The Happiest Day

by Sandy Huth

  His words took her aback. She stared at him, really seeing him for the first time. “You know, when I first met you, I wondered how someone as intelligent and talented and handsome as you had never been married. Now, I see it’s because you’re selfish. You’re only happy if everything is about you. You got caught up in protecting me and before you knew it, you were a father of four, stuck in a job that you had never really wanted. You were married to a woman who essentially was your boss. You’re willing to walk away from all of this, including your own children, because you want to be the star, the center of attention. You’re a flawed human being, Theo Bressler.”

  His face contorted in anger. “How dare you? How dare you judge me?” He strode across the room and yanked her up by her arm. “This could have been a good marriage. You never bought into it, though. You never bought into me. Your mind, and your heart for that matter, was always somewhere else.”

  “Let go of me!” she said furiously. He had never touched her in anger.

  “I hate you for what you’ve done to us. I hate you for tearing this family apart.” He threw her onto the bed and she gasped in fury.

  “You will not manhandle me!”

  “You may have been my boss outside of this house, but here, especially in this bedroom, I’m the boss.” He knelt over her, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger painfully. “God damn you, Rachel.” He bent his head, kissing her in punishment.

  She pushed against him, shocked that he was using his superior strength against her. She was stunned when she felt him pulling her dress up above her waist and fingering her roughly through her underwear. “Stop…stop…” she said furiously. “I will not let you do this.”

  He used one hand to press against her chest, holding her in place and the other hand to unzip his pants. He pushed himself inside of her and she cried out in pain.

  “Damn you, you bastard,” she cried, her voice barely there. He had not touched her for months and this was the way that he chose to return to intimacy.

  “What, doesn’t MacGregor ever like it rough?” he growled. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. You’re so fucking sexy like this…” He thrust two or three more times and groaned in release.

  Rachel lay on the bed after he withdrew and stood, zipping his pants. “I hate you for this,” she said tonelessly.

  “You’ll get over it,” he said. “Just like I’ll get over what you’ve done to me. Some time apart is exactly what we need.”

  She watched him continue packing and finally rolled off the bed onto her feet. “I’m going to sleep in Lily’s room tonight.”

  “I’ll be gone before you get up tomorrow. I’ll let you know when I arrive in London.”

  She wanted to tell him to not bother, but she had to think of the children. “Fine.” She grabbed a nightgown and left the room without another word.

  When she rose the next morning, he was gone. On her pillow, though, was a note. She held it for a long time, torn between throwing it in the garbage and reading his final words to her. Finally, she opened it.

  “Dear Rachel,

  I wish I could have woken you up this morning. I sat next to Lily’s bed for over an hour, staring at you, with our little girl curled up against you. I wanted to crawl into the bed and hold both of you in my arms but I didn’t want to wake you and see the hatred in your eyes. I am so very sorry for what I did. I’m not a violent person—you know that. I am so ashamed of my actions last night and I’m sorry if I hurt you. I think it’s for the best that we separate for now so that I can get my head on straight. I do not want a divorce. I will be back, I promise. Please wait for me. I love you.

  Theo”

  Rachel didn’t even feel the tears come until she saw them splashing onto the paper. Her marriage was bruised and battered but apparently not yet over. Only time would tell how they would manage to find their way to happiness again.

  Chapter 26

  Four years later

  Rachel arrived home from work, tiredly tossing her briefcase on a chair in the foyer.

  “Welcome home, ma’am,” Smythe said, arriving promptly as he always did. “Could I fix you something refreshing to drink?”

  “No, thank you, Smythe. How are the children?”

  “They’re all well. Mr. MacGregor is here and they are all out at the stables, working with the horses.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. I’ll be in the study if anyone needs me.”

  “Very well. Supper will be served in one half hour.”

  Thank God for Peter, she thought for no less than the millionth time over the past four years. Since Theo’s departure, Peter had spent an increasing amount of time at the estate, not only spending time with his own son but with the other three children as well. They adored him and came to think of him as an uncle, like Bert and Laurie. He was a good friend to her and never tried to take their relationship to another level. She knew he dated occasionally but kept that part of his life private and he made it clear that she and the children were a higher priority to him than anyone he might be seeing.

  Theo had only been gone for four months the first time when he returned home. He had written her frequently, pouring his heart out to her in letters, describing his pain and jealousy and remorse. By the time he came home, they fell into each other’s arms, vowing to forget the hurtful incidences of the past and move forward. He stayed home for only a few weeks before he had to leave again, and that set the pattern. Over the past four years, he had been home about a dozen times, but only for a few weeks at a time. Peter always made himself scarce during those periods so that Theo could maximize his time with his family. Professionally, he was soaring in his career as the situation escalated in Europe. He seemed happier than he had ever been since their marriage.

  “There’s a telegram for you, ma’am,” Smythe announced.

  Rachel looked up from her work. “Oh, thank you, Smythe. You may leave it with the rest of the mail.”

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Smythe said in an apologetic voice. “It is from France.”

