Posted on Thursday, 29 June 2000, at 1 : 55 p.m.

Authors' Note: You may not be aware, dear reader, that we are about to celebrate an important milestone in the life of Love Suffers Long and is Kind. July Fourth marks the first posting of our very first chapter ... yes, we know it seems like it has been longer! Don't remind us!

However, on this auspicious occasion, we thought you might like a peek behind the scenes into the real lives of the characters we all know and love.

"So you say Mrs Wescott is not available either, eh? Well, it cannot be helped then. Were it not for the baby's naptime, I'd tell you to come along anyway and bring Tommy and Ellie with you. This place is set on the most enormous lawn, with plenty of room for them to run ..."

Timothy Harville leaned his elbows on the table as he spoke to his wife. "Oh yea ... the rain. Well," he grinned into the cell phone, "This is the Fourth of July, and we've heard from everyone that it always rains in Portland on the Fourth of July. I'm surprised the old girls didn't keep that in mind when they arranged to seat us outside on the patio. But then, is this a surprise?" he added, with a mischievous grin. "They forget most everything these days."

He listened for a few more moments, and then closed with, "See what you can do, then, Elsa. We've not started the meeting yet, so if you're able to come, please do. McMenamins in Forest Grove, on Pacific Avenue -- yea, the big brick building -- you can't miss it. We've moved indoors due to the drizzle. Ask for the Austen group, although," he glanced around the room, "I don't think you'll have any trouble recognising us ... even though some of us are rather oddly dressed. The accent is the dead giveaway, you know!"

"Well, here we are!" The server approached the table with a cheery smile as Timothy Harville returned the phone to his pocket. "Now, who has the diet RC and the garden salad?" At a nod from Anne Elliot, the woman placed the items before her. "And, the Ruby Red Ale and onion rings?" Timothy raised a hand.

She turned to James Benwick. "And the double-caramel mocha latte and spiced-apple butterscotch cake a la mode must be for you. And here are those extra chocolate curls you wanted for the latte."

"Thank you," James murmured. He encountered an amused look from Timothy. "Well, I'm hungry," he grumbled, as his face turned a delicate shade of pink. "I skipped my lunch, and ... oh, never mind." His friend's extra large order of onion rings and four-dollar glass of beer were no better, but he wisely refrained from saying so.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anne take a sip of her diet drink. Anne, who didn't eat enough to feed a bird in the first place! James sighed and stirred the whipped cream into his golden-coloured coffee. He always thought it a bit hypocritical to order a no-calorie diet soda alongside a decadent dessert.

But Anne could do no wrong in his eyes, and besides, she had not selected a dessert. She was looking particularly adorable this afternoon, having exchanged her usual Regency gown for a white tank top and blue jeans. Her long straight hair caressed her shoulders. James heaved another sigh, and carefully kept his eyes turned away from her. I must trust to what I have seen of that story line and not make a complete idiot of myself every time I'm with her! he thought. Now if I can somehow keep that cretinous cousin from weaseling his way into her heart in the meantime ...

James eyed William Elliot warily. He was standing at the edge of the room talking with a man James had never met within the story, one of the new characters from Shropshire. Levant, he thought the name was. And wouldn't it figure, the wasp-waisted, golden-haired William Elliot looked perfectly smashing in a black Armani suit. He had probably just come from the office. James knew that this man was a rather successful attorney, specializing in the making -- and breaking -- of prenuptial agreements.

"So, any ideas as to why we've all been asked here today?" Timothy Harville said, to no one in particular.

Benwick reached down and brought his laptop computer to the table. "Well, actually, I ..."

"Hah!" Charles Musgrove leaned back in his chair. "Wanna bet they send us for anudder loop on the Story Line Roller Coaster? A-choo!" he sneezed. Charles was still not over his shocking cold.

At this, a general groan spread throughout the room. After nearly two hundred years of replaying the familiar Austen roles, generation after generation, all were a bit on edge as to what direction Love Suffers Long might take them next. Thrills, chills, and spills were not exactly in their line of work, as no one besides Little Charles -- and Louisa -- had any experience with direct stunt work in the original text.

"Not that its been so very bad for everyone, mmmm?" Frederick Wentworth said, as he and Louisa stood at the bar, waiting to give their order. Taking advantage of the slow service, he pulled her close and nuzzled her neck. After all, all Jane had allowed him was an half-hour walk on a gravel path beside Anne Elliot ... and some rather enigmatic words about their future happiness as husband and wife. No fond embrace or tender kiss ... SusanK had been rather kinder to him with this new wife, hadn't she! Especially in the last installment! "I have no complaints. Any complaints on your part, Loua?" he asked, loudly enough for the others to hear.

"Certainly not!" Louisa cooed, as they made their way to a table by the windows. "Poor James Benwick and I disappeared completely, midway through in the original -- but Love Suffers -- well, I have done little suffering lately. I have to tell you, Frederick, the last installment was ... Oh! It hasn't been posted yet, has it?" she blushed prettily.

Frederick was all admiration. His wife looked ravishing in her Afro-Euro-Ethno earthtone outfit, and she was wearing the necklace of hand burnished hazelnuts -- hazelnuts that he himself had plucked from a hedge on his brother's property -- presented her for their first literary anniversary. That, combined with the scent of a planting of elderbloom right outside, made a feast for all his senses.

The bottle of pinot gris and the sizzling platter of chicken fajitas arrived. He poured the wine while she reached over, took a piece of the smoked chicken and offered him a bite. "Oh, stop it, Frederick! Those are my fingers -- not the chicken you're nibbling!" she giggled.

Having a full view of the couple's antics, Anne rolled her eyes, turned her head and pretended interest in Harville and Benwick's bantering. They were very nice fellows, but --! She began to study the little room in which they had taken refuge from the traditional July Fourth rain. The dark hardwood of the fireplace mantel and 1920's bar, were a sharp contrast to the usual Oregon fashion of light pine and alder. This room reminded her of that inn in Lyme, where she had first spied her mysterious and fascinating cousin. Looking again at the bar, she could not help but notice him. The black Armani suit was definitely out of place on a summer holiday, but on him -- who really cared? Seeing her gaze, William lifted his glass in a salute.

