Happily Ever
After
TANYA ANNE CROSBY
All Rights Reserved.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form. This book my not be sold or uploaded for distribution to others.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to events or people, historical or otherwise are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places and incidences are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Ravven
ISBN-10: 0988497425
ISBN-13: 978-0-9884974-2-9
Published by Oliver-Hebert Books
Copyright © Tanya Anne Crosby
Dedication
This one is still for Alaina.
Always.
PROLOGUE
Boston, 1884
It was dark beneath the covers, but not so dark if Sophie cracked open her little sanctuary to the moonlight shining in through her bedroom window. She’d formed a tent of sorts, with pillows and blankets and hoped no one could spy her beneath it.
Her mother had forbidden her to get out of her bed, but she never said a word about her drawing beneath the covers. She was sent to bed early, just after supper, as a punishment for her behavior this afternoon—all because Sophie had gone out to play with the boys, had dirtied her dress, and had, in her mother’s estimation, ruined the entire picnic.
But Sophie didn’t understand why it should ruin everyone else’s day just because her dress was dirty. Jonny and Harlan had both been dirty too, but no one seemed to care. Anyway, she didn’t like to have to sit on a blanket at every picnic just so her dress would stay clean. It made her feel like one of those tarts in a baker’s window, getting stale and yucky while waiting for someone to come eat them!
Her mother’s friends had no little girls, and Sophie always sat alone. She didn’t like it one bit! She wanted to run and play like the boys did. And she could find shark’s teeth better than any old boy!
In fact, she found one today and wanted to draw it right now. It sat before her on the pillow, her afternoon’s prize, as beautiful to Sophie in all its mud-encrusted glory as all her mother’s sparkling diamonds. She wanted to draw it shiny and pretty and golden just like it looked to her. As she drew, she thought about Harlan Penn.
Harlan’s father was an osteologist! Harlan taught her that word. He studied bones, and his house was like a mausoleum—bones everywhere, skulls with no eyes in the sockets, legs and even hands with fingers that dangled and wiggled. Harlan claimed he had a cigar box full of eyes he’d plucked from his father’s skulls, but Sophie didn’t believe him one bit. It didn’t matter, she liked to go to his house and wander the corridors. There was always something new to see. And when she grew up, she wanted to live in a house just like Harlan’s.
Maybe she would marry Harlan and Harlan would bring her lovely things from far away so that she could display them for all the world to see.
The door to her room opened, and Sophie froze, afraid suddenly that her mother had come to check in on her. She rarely did, because she expected no less from Sophie than for Sophie to obey. And usually Sophie did, but she had wanted so badly to draw her shark’s tooth before the image in her mind faded away. Everyone said she drew quite well for a little girl who was only eight and it made her beam with pride whenever someone looked at her drawings and smiled in approval.
“Sophia?”
It was her papa’s voice, and she let out the breath she’d been holding, relief washing through her. Still, she was supposed to be asleep and she really didn’t want to upset her father. For the slightest instant, Sophie considered lying back and pretending she was fast asleep, but her papa would never believe it, she knew. Her papa was too smart for that.
“Sophia,” he called again, and there was only a bit of a reprimand in his voice.
Sophie battled her way from under the covers, leaving her pencil and paper and shark’s tooth safely beneath.
He stood before her bed, looking down on her.
“But I’m not sleepy yet,” Sophie complained, falling back upon the pillows.
“I wonder why,” her papa said, and pulled the covers up, discovering Sophie’s drawing. Sophie thought he might take it away, but he merely let the covers fall again, eyeing her reproachfully. “If your mother found that, she wouldn’t like it,” was all he said. He pulled the covers all the way up, tucking them in about her, then knelt at the side of her bed.
Sophie rubbed her eyes. “She never likes anything I do.” It certainly seemed true. No matter what Sophie did, her mother was displeased with her. She could always have done it better somehow.
“That’s not true, Sophia,” her daddy scolded her. “Your mother loves you. She simply expects the best from her one and only daughter.” He was silent an instant, and then added, “You are all her hopes and dreams rolled into one pretty little package.” He reached out and tweaked her nose. “Understand?”
Sophie shook her head. Somehow, the statement disturbed her but she didn’t know why. Her brows drew together as she contemplated.
“She wants your life to be perfect,” he told her. “She wants you to be perfect.”
Sophie frowned. It was too hard to be perfect. She didn’t want to be perfect. But she did want to make her mother happy.
“When I grow up I will be perfect!” she promised, thinking of the perfect wedding her mother had described so many times for Sophie. When she spoke of Sophie’s future, those were the only times her mother ever smiled at her. “Only can I please marry Harlan, Daddy?”
Her father laughed softly, the rich tone of it filling her heart with warmth. “Sophia, my dearest love, when you grow up, you will marry whomever your heart desires!”
Sophie smiled at that, completely reassured.
“Why Harlan?” her papa asked.
Sophie shrugged. “He has a very curious house.”
Her father laughed again. “That he does, angel face.”
