The Fire
Spring 1945
The old Hamilton estate sits at the end of a winding road behind iron gates, the grand Victorian nestled amid dense forest overlooking the town’s expansive lake, the ancient trees tower as silent observers.
Sirens wail as the officers speed down the steep country road, one after the other. Dust billows behind the three-car procession as they approach the residence in great haste, a pillar of smoke rising before them.
“Where da ya think the fire is coming from? The house or the forest?” Officer Miller’s voice is tight as he sticks his head out the old wagon’s window to get a better look, but all he sees are trees.
All they smell is smoke.
“The call said the house caught fire—nothing more.” Lieutenant Wilkins finally sees a flicker of flame above the trees leading to one of the oldest estates in Athabasca County, the site of which fills him with dread. “Let’s pray no one’s hurt and the fire can be contained.”
“Better hope the fire department arrives soon then.”
A house fire in these parts often equates to widespread devastation. The endless forest, filled with an abundance of kindling, and the lack of manpower to keep a fire contained can potentially transform a simple kitchen mishap into a wildfire.
The lieutenant frowns, as the local fire department is no more than a few volunteers from the community and a rusted truck with rudimentary equipment, ill-prepared for such a disaster.
The first police wagon slows to a grinding halt as the officers pull up to the roaring chaos at the old manor, the house ablaze from within.
“My word,” he gasps.
Lieutenant Wilkins climbs out of the wagon on unsteady knees, Officer Miller and his men following close behind.
The lieutenant approaches the stooped groundskeeper as the old man and several of the house attendants are attempting to douse the growing flames with bowls and buckets filled with water.
“What happened, Bernie?”
“I s-spotted th-th-the fire not l-long ago, Lieutenant. I c-called y’all right aw-aw-away. Canna be longer than twenty minutes ago.” Bernie’s muttering grows more erratic with each passing minute.
Twenty minutes, and the entire front of the house is aflame.
“Thanks, Bernie. I’m glad you called. The fire department is on their way.”
Lieutenant Wilkins quickly lifts his hand, and the other officers immediately jump to action, assisting the attendants in their work.
What happened here? he asks himself.
Time seems to stand still as he scans the area.
The red Mercedes-Benz is unmistakable and belongs to Crown prosecutor Fredrick Ward—beloved husband and revered member of the community—but the man is nowhere to be seen. Lieutenant Wilkins’s head snaps to the house as beams heave from within, flames dancing beyond the glass. Fire licks up the trellises, withering the ivy clinging to the wood, as the porch deteriorates by the minute with no sign of Fredrick or his wife, Natalie.
Time begins again.
“Is everyone out of the house?” he asks.
“A-all the maids, save one, have been accounted for.” Bernie hesitates. “M-M-Mr. Fredrick and Mrs. Natalie have not yet come out of the house.” His voice trails off as he looks over his shoulder to the fire.
His admission makes the lieutenant’s heart sink. He has known Natalie Hamilton, now Natalie Ward, since she was a little girl. The young woman, all sweetness and light, is now in mortal danger somewhere in the burning building.
“Bernie, do you know for sure they are inside?”
“Yes, sir.” The man’s voice cracks. “Mrs. Natalie was upstairs with her lady’s maid when Mr. Fredrick c-ca-came home in a hurry. He went inside and n-ne-never came out. That’s all I know.” The man lowers his eyes to his weathered boots, avoiding the lieutenant’s gaze.
It is apparent to the lieutenant that the caretaker is keeping something to himself, but now is not the time for questioning the distraught man.
“Okay, thanks, Bernie.” Lieutenant Wilkins pats the man on his shoulder before turning to his junior officers. “We need two men willing to go into the house to look for the Wards and their maid.”
Officer Miller and one other officer, LeJean, promptly agree.
Bernie speaks up. “The servants’ staircase round back is in better condition. The fire seems to have started towards the front of the house on the second floor.”
Lieutenant Wilkins files that information away for later, but nods before turning to the two men.
“We have three people to locate and rescue. Miller, LeJean, stick together. If one looks like he is gonna keel over, you both get out, ya hear?”
They nod and pull out handkerchiefs to staunch the smoke.
“Be fast, but efficient. The fire department should be here any minute.”
He hopes.
CRASH.
They flinch on instinct.
The heat shatters several windows, eliciting screams from a few of the maids. One sobs loudly as the women continue carrying bowls of water in an attempt to douse the fire alongside Bernie and several more officers.
“Let’s go!”
All three of them break into a run, sprinting around the back of the house, the heat from the fire insufferable. The men ignore the crackle and groans from within the building as the two young officers rush inside the servants’ door.