Anne felt a flush come over her. She smiled and looked away. Over the decades of playing out Persuasion, Anne had always held a very firm, very correct opinion of Mr. Elliot. She knew he was not to be trusted, especially when one read the last chapter and discovered his abominable behaviour concerning Penelope. But Love Suffers Long was definitely not Persuasion, now was it? The horrid beginning handed Frederick had worked out more than satisfactorily it would seem. She had high hopes that Laura Louise and SusanK were not so sexist that they would give such a plum story line to the hero, but leave their heroine languishing, unmarried and forgotten in her old age.

As Anne was pondering her fate, the door burst open and in tumbled more of the Shropshire contingency. Catherine Wentworth dashed in laughing, wet and glowing in that first baby way. Her splashy flowered sundress and environmentally conscious, woven from 100% wetland grasses hat was a bit worse off for the run through the parking lot, but all in all, she looked smashing. Edward was a picture of eco-correctness in naturally dyed cotton shorts and linen shirt, along with his habitual Birkenstocks -- sans the ragwool socks for summer.

"Gah, what a squall! Frederick, I rolled your window up on the Range Rover -- you're going to have a soaking bum on the way to the marina." The entire Wentworth clan had been invited to view the fireworks as they floated the Columbia River aboard a cabin cruiser belonging to Patrick McGillvary. "Here dear," he said, seating his wife. "Teminator Stout and a spring water with a lime twist, please," he called to a server.

Finally taking a seat, Edward turned to Frederick and Louisa. "We're late because of a jam up on the Sunset. You'd think that people who live in the land of 'Liquid Sunshine' would learn to drive in the stuff! Well, have our Mad Mistresses of the Keyboard shown yet?" Taking a look at the Yard House decor, Edward said, "I wonder what made them choose this place? It is nice, quite like home really, but there's one of these places on nearly every corner and they chose the one furthest out! Barmy those girls, I swear."

Edward was a bit miffed at the authors. He had hoped for more love scenes with his wife, and who could blame him when he saw the pages his brother was being handed? But, after a very one-sided conversation with his writer, he found, that was not to be. In fact, there would be even less in the way of connubial bliss for the good Rector, now that the abstinence clause of his contract had been invoked -- for the sake of the story line pregnancy.

"Blast that SusanK for being so rigid about adhering to the customs of the time!" he had grumbled as he told Cathy the bad news.

"Well, that unfeeling woman may have the final say in Shropshire, but here at home, she's nothing to us!" she had said, kissing away his anger.

"Well, I don't think the traffic so bad," Frederick replied. "Louisa and I took the long way round, through the country. Other than farm equipment meandering all over the roads, there were no jam-ups. I thought the Fourth was a particularly patriotic holiday for Yanks! Are farmers not patriotic?"

"Don't be daft, Frederick! 'Make hay while the sun shines,' was originally meant for farmers, it is not a dictum for love struck couples wishing an excuse to neck. Besides, in Oregon, if one were to only wait for the sun, to farm or anything else, one might be waiting an eternity!" He gave his brother a knowing look as he took a long pull on his ale.

"Edward, please. I know you're out of collar, but really, must you be so coarse?" Catherine turned to the others with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for him, he's a bit wound up. There is a rumour about some rather devastating plot twists coming, and we aren't the least bit happy with it." Catherine took a drink of her water and accepted a bit of the fajita.

"Rumour? There are always rumours when it comes to Fan Fiction. I can't imagine that anything too bad will happen. The ladies have been very kind to us, so far," Louisa said She looked adoringly at her husband and taking Frederick's arm, snuggled closer. Despite the casual words, a chill had come over her. Louisa knew exactly what it was to be cruelly used as a plot device, and once serving the author's brutal purposes, being summarily dismissed from the story altogether.

Giving Louisa's hand a squeeze, Frederick leveled his eye on his brother. "Well, what's the twist? We have all survived their machinations before, remember their idea about a plague killing off -- "

"A-hem! Yes, I remember!" Edward interrupted, cocking his head toward the ladies. "Now what were you saying, Frederick?" Catherine and Louisa had never been acquainted with that particular plot idea, and while the brothers would have survived, their wives would not have been so fortunate.

"Oh, right. Well, ah, why should we be bothered about this one?" He too was a bit nervous. Being married off to Miss Austen's primary plot twist, while satisfying for now, might require more agonising and grief, if she were called upon to reprise her role as one of the Flying Wallendas. If this were the case, knowing SusanK and Laura Louise as he did, the results of her next swan dive would be far worse than the first!

Edward leaned in closer. "It would seem that our little techie friend over there," indicating James Benwick, "has been hacking away the hours again and this time has struck a bit of gold! He got onto one of their message boards and found some very startling things!" All had been looking in James' direction, and then turned back to their table. "By the way, did you know that those two swipe photos of you from the web -- the one saving grace of being made up, there are none of Catherine and me -- and put witty captions on them? Some of them are rather caustic from what I understand, particularly towards you, my boy!"

The Captain straightened, his face taking on a stonelike quality. "What cheek! That's middle-aged women for ya, nothing to do but give handsome men the what for! But never mind all that, what about the plot twists?" This tidbit about the photos piqued Frederick, but he would deal with 'The Ladies' later.

"Careful, Frederick, about who you're calling 'middle-aged'!" Edward cautioned.

Oh, to be middle-aged again! he sighed to himself. As the oldest character in Shropshire (DOB ~ 1767) there were times that the Rector missed being middle-aged. He missed those golden senior years. As a matter of fact, he missed old age, for now, he was considered a bloody relic!

"Just remember, brother, 'The pen is mightier than the sword', especially when wielded by those two!" He took another sip of the ale. "Anywise, it seems that they talk about all sorts of things on those boards. The story, the readers, their families -- James said that their personal lives have got to be the-most-boring -- worse than his, he said! Anyway, this is the muck-up, they also natter away on the phone -- endlessly from what I hear -- and so the messages on the board are always referring to things that they've already gone at on the phone -- nothing is ever really complete. But," he leaned in closer, and lowered his voice ominously. "James feels that there is murder and mayhem coming, sometime in the next volume."

