“Who goes there?” Seven-year-old Charles called out to him from beneath the homemade fort William had built for him in the dining room. “Is it an ogre?”
Playing along, William knelt down, lifted up the blanket, and peeked underneath a corner. In the darkness, two bright eyes blinked at him. Acting the part, he replied in a deep voice, “It is I, Pirate Paul Bunyan.”
William could hear their nanny, Angeline, laughing quietly from the other room.
Charles responded by trying to match his big brother’s manly tone. “Have you come to steal our treasure?”
“No, sir. I mean you no harm. I am looking for the evil sorcerer who stole my horse. Have you seen him?”
“Yes.” Out popped a little hand holding a six-inch toy horse. “Here he is.”
William chuckled. “Thanks.”
Charles made a boyish grunt.
Angeline came in with two glasses of milk. “I thought Paul Bunyan was a lumberjack.”
“He is.” William nodded. “I’ve been asked to play the part of his long-lost pirate son, Paul Bunyan Junior.”
“Oh . . .” She nodded and handed William the glass of milk. Speaking toward the fort, she asked, “So I take it Charles wants me to finish reading that book to him tonight?”
William smiled. “I’d say so.”
Angeline walked over to the tent and called out, “Supply delivery for a Charles Crawford.”
Charles jumped out and his curly mop top of hair flopped to the side. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome.” She mussed his dark-brown hair and then headed back into the kitchen.
Charles gulped his milk as William carefully put his down on a coaster on the walnut side table.
William glanced down to see Mack, their new puppy, trot by carrying one of his mother’s high-heeled shoes in its mouth. The dog had chewed through the back of the leather leaving the shoe a mangled, soggy wreck.
“You better hope that was an old pair of shoes.” William rubbed Mack’s brown fur behind his crooked ear.
After Charles finished his milk, he headed over to the Lincoln Logs and picked up a heaping mound. Then he dropped the load into a pile and arranged them into a campfire.
William saluted. “Everything good, sir?”
“Yes.” Charles returned his salute and then went back to securing the fort.
Angeline had given William permission to build the fort over the main dining room’s twelve-seat walnut-burl table. William had created an elaborate stronghold for his brother. It was comprised of dozens of blankets that were draped over the leather chairs. He constructed it with numerous homemade traps to keep out marauding invaders, special listening posts, boxes of toy soldiers, and a secret supply of chocolate chip cookies.
William walked over, leaned against the wall and peeked out at Angeline who was busy working in the kitchen. He had one giant, oversized schoolboy crush on her.
Angeline had been their babysitter all summer. She was sweet, kind, and never acted like any of the other sitters the boys had known in the past. Most of them would spend all night talking on the telephone or nag at them to go to bed. Angeline wasn’t like that at all. She acted as if she wanted to be William and Charles’ friend. She played games with them and had fun too, even letting them pretend she was a maiden trapped in a castle so they could be the heroic knights who came to her rescue.
As the sunlight poured through the window, William watched the beams shimmer off Angeline’s gold, flaxen hair. How many dreams he’d had about her deep, ocean blue eyes. He smiled.
She turned and saw him. “Do you need anything William?”
He stood up and swallowed. “No, ma’am. I’m fine.”
“I need something,” Charles called out. “More blankets!”
Angeline walked over and glanced at the table that had been transformed into a sea of fluffy comforters and homemade quilts. “More?”
Charles puffed out his chest. “We need to secure the defenses.” He gave a curt nod followed by a crisp salute.
She leaned down and squeezed his cheek. “You’re so cute with those big, green eyes of yours.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Coming right up, my little man.”
Charles blushed.
“Do you boys want me to make some special cheddar popcorn tonight?”
Charles beamed. “Yes, please.”
“But no eating the unpopped kernels at the bottom,” she lovingly admonished.
Charles sighed and hung his head.
She tilted her head and her golden blonde curls rolled off her shoulders. “You’ll break your little teeth.”
William smiled as he watched Charles. With his hands in his pockets, Charles slumped around and kicked at the floor. “All right . . . I guess.”
She lowered her brow and smiled at him. “I know you’re not really upset.”
He pouted his lips.
“What if I make you a triple chocolate milkshake to wash it down?”
He perked right up. “Yes, please.”
William chuckled.