Dreamily, Sophie thought about Harlan’s house. “I could walk about it for all my life and never get bored, Papa!” Their own house was far too perfect, nothing out of place, everything sublime. It forbade one to run and play, or even to touch. Only her bedroom seemed a haven from perfection.
Her father touched her cheek with the back of his finger, caressing it softly. “Go to sleep,” he commanded her and smiled. “But first you must show me the drawing you were working on.”
Sophie beamed up at him. She sat up at once and threw off her covers, revealing them in the moonlight to her father. She handed him the drawing first.
He turned it in the dim light of the room, trying to make out the source of her inspiration. “It’s quite ... lovely, dear.”
Sophie knew he didn’t know what it was, but he probably had never seen a shark’s tooth before. She held out the tooth in her hand. “See, I found it, Papa! I went on a expiation with Harlan—”
“Expedition?”
“Yes! With Jonny and Harlan! At the picnic! I found it all by myself!”
Her father smiled.
“Harlan said there used to be oceans right over our house! And he said there were sharks everywhere! His daddy said so!”
Her father nodded and winked. “His daddy would certainly know!”
Sophie beamed with pride.
“Put that away somewhere safe,” her papa told her, letting her keep it. He put his fingers to his lips as if to tell her to keep it a secret.
“Mother wouldn’t like it,” she told him, her voice sounding dire.
“Your mother doesn’t have to know everyth
ing, my dear.”
His declaration seemed to shock him as much as it did Sophie. She peered up at him, brows arched, waiting for an explanation.
“There are things in your life as you grow older that you will have to make decisions about on your own,” he explained. “Mothers and fathers aren’t perfect, Sophie, although we do want the best for our precious little bundles. Remember that, and use this.” He reached out and tapped her gently on the forehead.
“Your mother loves you,” he said again, “but... well...” He faltered, and then frowned, as though unsure how to proceed. “Let me tell you a little story...”
Sophie nodded eagerly and fell back on her soft down pillow to listen. It wasn’t often her daddy told her a bedtime story. He worked so very much. But when he told her stories, she enjoyed them immensely.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a little girl who had a mother who wanted only the best for her...”
Sophie’s brow knit. The story sounded familiar.
“This mother loved her daughter so much,” he told her, “that she put her only in the best dresses, gave her only the shiniest black shoes. And she never, ever let her play with little boys. She was never allowed to get her dress dirty... or mud under her fingernails.”
Sophie’s brow furrowed a little deeper. Was he telling a story about her, she wondered.
“However, this little girl wanted only to play in the stables, to feed the horses and ride them whenever she could. Her father sold thoroughbreds, some of the finest most beautiful horses.”
Sophie listened intently. “Grandfather sells throwbreds,” she commented after a moment.
Her father smiled down at her, obviously pleased with her observation. “Yes, well... this little girl was never allowed to ride them, nor even to be in their presence. You see... her mother didn’t think it was a proper thing for her little girl to do, and only the little boys were allowed to play in the stables. Her brothers and their friends often tended the horses while the little girl watched.”
Sophie didn’t understand the story at all. It wasn’t as entertaining as the ones he normally told. Still, she listened, because she knew what it felt like to have a mother who never let her do anything at all.
“Well, there was this one little boy,” her father continued, “who thought the little girl had the most lovely smile.” Her father sighed wistfully and shook his head. “He used to feel sorry for her when she sat all alone, wishing she could play. He wanted so much to go talk to her, but he knew he would only get her in trouble and so he never did, but he promised himself that one day he would take her away from that place and give her a home of her own where she could do whatever she pleased, somewhere she could raise horses if she wished, somewhere where she would smile.”
“He was a very nice boy,” Sophie remarked, getting sleepy.
Her father laughed softly. “Well, he wasn’t always a nice little boy,” he assured her, “but he really, really liked the little girl.”
“Oh,” Sophie said. She rubbed her eyes again.
Her father went silent, staring down at her, though somehow Sophie wasn’t certain he was actually seeing her. He looked sad suddenly and far away.
“What happened to the little girl and the little boy, Daddy?”
“They were supposed to live happily ever after... but happily ever after isn’t something someone can give you, Sophia... not even a mother who loves a daughter very much. It’s a place inside here.” He reached out and tapped Sophie on the breast.
Sophie nodded, trying desperately to keep her eyes open, not wishing to hurt her papa’s feelings. She wanted to hear the end of the story, she truly did, but she was getting so very sleepy.
She struggled to keep her eyes open as her daddy continued. “So the boy and girl grew up, and got married. He took her away, as he promised, but it was too late for the little girl. She was a very good little girl, you see, always did what her parents wanted her to do. She never disobeyed them, ever. They molded her into the perfect little girl... who grew up to be the perfect lady... just like her mother... who never smiled.”
Sophie was suddenly too sleepy even to attempt to understand her father’s strange tale.
“You, see, Sophie... sometimes it takes more courage to follow your own dreams instead of the dreams of the ones you love.”
