Sommersgate House

Chapter Two The Chill and the Scream

“I’m on the archery team and next year, I might get to play polo.”

Willie was chatting on the phone with Patricia, who had taken the day off work to wait for Julia’s call to say she was at Sommersgate, safely ensconced in the freakishly strange Gothic Victorian mansion with the children firmly tucked under her wing. Being thus in the evil clutches of the evil Ashtons who never really welcomed Patricia’s beloved son (or at least Monique hadn’t) and to whom, Patty maintained, Tamsin had been the result of an unfortunate mix up in the nursery at the hospital.

That afternoon, Willie and Lizzie had come home from Tancote Boarding School, a posh “public school” located forty-five minutes away where they were day students rather than being boarded there. They used to be at the local community school but Monique had quickly taken care of that. She’d not liked the idea that they would be partaking of government funded schooling and had not had a problem telling anyone who would listen to her displeasure.

Julia was annoyed when she’d heard from Sam, Douglas’s PA, that the kids had been enrolled in a new school so soon after their parents had died. However, thousands of miles away and powerless to do anything, she’d simply gritted her teeth and waited.

Polo and archery, oh my, Julia thought sardonically as she listened to Willie chattering away to his grandmother while she watched Lizzie studiously doing her homework and Julia tried to pretend that everything was all right.

But everything was most definitely not all right.

They’d come home from school in the Bentley chauffeured by Carter, wearing posh school uniforms and had been sat down immediately to “tea” of cucumber sandwiches and a pot of fat free yogurt each.

“What on earth are you feeding them?” she’d whispered to Mrs. K.

Mrs. K shrugged and answered, “Lady Ashton doesn’t want them falling into unhealthy eating habits. We’ve never stocked sweets, crisps or puddings in this house, unless we’re entertaining, of course.”

“What about those biscuits you gave me earlier?” Julia asked.

“I was entertaining,” Mrs. K explained.

Of course.

Even though Julia was sentenced to live in spooky Sommersgate for the next twelve to thirteen years, she was still considered a guest.

Monique Ashton wasn’t worried about health; she was worried about the kids gaining weight. Monique herself was ten pounds underweight and was of the mind that fashionable, well-bred people emaciated themselves as proof of their fine upbringing. This, too, had been something Julia had heard Monique wax on about on more than one occasion, often pointedly looking at Patricia, who very much liked chocolate, potato chips and puddings of all kinds and looked the sort who did. Tamsin had always had a kitchen full to the brim with food, from grapes, apples and carrot sticks to chocolate covered malt balls and bags of microwave popcorn.

“Okay, she’s right here, Lizzie, Grammy wants to speak to you,” Willie called, breaking into Julia’s thoughts.

Lizzie threw her pencil down and slinked to the phone. She cast a brief glance in Julia’s direction as she took the phone from her brother and said, “Hello, Grandmother.”

Julia tried not to grimace.

Grandmother.

Patricia wouldn’t like that one bit. Monique was called “grandmother”. Patricia was Grammy, Gramma or just plain old Gram.

Julia watched Lizzie talking on the phone. The girl’s dark, normally lustrous, thick hair was lank and needed a wash. Her face was pale and lifeless.

Her dark blue eyes were dead.

Julia knew from her own conversations with the children over the last few months, not to mention the last several hours, that Ruby was taking the loss of her parents in stride. The child had always been a little strange. However, as Julia never had any children or been around any who had suffered such a tragedy, she couldn’t really imagine how a four year old would react.

Willie, on the other hand, was bearing up as any good Midwestern boy would, even though he’d been born and raised in England. He looked and acted exactly like Gavin at ten years old. Tall, straight, blond and blue-eyed, he was a handsome young man and it broke Julia’s heart to look at him, he so reminded her of her brother. Perhaps he had his dark moments but he never let either sister see, just like Gav would do. It was all teasing and light and any intense moments were saved for his own company.