They must find the poor souls trapped within, dead or alive. Lieutenant Wilkins cannot bear the thought of looking Beau Hamilton in the eye if he abandons the man’s beloved only child to the flames.
“Natalie!” A cry rises above the roaring blaze, drawing everyone’s attention. “No, Natalie!”
Lieutenant Wilkins runs and intercepts the frenzied woman before she takes her first step onto the deteriorating porch.
“Where do you think you’re goin’, Ms. Howard?” he asks, holding her firmly by her arms. “The house is on fire. You’ll get yourself killed, goin’ in there!”
She ignores him. “Natalie!”
“No reporters!” Another officer snarls.
“Enough!” Lieutenant Wilkins snaps.
They all know Cass’s presence has less to do with finding a story than concern for her oldest friend.
He holds tight to the woman, praying she doesn’t bolt towards the flames. “Cass, I have two men in the house, searchin’. All we can do is wait.”
“Let me go, Wilkins! Or so help me—” she hisses.
He pleads with the woman, “We are doin’ everything we can.”
Her eyes are ablaze with unbridled fury. She shoves him until he reluctantly loosens his hold.
“If she dies, I’ll never forgive you!” she spits.
Cold seeps into his bones at her vehement words.
Across the clearing, people hear the distinct whine of the fire engine as coughing and sputtering draw their gaze towards the open doorway.
“Miller, LeJean!” The lieutenant drags the distraught woman with him to keep her from running into the burning house.
“Help!” Miller cries out, but the chaos of the onlooking staff momentarily blocks his view.
“Natalie!” Cass cries once more.
Cass runs past the lieutenant as Miller drags a limp body across the threshold, LeJean following closely behind.
Fredrick, not Natalie, was recovered.
She stops running as the officer lowers the body to the ground.
“Is she still in there?” she asks the two men, both now checking Fredrick’s vitals as the officers sputter and cough. “Is she alive?”
LeJean raises his head, an apology in his eye. “I’m sorry—”
“No!” She lunges towards the house, but officers barricade her path. “We have to find her!”
The lieutenant’s hands shake. He clenches them so his men won’t see his constitution waver. His men need to rely on his ability to chin up.
Cass’s wild eyes search the flames. “We cannot leave her.”
“No, we can’t,” he replies. “Gentlemen, let’s not assume the worst.” Swallowing the lump buried deep in his throat, he squares his shoulders. “I need two more volunteers to go back inside to find Mrs. Ward and the missing maid!”
Two leap into action, but the lieutenant remains frozen at the sight of the prone body before them. Cass falls to her knees, hands trembling before her.
“What have I done?” she cries, voice taut. “What have I done?”
Confusion lines his brow as he looks between the woman and the flames, arrested at the sight of the destruction before him.
The crackling wood and blazing inferno fill the silent forest, where the trees stand resolute despite his uncertainty. Lieutenant Wilkins gazes at the surrounding forest, looking for the secrets they hold among their wide branches, wondering how such a senseless tragedy could ravage their quiet town.
The War
Undaunted by the barren grassland and the endless grey haze of dawn spread before him, the soldier persists on his trek, weighed down by the limp body across his shoulders, one heavy, laden step after the other, determined to continue onward.
“Hang in there, buddy. We are almost there.” Silence follows Matteo’s whispered words of assurance. “We only need to make it across the river.”
An invisible boundary looms in the distance, marking safety on one side and the enemy’s territory on the other. Matteo strains his eyes, his ears, hoping to find his scattered battalion as he makes his way towards that untenable line.
CRACK, CRACK.
Matteo collapses to the ground on instinct, hiding in the long grass, having long since lost his rifle, the body of the man he carries pressed to his back.
His chest tightens until he can barely breathe.
Sorry, he laments to his brother-at-arms, unwilling to speak aloud. I won’t leave you here alone.
CRACK.
The familiar sound echoes, startling a covey of pheasants before all grows silent once more.
From the tree line, a soldier fired the shots, but Matteo remains unsure if the bullets targeted him or another soldier from his battalion, lost across enemy territory.
Closing his eyes, Matteo prays he remains out of sight.
When the world goes quiet once more, Matteo steadies his breath, watching, waiting for signs of movement. He lies prone long enough that his bones ache and his muscles grow stiff from the cold. He sees in the distance a wooden structure, a small shack, half covered in various farming debris, carelessly cast aside, half sheltered by the dense woods.
“We will make it; don’t worry,” he whispers.
He slowly crawls on his belly, his fallen friend strewn across his back. The man remains unmoving, but Matteo readjusts him each time the soldier slides off him, ignoring the blood now covering them both.