She wagged her finger. “If you weren’t so adorable . . . blankets, huh?”
He nodded.
“All right.” She turned and gracefully walked away.
William watched in awe as she ascended the stairs like an angel.
Because of Angeline’s presence at the house that summer, even his harsh father seemed a little nicer. The only problem was that summer would be ending in a few short weeks. Angeline would be heading back to college, and William would be returning to Pinehurst Military Academy.
At boarding school, nobody ever wanted to be William’s friend. All they did there was bark orders. Do this or do that. He didn’t like it there, but any place was better than home. Up until that summer, the house had never been without turmoil. William and his father were always at odds. It felt like nothing William ever did could please the man. His father would intimidate and bully him; William always backed down—scared to make trouble.
His mom, on the other hand, never learned to stay out of the line of fire. She seemed to become more defiant these last few months. She tried to hide the bruises, but it was clear who won the battles.
“Sound the trumpets. Pzzz . . .” shouted Charles, playing underneath the protection of the fort.
William tried to put the thought of what lay ahead out of his mind and concentrate on today. Right now, Charles’ fort needed work. Some of the chairs refused to cooperate and kept leaning, which caused the blankets to sag. “I’m going for supplies,” he called out to Charles.
“Yes, sir.”
William searched the back pantry for some heavy cans he could use as ballast. As he scratched his chin, debating whether beans would work better than soup, he heard the sound of the garage door opening. The creak of the chains as it raised the wood door always made William scurry for cover.
His mother had told him his father wasn’t supposed to be home that weekend. Over the years, William had grown used to how little he saw his father. He always came home from the city very late. He never ate dinner with the family, but still his mom would make a plate of food for him and place it at the head of the table. Sometimes during dinner, William would catch her staring at the empty chair. He wondered sometimes whether she did it out of love, or fear. It made him sad to see his mom so miserable. Every night, she’d walk the uneaten plate of food back into the kitchen and dump it down the disposal. The metallic sound of the metal teeth grinding away still stuck in William’s memory.
“Is that Dad?” Charles called out.
His head snapped to attention. “Yes.”
“Didn’t you have something to give him?”
William looked to the counter where the model airplane he’d made for his father sat. His father, an avid collector, loved miniature replicas. Angeline had bought the model kit for William to work on that summer, and then give to his father as a present. William had spent hours gluing the intricate pieces together and hand painting
the fine details, toiling on it every day. He was hesitant to give it to him, fearing how he would react. His father was either a hot, boiling volcano or a cold, marble statue. The man seemed to hate any signs of affection. However, Angeline encouraged William and told him his dad was nice underneath his hard exterior. She was sure he would love it.
William was still unsure. In public, his father was a different person. A consummate actor, he could charm the hardest of businessman or the coldest of women. He had taken over his wife’s family business when William’s grandfather, Tobias Stanford, had passed away.
The back door swung wide open. There he stood, tall and broad-shouldered. A chiseled specimen of a man. William admired the way his father could instantly command a room with his tone and posture. His sharply trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, square jaw, and imposing frame made it clear—he was the man in charge.
William took the plane and went over to greet him. “Sir.”
His father barely looked down. He passed by his son and headed for his study.
Hastily, William followed.
Realizing his son was still behind him, he gruffly asked, “Did you stay out of trouble today?”
“Yes, sir.”
They stepped into the wood-paneled study. His father shuffled through the mail in his hands as he stood behind the antique, teak desk that had been handed down to William’s mother as part of her inheritance.
He didn’t look up at his son as he spoke. “Did you do all your chores?”
William stood up straight and squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir. First thing this morning.”
His father clenched his jaw as he anxiously shuffled through the mail again. William patiently waited. Looking over at the wooden shelves lined with his father’s collections, he admired the centerpiece. It was a rare pearl-handled Colt .45, once owned by some famous General. It rested on a velvet-lined mount under a special halogen spotlight.
William looked down at the finely detailed model he’d made and imagined how well it would look up on the shelf. He hoped his father would like it. Encouraged, he spoke up.
“Sir.” He cleared his throat. “I have something for you.”
“Uh-huh.”
William presented him with the F-100D Thunderbird.
His father without expression looked down at it and said, “Real men don’t give each other presents.”
William tried not to show how hurt he was. “But Angeline said you would love it.”
