My Dear

By Laura Schiller

Based on Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

When Charlotte Lucas married the Rev. William Collins, she did it to escape the threat of spinsterhood and to have a home and children of her own. The man himself barely entered into her plans, except as a sort of necessary evil; therefore, she was all the more surprised when she actually began to like him.

She was not sure how it began. Perhaps it was the moment she first peered through the white lace curtains in her parlor to watch Mr. Collins in his garden; he was whistling a hymn as he knelt in the dirt, pulling weeds with every appearance of enjoying himself. His face was shaded by a big, floppy straw hat and his jacket was off, flung carelessly across a fence post. He looked relaxed for once, instead of always trying to be dignified and looking as if he had swallowed his walking stick. It made her smile.

She looked around at her parlor, a comfortable little room with cream-colored wallpaper, a plump sofa and armchairs to curl up in, an upright pianoforte, and a bookshelf stocked with all her old favorites. Her sanctuary; a quiet place just for herself. Mr. Collins had rarely set foot in the room after she had pronounced it 'for her own particular use'; Charlotte wondered if he avoided her on purpose, wanting to make things easier for her, knowing that she did not care for him as a wife should. She found him annoying; who wouldn't? She encouraged him to spend time out in the garden just so he wouldn't get in her way. She had hinted as much to Lizzie during her last visit, and Lizzie had smiled at her wryly in understanding.

However, it was quiet in Hunsford Parsonage. Very quiet. After three months, Charlotte didn't find it quite as restful anymore. She had gotten so used to Mr. Collins rattling on about village gossip, the garden, the livestock, and the De Bourghs, that the house began to feel almost lonely without him.

Charlotte dropped the curtain, left her parlor, and went to look for an extra pair of work gloves and a wide-brimmed bonnet. Once she had found both, she stepped out into the June sunshine of her garden.

"May I join you?" she asked.

Her husband looked up and smiled at her – a real, sunny, sponteneous smile that was nothing like the one he put on for Lady Catherine.

"Why, certainly!" he said. "My dear Charlotte, nothing would give me greater pleasure than for you to share this beautiful day with me."

He really must be lonely sometimes, she thought, with a sudden stab of sympathy; how many friends did he really have? No wonder he was always talking, always eager to please; it was high time somebody showed him he was a human being and not a doormat.

Charlotte smiled back as she knelt down next to him.