AN; Thank you for the reviews and encouragements.
The week that followed Mr. Woodhouse's death was a flurry of activity…Mr. Knightley thought, if Mr. Woodhouse himself had known how much would need to be done and prepared and how late into the evening everyone was staying up he never would have gone and died, he would have reasoned that the whole business was most ill advised for everyone's health. He formed a small smile and took a sip of sherry, the wine warmed him as well as the fire, Mrs. Weston had insisted that he dined at Randalls this evening on his way home from Hartfield and when he tried to protest that he would be on foot and that walking back to Donwell would be very dark she insisted he take their carriage home, at first he wanted to protest the extravagance but instead he acquiesced, he was softened by the thought of spending the evening alone at Donwell.
John, Isabella and the children had arrived late the day after Mr. Woodhouse died and after much work on legal papers, arrangements, notifications and one exhausting day and back trip to London with John , it was decided that the sisters, Isabella and Emma needed an evening alone together to sort through clothing, letters…and memories. Knightley thought of Emma and how she had initially taken the news, she had been so fragile in his arms the beginning of the week, lost almost to the present but as the days wore on and in almost the constant company of Mrs. Weston and then Isabella she had come round, enough so that on a few occasions when he was walking from room to room, working out all the arrangements and legalities of Hartfield with John he saw her going over a menu with Greta the cook, and helping to finalize a few plans for the funeral ceremony but in a moment when she did not know he was looking at her, he saw that her complexion was sallow and her dress hung a bit around the shoulders, her sleeves slipping past her wrists…she was not eating properly, he thought…he wanted to take her aside and chide her for it and if he was truthful with himself, which a glass of sherry and a good fire always made him do, he would like nothing more than for her to come back at him with some wit that would make him laugh or rather share a laugh but this seemed out of the question at present. Over the last few days they had been almost strangers to each other, he being so busy aiding his brother with the estate and tending to Donwell farms, now in the full swing of planting season but also from a feeling that she was avoiding him, not even looking in his direction at meals, almost as though his friendship would be just to painful right now…so he tried to oblige as best he could, getting lost in the details of death and running his farms…it was only this evening that he had truly let himself ruminate on the week.
It was just as he was settling in to an enjoyable evening, when he heard voices in the hallway; he looked to Mrs. Weston who was visibly puzzled over who could be dropping by, just at the supper hour. Before the voices reached the parlor Mr. Weston rose and announced that he had invited Mr. and Mrs. Elton to dine with them that evening. Knightley rose, drawing on every ounce of gentility he could muster, as that was what it would take to be social with the only two people in Highbury that he wished he did not have to call, friend. With only a few seconds before they entered Mrs. Weston gave him a heartfelt apologetic look and he quickly shook his head, conveying that it was no trouble and that he knew full well it had been Mr. Weston who had invited them on a whim, no doubt with the idea that somehow they would find comfort at this time to be in the company of the pastor and his wife. He bowed and sat and listened to the condolences. The evening past in streams of conversations but with Mrs. Elton faithfully bridging back to a poor Miss Woodhouse this or a poor Miss Woodhouse that, Knightley was not moved by her false sympathies but rather marked her behavior as a study. He found in his experience that the less someone likes you the more they are apt to feel sorry for you when you experience a loss or tragedy, to almost steal away your dignity. Knightley watched Mr. Elton as Mrs. Elton went on about how poor Emma would manage the estate by herself, how the servants may become unruly and how she worried for her and her lack of worldly experience, how it had been surely a shock to her that Frank Churchill had been secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax, about how money of course would be an issue and of course entitlement, by the end of the evening she had poor Miss Woodhouse alone, unmarried, living a lonely life, not unlike Miss Bates. All the while Knightley watched Mr. Elton and to his credit he did finally break in;
"My dear Augusta, surely Miss Woodhouse will be well taken care of by her family." Elton engaged a smile of agreement with the always amiable Mr. Weston carefully avoiding the gaze of both Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, for even the gentle Mrs. Weston said, "And her close friends." In a tone just outside of her usual soft-spoken voice.