Lizzie was remarkably different from both her brother and sister, not only in colouring, she being so dark (like Tamsin and Douglas) to their fair, but also in temperament.

The girl was not bearing up nearly as well. She was not like Gavin, Tamsin or Ruby. She was sensitive, stubborn and dramatic, quite like Julia herself. Normally quick-witted (and equally quick-tempered), smart and brimming with affection, the loss of her mother, who she adored, but perhaps most especially her father, who she was beloved by and loved herself (to distraction) had been a terrible blow. The twelve year old was having troubles and she had nothing familiar around her, her school and old school friends were gone and so was her home… and her parents.

She chatted to her grandmother for a bit, her heart obviously not in it, and then said, “She wants to talk to you again, Auntie Jewel.”

While taking the receiver Julia made certain to give her a loud, lip-smacking kiss on the top of her head in the hopes of gaining a familiar giggle but Lizzie just scuttled out from under the embrace and went back to her studies.

“Hi Mom,” Julia greeted.

Patty immediately went on the offensive. “All right, that’s it. His Lord and Master doesn’t even show up to dinner on your first night and she’s off on a yacht somewhere –”

Julia cut in. “Mom –”

Patty was having none of it and interrupted in return, “That’s simply not good manners. Forget it. Find out how to get those kids back home.” By “home” Patty meant their little farm town, fifteen miles west of Indianapolis, this topic being a recurring theme of their conversations these last months. “We’ll take care of them, you and me. We’ll give them a loving, happy home with big Christmases and pink frosting on their birthday cakes. Those two obviously have no interest.”

Julia had inherited the drama gene from her mother but never had quite eclipsed Patricia’s flair for it. Her mother was right, of course, but the kids had been through enough without throwing an ugly custody battle at them. Julia had to find some way to make this impossible situation work.

And impossible it was. With over a decade of the not-very-nice (to say the least) Monique Ashton yawning in front of her, without any family or friends of her own nearby and with everything familiar to her so far away, it was not only impossible, it was inconceivable.

And that was without taking Douglas into consideration.

Julia walked out to the doorway of the room and whispered, “I’ve been here a few hours, please give me time, let me see how it goes.”

“I’m coming for Thanksgiving. I can’t wait until spring term or whatever they call it. I want to see my babies,” Patty returned.

Julia’s mother wanted to be close to her baby’s babies. Gavin had been her pride and joy. She was using her drama to cover her grief and Julia was glad of it. This kind of Patricia she could handle, grand statements, dire threats she never intended to carry out, Julia was used to that. If her mother gave way to the mourning she was covering, Julia would lose it herself and she couldn’t, not now. She had to be strong.

“We stick with the plan, Mom. I need a chance to settle in here and the kids need it too. No more upheavals. No more drama. Please, please, let me handle it.”

Patricia hesitated for a moment and then sighed extravagantly. “Thank God you have Mrs. K, she at least, even through that English reserve, has got a heart in her chest. Okay, call me tomorrow. Love you, miss you already my Doll Baby.” And she hung up, not letting Julia say her own good-byes.

Julia walked back into the room and replaced the phone. She took a moment to study the kids; Willie and Lizzie doing their homework and Ruby playing some game by herself.

Julia was tired. No, not tired, exhausted. And she knew it wasn’t jetlag. Since the phone rang in the deep of the night five months ago, she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep. That same, awful night, she and her mother had rushed to the airport and then spent the next two weeks dealing with their own grief and the grief of the three children.

A car accident.

Gavin, Julia knew, drove too fast. It was raining. They were coming home from having dinner together at some country pub on one of England’s dangerously winding roads. It was dark. Gavin might have driven fast but the driver of the other car was driving faster, he’d lost control and gone over the centre line on a curve. Gavin had died at the scene, so had the other driver. Tamsin had lived for three days and thirteen hours but never woke from her coma.

She just quietly slipped away.

