Page 106 of Threads that Remain

“And did you regret going?” Anne asked.

“Sometimes. There were days when I would gladly have exchanged everything unfamiliar for a single afternoon at home. But that is not the same as regretting the decision. In time, I found there were things I loved in my new life that I could never have known had I remained here. I learned to be braver and that I was capable of more than I had ever been required to attempt.”

She returned to her chair. “I cannot tell you that you will be happy away from us. Nor can I tell you that you will not be lonely. But I can tell you that the fear of missing home is not, by itself, a reason to refuse another home. And I think we Dashwoods all learned long ago that a home is not necessarily a place one inherits from one’s family, but a place one builds with someone who understands one’s heart.”

Elinor smiled, though there was tenderness in her eyes. “No one can be certain of the future. But we make decisions based on which future we wish to attempt.”

Anne looked toward the window. She could almost see the years unfolding before her: visits, celebrations, quiet mornings, the comforting sameness of a life lived among those she loved.

It was a happy prospect. She did not wish to disparage it merely because another possibility had presented itself.

But when she imagined Matthew leaving for good, she felt something more than disappointment. She felt the loss of a future she had only just begun to permit herself to imagine.

“I believe,” said she slowly, “that if I ended our friendship now, I should tell myself I had done so wisely. I should remind myself of the distance, the difficulties, and all the reasons I had for remaining here. And perhaps, in time, I should be content.”

“Perhaps,” Elinor agreed.

“But I think I should always wonder whether I had been wise, or merely afraid.”

“I will not tell you it is not an important thing to consider,” Elinor said, “because it is, and I think the less of no one for feeling it.”

Marianne’s eyes filled, though she smiled.

“And if you went?”

“I should miss you. I should miss Father, and Henry and Sarah, and everything familiar. There would be days when I should wish I had never travelled so far. I cannot promise otherwise.”

“No one would ask you to,” Margaret said.

“But I should be going because I wished to make a life with Matthew. Not because I believe marriage will be easy, nor because I imagine affection sufficient to overcome every difficulty. I should go because I have come to know him, and because I believe the life we might build together is worth the risks.”

Elinor regarded her thoughtfully.

“Then there is one question more I think you must ask yourself.”

Anne waited.

“If Matthew were not leaving, if his duties permitted him to remain in England, would you wish to marry him?”

“I do not claim I am completely in love. Not yet. But I am well on my way to it. I cannot claim to know everything about him. But I know enough to wish to know more. I do like him very much. I sincerely esteem him, which is important to me. In that way he reminds me of Papa. I see in him many of Papa’s good qualities,” Anne said.

When Anne said she esteemed Matthew, Elinor and Marianne looked at each other. Marianne pressed her lips together and put her hand to her mouth and Elinor lifted her brows and gave her sister the smallest of smiles. But this was not the time to remark on it; they would laugh about it later.

“And I wish to enter a courtship with him to discover whether we can make a marriage that would bring us both happiness.”

“And do you believe he wishes the same?”

Anne considered the question, remembering his careful words, his refusal to make promises about a life he could not entirely control, and the respect he had shown her by allowing her to choose.

“I believe he does.”

“Then you must decide whether the uncertainty of going is greater than the uncertainty of remaining,” Elinor said. “Neither choice can protect you from every sorrow. But one may be more faithful to what you truly desire.”

For a long moment, Anne said nothing, as she thought of Matthew standing before her in the park, his expression serious, his voice measured, though she had sensed how much it cost him to speak so plainly.

Elinor smiled, a little. “I will tell you one thing more, and then I will leave you quite alone to decide it, because it is not mine to decide for you. I do not think a love worth having ever came with a guarantee attached to it, Anne — not mine, not Margaret’s, not your mother’s, not anyone that I have ever known closely. Once you are certain of his character, that you can trust him, that he cares deeply for you, and you for him, then one commits to the person and takes one’s chance on the rest.”

Anne smiled and looked at each of the other three women in the room. “I was right to come to you. You Dashwoods have never failed me. I am very thankful for each one of you.”