  Rachel looked at the butler blankly for a moment. “From France? Oh yes, you’re right. It might be from Theo. Thank you, Smythe, I’ll take it now.”

  She opened the telegram and read it.

  “It is with regret that the French government must inform you of the death of your husband, Theodore Bressler. He was killed in a automobile accident and has been buried in Provence. Please accept our condolences.”

  She stared at the black type for an undetermined amount of time, her brain trying to process the words. She looked up at Smythe with a bewildered expression.

  “Ma’am?” he inquired gently. “Is it bad news?”

  “It…it…” she swallowed hard. “Smythe, I don’t feel very well.” She stood, swayed, and fell to the ground, the telegram fluttering to the floor beside her.

  When she awoke, a cool cloth had been placed on her forehead. She opened her eyes and looked around the study in confusion. She struggled to sit up, but a hand pushed her back gently.

  “Take it easy,” Peter said in a soothing voice. “Don’t move so quickly. You hit your head when you fainted.”

  “Peter MacGregor,” she said in an irritated voice, “I do not faint. What are you…?” Her eyes flew open. “I fainted.”

  “You did. I asked Smythe to call for the doctor but he’s with patients for the next two hours. His nurse said he could come later this evening.”

  “Where are the children?”

  “David is keeping an eye on them out back. Smythe came to find me when you collapsed.”

  Everything was coming back to her. “Peter…there was a telegram.”

  “I know,” he said soberly. “I read it.”

  “It can’t be true.” Tears trickled out of the side of her eyes. “Oh God, what if it is true?”

  He stroked away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He gathered her into his arms and rocked her gently. “I’m so sorry.”
<
br />   The tears gained strength and turned into body-wrenching sobs. Her marriage to Theo had had its ups and downs but, at the core, she had loved him. She had children with him, a life built with him. He couldn’t really be gone.

  “The t-t-telegram says that they buried him,” she whispered through her tears. “Peter, how could they do that?”

  “I’m sure it was a matter of necessity, darling. It probably took a while for them to track you down.”

  “We’ve got to bring him home.” Fresh tears spilled over as she thought of him as a body instead of a man. Never again would her strong, exuberant husband come walking through the door. “He needs to be here.” She began sobbing so hard that her throat was aching.

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll go to France and bring him back.” He kissed her temple, desperate to do anything for her, anything that could ease her suffering.

  “I have to do it,” she protested. “I’ll bring him home.”

  Peter called for Smythe. “Smythe, could you call Bert and Father Lawrence? Tell them that they are needed at the estate as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bert and Laurie arrived at the estate in twenty minutes, entering the home together. Bert’s face was etched in worry lines. “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming into the study and closing the doors behind him at Peter’s gesture. Rachel sat with her legs curled under her, a soggy handkerchief pressed to her lips. “What’s happened?”

  Laurie moved immediately to his sister and sat down next to her. “Tell us, Rachel.”

  Peter handed Bert the telegram which he scanned quickly. “My God,” he breathed, looking up at Laurie. “It’s Theo,” he said in a hoarse voice. “He’s been killed in France. My God, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “What can we do? Let us help.”

  Theo read the telegram soberly. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  She burst into a fresh bout of tears and Laurie drew her into his arms. “Let it out…” He comforted, stroking her hair gently. “Do the children know?” he asked Peter.

  “Not yet,” Peter answered quietly. “We need a favor from both of you.”

  “Anything,” Bert assured him.

  “Rachel and I are going to go to France to bring Theo home.”

  “Peter, no!” Rachel exclaimed. “I told you, I’m going to do it.”

  “That’s fine,” Peter said, “but you’re insane if you think I’ll let you do it alone. Could you two help out with the kids? Make sure they get off to school O.K. and anything else they need?”

  “I’ll get my kids and bring them out here. We’ll stay until you get home,” Bert said firmly.

  Laurie added, “I’ll be here, as well.”

  “But your parish…” Rachel started to argue.

  “Will understand,” Laurie finished for her. “No arguments. You will have enough to deal with. If you know the children are in good hands, that’s one thing you will not need to worry about.” He looked at Peter. “When will you leave?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Bert stood. “I’ll help you with the arrangements.”

  A knock came at the study door. It opened a little and David poked his head in tentatively. “Mom, Dad? Oh, hi Uncle Bert, Uncle Laurie. What’s wrong?’

  Rachel stood and crossed the room to where David stood, sudden nervousness in his features.

  “David, go get your brothers and sister,” she instructed gently. “I need to talk to all of you.”

  He followed her instructions quickly and the children were soon assembled in the study. Lily skipped immediately to Peter, whom she adored, and he swung her up in his arms. At seven, she was too big of a girl to be so petted, but Peter couldn’t deny the child, especially now.

  “Hey, Pumpkin-head,” he said, kissing her honey colored hair.

  Matthew and Steven greeted their uncles but were quiet once they saw their mother’s face. They sat at Rachel’s feet and David remained standing behind them.