Catherine declared, "I know she started out well, but I can't help having my doubts about our SusanK." Catherine too leaned forward and with a tremour in her voice, said, "I understand, on good authority, that she has a penchant for ... protagocide."

The table let go with a collective gasp so alarming that it caused some in the room to look their way. The horror, shock, and disgust were deeply etched on each face. To be the victim of the villianous practice of protagocide was the deepest fear of any fictional character. There were some who called it a flaw in the author's moral make-up, while others called for understanding -- that the author was as much a casualty of the disease as those characters who paid with ultimate price -- their story lines. While debate about the causes raged, the effects continued to make deep inroads into the fictional community.

How in the world will any of us survive?" Louisa wailed.

"How indeed! Nothing is familiar anymore, we have no way of knowing that our fates with them might not be worse than they were with Miss Austen!" cried Catherine.

"God rest her soul," they all murmured in subdued chorus at the mention of their sainted creator.

Having a sudden thought, Edward looked pointedly at Catherine. "What do you mean, 'our fates'? In the canon, you don't even have a name! You're doing rather better in this version than by Miss Austen, I'd say!"

Nodding in agreement, all looked at her."All right!" she cried. "So I never met the woman, (Miss Austen) but she did make mention of me! -- Once!"

"Yes, yes, all that aside, we all seem to be forgetting," Frederick began, "each of us is near and dear to SusanK's heart. You two," he pointed to Catherine and Edward, "because she created you from nothing but a couple of inconsequential references. And, she's come to adore Louisa," he gave his wife a hug, "And she wouldn't dare to take me out!"

Edward sat back. "And why are you immune from 'Devastating Plot Twist Syndrome', may I ask? You were vital to Persuasion, but this is an entirely different animal."

"It is quite simple, brother -- most women authors are terribly in love with their leading male characters! It's a well known fact!" Frederick took a self-satisfied sip of his wine.

The table broke into hoots and groans. Edward laughed, and the ladies moaned at the Captain's grandiose statement. Frederick looked mystified at their reactions. Miss Austen had felt a great deal of warmth for him. And SusanK, in her previous stories, had been quite vigilant in her efforts to stay faithful, not only to Miss Austen's story line, but her excellent characterisation of himself. When the woman had written her own ideas, she never done him a turn that was so bad. Even now, her pairing him with Louisa, instead of Anne, was turning out to be very good for him.

"My boy, you are thick!! While SusanK may hold a certain fondness for you, she is still an author, with an author's sensibilities! And, might I add, you have given her fits at times! I dare say, if it weren't for the readers that hold you in such high regard, she might have given you the chop l-o-n-g ago!" He lowered his voice, "Remember, SusanK positively loves that Patrick O'Brian chap --"

"God rest his soul." A tribute to another literary creator.

"Yes, yes, God rest him. That fellow spared his leads nothing! Shipwreck, war, disease, privations of all sorts," he arched a brow at Frederick, "Short of death and dismemberment -- and one of 'em lost a few toes, as I recall -- they got hit with it all! No, Frederick, you owe your good fortune to the readers -- not SusanK!"

Catherine shot the Captain a reproachful look as she said, "And in case you've not been reading the Posts, Brother dear, there are plenty of readers that are none too happy that you have 'abandoned' their dear Anne in favour of our Louisa. Many are quite put out about that, so you might wish to rethink these assumptions about your immortality!"

"And," Louisa said, "there are some that hold ME responsible for all this!" Turning to look squarely at her husband, she continued, "I had nothing at all to do with it! You came and asked me to marry you, it had never happened before, and I was so flustered that I accepted! But you would think that I was a femme fatale and had drawn you in! Be very careful, darling. The readers get some interesting ideas and they are not necessarily the truth!"

Frederick grew more anxious as he studied each face looking at him. "Good lord! I'd forgotten the whole O'Brian phase she went through, and I understand she's reading them again -- probably gathering fresh ideas to torture me with, as I am the only one who goes to sea. Well, me and Harville! Lor! I wonder if he knows any more?" Frederick rose from the table and began making his way to his friend.

"Why, here you are, Anne! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Mary slid into a vacant chair at her sister's table. "Oh, you don't mind, do you?" Her gaze swept over James and Timothy and then came to rest on her sister. "Charles has scampered off somewhere, probably to look over some car he noticed in the parking lot, leaving me to fend for myself." She gave a great sigh. "As you can see, I have my usual luck. I am always out of the way when anything desirable is going on; always the last of my family to be noticed. But I don't wish to oogle over a car, no matter how "sweet" it is! And in the rain, ugh! So, I thought I might as well sit with you." As no one said anything, Mary chattered on.

"And what are you all speaking of?" She did not bother waiting for an answer. "Do you know, Anne, I couldn't help overhearing, how everyone is talking about this meeting today, and an announcement. Isn't it exciting! I mean, anything might happen! And my life has been so drear ... Oh, look!" She pointed at the window overlooking the parking lot; no one could miss the black limousine as it pulled up in front of the restaurant. "Here are Father and Elizabeth. And Penelope Clay too, I suppose."

Mary's eyes narrowed as she watched her family members emerge from the vehicle. "Although I don't see why they could not offer Charles and me a ride today," she grumbled. "It isn't as if they hadn't the room!" She then pulled a mirror and tube of lipstick from her purse and proceeded to make a few repairs to her person.

Sure enough, a few moments later Sir Walter and his eldest daughter entered the bar, with Penelope Clay in tow. The two of them looked over the group with the polite hauteur of the well-born. At Mary's friendly wave, they soon joined the group at the table.

"Well, now," Sir Walter smiled genially, "we are here, so the meeting may begin!" His eyes scanned the crowded room. "Odd. There is no podium. Do you see a podium, Elizabeth? There should be one, shouldn't there, to house the awards and such. For were we not summoned for the purpose of receiving awards?"