“What about the little boy?” Sophie asked. Her papa stood, drawing the covers up to her neck. He tucked her in snugly and he smiled down at her, a little more sadly still. “He grew up to be a terrible daddy, who never was home and gave his sweet little daughter terrible, terrible advice. Just pretend you didn’t hear a word of that story, Sophie ... Go to sleep and dream of angels as sweet as you.”
It would be silly to pretend she hadn’t heard him, but it was easy enough to put his story out of her mind. Sophie didn’t understand a word that he was saying to her. “I love you, Papa,” she murmured as he caressed her cheek. “You’re the best Papa in the whole world!”
She turned then, cuddling her pillow, her shark’s tooth tucked in her hand safely beneath it. She heard him walk away and gently close the door... and then she dreamt of riding on the backs of golden whales over sweeping blue oceans while her daddy stood by and watched and waved.
class=Section5>
CHAPTER 1
Boston, 1899
The evidence seemed undeniable.
It was, in fact, her fiancé’s penmanship, but just to be certain Sophie withdrew her most recent letter from Harlan from her private desk, meticulously comparing the handwriting. She studied both letters side by side, trying to find some difference in the script.
Behind her, Jonathon Preston opened the drapes a bit wider, letting in every last ray of afternoon sun, giving her ample light to see by. “I would never have brought it to you,” he claimed, somewhat more eagerly now that she had begun to take the matter seriously. He stood at her side, peering over her shoulder, and his razor-sharp scrutiny of her while she read the letter made her cheeks bum with both anger and humiliation.
She swallowed uncomfortably.
No matter how much she wished to find the letter a forgery, the penmanship was the same; identical long-tailed y’s looping purposely about to cross simple t’s... precisely dotted i’s and j’s. Harlan rarely capitalized the names of his acquaintances... nor did he ever capitalize hers, though his invariably was—something that plagued her acutely.
“Although Harlan has always been a friend to me, it seemed somehow unconscionable,” Jonathon continued, “that you should be treated with so little regard!”
Sophie doubted Jonathon’s intentions were at all honorable. He might have sold his soul to the devil for her father’s favor. Still, she was not the sort who preferred not to know. If her fiancé was making her out to be a fool, then she certainly did wish to know about it—no matter what Jonathon’s motives for relaying the information.
And, damnation, it seemed Harlan was, indeed, making a fool of her!
Her entire future suddenly crumpled before her like an old castle in some forgotten fairy tale, all of her carefully laid plans reduced to rubble and her dreams blown away like so much dust.
What a fool she had been.
She peered up at Jonathon to find him still staring at her, as though he expected her to burst into heart-wrenching sobs any instant. Sophie frowned. No doubt he would enjoy that. Well, she wasn’t about to give in to hysterics! Anyway, she shuddered to think of Jonathon comforting her.
Strange how before today she had not thought him quite so nefarious, but the boy she remembered from her youth was gone, and in his place stood a gleaming-eyed, calculating man. No, she had no doubt of Jonathon’s intentions, and less of his motivations. Her father was a powerful and beneficent man—witnessed by the generosity and support he had bestowed on Harlan. From the day Harlan had departed Boston, his best friend had set out to woo not her, but her father.
Drat men and their love for money!
Her eyes stung as
she scanned the letter Jonathon had brought her, this time allowing herself full comprehension of the words scribbled so neatly before her.
God help her, she refused to weep—and certainly not before Jonathon Preston.
She examined the envelope again. It was postmarked April 20, 1899. Two months ago—ironic that he should have written this letter on the third anniversary of their engagement. She wondered if Harlan even realized.
My good friend, the letter began.
Sophie glanced up at Jonathon, wondering implausibly how he could betray his good friend so easily. Her emotions were in tumult. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry at the man standing so gleefully at her side. And yet, how could she, even now, think to championing Harlan? Why should she even care that Jonathon had played his Judas?
She read the letter carefully.
You really must join me here directly! Give no more objections, jon! It is a wondrous world that not merely allows us the opportunity to experience life’s most bountiful pleasures, but in fact grants us to do so! Every man should have such an understanding fiancée, eh? And a father-in-law willing to support his cause. I count myself fortunate, indeed—yes, indeed—to have won the heart of sophia vanderwahl, but do not think me unappreciative if I do not rush home to the encumbrances of matrimony.
His choice of words stung.
Encumbrance.
So that’s what he thought of her?
She took a deep breath and continued.
At any rate, dear friend, I hardly think you can say sophia is wasting away. She is young enough still that she might bear my children were I to delay the nuptials five, even six more years. And neither are her spirits low; her letters are buoyant and full with interest in my studies. She’s a peach to affect such an interest in matters that would only bore her to the grave. Women have not the patience or capacity for such ruminations, jon. But do not concern yourself with sophia, my good friend. She is most loyal, to be sure, and will await me with the grace she was raised to show. Indeed, I could not have chosen better.
Happily Ever After Page 1