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Authors: Rain Trueax

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From Here to There

BOOK: From Here to There
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From Here to There
 

 

by

 

 

Rain Trueax

 

Chapter One
 

 

 The satin fabric swished down around her body, feeling for all the world as though it was made of chain metal. Helene stood silently as her mother zipped up the back of the dress, her breathing becoming more and more constricted, her heart heavier as the white fabric encased her with the pledge of a wedding she knew was a mistake.

 "I am certainly glad the rain let up last night. Bad luck to have it rain on your wedding," her mother said.

 Helene forced a smile. "Where did you hear that one?" Her mother seemed to have a store of such sayings that shifted at her convenience.

 "I don't know. Didn't Ben Franklin say it?" She smiled ruefully and shook her head. "Maybe I didn't hear it, but I should have." She peered out the window. "Who'd have thought rain when we planned the wedding for August? Maybe I should have, but I didn't. Not for a single moment. But then what can we expect with a rushed wedding. I mean I told Phillip two months wasn't long enough to plan a real wedding.  A year would have been better, at the very least everyone knows you need six months with a year being best. But did he listen? Stubborn man. I’ve never met such a determined one once he sets his mind on something. People will talk, you know.

“Which hardly matters.” The last thing she cared about right now was what people thought or said about her. That might be what had gotten her into this mess.

”Well what can you expect?" Her mother pursed her lips together. "Except I certainly didn't expect a hurricane in the Atlantic. Possible gale force winds in Boston. That's what it is and us with a garden reception ahead."

 "Don't worry," Helene said, straightening her spine. "Worse things could happen." For instance, the bride could go running from the church when the minister asked if anyone objected to this marriage.

 "Like crowding five hundred guests into the reception hall at the country club?" her mother asked, raising her eyebrows. "Worse than that, you mean?"

 Helene laughed. "The hall could blow down."

 "Don't even say it. Don't even think it," her mother ordered, her eyes narrowing purposely. "God would not dare do such a thing on my only daughter's wedding day."

 "Oh my, are you daring God?"

 Her mother's mouth dropped open. "No, heaven's no." She looked apprehensively up at the sky. "I'd never do that." She then smiled back at Helene, her mood changing instantly. "Anyway the storm turned south, they said and I think the weather today is going to be delightful. See the sun peeking through that cloud. I think it's going to be a beautiful day for a beautiful bride." 

 Her mother's voice ran on, but Helene quit listening until she was brought back to reality by her mother's hands tucking in a stray strand of hair, pushing it back into the elaborate coiffure that Francois had created only that morning, a concoction of curls and soft elegance to provide the perfect setting for the pearl tiara her mother was now setting on her head.

 An elaborate hairstyle, an elaborate life, but not the one she wanted. Inside she was screaming, but outside, she stood compliantly, as usual revealing none of her feelings.

 "You will be the most beautiful bride Concord has ever seen. Phillip will be so proud," her mother prophesied, a pleased smile on her smooth, oval face.

 Helene didn't bother to look in the mirror to judge the truth of her mother's assessment. She didn't care how she looked. How had she ever allowed it to get so far? Phillip's courtship had been practiced and perfect but oh so quick. Her own emotions had not been involved as she had allowed herself to believe her parents, believe her friends that she was making the match of a century. Well, it wasn't her parents or friends who would have to go to bed with that man. They would not have to play a role for the rest of their lives. No, it was Helene, and she felt trapped, and so frustrated by the snare she'd walked into that she wanted to scream.

 Wryly she considered the solution sometimes provided in the romance books... or even the film
The Graduate
, except she didn't have any old boyfriends to come rushing to her rescue, no handsome cowboys who would ride up and sweep her into their arms, carrying her away before she could make the mistake of her life. Not unless she counted her cousins, who might have considered such a measure had they known how much she didn't want this wedding to the oh so perfect Phillip Drummond.

 She pictured her groom's face, knew he would look handsome and immaculate in a custom-made black tuxedo, his blond hair trimmed by a hair stylist only that morning to the latest version of the perfect, gentleman's hairstyle. Of course, Phillip's square-jawed, cool blue eyes and handsome face could never look less than perfect no matter what his hairstyle. The man was the image of male perfection. If the exterior was the only guide, and if perfectly handsome was the criteria.

 On what lay inside the man she was about to wed, she barely knew. She did know he made money, lots of money, acquired power, had the perfect career, airplane, penthouse apartment, and lifestyle. So far as she could determine, he had then charmingly purposed himself to acquire what he saw as the perfect wife. She wrinkled her nose. How she hated the word perfect.

 "Helene, you just made the most horrible face. Don't you remember me telling you not to do that. It only leads to wrinkles."

 "It's called expression, Mother," Helene said humorously, glancing at her face in the mirror to see if the squeezed up face had frozen in place as her mother had warned when she was a little girl.