One summer, many years ago, while Julia was in England for a visit, they were in the garden, drinking Pimm’s and lemonade and watching Lizzie and Willie run through the hose that Gavin was pointing at them. It was then that they had asked her to be guardian to the kids if anything ever happened to them.

She’d said, “Of course!” In the way someone says when they’re honoured but they know they’re answering a question that pertains to an event that will never, in any darkest imaginings, ever happen. Ruby hadn’t even been born yet and Julia was still married to Sean.

Of course, she thought now as she watched the kids.

She hadn’t known that she’d be sharing custody with Douglas but they had told her they wanted her to move to England and she’d agreed to that as well. It wouldn’t happen anyway, so why should she worry?

Sean, as usual, had been angry. “It’s fucking cold there. I’m not moving there,” he’d ranted (even though it was colder in Indiana than it was in Somerset).

“It’s not going to happen so there’s no need to get angry about it,” Julia responded, as always, trying to soothe his foul temper (and, as always, failing miserably).

Now, Sean was gone, which was one less worry but perhaps the reason for another.

Why on earth had Tamsin and Gavin given joint custody to Douglas? Why had they asked Julia to move into this enormous, ghastly house with their kids and share that responsibility with a brother who was responsible to no one?

Julia knew Tamsin loved her brother and saw the best in him.

But Julia didn’t see it.

And how on earth did Tammy convince Gav?

A tremor went up Julia’s spine just thinking about Douglas Ashton.

It wasn’t an unpleasant kind of tremor, not in the slightest. It was a pleasant kind of tremor, exciting and slightly wicked.

Any time over the many years she’d known him, when her mind wandered to Douglas, that same thrilling, illicit tremor would chase its way up her spine.

Julia had had a screaming crush on him the moment she’d first met him. Perhaps, if she was completely honest with herself, she always had one. He was just that type of man.

To a girl of twenty-one, this tall man with his powerful body, thick, dark hair, strong jaw and eyes so intensely blue they were nearly black… well, he was exactly what one would think of as a titled English aristocrat. He had a posh accent and was so arrogant and sexy, she squirmed just being in the same room with him.

But then had come Sean, then Douglas’s mysterious disappearance.

Julia had learned a great deal from the mistakes she’d made with Sean, mistakes she vowed to herself (on a daily basis) she would never repeat.

Sean was a great deal like Douglas, reserved, handsome, edgy. Julia knew now that it matters not how dangerous they seem, how attractive, exciting and wealthy they are, or the challenge they represent with their ice-cold aloofness that you were certain you could penetrate.

What a woman needed in a mate was a companion. Someone who would clean the cat litter, pop to the store for milk or fix the sink.

All the passion and intensity was overrated, and in Julia’s experience hid biting cruelty and extraordinary selfishness.

The very idea of her and Douglas was ridiculous, Julia knew. Not to mention Douglas Ashton would never in a million years want her. An Indiana girl who’d lived her entire life in a small town where you could drive the length of Main Street waving continuously because you knew every driver in every passing car (and if you didn’t wave, once they got home, they’d call your mother and ask, “What on earth’s wrong with Jewel? I just saw her driving along Main Street with her head in the clouds. She didn’t even wave! She drives like that, she could have an accident!”).

Douglas was not like Tammy at all. He wouldn’t consider lowering himself to a girl born to and raised by a divorcee. Douglas vacationed on the Riviera. Douglas flew to Paris in a private jet for a one hour meeting. Douglas’s gorgeous but stoic face was printed in magazines (normally while escorting catwalk models or Hollywood starlets or debutantes sporting hairstyles that cost more than Julia used to earn in a week).

Julia walked to the enormous windows and stared at the dormant garden, still thinking of Douglas, the man with whom she was now forced to live for at least the next twelve years.

Unlike his mother, he was always courteous to her, often gallant and sometimes fleetingly friendly, but never warm. She learned not to be concerned by his demeanour, that, she soon discovered, was how he treated everyone and was quite like his father’s behaviour (for the short time she knew Maxwell Ashton before his untimely death). Douglas’s cold indifference was legendary, he rarely smiled and even more rarely laughed.

