Chapter Text
Prologue - Diary Entry of Lizzie Bennet
October 4, 2025
I just have to get away from my family for a little while. Luckily, there is truly no better place to go for a walk to decompress than the well-worn dirt footpath around my family’s apple farm in rural Oregon: Bennet Orchards.
The way the late morning sunlight streams through the towering black walnut trees that outline the property, like ancient sentries - gnarled, black and twisting into the great blue sky above, fills me with a nostalgia so intense, I can’t help but smile to myself. A gust of wind roars past, and overhead the rust-colored leaves crash against each other as if the trees themselves are waving their over-enthusiastic hellos to an old friend.
Anyway, I needed to get out of the farmhouse. The whole family is together again for the first weekend in October, to help our parents with the annual Fall Festival in the nearby town of Sky Ridge, and the place was LOUD when I arrived this morning. I mean, it’s always loud. But something today felt… off.
See, when my sisters and I were younger, we were thick as thieves and always told each other everything. Living far from town, all we had most of the time was each other. But now, with me, Jane, and Mary old enough to be living on our own, it just doesn’t feel the same when we're all together again. Not like it was when we were kids, anyway.
Jane has been at a prestigious university in California, studying to become a veterinarian. We all knew she would. After all, her sweet, caring nature and experience working with the few animals on our farm make her the perfect fit for that kind of job. But now that she’s in her senior year, she’s more distant from me than ever before. Her perfect little nose is practically always in a textbook, her blue eyes gone bloodshot from the strain of reading so much, and her usually flowing golden hair now always held back in a messy braid. And when things get hectic, instead of jumping in to dispense some of her eldest-sister wisdom as usual, she retreats into our shared childhood bedroom for some peace and quiet so she can study.
And honestly, I don’t blame her. She needs to focus.
Meanwhile, I just started my sophomore year of college up in Portland, where I’m studying to become a journalist. This has added to the feeling of tension whenever I come home since my choice of major didn’t exactly go over well with my mother.
Let’s just say my mother is... quite old-fashioned. She was less thrilled with my choice of career path than with Jane’s, who she viewed as being the more sensible one who chose a career path with job security. She would much rather prefer that I become a nurse, a teacher, or even a housewife instead of pursuing a liberal arts degree in a dying industry.
My father, on the other hand, was simply glad I was pursuing my passions and giving it my all. He’s always appreciated my love for reading and writing, often referring to me openly as “the witty one,” and more privately as “his favorite.”
I don't know - sometimes I think my mother has a point and I should have chosen a college major that guarantees a more stable income. I mean, our family isn't exactly wealthy, but because my father values education and hard work above all else, he managed to save enough money over the years to eventually be able to send all five of his daughters to college. We had to scrimp a lot, often eating rice and beans for dinner and wearing thrifted clothes, but I digress. We never wanted for anything, and I’m forever grateful that he set aside that money for each of us.
So, what I'm saying is, maybe she has a point. I know I'm kind of taking a gamble with my future by relying on my writing to get by.
But that's a diary entry for another time. Back to present matters.
Then there’s Mary, who just graduated from high school last year. Always the odd one out, poor Mary had no idea what she wanted to major in, due to having so many interests that she’s studied over the years. To everyone’s surprise, she took out a portion of her college money and decided to take a months-long backpacking trip across Europe over the summer, and she’s only just now come back home to roost when she was mysteriously supposed to be back four weeks ago.
When asked why she had taken so long to come home, and after our parents scolded her for not answering their calls, she shrugged it off and claimed she was simply having too much fun to leave. This shut everyone up because the concept of Mary “having fun” was so foreign to us. We all took a minute to digest this.
While Jane is laser-focused on finishing school, Mary’s behavior is exactly the opposite. Always the studious and serious one, she’s been uncharacteristically idle lately. I even caught her daydreaming this morning, staring out the kitchen window while everyone else went about their business. Lydia and Kitty busied themselves with setting the antique, farmhouse-style table and loudly talking over one another, as usual. When I asked Mary what was wrong, and why she wasn’t playing the piano or something like she normally does, she said,
“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about Spain,” and went right back to staring out the window with a heavy, dramatic sigh.
That’s when I knew that I had to leave and take this walk around the farm. I just had to get some air. I mean, everyone is behaving so out of character! I know that Jane is busy - I understand. But doesn’t she want to know how I’m doing in school, after barely speaking to me for a whole month since the fall term started? And Mary has always made herself available to talk to. Why won’t she tell me about her trip?
I need to know what the hell happened in Spain!
And to top it all off, before I came outside for my morning walk, I heard our mother shouting something to our father, who seemed more annoyed with her antics than ever before (as if things here couldn’t be more tense). Distinctly, I remember her high-pitched voice saying,
“Mr. Bennet, everyone knows that if a single man suddenly comes into some money, then the only other thing he could possibly be looking for is a wife!”
I have no idea what on earth she was talking about, but Kitty and Lydia’s eyes grew wide when they heard that. They both immediately abandoned their chore of setting the table and started peppering our mother with dozens of questions.
I admit that recalling the scene makes me smile again, just a little. Jane and Mary might be changing, and maybe even I am too, but at least Kitty and Lydia are still as mischievous as ever.