"Well of course she will." Mrs. Elton checked herself from proceeding further sensing that perhaps she had gone to far especially about Frank Churchill, which had even made Mr. Weston look uncomfortable.
Frank Churchill or rather the news of him and his secret engagement had been almost entirely eclipsed by Mr. Woodhouse's death. Mr. Knightley had wondered just how entangled Emma had become with him before hearing the news. He sighed heavily, it was to much to bear, to much for Dear Emma and he felt so frustrated that he could not do anything to make things right. As the Westons and Eltons talked of Mr. Woodhouse's eulogy Mr. Knightley was lost in the idea that these matters of the heart were far beyond his capabilities and that he would do well never to become entangled in such emotions, it seemed to bring only problems without solutions.
The evening ended early as for the morrow was the church service and eulogy for Mr. Woodhouse and all would follow to the cemetery. Early the next morning Mr. Knightley walked the well trodden path to Hartfield, the lilacs and the lily of the valley coated the path in perfume. He stopped and picked some for the children and Emma, hoping that it might brighten the morning, but he knew it was going to be a trying day, burial was always so finalizing, he remembered the death of his own mother and then quickly followed by good Mrs. Woodhouse, they were dark days, without escape from a heavy reality. A chill breezed through the air and he shook off those old memories and proceeded forth with a hope that at least his presence would not be a burden for Emma today.
He found her alone in the dining room helping herself to some tea, he almost exited in search of John but he pushed himself through the door, determined to be of some good use.
"Mr. Knightley I did not hear you come in." She sugared her tea as she always had and stirred it about as she always had but something was so different, Knightley just stared, not having the least notion of what to say or do.
"Have you something there?...behind your back?" Emma looked and smiled at his uncharacteristic shyness.
Knightley caught the warm expression on her face and a palpable relief settled over his limbs that the forgotten bouquet almost slipped from his hand.
"Oh…Oh..yes of course..these are for the children." He presented them to her and she unknowingly blushed.
"They will be delighted. I love how Donwell path looks at this time of year; it is a pity to miss it." She sighed.
"Well perhaps later, before supper we will venture out with the children….I am sure they will be in need of a stretch by then…of course…if you wish." He bowed his head in deference to her, not wanting to expect too much, but so hopeful that she was feeling somewhat better.
"I would like that very much but I fear that well wishers and guests might prevent me from coming as well." She smiled resolutely.
"Well the children and I will have to rescue you, for there is nothing as fearful as a well wisher." He took a chance that she would rally to a little amusement.
Her eyes locked with his and for a few moments they were there, as they had always been, friends. Mr. Knightley smiled broadly disbelieving at how much he had missed her in only a week's time; they stood enjoying that easy relationship that had developed over many years.
In a hushed, conspiratorial tone Emma instructed, "When you come to rescue me do send the children in, they are always more convincing." They laughed quietly only interrupted by little Hannah coming in looking very sad and upset. Emma knelt down to her,
"What is wrong little one?"
"I can not find grandfather and when I asked Henry he said that I would not see him again until I was an old old woman." She burst into tears. Emma gently rubbed her back and then without a word Mr. Knightley knelt down and picked the child up into his arms and produced the bouquet for her."
"I have brought these for you Hannah so that you would see what Grandfather helps God in heaven do every day now…you see he helps God make all these flowers."
"Grandfather is in Heaven?"
"Yes Dear Hannah." She rested her head on Mr. Knightley's shoulder and with a small finger tapped the lily of the valley as if it were a bell. He walked towards the library with the child suspecting that they would find Isabella there with the other children.
Emma watched the two and could not help but remember how Mr. Knightley had been when her own mother had died, he had really changed very little over the years and when she thought on it, as she was now, she could still see the tall, slim teenager that had always been at once her fiercest opponent and her most stalwart protector. She smiled at the image and for the first time in a week had felt some degree of energy and even happiness.