The Happiest Day (24 page)

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.”

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 broke 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.