James and Timothy exchanged a startled look. "A-hem! Awards, sir?" Harville inquired.

"Certainly. Most Beloved Character ... Most Talented and Handsome Male Lead ... Character with the Most Complimentary Reader Responses ... Character With the Most Personality and Wit." He bowed his head with a modest smile. "So many categories. So few qualified recipients. It shall be amusing to see which one has been selected for me."

James bit his lip and began tapping on the keys of his laptop. Timothy edged closer, to see what it was his friend was pulling up on the screen. He then clamped his hand firmly over his mouth, in an effort to keep from laughing!

"Awards!" Mary beamed. "I'd not thought of that! It is indeed fortunate, then, that I took that public speaking course last fall. For I shall have no trouble in giving an impromptu talk on my role as Lead Female Character!

"Mary," Elizabeth smiled sweetly, "As usual, you have it all wrong. Haven't you been reading the story, dearest? If there is an award to be received by you, it shall be for the Least Female Character, not the Lead!"

"But Really," she continued, "What can one expect from such canaille as our new authors are? Honestly! The shifts they put us to, in their thoughtless pursuit of a Story! For instance. Does fictional money cost them anything? Well, does it? No. We could all of us use a great deal more of it, but do they care?" She made a slight adjustment to the diamond tennis bracelet which encircled her shapely wrist. "Of course not. They're sadists, that's what they are. SusanK sleeps on a bed of nails every night, and Laura Louise eats buckshot for breakfast."

Elizabeth was in an especially irritated frame of mind today. Ever since she had arrived, Gus Rushworth had been trying to catch her eye from his table near the bar. As his mother was not with him today, she knew he would not have the temerity to approach her uninvited, but he had his usual look of open wonderment and adoration, nevertheless. Why cannot Laura Louise simply cut me a check or set up a trust fund, Elizabeth fumed, instead of compelling me to marry for money in this grovelling way?

But Elizabeth's woes were not over. As luck would have it, she looked up to see Frederick Wentworth approaching the table. Of all the Austen characters, she loathed him most of all. She rose gracefully from her seat. "Would you excuse me, please, and no, don't bother getting up," she said sweetly. "I am simply aching to speak to my cousin. I have not seen him for an age!"

Finding him to be occupied with a rather well-dressed, but somewhat paunchy Shropsireite, Elizabeth seated herself majestically at the bar and ordered a sherry to pass the time, taking special care not to look in the direction of Gus Rushworth.

"Pollard, I wouldn't worry about such things just yet," said William Walter Elliot as he finished his tonic with lime. "The palimony laws really only come into play when you move onto someone younger and better and she can't -- then she comes after you. The trick is giving her the heave-ho when she's still young enough to find someone, somewhat comparable," He motioned for another tonic. Will never drank in public and the behaviour of his new acquaintance gave more validation to this practice with each passing
drink.

Motioning for another stout, Pollard Levant continued obtaining as much free legal advise as he could. "So, I really don't need to do anything right now. There isn't anything in the legal line that will protect me from any liabilities? I mean short of getting married?"

"And that might be something to think about, especially if she has anything stored up for a rainy day. You have mentioned that you enjoy adding to the tribal coffers by gaming at the casinos. If your lady is well-fixed, you might wish to reconsider. Perhaps she has enough in reserve to get you out of any, 'predicaments' in which you may become entangled.And a man such as yourself always has a tangle, William sneered.

"Nah, I'll never marry! No sense taming a wild stallion, ya know?" Levant leered as he nudged Elliot in his finely dressed ribs.

Will rolled his eyes. The imbecillic behaviour I must endure to cultivate
business! "Yes, well, your animal life aside, Pollard, you might wish to think about the advantages to marrying well. The old stallion will live longer with a cosy stable and a steady supply of hay, if you know what I mean. Pollard, are you listening?" It annoyed him when people hit him up for free legal advise. It annoyed him even more when they asked for it and then made no pretense of even listening.

"Have you, by any chance, checked out the younger of the Mrs. Wentworths? Mmmm, that is a filly I might not mind stabling up with," he growled. Turning to the bar, he motioned for a server. "A bottle of champagne for the lady over there in the brown and golden get-up. Tell her it's from ... from an admirer."

Will choked back a laugh. The blithering idiot was openly flirting with a married woman, in the presence of her husband, who just happened to be the story's hero! Not to mention her numerous colleagues. And all of this taking place in a room no bigger than a good sized living room! Levant was the sort of fellow he prayed to face over the negotiating table. "Pollard, do you think it wise to do that? Perhaps Captain Wentworth won't like it."

"Yes, well Frederick is the hero," Levant sneered. "Will my boy, he's the honourable dope, remember? What do you think he'd do, take me up by the lapels, right here in public, and punch me in the nose or something.?

"No," said a voice behind, and a little above him. "And I would not even take you out and thrash you within an inch of your miserable life -- though you so manifestly deserve it," said the deep, and resonant voice. "Now, cancel the champagne, like the good stock, hackneyed, and unsightly little villAIn that you are."

Turning around, Levant found himself face to chest with the hero of Love Suffers Long. Bolstered by several glasses of the house stout, he decided that he would show the dashing, heroic Captain Wentworth that Pollard Levant was made of better metal than any other of the rather staid and stodgy antagonists of Persuasion. "And why might I be wanting to cancel the champagne, Captain?" The venom dripped from his lips. "I'm just paying the lovely lady a compliment -- don't you think she's worth a compliment?"

Both men looked over to the table where Louisa sat. She took on a startled, then embarrassed expression when she realised that they were looking particularly at her . Giving her husband a little smile, she blew him a kiss. Frederick nodded in acknowledgment. Turning back to Levant, he said, "Yes, I'd say she is more than worth a compliment, it is just that a compliment from the likes of you might turn her stomach -- and mine."

While Levant could see that his chances of getting close to Louisa Wentworth were nonexistent, the stout was still empowering his tongue. "You think yourself so high and mighty!" he spat at the Captain. "An Austen hero ... above common brawling! I'll wager you couldn't take me in a fair fight!"