After he came back from whatever he was doing those two years, something had changed in him. He had a strange, yet magnetic, sinister quality. She couldn’t put her finger on it but whatever it was made him no less attractive, in fact, this mysterious allure, including his remoteness, added to his appeal. He used to be quiet, watchful, you could almost, but not quite, forget he was in a room and then be startled when you caught him watching you.

And Julia had caught him watching her a great deal, probably wondering (undoubtedly somewhat clinically) how she had managed to insinuate herself into the Ashton Family Fortress.

Once he’d come back from his Disappearance (made notable in her mind with a capital “D”), even if you hadn’t seen him enter a room, you knew he was there. His very presence was forceful and the moment he cut his dark eyes to you, Julia could think of no other way to describe it, except, oh my.

Julia knew, though, that her ex-husband had been the beginning and the end of dealing with those kinds of men, handsome, arrogant and entirely self-centred. She’d rather be alone for the rest of her life than endure even a smidgen of the heartache Sean had bestowed on her or the relentless days of piecing together your life and self-confidence when they were gone.

“Dinnertime! Come on children, it’s all served up. Get it while it’s hot.”

Mrs. K had walked into the drawing room. The room was enormous, could easily and comfortably fit thirty (maybe even forty) people. Decorated in ice blue and white, unflinchingly formal with three gigantic crystal chandeliers running the length of it, it was chilly, even with the fire that now burned in its colossal grate.

The kids had headed to that room straight after tea. Not to the warm leather-couched entry, or the slightly more comfortable, book-lined library or the definitely more suitable billiards room or lounge.

“Grandmother Monique says kids are seen and not heard, the drawing room is the farthest away from Grandmother’s morning room and Uncle Douglas’s study,” Lizzie had explained while Julia tried not to show any reaction, least of all her extreme, albeit exhausted, irritation.

They all quietly trooped into the dining room. Quiet, Julia was learning quickly, was very important not only for the children but also the staff. The young Russian girl so excelled in it that Julia had been startled by her twice. Veronika drifted about like a ghost.

The dining room, Julia thought while entering it, was the most extravagantly appointed room in the house. The walls richly covered with embossed paper that was created to look and feel like leather and was hand painted in deep moss green, black and rich bronze with accents of gold. The room not only held a long, shining walnut table that seated eighteen but also had two semi-circular windows along one side that held tables that each sat an additional four apiece and an enormous fireplace in which Ruby could set up house.

Mrs. Kilpatrick had gone all out, as best she could without forbidden fattening sauces and delicious desserts. Halved avocados filled with succulent shrimp to start then fillet steaks, steamed broccoli, Brussel sprouts, boiled potatoes and carrots and to end, a fruit parfait separated with layers of thick, rich, honey-sweetened Greek yogurt.

Julia and Mrs. K both tried to make it into an event and the food, even without butter, salt or sauce to season it, was still delicious.

“You’re a wonder,” she told Mrs. K with all honesty when the older woman whisked the dishes away.

“One does one’s best. Now, it’s one hour of television or computer and then you know what to do,” she told the children who rushed to have their very short bit of fun.

“An hour?” Julia asked once the children left, her irritation growing.

“Lady Ashton doesn’t want their brains turned to mush by telly or computer games,” Mrs. K explained.

Julia’s lips tightened at the very idea that three grieving children were not given an opportunity to lose themselves in pleasurable pastimes, but she held her tongue and nodded.

If she heard one more word about what Grandmother or Lady Ashton did or did not want, her exhaustion and jetlag would cause her to lose her ever-loving mind and she’d scream the house down. Something which, she understood, would not help her impossible, inconceivable situation one bit.

After the children’s short hour of fun, Mrs. K and Julia put them to bed, first Ruby and then Willie and Lizzie.