Twenty meters.
In the silence, Matteo slowly moves along the ground, grinding his teeth at his efforts, unwilling to release his charge and unable to concede to the impossibility of his circumstance.
He simply will not accept defeat.
Ten meters.
Perspiration stings his eyes, his muscles burning as he clambers along the ground, but he persists with shaking arms, inch by inch, until the old wooden door is within reach. He springs to his feet, dragging the soldier behind him the last meter and into safety, slamming the door behind him. They were exposed for less than a minute, but Matteo strains his ears to hear any acknowledgement of his presence from beyond the wooden walls.
Trowels, rakes, and various tools lean against the interior wall of the garden shed—no bigger than the length of a man, but enough to shelter them from the elements, granting Matteo much-needed rest, hidden from view.
“We are nearly at camp,” he whispers to his charge, yearning for the medic bag lost in the forest. “Our men won’t be far.”
Matteo rests his head and closes his eyes in relief, one of his hands pressed against the chest of the friend beside him, his smile fading.
He ignores the stillness beneath his touch, unwilling to admit his own failings in the aftermath of the ambush.
“When we get home, we’ll have quite a story to tell.” Matteo imagines the familiar hills and trees of the quaint logging town he never thought he’d miss. “The ladies will fawn over the returned war heroes—just you wait and see.”
Ladies or just one lady? Matteo can nearly hear his friend’s genial reply, see the knowing look in his eyes.
Matteo jests, knowing there has only ever been one woman his heart has ever belonged to, one woman he cannot seem to forget or bear to live without. His heart tightens at the thought of returning to Natalie after so many years at war. The tenuous hope of seeing her once more feels impossible in the small shed, his youth a long-forgotten dream left on the other side of the world.
“You owe me for having to carry you like a pack mule, eh?” he adds. “You really ought to lay off the sweets.”
Stop your complaining. I thought you were a strong Sicilian man, or was I mistaken?
“I’m not strong enough to haul your sorry carcass on my back across Europe.”
Lazy lout.
Unwelcome tears cloud his vision at the notable silence emanating from the still form beside him. Matteo turns his attention to the sounds beyond the shed. The bird, a scurry of a small creature running through the brush, the breeze whistling between the cracks of the wood.
He breathes and listens, perfectly still.
Minutes or hours pass before a rhythmic sound catches Matteo’s attention. A rustle, followed by a swish, has Matteo holding his breath, hoping his presence will go unnoticed, knowing he never bothered to cover his tracks.
Matteo hears a second distinct gait, then a third.
He dare not move or breathe. His knuckles go white, gripping the lapels of his fallen friend, and his eyes widen a second before the door swings open.
Part I
The Last Days of Childhood
Chapter 1
Spring 1939
Natalie Hamilton straightens her posture and settles her hands in a demure position on her pearlescent gown, as a lady should, the picture of perfection for her social debut.
Natalie forever strives to be the epitome of grace and social status—a perfect, well-bred, unflawed young woman. A weighty expectation set upon her at birth and a feat accomplished with great personal difficulty, and although she is known for her poise and genuinely kind nature, she conceals the less-than-desirable parts of herself behind a serene, well-mannered smile, lest that childlike curiosity and subsequent wonder she harbours within roam free.
Her smile falters as nervous tension builds within her chest.
“I will not disappoint,” she whispers.
The heat emanating from the throng of bodies in the small room is confining to the young woman, much like the bones of the French corset fit snugly beneath the silk lining of her gown. Natalie strains the material as she takes a deep breath, ignoring the painful boning digging into her ribs.
“Stand in your positions, ladies. Quietly, please.” Mrs. Devereux’s voice rises above a whisper.
Natalie finds herself straightening once more, resuming the shallow breaths and wide smile formerly practiced.
The ladies’ finishing school instructor has an almost-manic twinkle in her eye as she makes minor adjustments to their hair and posture while correcting an unacceptable topic of conversation whispered among a few.
Natalie looks at the other wide-eyed young women surrounding her in the narrow space, all having known one another since birth, all having been raised by the collective ensemble for nearly as long, standing at the precipice of their adult lives. Lives of privilege and esteem, both of which they have been promised by inheritance and their family names. Dreams of womanhood are within their grasp the moment they walk beyond the large wooden doors and into the ballroom.
Womanhood culminates in child rearing and legacy, beginning with a prestigious marriage.
Natalie is enraptured by the same delight and trepidation in the eyes of all the girls, a fearful awe mirrored on their faces.
