Work Text:
“Emma, clever, rich and handsome.”
As I wake in my bed, the sun comes through the curtains, warming my face. My mind is still in between dreams, now fading away to the real world. I feel the peacefulness of Highbury, calm outside the windows of my estate.
In a sudden, quick moment I remember all at once the things I saw while asleep.
I hear a knock on my door and a murmur of “come in!”, afraid whoever is behind it might have not even heard it. The door opens and with it comes Miss Taylor.
Miss Taylor, soon to be Mrs Weston, has lived with me since my first childhood memory. She has taken good care of me and Papa after my mother passed away. It happened when I was only a few months old, and I unfortunately still cannot remember her touch or her voice, but her painting in the drawing room watches over me and provides me comfort whenever I most need it.
“Good morning, dear Emma” She says as she sits by the edge of my bed.
“Good morning, Mrs Weston”, I make a sad puppy face as soon as I say it.
“Well, my dear, today is a big day for me and I would not even dare to do it if you’re not there. So will you please get up and dress yourself?”
I stand and go around the bed, grabbing her hands and standing her up as well.
“I will be near miserable once you are not living with us anymore. Can you dress me for one last time?”
Without realizing, tears show up in front of my eyes and Miss Taylor envelops me in a hug. The most motherly hug of all.
We go over to my closet looking through choices, the prettiest colors on my skin and all the best fabric sold now. Gloves, hats, all the accessories I absolutely live for. Miss Taylor chooses for me a soft pink dress with lace on the top part. I cherish every second of this moment, saying how I already miss her.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Emma. I won’t live so far and I will make you visit me so frequently you won’t even have time to miss me.”
I smile at her kindness. But my mind drifts away in a second and my vision is blurry. I remember the dream.
As I walked through the gardens of Hartfield, white flowers fall down the trees reaching my head, my hand goes for it and as soon as it touches it, it blossoms and opens completely, I stare at it amazed and petals start falling from it, leaving nothing but the green of the plant. I hear footsteps on the grass and turn away to find Knightley, George Knightley, with the most worried look on his face, walking firmly towards me.
This has happened before.
He stands in front of me, blonde hair dancing quietly with the slight breeze. He takes his hat off and holds it on his chest, as if he was protecting his heart.
Silence sits between us, cold, like never before.
“Knightley, will you always be this quiet?”
After a pause, he begins:
“I wish there were words to hurt me less, or even words to give me comfort to my conscience, agitated as it is now. Emma, I must tell you what you will not tell me, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment”
I am scared. Unconscious, but scared. I want to plead for him to not say it, my throat stops it until it gets to the lips.
“My dearest Emma, for dearest, I am afraid, you will always be. Am I your lover, or am I your friend? Emma, I accept any offers, extraordinary as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend. But you must tell me at once, have we no chance of ever succeeding?”
I am dizzy and the wind is not strong enough to fill my lungs. The words coming at me like infinite daggers through my body, I wish I could have only prepared myself to know myself. I freeze and say nothing.
“Emma?” George says as he touches my face, and it’s when I realize my nose started bleeding.
“Oh my Lord”
“Stay calm, it’s alright”
He tries to clean off the blood with a white fabric he carries with himself. I lean my head back, desperate to get some thoughts together as an answer to my possible future husband and secretly glad blood is pouring out of me. Sometimes I feel like there’s just too much inside and not enough space.
When it stops, I still haven’t figured out what or how to say it. I open my mouth, hoping words will just jump out of me, but nothing comes.
Knightley holds my hand, tight, and looks closely into my eyes with a tiny smile on his face. He pushes a flower and rips it out of the tree. When he touches it, nothing happens to those white petals. He brings the flower to my hair and leaves it on me, while he walks away. I stand alone and cry with no tears.
Suddenly, I am inside my bedroom, candles brightening the place and the windows open inviting the moon to make there her home. I light up the last candle left and threaten to touch the fire. It warms me, a feeling of comfort lays in my hands.
Until someone knocks on the door and opens it.
“Emma?”
Miss Taylor brings me back to reality and I try to hold the memory of my dream but it slips away regardless.
“Shall we?” She says indicating the stairs.
We share a smile and I go down, remembering what is to come today. I find my father waiting for me on the room next to the stairs.
After kissing him a good morning, he starts to moan in pain and murmur to himself.
“What is it now, Papa?”
“What a horrid day this is to be! Oh! Poor Miss Taylor. Why would she ever leave Hartfield? I do not understand. Oh, tragic, truly a tragedy.”
I laugh at Mr Woodhouse’s drama. We all know where I got it from. On the whole way to the church, all I hear in the carriage is complains and worries while I do my best to calm my father’s nerves.
On the way over, it is done. Mrs Weston looked beautiful holding the flowers I picked for her wedding myself, and Papa seems to be more understanding of what just happened. With the silence, I let my thoughts drown back to the dream.
Someone knocks on the door and opens it.