Sitting on Lizzie’s bed, Julia tucked her in tight all the way down her sides just as she knew Gavin used to do because that was what Patricia used to do.

“I’m happy you’re here, Auntie Jewel,” Lizzie murmured sleepily, but even tired, she didn’t sound happy at all.

“I’m happy too,” Julia lied, bent forward and gave her niece a kiss on her temple.

Julia rose and crossed the room but stood uncertainly at the door for several moments after she’d turned out the light, completely at a loss of what to do for the girl. She wished Gavin was there to tell her but, of course, she wouldn’t have had to do anything if he was.

With a heavy heart, she went to find Mrs. K.

“I’m off to the husband,” Mrs. K. announced when Julia arrived in the kitchen and saw that Mrs. K was putting on her coat. “Breakfast for the children is at seven o’clock. They have to leave no later than seven thirty. I expect you’ll have a lie in tomorrow, you must be done in.”

Julia looked at the clock. It was ten after nine. If Mrs. Kilpatrick was here in time to feed the children by seven, she was working incredibly long hours.

“I’ll be at breakfast, Mrs. K,” Julia, resolute, told the housekeeper and something in her tone made Mrs. K’s head come up.

The other woman regarded Julia closely. “I suspect you will, luv, but it doesn’t have to be tomorrow. Give yourself a wee bit of a break. And don’t you worry. You’ll get settled in, you all will.” Julia heard more hope than certainty in Mrs. K’s voice but she had no time to worry about it because with that, Mrs. K left.

As Julia headed out of the kitchen, she noticed that Mrs. K had put the house to sleep just as she did the children. Curtains were drawn and small lights were on here and there that did nothing to break the dark and everything to extend the frightening shadows of the big house with its large rooms and high ceilings.

Sommersgate House, her home for the next decade.

She shivered at the thought.

It was beautiful, haughtily and even brashly so, but it was not welcoming. Indeed, it was not welcoming in a tangible way, as if it had its own personality, its own set of eyes with which to look down on her with disapproval.

In fact, the house reminded her a great deal of Douglas.

She shook off that thought as she made her way to her rooms.

Julia had not been surprised to see that she had been put in the guest suite, which was off the dining room and down the back hall that lead to a small Chapel (a lovely little Chapel which was really its own building but attached to the house, it nestled snugly in the sloping hill in which the curving drive was cut over a century ago).

Julia was not placed upstairs with the children or the other members of the family, even though all three children had their own room, as did Douglas and Monique. Douglas’s rooms (in plural, Tamsin told her after her and Douglas’s father died, and by tradition, Douglas had moved into the master suite when he’d inherited the title, the estates and all they contained) included his own private sitting room although Julia had never seen it. Julia knew that upstairs there were still four bedrooms besides and still, she was isolated, away from the rest.

Julia always loved the guest suite but now she felt as Monique meant her to feel, separate and not a part of the family.

The guest suite was decorated in periwinkle blue and clover green with accents of mushroom, silver and gold. This strange colour combination worked, in fact its interior designer won awards for it (according to Monique).

There was an antique, tall tester bed that was kept in pristine condition by Carter, (chauffer, errand-runner and handyman extraordinaire). The bed was draped in blue and green curtains and covered with an undoubtedly three billion-thread-count, clover green, sateen duvet. It was headed with twin stacks of three fluffy pillows with an enormous European square resting in front and a plethora of toss pillows encased in beaded, embroidered, tasselled or ruched satin or silk. There was an ornate, ivory marble-manteled fireplace with a chaise lounge covered in mushroom velvet with a clover green cashmere throw artfully decorating it which sat invitingly in front of the fire. There was a circular window that was the base of the turret that rose up the side of the house and in it were two comfortable chairs with a shared ottoman, this time in a sateen clover specked with periwinkle, one with another throw, this in blue, and a small, circular, intricately carved table in the middle. There was a writing desk facing the room with an ornate chair that had curved legs that matched the desk. The gleaming parquet floor was covered in a variety of thick, silk rugs.

