Authors: Sandy Huth
The Happiest Day
The Happiest Day
by
Sandy Huth
1911
A shaft of
moonlight lit the long central corridor of the house as the man entered through
the half open doorway. He moved cautiously, running his hand along the chair
rail to help guide his way. He had been in this house a hundred times and knew
it as well as he knew his own. Fear had clouded his memory, though, and he
crashed into a small, round table. The sound of glass breaking was deafening
and he winced. If he was wrong, he would look like an idiot. He could already
see himself trying to explain to Thomas and Julia what he was doing in their
house, uninvited, at midnight.
The broken glass
crunched under his shoe. He shifted to the left, trying to find his way around
the mess. Each step confused him more and he paused.
Think,
he thought
to himself.
You know this house.
He visualized the many times the
front door had opened and Julia had welcomed him with her sweet smile. Thomas
was always standing directly behind her, never wanting to be far from his
lovely wife. Yes, he could picture the small table now and could clearly see
the front hallway in his mind. He moved with confidence, intending to find the
front parlor before lighting one of the lamps.
Immediately, he
bumped into something—something much larger than a table. Muttering an oath,
he knelt and reached out with his hand.
He froze.
It was human. Not
stone cold, but no longer emanating the warmth that it should have been. He
felt a sticky wetness on his hand and drew back in distaste.
God Almighty
,
he thought to himself.
It was true then
. He tentatively reached back
to the body and ran his hand down the face. It was rough with unshaven
stubble.
Thank God!
He felt dizzy with relief. It was not Julia. He did not have time to mourn
his oldest and dearest friend. There was no help for him any longer. Julia though,
was in this house and needed his help. He stood quickly, calling, “Julia! Julia,
can you hear me?” He fumbled in his pocket for matches and hurriedly struck
one. He had to get upstairs and find her.
As he turned,
though, his eye caught something in the wavering light of the match. He turned
back, slowly, and bent again. An anguished moan escaped from him as he saw
that Julia was not upstairs. She lay next to Thomas, her eyes and mouth frozen
in a wide open, ghoulish mask. She had died screaming.
For one moment, he
did not want to go on. He wanted to lie down next to her and order his heart
to stop beating. He stared at her, his eyes black with grief, his jaw working
convulsively. “Julia,” he cried pitifully. “No…” He touched one of her honey
blonde curls with his free hand. He could not fathom that she was gone.
Surely the world would stop rotating on its axis now that Julia Warner was no
longer in it.
His eyes fell on
the locket still nestled against her collarbone. The match burned low, burning
his fingers and he swore, throwing it down. He didn’t need the light anymore.
He reached for her again, tangling his hands in her lovely hair. Biting back a
sob, he reached through it and felt for the clasp of the locket. He released the
clasp and dropped the locket in the pocket of his jacket. He knew inside the
locket were pictures of Rachel and Laurie. They were in this house, somewhere.
Rejuvenated, he
felt his way back down the hall and bounded up the steps. “Rachel, Lawrence!
Where are you, children?” He stilled his movements and listened. They could
not be dead. He would not allow it. “Rachel Julia Warner!” he called sharply.
Rachel was the elder of the two children. If they were alive, she would be the
one to recognize his voice. “Answer me now, girl! Where are you?”
He listened
carefully and was rewarded with a muffled whimper. It came from the cupboard
at the end of the hall. He strode to it and threw it open. His eyes had
adjusted somewhat to the darkness and he saw two white-clad children, huddled
together in the shallow space. The smaller one had his head buried in his
sister’s skinny chest, but the girl looked bravely up at him, her thin arms
protecting her brother fiercely.
The man heaved a
sigh of relief and knelt. “Don’t be afraid, child. It’s Norris Thornton.
Everything’s going to be all right. I’ve come to rescue you.”