  “I had a telegram today from France,” she said in a steady voice. She had to stay strong for the children.

  “From Dad?” Steven asked eagerly.

  “No, darling. But it was about your father.” A pain squeezed at her heart as she looked down in Steven’s face. He looked so much like his father. He was barely older than she had been when her own parents had died and she remembered that pain as if it were yesterday. She would do anything to protect her children from that horror. “Daddy was in an automobile accident while in France.”

  “Is he all right?” Steven asked. “Can he come home?”

  “No, he’s not all right, Steven. He…he was…”

  “No,” David whispered. “Don’t say it.”

  Rachel met her eldest son’s eyes and he saw the truth there. “I’m sorry, darling. Children, your father was hurt too badly. He died.”

  There was a shocked moment of silence, ended by Lily’s angry wail, “You’re lying! I hate you!”

  Peter tightened his arms around Lily as she struggled to escape his arms and run from the room. “Listen to me, Lily. Listen,” he commanded and she stopped struggling. “It’s the truth. I know it’s hard but you have to be a family right now and stick together. You can be angry at what happened, but not angry at your mother.”

  The boys flew at their mother, burying their faces in her neck, crying copiously. Lily took a cue from them and began sobbing loudly. Peter rocked her gently, murmuring comforting words to her. David stood alone, his arms hanging lifelessly at his sides. Bert laid his hand on his nephew’s shoulder but David flinched at the touch.

  “May I be excused?” he asked in a flat voice.

  “Stay with us, Davy,” Bert said. “Your mother needs you now.”

  Every fiber in David’s body was screaming at him to run and hide, but he knew that his mother would be counting on him.

  Rachel explained to them that she and Peter would be leaving for France soon to bring Theo’s body back home. They all agreed that it was the right thing to do and Rachel loved her children all the more for their acceptance of how important it was for her to leave so soon after such devastating news.

  Bert told them that he would be staying with them and bringing their cousins out to stay as well. That made the children feel somewhat better and Bert grabbed the moment to take them to the kitchen for a snack. David stayed with his parents in the study, sitting down on the sofa and dropping his head down, his hands hanging loosely over his knees.

  “Are you all right, son?” Peter asked, sitting next to him.

  David shook his head. “I...ever since I found out that you were my real father, things were never the same between Dad and me. I always got the feeling that he was hurt that I liked you.”

  “Oh, David,” Rachel began but Peter shook his head at her.

  “Go on,” he encouraged his son.

  “He never said anything, but I could see it in his eyes. I didn’t know what to say to make it right. I just always thought that eventually…eventually he would be all right with me having two dads. Now, he never will be.”

  “When I first met Theo,” Peter said, in a low voice, “I hated him.”

  David looked up in shock.

  “I hated him for what he had. He had gotten to hold you when you were born, he had gotten to feed you, watch your first steps, help you ride a bike. He had everything that I had ever wanted. I was ready to fight him for you. But, he never fought. He was gracious and stepped back so I could get caught up with you. He did what I could have never done.”

  The pain of unshed tears was burning in Rachel’s throat and eyes as she realized how right Peter was.

  “He knew what he was doing, David. It hurt him to have to share you, but he never blamed you. He blamed the situation, but never you. He always wanted the best for you.” Peter squeezed the back of David’s neck. “He was all right with you having two dads, I guarantee you.”

  The teenager finally br
oke and turned into his father’s arms, sobbing. Rachel left the room quietly, knowing that David didn’t want his mother to see him crying. She walked silently up the stairs to her bedroom, lying down on the bed that she would never share again with Theo. The thought of being alone for the rest of her life petrified her.

  Peter and Rachel traveled by train to New York two days later and boarded a steamer to France. Rachel was in a somewhat state of shock and Peter took care of her gently, making sure she ate and slept, but otherwise leaving her to her own thoughts. She often stood on the upper deck, staring out at the inky dark sea, lost in memories. She was always aware of Peter standing a few feet back from her, just in case she needed him but trying not to intrude.

  A week later they arrived in France and Peter secured train tickets. He spoke French fluently and Rachel remembered distractedly that he had fought here during the war.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

  “Mm?” he asked. It was the first time she had initiated a conversation since they left. “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry. France holds bad memories for you. You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I think we’ve already determined that I was not going to let you come alone. My time in France was a lifetime ago. Don’t worry about it.”

  They were headed for a town in the Provence region named Moustiers-Sainte-Marie which was on the western coast of France. They would not reach it until the next day and Peter encouraged Rachel to rest in their private car. She felt guilty, knowing that it must be boring to travel so far without any companionship so she tried to start a conversation but found herself at a loss. She seemed to have lost any ability to act as a social human being.

  He saw her struggling and, with a sigh, sat down next to her. “Would you like me to read to you?” He held up a book he had purchased at the train station.

  “All right,” she shrugged. She sat stiffly, staring out of the window at the French countryside.

  Peter finally put his arm around her and drew her gently against him. “Darling…” he murmured in her hair. “Please relax.”