Frederick was no longer angry, now he wished to play a bit. He studied Levant, then said in his customary, well-modulated tone, "I deplore fisticuffs, especially in the presence of women. No, Levant, I have something out in my truck that would settle your hash, post-haste."

"Oh, yea! I've seen that gun rack you have in your truck, so you'd shoot me, eh?" Levant pushed his chin out in defiance of such an act. "Not even a respectable duel, just cold-blooded murder?"

The Captain began to smooth Levant's lapels as he spoke. "Nah, Pollard. See, I do have a gunrack, and while I am quite proficient with many different types of firearms, in my gunrack, I carry something a bit more in keeping with my occupation. You see, I carry a gold-handled, presentation sword SusanK gave me in A Brother is Born for Adversity. I
like the way the sword knot swings when I hit a pothole." He punctuated 'pothole,' with a sharp pat to the man's chest. "Now, you cancel the champagne and we will forget that any of this has ever happened, or --"

Levant defiantly interrupted, "Or what?"

The Captain hated interRuptions, especially of this low-brow sort. "Or I shall slice off these silken lapels of yours, not to mention any other protuberances that might get in the way -- hey, what's this?"

Levant looked down at his shirt and Frederick flicked the end of the man's nose. "Psych! Now see, Pollard, whether it be a child's prank or as the hero of a topnotch piece of fiction, I shall always best you! Now you know what you must do."

The stout was finally loosening its hold on Pollard and without moving, he called to the server, "Cancel the champagne."

"Ple-ase,"intoned Frederick.

"Please," snapped Levant.

"Very good. Thank you. Beg pardon, William. Carry on." Frederick flashed a heroic grin as he passed on through to join his friends.

Elizabeth and her cousin watched as Levant took himself off, muttering invectives.

"That was rather horrid, William," Elizabeth murmured, as she took a sip of hr sherry. "Didn't he see Captain Wentworth approaching us? Honestly, some people have all the social awareness of a garden slug." Her eyes darted over to the corner where Levant stood, glowering. "He has the appearance of a slug, too. How very convenient for those wishing to insult him. His brains and his person are perfectly matched." She gave a sidelong glance toward a nearby table and muttered, "Like someone else I know."

"Shhh, Cousin," William Elliot murmured. "Such men make excellent clients, my dear. Some of them, repeatedly." All at once his voice changed in tone; his face relaxed into a smile. "Why, Anne, hello! Won't you join us?" He stood, in order to make room for her to sit beside him. "I must say, Cousin, you are looking particularly lovely this aft ... but what's this? Are you cold?"

"Only a little," she said, rubbing her bare arms for warmth. "It is nothing that I regard."

Please, let me fetch your jacket. Is that it, on your chair over there?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked directly to her table to retrieve it, taking care to smile pointedly at James Benwick as he did so.

"I say, Benwick, you look rather dashing today," he murmured. "A black t-shirt. How original. And your usual freakish, disheveled curls. And no smile. Gad, man, you look like a walking advertisement for Prozac!"

James raised his eyes to meet William's and lowered the screen of the laptop. "What are you doing here, Elliot," he said evenly. "I thought Mags had invited you to go on a whale watching trip today. A nice little boat ride. You'd have enjoyed that."

"I took a raincheck, old boy," William said, as he removed the jeans jacket from a chair, "if its any of your business, which it isn't. Er, how'd you know about that?"

James raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. His web surfing had led him to lurk at some rather interesting sites, including a message board presided over by another Fan Fiction writer, Mags. He was rather fond of Mags and her friends, who shared every one of his sentiments about William Elliot ... and then some.

Aware of James' critical gaze, William examined the lapel of the jacket he held. "Ah, yes, this is Anne's, isn't it? Such sweet little pewter pins. A teacup, a cat, and ... a quill pen with a piece of paper -- a letter?" He smiled maliciously. "She'll not be getting one of those from the gallant Captain this time around, eh, Benwick? I say the dear girl deserves a better man, which certainly wouldn't be you." And with that, he returned to the bar, unable to hide a tiny smirk of triumph.

"Here you are, my dear." As William placed the jacket around her shoulders, his hands lingered there. "We can't have you cold, now can we? Do you know, Anne, I was meaning to ask you," he leaned closer, and murmured into her ear, "... if you had any plans for this evening. There are sure to be some spectacular fireworks displays later on. My condo on Skyline Drive has a magnificent view of the cityscape ..."

Anne turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. "Why no, William, I have nothing planned in particular. I thought I might go along on a family outing with Benwick and the Harvilles. I believe they're going across the river to Vancouver to see the fireworks later on." Her eyes met his in a friendly smile. "Along with about half of the residents of Portland."

"Mmmm. Sounds crowded, my dear, very crowded." He removed his hands from her shoulders and took up his drink. Over the rim of the glass, his eyes smiled into hers. "There will be no crowds at my place."

"That sounds perfectly lovely, William," Elizabeth broke in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is this a general invitation, or is it meant particularly for Anne?"

But William was saved from having to answer as the door to the Yard House opened, accompanied by a gust of wind. A woman stood on the threshold, completely unaffected by the stormy weather. All conversation was suspended for a moment; the men in the room were struck dumb by the dazzling creature's entrance.

Edward Wentworth was the first of the gentlemen to regain himself. He suddenly made for the fajitas as he hunched over the table, hoping to be out of the mystery woman's line of sight. Gad! Where did she come from? Cathy's not been in a humour to know anything about that little scene! If that woman sees me, I'm toast! he thought. Trying to further hide himself, the Rector hurriedly scooted closer to his wife and held up a bite of fajita. "Try these, darling -- they're fantastic!" he said, with a slightly hysterical edge to his voice.

Catherine laughed at her vegan husband's sudden interest in feeding her meat. Looking closer at Edward's flushed countenance, she worriedly said, "Dear, are you all right?" She ran a hand over his forehead, feeling for a fever. "Are you sure these aren't too spicy -- you know what too much spicy food does to me, and I'd rather not be trapped on Mr. McGillvary's boat if that were to happen!"