1
1921
Rachel looked up at
the sky, squinting against its brightness. It was late May and the warmth of
the sun was increasing daily. She loved summertime and she could feel it in
the air. She threw her head back and inhaled deeply. The scent of the
blooming flowers was thick in the air and it caressed her skin as if welcoming
her. She wanted to throw her arms open wide and spin in circles, but was
afraid that someone would observe her and think her actions childish. She was
turning eighteen years old this week and was eager for everyone to see her as
an adult.
With each step,
she left the Thornton home further behind and drew closer to the stables. This
was the one place where she could be happy and where she was spending
increasing amounts of time. Her mare, Honey, whinnied as she saw her owner enter
the stable. “Hey, girl,” she called. “Did you miss me?”
“Now how can this
horse miss you when you ride her six times a day? More than likely, she’s
begging for a rest.” Phelps, the stable manager, said laughingly as he came out
of a stall, a saddle in his hands. “Leave that poor girl be. She doesn’t want
to be taken away from her foal again.”
“Don’t play that
game with me, Phelps!” Rachel responded with a grin. “You know she loves the
ride as much as I do.”
“Humph,” the man
said in a non-committal grunt. “Why do I think that there’s another reason
you’ve been spending so much time out here?”
Rachel had the
grace to blush, looking guiltily towards the long row of stalls.
“You can take the
horse, but not the boy,” Phelps instructed. “He’s got work to do.”
Rachel scrunched
up her nose at the man and tried to look innocent. “I have no idea what you’re
talking about,” she said.
Phelps shook his
head and left the stable, muttering to himself
Rachel turned
around, scanning the building. “Toby?” she called out and was immediately
rewarded by the young man’s appearance from Comanche’s stall.
“What took you so
long?” he complained, dropping the shovel and pulling her into his arms. “I
had almost given up on you.”
“Never do that,”
Rachel teased him, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Mm, you smell like…”
“Shit,” he said succinctly.
“I was going to
say
you
. You smell like you.”
He rolled his
eyes. “That’s exactly what a man likes to hear. I smell like a stable.” A
shock of blond hair fell into his warm brown eyes and he tossed his head to
clear it. “You know, if you ever let me take you somewhere besides this place,
you could see that I clean up pretty nicely.”
Rachel’s smile
faded. “You know I can’t. Please, Toby…”
“I know…I know.
I’m not going to ruin our afternoon.” He bent his head to kiss her. “You
smell like you, too.”
“And what’s that?”
“Honeysuckle…and a
little bit of horseflesh.”
His kiss grew
deeper and it quickly tumbled out of control. Toby’s work- roughened hands
came up to cup her breasts and Rachel pressed her body against his, wrapping
her arms around his neck.
“God Almighty,
Rachel,” he muttered hoarsely when they broke for air. “I want you so badly.”
“I feel the same
way,” she breathed against his lips.
“We need somewhere
to be alone. Soon, or I’m going to lose my mind.” With a groan, his lips captured
hers again and there was a frantic mating of the tongues. Toby’s hand found
its way into Rachel’s riding jacket and she arched against him when she felt
his fingers pinch her nipple.
“Rachel.”
Her name being
spoken in the quietly authoritative and very familiar voice had the same effect
as a bucket of ice water being thrown on the twosome. Rachel pulled away
slightly from Toby’s grasp and met his eyes ruefully before turning.
“Hello, Peter,”
she said, willing her voice to remain steady.
Peter MacGregor
stood in the doorway of the stable, all six foot two inches of him, looking
stern and disappointed all in one look. “Take a ride with me,” he commanded.
“Toby, get Comanche ready.” He stepped closer to the young couple. He was in
riding clothes and they molded to his athletic body perfectly.
“Yes sir,” Toby
said, suddenly looking younger than his nineteen years. “I’ll have him out in
a moment, sir.”
Peter nodded
curtly and held his hand out to Rachel. “Come on, Rae. Phelps will saddle
Honey for you.”
Rachel’s feet felt
like lead as she approached Peter. She knew she was in for a lecture, and by
the look on his face, it was going to be a long one. As she drew closer to
him, his gray eyes were enigmatic as he laid his hands on her riding jacket and
slowly re-did the previously undone buttons.
