The Happiest Day Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  1921-1931

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part II

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  The Happiest Day

  by

  Sandy Huth

  Prologue

  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.”

  Part I

  1921-1931

  Chapter 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.