Cramming the fajitas rather too hard into his wife's mouth, he crouched lower and said, "No worry about wind dear -- here have another!"

The woman who was the source of Rector Wentworth's panic was attired simply in a short black dress, large black sunglasses and black picture hat. She looked, for all the world like a mature and 'well rounded' Audrey Hepburn in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's.'

The squared neck of the black sheath was tastefully revealing and her only jewelry was a string of cultured pearls, which settled themselves on her bosom like a line of tiny round eggs, nestled on a bed of flesh-coloured velvet.

With a studied cool, she removed the glasses and intently canvassed the men in the room. She was taking stock of the stock available; it would not do to be caught on the Americans' Fourth of July without a source of fireworks.

Just then, the door swung open. If the clattering and muttering of the person entering had not been so loud, she might have been knocked down. Turning and giving the opener a cold eye, she said, "Randy! Really -- must you be so obvious? Isn't it bad enough that you have to wear that gaudy spandex outfit? And those goggles and helmet make you look ridiculous! You look exactly like an insect!"

Pulling off the forgotten helmet and shades, the young man stammered, "Sorry, Miss Rosamond ... I mean, Rosa. Blasted difficult to remember that we're not always on. It's pouring buckets out there and in the dash, I think I lost the key to my bike lock," he said, patting himself, looking for said key.

With a huff of exasperation, Rosa held out her hand. The missing key dangled from her perfectly manicured fingers. "It's not lost, I have it. Take it before I go and give it a toss towards the duck pond."

"Thank you. I'd never get my new mountain bike broken in without this! I mean I'd have a deuce of a time taking that bike tour of the vineyards without this," Randwick said, beaming.

"That is precisely why I kept it. You don't really think I want that freakish monstrosity clamped eternally to the boot of my Porsche, now do you?"

"Well, certainly not. I just ... "

"Rosamond, my dear! Come meet a new friend," Pollard Levant called, elbowing Randwick out of the way. He had taken his sweet time in coming to Rosa and she was not slow to notice this.

"William Walter Elliot, I'd like you to meet my mistr ... er ... my girl -- friend, Rosamond Coucher." Pollard was still stumbling all over himself when Elliot rescued them both.

"Girlfriend! How sweet and old fashioned. Just like the girl herself!"

"Ellie, you wretch!" she smiled saucily up at him. "Old fashioned, indeed!" And with that, Rosamond glanced Pollard's way, then slipped her arms cosily around William Elliot's neck. The kiss they exchanged halted the servers in their tracks and brought the rest of the room to a complete silence. Standing her back up and straightening his tie, William Walter asked brightly, "How are you Rosie?"

"Quite well -- Ellie. And yourself?" Rosa said. While speaking with William, she looked past him and checked herself out in a mirror over the mantelpiece. No damage done, perfect as always, she thought. Her smug assurance radiated.

"You two know one another?" Pollard sputtered. Looking from one to the other, he thought, She hates it when I call her 'Rosie', but him ... she doesn't seem the least bit bothered!

"Ellie, darling, you seem a bit overdressed. I mean really, Armani for a simple meeting such as this?"

"You're a fine one to talk, my dear," Ellie said, eyeing the pearls.

"A simple black dress is classic and always in good taste," she said, nibbling the frame of her sunglasses.

"You will always be a classic! Gads, where are my manners? Rosie," Will continued enthusiastically, "I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Anne Elliot."

"Your little friend ... how sweet."

Nearly two-hundred years' experience in practising perfect etiquette under fire came to Anne's rescue, as she graciously held out her hand to the woman. "How do you do?" she said politely. "William and I are cousins." She turned to face him with a tight smile. "You two must have so much to say to one another. We may finish our conversation another time, er, 'Ellie'. Good day."

Anne blindly made her way out of the crowded Yard House and stood alone on the deserted patio, brushing away stray raindrops and angry tears. "Horrid man! How dare he insult me so! Fireworks in his condo! What a crock!"

Anne heard the door behind her open and close, but she did not bother turning around. If it was her loathsome cousin coming to apologise, he would have another thing coming! This time she would make him squirm before she forgave him! Introducing that Rosie, ugh! She had even touched the woman! Anne wished she could wash her hands. She was eyeing a particularly large puddle of rainwater for this purpose, when she heard her name being called.

"Anne? Are you ... all right?"

She sighed as she recognized the familiar baritone voice. It was Frederick's friend, James Benwick. The man was rather homely and not very talkative in company, but he was unfailingly kind and attentive. Laura Louise usually sent him her way, whenever she felt lonely and blue, although today he was coming by his own initiative.

"I'm fine, really. Just a little, oh, it was rather close in there. Stifling, in fact. Much too ... crowded." She tried to keep her voice light. "I thought I'd take a little walk."

"In the rain?" He came to stand beside her. "Do you ... er, you haven't ... an umbrella?"

Anne smiled to hear him repeat his line from Molland's.

"I have a nice big black one with me today," he continued, emboldened by her smile. "No flowers or ruffles this time." He opened it, and offered her his arm. "Shall we walk a while together?" Without a second's hesitation, Anne took his arm, and they moved off down the garden path.

"Now, I must warn you," he said, with a wry grin, "it is not at all the thing to be seen with an umbrella in this part of Oregon." A gust of wind swept across the lawn and caused Anne to press more closely against him. "Only the veriest of cowards condescend to use one," James continued, as he led Anne to a more sheltered spot, "and then only in the worst of torrential downpours. However, I believe I see a little blue sky to the west, so not all is lost for us this evening ..."

But as James strolled away from the restaurant with his beloved Anne on his arm, Frederick Wentworth had joined Harville at the table. Both men were eyeing his up and running laptop with interest.

"I say," Frederick murmured, as he took in the picture of Sir Walter on the screen. "I take back everything I ever said about those girls and their balmy hobby of captioning. This is wonderful! It evens the score quite a bit! Um, Timothy..." The Captain's eyes sparkled dangerously. "How much do you know about computers? Do you suppose we could find those messages James was talking about ..."