Rachel’s face
flared bright red.
“We don’t want to
give Phelps a free peep show,” he said, raising his eyebrows to the hairline of
his dark hair, looking severe and forbidding all in one grim look.
“Of course not,”
she mumbled, casting her eyes downward.
There was a
general awkwardness in the stable yard as the horses were readied for a ride.
When Phelps approached with Honey’s reins in his hand, Toby stepped forward to
assist Rachel into the saddle. Peter stepped in front of him, however,
blocking him from Rachel. “I’ll help her, Toby. I think you should get back
to work.”
Disappointment and
rebellion warred in the young man’s eyes but he obeyed and returned into the
stable.
“I’m sorry, Mac,”
Phelps said with genuine regret. “I spoke with the boy just the other day, but
sometimes it’s hard to control these young bucks.”
Peter placed his
hands on Rachel’s waist as she mounted her horse. “It’s all right, Phelps.
Rachel and I are going to have a talk and I don’t think we’ll have this problem
again.” He looked up at Rachel’s still flushed face. “Will we, Rachel?”
Unlike Toby,
Rachel didn’t have a job to fear for and she gave Peter a mutinous look. “I’m
an adult, Peter. You can’t tell me what to do and not to do. I’ll be eighteen
in a few days, you know.”
“I believe I’ve
heard you say that a few hundred times,” he said acerbically. He swung up on
his stallion and gave a small click with his heels. “Race you!”.” He was gone
in a flash.
“No fair!” she shouted
and took off after him. Phelps was right—Honey didn’t like leaving her foal,
but with the enticement of the stallion that had given her the baby, the golden
mare set up a happy gallop. She was no match for Comanche, however, and Peter
was waiting for them when they arrived in the grove of trees near a gentle
stream where the horses could drink.
They were quiet
for long moments before Rachel finally said, “Go ahead with it, then. I know
you’re going to lecture me.”
Peter leaned
forward on his pommel and gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t need to lecture
you, do I? You know what you were doing wrong.”
“I know. I just
can’t seem to help myself when I’m around him. My good sense flies out the
window and my body takes over.”
Peter was
uncomfortable with Rachel’s description of her lustful feelings. He preferred
to think of her as the same little girl that came to live with his family
almost a decade ago, but knew that that time was long gone. When his
step-father had carried the two traumatized children into the Thornton mansion,
there had been a variety of reactions from the family. His mother, Helen, had
not tried to hide her anger at the arrival of the orphans. His sister
Maryanne’s gentle spirit had tried to compensate for their mother’s cold nature
and his young brother, Geoffrey, had been delighted at having a new playmate.
“Remember the
night you came to us?” he asked. He knew Rachel didn’t like to remember that
night, or the events that preceded it, but he was one of the few people that she
allowed to mention it. “All arms and legs, frightened eyes peering out from
behind long hair.” Rachel had heard this story before and knew that this was
why he called her “Spider” in his more affectionate moods. She didn’t expect
to hear it today. “I thought that you were the most fragile thing I had ever
seen.” He had been sixteen to her eight years and old enough to have felt a
surge of protectiveness when he saw her for the first time. “I’ve always
wanted to take care you. No matter how old you get, I will always want to keep
you safe. Can you understand that?”
She nodded, hating
how he could so easily manipulate her emotions. He was an attorney and often
used his courtroom tactics on family members.
“Rae, you can’t
keep this carrying on with Toby. You know that.”
Rebellion fired to
life again. She looked at him angrily. “Why not?”
A muscle twitched
in Peter’s jaw. “Damn it, you know why not. Have you forgotten that you’re
engaged to be married? Have you forgotten that you’re going to be Mrs.
Frederick Stern before the year is out?”
The words hung
between them while Rachel stared at the water, her fingers clenching and
unclenching in Honey’s mane. “I haven’t forgotten.” She hated the tremble in
her voice.
Frederick Stern.
