the Heavenly Kingdom, but also that it would be salutary for us to be present to say goodbye to Great-Grandmother. And so we were brought along to witness her passing--my sister and I. Jessica was seven years old in that year, and I, Prudence, four.
I must confess that, salutary or not, I remember little of the actual event of her death. What I do remember are the people--so many of them!--and they had all gathered for one purpose, to say their earthly goodbyes to one woman. I also remember the black--so much of it! It seemed to be everywhere, from the clothes of the guests, to the walls, doors, and windows. And because her room had been shut up for several weeks--fresh air being deemed fatal in the sick-chamber--the fireplace and a few oil lamps only dimly illuminated it.
My father, John Brandon, held me firmly in his arm, tucked onto his hip, and he had Jessica by the hand. My mother, Audrey, followed behind us as we stepped forward to the deathbed. As she lay with her head resting against the snowy pillows, with the blanket pulled up to her waist, Great-Grandmother did not look greatly altered to my infant eyes, despite the hushed, whispered, expectant air of the mourners-to-be all around us. She looked at us with her kind and patient expression and I was held closely enough to her to kiss her sunken cheek. She stroked my hair kindly and said a word or two--I don't remember the particulars of that speech anymore--then I was handed over to my mother, who carried me from the room to release me into the care of the servants. Jessica joined me soon thereafter, along with a few cousins. We were bade sit in the parlor prettily, which we strove to do, but quietness is against the very nature of childhood, and wiggling turned into squirming, grimacing turned into laughter, and our play became steadily more noisy until the housemaid came and put us all out.
However wild our play had become indoors, the disgrace of being put out into the yard had a contrary and dampening effect on our spirits. On the stone benches and walls, we children sat quietly and looked at each other with bewildered faces, until we were brought back into the house.
I don't remember the exact moment we were told of Great-Grandmother Dashwood's death. But Gram-Marianne cried inconsolably as Grandfather strove to still her weeping. I think he eventually needed to remove her from the room. My father held Jessica on his lap and Mother held me. But Audrey Brandon, nee Fletcher, did not weep. She was possessed of steady English nerves that wouldn't admit to the types of displays I remember from Gram-Marianne. But for all that, Mother was no cold, unfeeling woman. One only had to look into her eyes to see the depth of her feeling, and I was frightened by the deep sadness I saw in them as she held me on her lap and stroked my hair gently and discussed the events of the day with the other adults present. After all, she had been very fond of Great-Grandmother.
I believe that as adults we forget how confusing the world is to the very young and the very small. I understood that something very solemn and mysterious was happening, and I had seen death before--the stiff, unmoving robin we found under the mulberry bush a few days previously, for instance, and then there was my favorite bloodhound of Father's that died a month or two before that. But somehow I couldn't relate those animal deaths with what the adults were telling us about Great-Grandmother. But my parents understood that our infant minds could only understand a little of what was being said around us of heaven and paradise. And in the following days, as Great-Grandmother was laid out in the parlor, then borne forth to the church and yard, Jessica and I struggled to understand, and we were infected by the sorrow of the people around us. However, I don't remember this time of my life as being particularly frightening. What it did was to open a door for me--a door to a strange and mystical realm--that never closed again for my entire lifetime.
Any questions? Comments? Reviews? I love them!