Timothy rose and stood behind the Captain, peering intently over his shoulder at the screen of the laptop. "I'm not sure. The last electronic gizmo I fiddled with was a hand held game of Tommy's -- it hasn't worked since. But we can certainly give this a try. If I'm not mistaken, I always see him scratching on that square there," he said, indicating the touch pad.

Taking a seat, Frederick repositioned the laptop. "This, here?" he said, drawing his finger across the square.

"Yea. Mmm, doesn't seem to be doing anything."

"What's this? Oh, Benwick's computer! Darling, should you be touching that?" Louisa asked as she leaned over her husband's shoulder. "Oh look!" she pointed. "That little arrow moves when your finger moves, isn't that cute!"

"So it does, you clever thing, you!" the Captain said. Kissing Louisa's hand, he turned his attentions back to the computer. "Mmm, I can move the arrow, but I can't get it to do anything else."

"I know he calls these things 'pages,' and he goes from one to another quite easily, but I've never paid any attention as to how he does it," said Harville.

"You move the cursor over the page and when an area comes up underlined like that one there, tap on the pad with your finger and you will go to that page. Simple really."

Everyone looked up at the owner of the voice. Daniel Randwick stood by, holding his helmet and goggles. "It's very easy, any five-year-old can work one of those." Seeing the raised brows of the older members of the group, he tried to recover himself. "I mean, they teach this stuff in school now." He smiled with embarrassment.

"Well, yes, I'm sure," said Frederick. They were gathering a crowd as Sir Walter, Mary and Mrs. Clay moved over, jostling one another as they vied for the choicest viewing spots. Will, Rosamond and Elizabeth stood back and watched in amusement.

"Let's see. That says, 'Photo Gallery!' Maybe we should try there," Harville said, pointing to a place on the screen. He was actually more than a little curious to see if the ladies had captioned any photos of him, and if they had, what they might have said about him.

"But wait! The photograph displayed on this page is of me! cried the Baronet. "Obviously, those lovely women have compiled a computer version of the Baronatage! I see that there is something at the bottom, there. No doubt an eloquent tribute to me as the Patriarch of the Family Elliot. Might you read it to the assemblage, Captain," Sir Walter assumed a pose of humility, befitting such an honour.

Quickly, both Harville and Wentworth scanned the text of the caption. Louisa too read the caption and bit down on her finger rather than gasp as the meaning of it came to her. The three looked helplessly at one another, for this was certainly no tribute to the Patriarch of the Family Elliot.

"Well, what does it say? Surely between the three of you, you can figure it out!" Mary complained, sarcastically.

Their time was running out and just as they would be forced to say something, the door again blew open to admit a refugee from the blustery weather of this unusual Fourth of July.

"Gad, what a blow! I'm thinking there might not be any fireworks if this infernal wind don't let up!" exclaimed Charles Musgrove, just coming in from parking lot. He would not have yet returned if a security guard from the hotel had not given him a stern warning about touching the cars of all the other patrons. Having nothing better to do, he had returned to the Yard House see whether 'The Ladies' had arrived.

"Charles, please! We were just about to hear a tribute to Father that those sweet ladies have written. Come and sit down -- and hang up your coat! How many times must I say such things!" Mary called sharply. She turned back towards the Captain and Harville while Charles loudly found a seat. All the assemblage sat quietly -- waiting.

The three again looked at one another, each of the gentleman indicating that the other should speak. Finally, the task fell to the Captain. He felt the irony of his having to make up a 'tribute' to this man. A man who over the decades had not missed a single opportunity to snub and deride him. He could feel the gall rising in his throat as he searched for the proper words to say. But then he suddenly realised, there was really no need to say anything other than what the ladies had originally written! For the depth of the Baronet's vanity was surpassed only by his ignorance, and having no sense of humour or understanding of current events, there was no danger of him comprehending any of the 'tribute.'

"Ah, mmm," the Captain cleared his throat. "I must first describe the picture, the setting and the what look to be the circumstances. This is a full-length portrait of The Baronet, and he is wearing a fine, red velvet jacket." He looked up to the smiles of those listening.

"Oooh, sir," Penelope Clay gave Sir Walter's arm a squeeze, and whispered in his ear, "Such a handsome colour! I am sure you look most distinguished!"

Lowering his face, Frederick hid behind the screen, feigning short-sightedness, said, "He seems to be pontificating to, what I am sure, was a rapt audience." The last had stuck in the Captain's throat, but these were not the worst lines he had ever recited.

He continued, "I quote,

"Mr. Elliot appeared to think that he (Sir Walter) was looking exactly as he had done when they last parted."

Frederick glanced at the captivated group. "A-hem, the caption continues:

"When Mr Elliot was reached for comment, he appeared to be rather flustered. But he soon regained himself and stated, 'It depends upon one's legal definition of the words 'looking exactly as'. And I really must be frank, I do not have any recollection of such a conversation. But if the Baronet has said this, I am certainly no overriding legal authority to say otherwise. Thank you.' "

Frederick looked up to a room of smiles and greatly puzzled looks. All except William Walter, who raised his glass in a salute of the Captain. Turning his attention back to the computer, all that concerned Frederick was that he had pulled it off. Now they could move on to finding the
ladies' messages.

"That was sweet! It's a good thing my father-in-law don't read the papers, excepting for the social pages. But he complains that they ain't quite the same now," Charles said, attempting to join the knot at the screen. "I'm hoping come fall -- a-choo!"

"Look, Frederick! That must be it! 'Love Suffers Long -- Flowchart' Go there, that's got to be it!" Harville excitedly pounded on Frederick's back.

Pointing and clicking, Frederick huffed, "If you don't stop that, I'll be taking you out behind the dumpsters, Timmy old boy! Making a face, he growled, "Bah, things must be jammed on the net, it's moving awfully slowly" He leaned back in the chair, folded his arms and stared at the screen.