“Oh, did she?” A rare smile broke across the man’s hard face. “Where is she?”
“She went upstairs.”
His father didn’t acknowledge the gift; instead, he just walked off.
“Sir—”
With a snap of his head and a razor-sharp look, he cut William off.
William stepped back and lowered his eyes. His father continued toward the main staircase in the front hall. William stood, smoldering. Silently, he watched him walk away. His anger rising, he stared down at the airplane in his hand. He wanted to smash it against the wall.
Charles’ head popped out of the fort. “Is he in a good mood?”
William’s gaze lingered on the stairwell. “No. I don’t think so.”
Charles admired the plane in William’s hand. “Did he like your present?”
William glanced down at it, and then back at his brother’s expression. He looked into his brother’s wide green eyes and held out the plane. “He said he wanted you to have it.”
Charles’ face lit up. He scooted on his knees and carefully, with palms up, reached out.
William carefully placed it in his little hands. His younger brother held the model airplane as if it were the rarest treasure. William smiled.
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Your welcome.”
“This is way cool. Where is Angeline? I want to show it to her.” Charles pretended to fly the jet plane through the air.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe she needs help with the blankets,” Charles added.
“Maybe. I’ll go find her.”
“Should I come?” Charles started to follow.
Warily, William glanced up the stairs. “No. You stay here.”
“Wait.” Charles put down the plane and then picked up one of his toy swords. He handed it to his older brother. “My scouts tell me there are bandits ahead—looking for lost gold.” He squinted like a one-eyed pirate. “Be careful mate.”
William smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Playing the part, William took the heavy, toy weapon and dispatched a number of invisible foes as he ascended the stairs. Satisfied, Charles nodded and returned to the fort.
When William reached the top of the oak stairs, he called out, “Angeline,” but he received no response. He began to search the house, even the empty guest bedrooms, but she was nowhere to be found. It occurred to him to check the servants’ old back stairwell. Maybe she’d gone down that way when he had come up the main stairs and he’d simply missed her.
As he went around the corner, he heard a strange noise coming from his parents’ bedroom wing. At first, William thought it was a TV set turned up too loud, but the noises didn’t sound like any TV program he watched. He stared for a second at the double doors that were slightly ajar and debated. Normally, he would never go near his parents’ bedroom, especially if his father was home; however, something bothered him about those noises. Cautiously, he approached the doors.
Slowly, he peeked in. His eyes widened in shock at what he saw—Angeline lying on his mom’s bed, naked.
William’s stomach plummeted to the ground.
His father stepped into view. With a devilish grin, he dropped down on top of her.
William stood there, frozen. Sick to his stomach, he watched the girl he treasured being kissed by the father he hated. Bile rose in his throat as his innocent vision of Angeline was shattered.
“Don’t move.” His father grasped her by the wrists. Angeline squirmed and made a funny noise. At first, William thought it was a giggle, but then an odd look flashed across her face. Something seemed terribly wrong with this picture. Quickly, worry grew into fear.
In that instant, something changed inside of William. All those long, hard years of letting his father intimidate him, shaking in dread whenever he came near, melted away. He looked at Angeline lying underneath his father and William’s courage rose. He opened the door, charged forward, and ran to defend her.
“Angeline!”
“William,” Angeline gasped.
His father whirled with an expression of pure fury. “Get out!” His face was red with anger.
“Stop,” William boldly said to his father.
“William,” he commanded. “Get out of here—now.”
William planted his feet shoulder-width apart and raised the sword to his father’s chest. “No,” he said calmly. “Leave her alone.”
His father leapt from the bed. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, boy.”
William flashed a quick glance at Angeline as she drew the sheets up to cover herself. “Don’t look at me, William.” She hid her face as she ran from the bedroom.
Confused, William didn’t see his father charge at him. He stumbled backward as his father’s large fist swung hard. It struck William square in the face. William could hear the high-pitched snap of his jawbone as it broke. The blow was so intense, his vision blurred.
A moment later a scream broke through the ringing in his ears, and then another punch came flying in. Like a ragdoll, William’s body flew back into the wall.
Everything went pitch-black.
CHAPTER TWELVE
How Was Your Day?
~Present Day~
Everyone Keeps Secrets (Romantic Suspense Saga: Part 1) Page 16