 "I don't understand you. I really don't," her mother muttered, not for the first time in Helene's life. "Here you are getting married in a few moments, and you look like you're in a daze. For heaven's sake, you can't go down the aisle looking like a zombie either."

 Helene closed her eyes and smiled faintly. "Why not?" That's what Phillip expects anyway, a robot wife, who would do all the right things with no feelings, no personal desires.

 Did Phillip love her? She had no idea. He'd asked her to marry him with such charming ease, that she'd have thought he'd said all the words before, except she knew he'd never been married, never even been close if the rumor mills were correct.

 She knew so little about her future husband. Despite prodding from her mother, he had not told them until a week earlier that none of his family would be attending the wedding. That had led to no small amount of private recriminations from Helene's mother, but of course, she would have said none of that to Phillip's face. Without a doubt, he had charmed her mother until she complained about nothing he did.

 Helene wondered, as she had before, about Phillip's family. She hadn't even known how many of them there were. The invitations had been mailed by Dale Cranston, Phillip's personal aide. Phillip had never spoken of brothers or sisters or even mother and father. It sometimes seemed to her that the man had sprung full-grown and formed into her life, and somehow enveloped her in a sense of destiny about their marriage.

 Her mother stopped adjusting the skirt of her dress and allowed the perfect pleats to settle to the floor, covering Helene's satin clad feet but not covering her doubts and sudden feeling of panic.

 "Darling, your mind simply isn't with us," her mother repeated. "Have you heard a word I said?"

 "Of course... uh." She smiled sheepishly. "What?"

 "I knew it. You are beginning to worry me. You seem depressed. You're... well, I don't know what you are. Are you ill? It isn't your time of the month, is it?"

 Helene shook her head. "I'll be fine," she said, praying it was true. She knew that at this late date, she didn't have the courage to tell her mother the truth about what was wrong. She had to go through with the wedding, even knowing it was a terrible mistake.

 Her mother listened intently. "I think I just heard my cue."

 The door opened to their dressing room and a handsome, darkly complected man stood in the doorway. "Come on Aunt Flo," Helene's cousin Emile said, his drawling Western twang so dearly familiar. "It's time for our little sashay down the aisle."

“Please do not call me Flo,” her mother complained even as she took his arm. “My name is Florence.”

 Helene managed a smile to match his mischievous grin before he whisked her mother away. On the many summers and holidays she'd spent with Uncle Amos and Aunt Rochelle, she, Emile and Rafe had been as inseparable as triplets--swimming, riding, hiking or lying in the sun talking about the future. She could nearly hear their childish voices bragging, laughing and arguing over what being grown-up would mean to each of them. To think of those summers was to remember golden days, times of childhood happiness. Helene dabbed at her eyes. She must not smear her mascara.

 Michelle, Helene's impeccably clad in lavender, coiffured and appropriately shod maid of honor, who had followed Emile in the door, said after they'd gone, "That man is the most gorgeous thing. You sure he's married?"

 Helene smiled. "He is very married and his wife is heavy with child as we speak. His brother Rafe is still available."

 Michelle grimaced. "That one is so unfriendly it's not worth talking about." She looked more closely at Helene and frowned. "You don't look well. I hope you're not coming down with that bug that's been going around. That would be the way to ruin a honeymoon."

 Helene laughed humorously. Honeymoon, that was another thing that she couldn't imagine. Being with Phillip sexually was totally wrong. She had not waited this long for her first sexual encounter to end up selling it for a wedding ring. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves for what lay ahead. "I think I'm just nervous," she said staring at her reflection in the mirror but seeing nothing.

 Michelle nudged her aside and patted her own curly blond hair as she checked her make-up. "It's going to be a beautiful wedding, the biggest this year, I think. Facing all those people, it could make anybody sick... maybe cause an ulcer or something. I read just the other day how stress causes excess stomach acid, and--"

 "Mmmm," Helene murmured absentmindedly, her mind miles away from the little dressing room and Michelle's latest research on the cause of physical ailments. When she saw her friend's renewed expression of concern, she made the effort to widen her smile. "I'll be fine... afterward." Heaven help her that it was so.

 Tiffany, Erica and Dolores swept into the room in a lavender rush, giving Helene little hugs and sighing over her wedding gown. "Oooh it's going to be such a beautiful wedding. I saw Phillip, and he is to die for handsome today," Tiffany gushed as she hugged Helene again.

Erica added, "That man is such a gorgeous masculine specimen. You are so lucky."

 "The cathedral is almost filled," Dolores said, her own voice somewhat less excited than the younger girls. "I don't think there's a place to sit anywhere."

That was interesting, Helen thought. If Phillip had only recently discovered his family wouldn’t come, who was filling the seats? Had he even invited his family?

BOOK: From Here to There
4.07Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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