Meanwhile, Charles had been making his way to the front of the crowd. As he passed Mary, she gave him a dig in the ribs and a hissing admonition not to be so rude. Charles bent down, so as not to obscure his wife's view of the screen, and then he dropped to his knees and began to crawl forward. For there on the floor was Benwick's soft-sided computer case, stuffed with miscellaneous papers and accessories. Charles reached inside and began to dig around. With a crow of triumph, he brought out an electrical power cord.

"Here we are, Frederick!" Charles called out. "I bet it will work better if we attach it to the wall!" His sons had several toys which would not work properly unless they were leashed in this perplexing way. Charles affixed the cord to the proper terminal at the back of the laptop and then went off with the other end, in search of a wall outlet. A moment later, he gave a cry of victory and inserted the plug.

As those at the computer waited for the page containing the flowchart to load, Rosa excused herself from Ellie and made her way to the Wentworth table. Since Edward was still hiding, he did not see her approach.

"Rector. I'm surprised to find you here. You didn't tell me, when we last met that you were an Austen character."

Catherine and Edward both looked up at the woman. He looked at his wife with an expression of innocence, and she in turn looked at him, then looked at the woman and then back to him.

"Last met? Do you know this woman, Edward? When might you have been meeting the likes of her?" This time it was Catherine's voice that was tinged with hysteria.

Just then, the last of the page loaded and a shout went up from the assemblage. "Hey hey! There it is, everything for the next two volumes!!" yelled Harville, looking around at the anxious faces of their admirers. As everyone moved in closer, jostling was unavoidable.

"Edward, who is this woman?" could be heard at the other table.

Charles had elbowed his way to the front once again, to view the success of his 'leashing' maneuver. "See, I told you it needed that ... watchit! You're gonna spill my --Aaack!"

There was a splash and a clattering, as Charles' glass of beer spilled all over Benwick's laptop. Too stunned to move, all were horrified to see a bright arc of light appear, followed by a loud, crackling zzzzzaht! The screen -- and all of the lights in the room -- instantly went dark.

"Hey! What happened! Where'd the page go? It's gone -- the bloody page is gone!"

Mayhem broke out amongst the characters. A cacophony of accusations and finger-pointing overtook the room. Those not lambasting Charles for spilling his beer onto the laptop's keyboard, were fighting to get a piece of Harville and Wentworth for raising their expectations, while Louisa stood her ground in defense of her husband. William Walter, never one to miss an opportunity, was offering his business cards round to those who were feeling 'personally injured' by the whole ordeal.

"Edward, I demand to know who this woman is!" was heard over it all.

"All right! Aaaall Riiiight! I've had enough of this bunch! Outta here -- Now!" came the raised voice of the bartender. He was a very large man and while he was dressed rather well for a keep, in slacks and a polo shirt, rather than the customary white apron. Though well dressed, he looked more than capable when it came to ejecting the odd, unruly customer when the needarose.

After the characters were seen out the door, and it was firmly closed behind them, they all looked at one another. As they began talking back and forth about what they should do, the door to the Yard House opened and the burnt remains of Benwick's laptop were thrust into the hands of Penelope Clay, and the door slammed shut once more. Just in time to see this, Anne and James came up from the rose garden and joined them.

Before James could ask what had happened, the Captain stepped up onto a nearby planter. People! People!" cried Frederick. "I can listen no longer in silence! I must speak to you by such means are within my reach. I had no right to be trying whether I could access the personal files of our authuoresses. At the risk of raising even an unpleasant report from the barkeep, were there no other ill effects, I thoughtlessly raised the expectations of you, my good colleagues in fiction. I have been grossly wrong, and must abide the consequences. If 'The Ladies' have any complaints, I shall take full responsibility for our actions."

Looking over the crowd of familiar faces, he continued, "I believe it is time to subdue our minds to our written fortunes. We must learn to brook being happier than we deserve."

With this, the cast of Persuasion gave a resounding cry in agreement. And after many handshakes, hugs and a renewal of the close bonds that only those residing in such a tightknit community for nearly two hundred years can understand, the crowd dissolved into smaller groups, and made their way to the parking lot, or back to their walk about the grounds.

"Now see, that's why I like Frederick. He's a take charge kinda guy," SusanK said, as they closed out the chapter.

Laura Louise was scrolling through the text, looking for missing tags. "Yea, but -- he's taking charge of our story -- again! Though, it is fun to let the characters off the leash now and then, just to see what might happen. Poor Benwick, to lose his laptop in such an infamous way," Laura Louise sighed in sympathy. She dearly wanted a laptop of her own, in addition to a new monitor with a nineteen-inch screen. "Charles is altogether too fond of ale ... and dramatic gestures, as Frederick is no doubt informing him now."

"I'll rein him back in. Besides, they're kinda fun to watch. Happier than they deserve," she chuckled. "Or more miserable than they deserve, depending."

"Yea, depending on who they are! But did you get a load of that? Edward knew about that killer illness! And Frederick being lost at sea! What do you suppose he thought of that story line?" Laura grinned, as she gave the manuscript one more look. "Coming to his sister's in Bath, brokenhearted and alone ... and finding consolation ... in the arms of another brokenhearted and lonely young woman, who had been so wronged by ..."

"Now, now! We decided against that. Too much violent, er, protagocide -- especially the duel. Now where they came up with that term?"

"Beats me. I would like to know how much of that flowchart Harville saw?"

"Who knows? But it really doesn't matter, we'll probably change it. We always do, you know. Famous last words?"

"We-Won't-Write-That!" They chorused, in unison.

"This has become an obsessive hobby, you know."

"True. But what else do we have to do besides this -- and the laundry," Laura said, shutting down her Word program.

Picking up her coffee cup, SusanK said, "Oh, not much, except maybe the dishes."

"Ironing."

"Grocery shopping."

"Cleaning the bathroom."

Looking at one another, they moaned, "Bleagh!" in chorus. Shutting off the light, they closed the door to the computer room and went to join the real world.

"... But why'd you put in that bit about the sizzling chicken fajitas? That sounds awfully good right now. I'm hungry and I don't wanna cook ..."

"How about another cup of coffee and some birthday cake?"