Sarah's hair never curled exactly the way she wanted it. Lucky Ramona with her becoming red hair that swept just so up from her brow; every time Sarah tried the latest styles they fell out until her brown curls tumbled down her back once more. Privately, she liked her wild hair-it seemed like her inner daemons having the last say in her outward appearance. Today however, she wanted to look sophisticated and polished- the epitome of a young lady who had spent a year of her life learning all about the ways of the world as a cooed.
The bell downstairs sounded, and Sarah could hear her elderly housekeeper answering. Unlike Ramona, the Turners had never had much in the way of household help other than Mrs. Wheeling. She could hear her skirts rustling all the way up the stairs to her room at the top of the hall, and then the swift knock.
"Miss Sarah, Mr. Timothy Alden is here for you. In an automobile." Sarah could hear the housekeeper's disapproval, which only made her smile more. Of COURSE Timothy would be the first one on the block with anything new and exciting. He must have been sold every gimmick this side of the Mississippi.
"Thank you, I'll be right with him."
"I'll tell him, oh, and Miss Sarah? Take a wrap. Surely it's too chilly outside, even on a summer day, for so much decolletage."
Sarah rolled her eyes, but took the lace wrap from the back of her chair. It matched her outfit just so, she probably would have picked it out even without the housekeepers hints.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah was curled onto the wide black leather seat, bumbling along towards an unknown destination. She had to admit, the purring motor had a nice dependable nature to it.
"Where in the world are you taking me, Timmy?" His blue eyes sparkled back at her.
"For the seventh time, I'm not telling you. Patience is a virtue, my dear."
"Not one that I ever intended to posses." Sarah pretended to pout, but his endearing term had warmed her. Timmy was one of her oldest friends, and he had the good fortune to have grown into his boyish good looks. He was also as much of a shameless flirt as she, and she always enjoyed sharpening her wits with him. They were the best of friends, in a way that made this sort of flirtation harmless.
The car bumped around a turn and Sarah peered out the window, trying to discern where they were going. They had set out in the late afternoon, and now the evening light was playing across the buildings and storefronts. With a start she realized that she had no idea where they were going. Turning to Timmy, she raised an eyebrow. His only response was a half smile.
When they finally rolled to a stop they were well outside the city limits. The dusk had long ago set in, and Sarah peered forward, trying to get her bearings. The sea could not be far off, she could smell the salt in the air, and before her was a sweeping field with a gravel road.
"What is it? Has you finally pushed this car past it's poor mechanical limits?" Timmy smiled cheekily as he held his hand out for hers.
"I thought we could walk the last bit, I remember how well you enjoy a stroll." Dubiously she took his hand and rolled her eyes.
"Ever the gentleman, I'm sure." As they walked, a distant chorus of peepers called through the trees. It was comforting, and reminded Sarah of those long solitary walks she had taken at school. That was another world miles away from this one, but somehow the bitter regrets from the past year chased her even here. As they rounded a bend in the road a house rose above them. It was tall and had high gables and a porch that wrapped all the way around. She had been right about the sea, th"e field the house sat on ended abruptly in a cliff and the pounding of waves echoed through the night.
There were lights on but no noises, and they seemed to be the only ones witness to the night.
"Come." Timothy walked up the drive to the house, Sarah following in step behind him.
"Aren't the owners home?" He turned with a queer smile on his face.
"Let's just say I have their permission."
Following him she mounted the steps to the porch, and then through the big door into the entrance hall. It was both grand and simple, and the house must be new. It still smelled of fresh cut wood and paint. Timothy seemed to know where he was going; he led her from the kitchen with it's huge fireplace that had not yet seen a spark to the formal sitting room which had wall paper of tiny lilies. Pausing, she brushed her fingers along the walls. Lily was her birth flower, and by that right it was her favorite. It grew in swamps and ladies gardens, ever versatile and adaptable. Timmy appeared, hand on her shoulder. Wordlessly, he led her up the stairs.
The second floor had three doors that lead away from the stairs, but ignoring those he lead her to the room directly across from the landing. It was the master bedroom, she could tell even though it was bare of furniture. She followed her childhood friend across the room and through a set of double glass doors and onto a balcony. It overlooked the drive and she could tell that in daylight the view of the ocean would be breathtaking. She stood there, not knowing or caring how many minutes ticked by-simply enjoying the warm air and sweet smells of night in the country.
"What is this place?" She finally breathed.
"Breakrock Farm." He was standing close behind her, she hadn't realized.
"Who owns it?"
"Me." His voice sounded queer and she turned-
Her heart jumped into her throat.
Timmy was kneeling before her, reaching up to clasp her hand.
"No-" the word caught in her throat.
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