Page 9 of Sweet Silver Bells
“Miss Rothlin, I need to go to the bathroom,” one of Sadie’s students said, twirling her hair nervously as they walked up to the entrance. “My group parent told me to ask you.”
“See, what did I tell you? Those parents are useless,” she grumbled near Hunter’s ear, and he grimaced because there was no way the girl hadn’t heard.
“There is a bathroom right when we go inside, in the lobby, up these steps,” Hunter said.
“You’ve been here too many times,” Sadie smiled, an edge of sadness lingering at the corners of her mouth. He hated that lingering sadness. It had become unbearable over the years.
“Once a year for every school field trip when I was a mere lad,” Hunter said in a terrible Scottish accent.
“That’s not all,” Sadie said as they followed the back of the group into the front entrance of the manor.
“No. That’s not all.” There was a cloud that hung over his head that day, and no matter how often he tried to shake it, it was still there. Hunter supposed that time didn’t really heal all, no matter how long it had been. Not when he couldn't stand the sympathy that lingered like an oversensitive switch when someone came within ten feet of him.
“Alright, everyone, come inside, gather close,” their tour guide said. He looked closer to Sadie’s age. Retirees often volunteered within the local historical societies. “Now, Vultauge Manor has been around since 1901. Its original builders were a young couple who excelled in the arts. If I understand correctly, the male head of the household was a writer, although he wrote under a pen name that was never verified to be his true identity. He disappeared alongside his daughter around 1915, leaving his wife to run the manor. It was eventually sold to the state to preserve its historical value. Now, Vultauge Manor is used for field trips and events like weddings and holiday balls.”
Hunter tensed, triggered by the introduction. He would never learn to cope.
“Now, everyone, hold your questions until the end. We will begin by touring the interior, followed by lunch on the exterior grounds, before we go in-depth into the gardens.”
“Can we go into the forests?” a kid shouted.
“Again, hold all questions until the end—and no, please stay on the grounds with your assigned groups.”
“He’s a pro,” Sadie said. “See? Easy day. I have a bag of sweets in my pocket. I’ll be sucking on those and letting my mind wander all day.”
Hunter raised his eyebrows at her.
“What?” she laughed. “It’s Christmastime, and everyone is doing great.”
“You're a national treasure, Sadie. I just want to make sure you get that tenure,” Hunter said as their group started to move past the lobby. A gift shop on their right attracted a few straggling kids. Hunter saw Sadie’s blonde student emerge from the bathroom. Everyone seemed accounted for.
So far, so good.
“Here, cherry. Your favorite.” Sadie held out a hard candy. Hunter sighed and took it, popping it into his mouth right away, the sugar bursting against his tongue.
“Stress eating. I recommend it,” she laughed.
Hunter nodded, smiling, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.
They spent the next ninety minutes following the guide through rooms where vintage furniture was roped off and tapestries from a century ago decorated the walls, hanging from the top moldings. Hunter watched as some students’ eyes glazed over while parents hushed others whispering through the told histories.
“You know, this place is very brown. I can’t remember—was your wedding this brown?” Sadie asked as they entered the last common room—the event space, a ballroom where Hunter had once held a woman in a white dress against him.
His throat dried every time he walked in there. His late wife was a lovely, spritely thing who had insisted they marry right where they met—on this school field trip. Hunter had been in the fourth grade. She’d been in the sixth.
“We had poppies in every color,” Hunter said.
“Oh yes, yes, I do remember all the flowers. It did combat the brown.” Sadie sighed. “I miss Sarah. She had those eyes that somehow saw your strengths and ignored everything else.”
It was true.
Sarah was the only person who had ever made Hunter feel like he was enough. Not for his job, or his potential, but just as he was. Their romance had kindled the summer he came home from college with a degree and a head full of questions.
He’d been nursing a beer alone at the corner of McAllister’s bar, wondering if teaching elementary school English was a noble calling or a slow descent into mediocrity.
“Hey, stranger.” A familiar voice, low but amused, had cut through the background buzz.
Hunter had looked up and nearly choked on his drink.