Just his name had
the power to make her absolutely sick. She slid off of Honey and stumbled to a
willow tree. She wrapped her arms around a branch and laid her head on it,
tears flowing freely. The beauty of the day disappeared as she faced the
reality of her life. Despite her dalliance with Toby, she was an engaged
woman. Three months ago, when Frederick had proposed, she had accepted without
a second thought, excited to be engaged and to such a smooth and urbane man.
He was a business associate of Norris’ and with his slick dark hair and pencil
thin moustache, he could pass for a movie star.
Then, she had
discovered him in bed with Norris’ wife, Helen, and the illusion had been
shattered. He was no movie star; he was a slimy, disgusting roach.
Peter didn’t touch
her, but quietly sat at the base of the tree, waiting for her tears to
subside. He gazed at her tall, trim body clad in a form-fitting fawn colored
riding habit and expensive leather boots. Her honey-blonde hair was arranged
in a long braid which trailed halfway down her back. Intellectually, he knew
she was a woman now but had trouble seeing her as such. When she had been
eight and had cried, it was easy enough to soothe her with a hug or a new doll,
but these days, he was at a loss.
“Do you want to talk
about it?” he finally asked. He had known that something was bothering her and
now, with the scene in the stable, he thought he might have the answer. “Is it
that you’ve fallen in love with Toby?”
She looked up,
wiping her eyes with her palms. “I’m not in love with Toby. I mean, I like
being with him, but…” How did she explain to Peter that in the face of
marrying a man who disgusted her, she had just wanted to experience some level
of pleasure? She knew that she was using the young stable hand. No matter how
far things went between her and Toby, she was still engaged to Frederick. She
knew that her intentions were no more honorable than Frederick’s actions and
during quiet moments, she was ashamed of herself.
Peter had been
against Rachel’s engagement from the beginning. Frederick Stern was twenty
years her senior and, true to his name, had an unyielding personality. The man
had had his eye on Rachel since she was out of pigtails and he made Peter’s
skin crawl. Over the past six months, Stern had wooed Rachel with flowers,
jewelry, and attention. Peter had seen her blossom under the flattery and had
tried to push away his reservations in favor of seeing the girl finally happy
“Then what has you
so upset? Why are you suddenly jeopardizing your engagement?” He studied
Rachel and frowned when he saw a dark red flush working its way up her neck and
face. “Did he do something to you?” he demanded. “Norris made it clear that
there was to be nothing until the wedding. Did he touch you?”
“No!” Rachel
exclaimed, then amended in a small voice, “well, nothing I didn’t want.” In
the beginning, she had enjoyed his touch which he had kept light and innocent.
Long starved for affection, Rachel began to crave his kisses and caresses.
“Jesus,” Peter
breathed. “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle in one day,
Rachel.”
“I’m not a little
girl anymore,” she reiterated, her eyes flashing.
“I know, I know.”
He ran a hand over his face. “So what is it then? Have you changed your mind
about him?”
Rachel turned her
face away from Peter. How could she tell him the truth? Normally, she would
have sought him out and asked his advice. In this circumstance, though, it
involved his mother. She knew that Peter and Helen were not close but she was
sure that no son would want to hear that his mother was engaging in an
extra-marital affair. The additional fact that the affair was with Rachel’s
fiancé would more than likely be a bitter pill to swallow. Walking in on them
in Helen and Norris’ bedroom had made her physically ill. Frederick had followed
her into her bedrrom as she lay on her bed, hugging her arms around her
middle. He stood over her, buttoning his shirt and watching her
dispassionately. Her mind flew back to that day.
“Grow up,
Rachel,” he said forcefully. “You can’t expect me to live like a monk. I’m
not a blushing bridegroom, I’m nearly forty.”
“You’re
disgusting,” she spat at him. “Helen is your friend’s wife. Don’t you even
care?”
“Helen and
Norris have an open marriage. He wouldn’t care.”
“Wh-what’s an
open marriage?”
“They’re
allowed to be with other people.”
“Are you saying
Norris is…intimate…with other women? And Helen knows about it? And he
wouldn’t care that you’re…with his wife?”