Opposite the fire was a doorway leading to a dressing room that started with a hall which was lined on both sides in rails, inset drawers and shelves. This led to an opening that contained a dressing table built into one side with a huge mirror surrounded entirely with bright lights and fronted by a swirly-legged stool padded in periwinkle velvet. Behind the dressing table, a floor to ceiling three-way mirror was set into the opposite wall. Walking further down, there were more rails, drawers and shelves ending in a sparkling white bathroom which featured a mosaic-tiled floor, a claw-footed, roll-topped bath with gleaming silver taps and sprays and a separate shower cubical. Sumptuous towels in blue, mushroom and clover were hanging from heated towel rails and wrapped, rolled and tucked in various cubbyholes with thick piled rugs strewn appealingly about the floor.

Julia shed the suit she had not found the time to change out of and took a quick shower. Veronika had made certain her shampoo and soap were exactly where they needed to be.

Even though she was exhausted, Julia knew she would not sleep, it was daytime in Indiana and, anyway, sleep had eluded her for months.

She located and then put on a pair of pale blue yoga pants and a white, ribbed tank top and inspected Veronika’s work. The fact that she hadn’t unpacked her own case made Julia uncomfortable, not that Veronika would be inappropriate, just that Julia was not used to someone else doing her chores. Nevertheless, Julia had to admit Veronika did very good work. Everything was put in place, properly (even obsessively) hung or folded and Julia noted, a bit stunned, ironed. Rows of shoes matched carefully and lined up perfectly. Her toiletries were nicely displayed at the dressing table and, when Julia went back to the bedroom, the framed photographs and scented candles she’d brought with her were arranged to their best advantage.

A photo of the kids, Gavin and Tamsin with Patricia and Julia sat on the bedside table, everyone with their arms around each other in front of Patricia’s Christmas tree from two years past. Julia stared at it, felt the familiar hot tears at the back of her eyes and shook her head. She couldn’t give in, she’d shed enough tears and now was the time of healing, of moving forward, of making the best of an impossible (and inconceivable) situation.

She sat down and opened the desk. Someone, most likely Mrs. K, had thought to put some writing tablets, pens and pencils and other office supplies in the shelves and drawers.

Just a few days ago, Julia was the head of a grant-making foundation attached to a small group of three non-profit hospitals. She had been responsible for disbursing the profits of the hospitals. With her small team, they called for and assessed grant projects for everything from equipment for basic research laboratories to doctor and nursing fellowships to scholarships for students studying any kind of medicine, be it nursing, physical therapy, midwifery, or the like.

She’d worked there for twelve years. She loved it there. She would miss her staff, her duties, even her damned desk.

Julia shook her head again to oust the melancholy that always seemed threateningly close to drowning her and started to do what she’d always done when a project loomed.

She wrote a list.

She’d need a mobile phone.

She’d need a computer and e-mail.

She’d need a driver’s license and a car.

She’d need a work permit and to have her visa extended.

And she carried on writing everything she needed and then prioritising it.

She took out another piece of paper and she wrote down what she knew to be in her bank account and her investment accounts. She’d made a tidy profit from her house and car. She had some savings. She wasn’t destitute.

She started to budget her money, what she’d need, what she could afford. She’d have to have a talk with Douglas about a lot of things, including what she would put into the house. Keeping a house like this had to cost an extraordinary amount, anything she contributed would be a drop in the bucket. But she had not been brought up not to pay her way.

As she looked at the figures she realised that without a job she’d be out of money way too quickly. She had a six month visa but did not have the right to work or to healthcare. She’d need insurance… and it went on and on.

Julia started adding to her list and wondered how much insurance would cost and bent her head to the task of diverting her brain in the hopes of exhausting it so she could fall asleep and not thinking of anything else.

She put her elbow on the desk and touched the middle three fingers of her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and rubbing away the gentle ache that had begun to throb there.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay.

