by Rain Trueax
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, d
arkly 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?
"You're going to make perfectly beautiful bride and groom. The perfect couple," Erica enthused, as though feeling she had to offer something to add Helene’s worth to the picture.
Helene smiled, realizing that her mouth was growing stiff with the effort. It felt so dry it was as though she'd swallowed cotton. Would she be able to say the words when she was told?
She cast her eyes down, trying to get control of her raging emotions. She had to go through with the wedding. Everyone was waiting, seated in the pews, waiting for the bride to appear. Somehow, someway she would find the strength to walk down the aisle. Maybe once she was actually married these feelings of entrapment would disappear.
Helene's tall, distinguished looking father strode into the room. "Are you ready, love?" he asked. "Of course, you are. You look beautiful, simply lovely." His smile was broad, filled with pride. He shook his head as though to clear it. "I could be stepping back in time, that much like my sister you look today. Rochelle--well, I wish she could have lived for this moment."
"I still miss her," Helene said, dabbing at her eyes again. Aunt Rochelle and the ranch in Montana. They were so entwined in her past that she couldn't separate one from the other. Her delicate and beautiful aunt, who'd raised two strapping sons, kept a husband madly in love with her, maintained a home filled with baked goodies and wonderful aromas, drove tractor when needed, and still found time to be a second mother to a lonely girl when her own mother was jetting off to Europe or vacationing in Mexico.
Helene reached up to put her hand over the dainty, gold necklace she wore. It had been Aunt Rochelle's, and she'd willed it to Helene when she died. It seemed to lend a feeling of strength to Helene as she ran her fingertip over the simple locket.
"I can't believe this moment has finally come," her father said, dabbing at his eyes. "You're going to belong to some other man now." He shook his head.
Belong to? Helene didn't like the sound of that. It was what she feared, but she managed a smile for this man who had sired her but who'd been less than an exemplar parent or husband himself. Despite his flaws, she knew he did love her.
She took a deep breath before she took her father's arm, waiting at the door as her attendants made their way down the aisle, waiting as she listened to the music change into the wedding march. She bit her lip, then looked up at her father. She almost opened her mouth to tell him her doubts, but she wouldn't do it. She had to walk down that aisle.
The floor felt slick beneath her satin slippers until she stepped onto the long white runner that led down the aisle to her groom. She tried not to think, not to let herself consider what she was doing. The music from the baroque ensemble seemed to fill the cathedral, all eyes turned toward her. Their faces were smiling with pleasure, some familiar, many friends of her parents or Phillip's guests. Others faces she didn't know.
The oohs and aahs at her beauty offered her scant comfort and neither did her father's arm. Ahead she could see Phillip as he stood tall, strong looking, smile on his suavely handsome face as she came up to him. Beyond him were her cousins, then Phillip's attendants. She'd met his best man only once and couldn't now manage to remember his name.
The words of the minister came to her as though through a haze. First asking who gave her. No one gives me. I am my own person, but she heard her father's voice saying the age-old words, then she was placed into Phillip's keeping, his strong hand closed over her cold one, drawing her forward for more words, more vows, words she barely remembered repeating, but she knew she had to have said what she must because Phillip was lifting her chin, and his lips were gently descending on hers, the kiss one of formality and ritual.
Then they were turning and walking down the aisle, his arm around her, the hard muscles evident even through the tuxedo. Who was this tall man at her side, guiding, directing her steps as they walked out the door of the church to the waiting limousine, the limousine that would carry them to the reception?
Everyone was flowing out the doors to their own vehicles as the limousine driver shut the door, shutting out the noise and making Helene aware of the irretrievable step she had taken. She felt as though she was in a daze. The slamming of the door woke her.
She looked up at Phillip, his own eyes straight ahead, his mind full of who knew what. She had no idea after a courtship of barely over four months. Everything had happened so quickly, half the time, they'd been seeing each other he'd been gone on business trips. She barely knew him and knew she shouldn't have said she would marry him, shouldn't have gone through with the ceremony. She didn’t love him. How could she when she had no idea who he truly was.
She stared at his sharp profile. It was impossible to imagine being married to him, sleeping with him. "I've made a terrible mistake."
He smiled patiently at her. "Did you forget something, darling?" he asked, his voice a deep, pleasing masculine one, his eyes a clear blue as he looked down at her.
"I shouldn't have married you."
"Pardon me?" he asked, the voice still cultured and calm, but the finely shaped lips tightening a little.
"I've made a terrible mistake. I don't love you. I can't be your wife."
A muscle began to twitch in his jaw. "Excuse me for being dense, but I thought that was what you just did."
"I know what I did, but I can't go through with it."
His eyes narrowed. "You're not making sense, Helene."
"I know. It's completely crazy. I can't believe I... I never thought I'd be the flighty type to do something like this but--" She would not allow her fate to be controlled by others. If she'd made a mistake, well, she'd just have to be the one to rectify it.
She glanced forward and saw that the limousine driver was looking into the rear view mirror, his eyes met hers with interest. Phillip must have noted the same thing and with a curse, slammed the window shut between the front and back of the vehicle.
"You can't be serious," he said, his voice losing its cultured polish as he glared at her, the handsome face still nearly unbelievable in its perfection, but the lips tightly drawn and jaw clenched as the words came out in an angry hiss.
"I've been a fool, but it wouldn't be any better to admit all this a month or two down the road," she tried again to calm him. She'd never seen Phillip angry, but she was seeing it now.
"It wouldn't?" He raised patrician brows in the air. "It wouldn't! And just exactly what do you think this is going to look like?"
"Is what it 'looks like' all you care about?" she asked, feeling a surge of anger. Her whole life had been dominated by ignoring what she wasn't supposed to see and pretending what she was--all for what it looked like.
He snorted at her. "At this point, am I supposed to be concerned about your feelings? You just told me marrying me is a mistake, that you don't love me, that you'd like to... What is it you'd like, Helene? Shall I ask the driver to stop let you out along the road somewhere?"
She glared back at him. "Don't be ridiculous!"