She hadn’t expected very much out of her life. She never had big dreams or ambitions. She didn’t want fancy cars, huge houses, jetting around from exotic place to place. Sean had given her a taste of that and it wasn’t worth the price you had to pay to get it.

She was not a risk-taker. She liked things steady, familiar and normal. She liked her family close, her friends next door and to know exactly what aisle the cake mixes were in at the grocery store. All her life she did her utmost to keep everything just that way.

She had been pleased with her lot (after she’d divorced Sean, of course). She had a house she loved. She’d lived there five years and just the summer before had managed to renovate the last room so every inch of carpet, every piece of furniture, every last wineglass was exactly what she wanted.

And she had friends she was going to miss. She was going to miss Josie’s Margarita Mayhem Night that was held every year on the longest day. And the Christmas Party where they all trooped out in posh outfits to see the Nutcracker Suite and then came back to Tom and Mary’s to eat the vast array of delicious nibbles Mary spent days making. And Kelly’s Annual Birthday Extravaganza which was always a blast.

And of course there was Mom. She was really going to miss Patricia.

The three of them, Patricia, Gavin and Julia, had always been close. They had to be once Dad left them high and dry with only a token look back every once in awhile at the family he created and then abandoned.

Patricia was never the “cool” Mom. She was the stern and loving Mom and she was very wise. Life hadn’t dealt her a good hand, divorced young with two kids and an ex who forgot to pay the child support far more often than he remembered. He also forgot he had another family, vastly preferring (and not too concerned to show it) his two daughters and son from his beautiful, wealthy and upper class second wife. “The Izod Family” Gavin used to call them as a joke but it was too real to be truly funny and it always made Mom’s mouth tighten at the corners to hear him say it.

But, despite all this, Patricia had made a happy home, full of laughter, good times and support (with a great deal of meddling). She tried to fill the void (although sometimes failed) of an absent, careless father.

And as the years went by, Patricia and Julia’s relationship had changed from mother and daughter to confidants and friends.

Julia needed that. After she’d left Sean, her heart in tatters and her self-esteem so low she had to dig a ditch to drag it around after her, with the added burden of living a life as the unwanted daughter, Julia had decided she did not ever want another man. The men in her life had torn her heart out and kicked it around. Her father by not wanting her. In Sean’s case, four years she suffered his bad moods, cruel words, relentless attacks on her confidence, flirtations and infidelities. She figured she might find someone else eventually (although she didn’t really look). But Julia had rules. Whoever that someone would be, he wasn’t going to be handsome, wealthy or accomplished. He just had to be there. There to listen to her when she had a bad day. There to help her unpack the groceries. There to drive the car every once in awhile.

She was tired of always having to be the one to drive the car. She just wanted to get in and let someone else drive.

But now, any thought of that was far away. Now she had the children and this inconceivable situation and would likely be driving the car forever.

On that thought, she felt it and her head come up as her hand dropped.

What it was, she didn’t know. A draught against her ankles, but not just any draught, this was intensely cold and felt, somehow, menacing. She had kept the door to her room open just in case one of the children called, maybe it came from there.

She felt it again. It wasn’t a chill throughout the room, just a draught at her ankles. It was mid-October, and cold, but even the chill outside was not of the fierce arctic of the draught at her ankles.

She looked around the room and saw nothing. She’d turned on most of the lights but had not drawn the drapes. She stared out into the dark night wondering if Douglas had come home and opened the front door letting in the cold. Surely she’d have seen the lights of his car as the length of her suite ran along the front drive.

She got up to look out the windows and then she saw them, two headlights coming down the hill and around the bend where the Chapel was ensconced. Douglas was just arriving home, Julia watched him park by the fountain.

Then she heard it.

A scream.

A frightening, terrible, blood-curdling, high-pitched woman’s scream.

“Dear God, the children…” Julia whispered and she ran out into the hallway as fast as she could in the direction of the scream.