When the doors open, the sound of thirty girls taking a deep breath at once fills the room, and they all seem to hold their air, frozen with anticipation. The light illuminates their faces as the sight beyond the threshold mesmerizes them all.
Some faces are familiar, some unknown—all captivated by the line of beautiful young ladies wrapped in lily white, waiting to be presented to polite society as eligible women.
“Saundra Brown.”
Natalie finds herself and the other debutantes exhaling at the call of the first name.
“Are you ready?” Cass whispers over Natalie’s shoulder, her beautifully painted rose-coloured lips stretched into a tight smile.
Natalie knows the soft voice as well as her own and considers the question. Yes, I am ready for my adult life to finally begin.
“Of course,” she replies. Although she can only hope not to buckle under the weighty expectations of those awaiting her descent.
“Elisabeth Callaway.”
The name rings out louder as Natalie approaches the ballroom one small step at a time.
“Do you think they’ll notice if I am conveniently missing?” Cass whispers again, but this time, her voice is tight.
Natalie reaches behind her skirt, her fingers finding Cass’s, and they give one another a light squeeze of assurance.
Cassandra Howard and Natalie were raised within the same cloistered social circle since infancy. However, their friendship blossomed in finishing school, as they often fell in line alphabetically and were forced to regularly interact. Natalie found an unexpected friendship in the notoriously reclusive young woman, and Cass found a compassionate ally who did not consider her shy demeanour a fault, but rather sensed the intelligent introvert within.
“Rose Elkins.”
Natalie releases the grip of her dear friend, stepping forward and into the doorway, as her name will be next. Natalie looks out into the ballroom, into her future, the anticipatory faces of the crowd coming into view.
Natalie’s knees tremble at the unobstructed view of grandeur sprawled before her. She stands in awe at the highest point of the staircase, silhouetted by the light, listening to the melodious notes of Chopin.
“Natalie Hamilton.”
The young woman’s smile broadens at the sound of her name as she steps forward and into the light of the ballroom. She feels her feet descending the staircase without conscious thought or effort. Natalie’s mind focuses on the subtle poise of her descent, the arch of her neck, the perfect alignment of her spine.
“Chin up. Shoulders back. Soft steps.” She can hear Mrs. Devereux’s precise tone.
With one delicately placed kitten heel after the next, Natalie reaches the bottom of the stairs before she realizes her grand march is at an end. The crowd swallows her whole with nods of approval and mutterings of appreciation as she moves forward among them in pursuit of her parents. The young woman continues to smile and greet society’s elite, lumber tycoons and tar sand barons alike, and yet she cannot help but notice several bold glances from known and unknown gentlemen.
“C—Clelia Love.”
Natalie turns her head sharply at the name called after her own, raising startled eyes to the procession. Clelia Love and not Cassandra Howard, as expected, descends the staircase.
Where is Cass?
“There you are, my dear.” Natalie’s mother demands her attention with a gloved grip of her elbow. “You did lovely, Natalie. Just lovely.”
Her mother’s downturned mouth suggests otherwise—undoubtedly, she found some minor fault in the cadence of her walk or the position of her head—but her father’s approving smile seems sincere.
Natalie shrinks.
“That’s my beauty.” Natalie’s genteel father, Beau Hamilton, hands her a customary glass of champagne before toasting to the small crowd surrounding the family. “To my Natalie, the most beautiful woman in the ballroom.” Her father emphasizes woman with a nod. He leans in close to his daughter, and whispers, “If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought I was looking at your mother.”
Natalie shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other as the heat rises to her face. She would never dream of meeting such an incomprehensible standard of perfection.
Lois Hamilton is the paradigm of poise and class with not one hair out of place, not one brush of powder out of line. She is elegant and regal, without fault, and is considered the height of the social hierarchy in Athabasca. Everything Natalie should strive to become and an embodiment of so many characteristics Natalie lacks.
“Why don’t you introduce our present company to Natalie, dear?” Lois is accustomed to having her way, subtly maneuvering her daughter and husband in order to elevate their prestige and overall social status.
Beau proceeds to dutifully introduce the members of his company to his daughter, one after the other. Many she has known since childhood; however, some are new acquaintances, here for the customary debut of Athabasca’s elite daughters.
Natalie curtsies with as much grace as she can muster.
“Leon, where’s your nephew?” Beau inquires.
Leon Ward, the Hamilton family’s estate lawyer, looks over his stout shoulder and quite gruffly shouts for his nephew. “Fredrick, my dear boy, come here.”
A gentleman turns in response, his eyes meeting Natalie’s briefly before turning to his uncle. “Yes, Uncle?”
Natalie’s smile falters. Out of shock rather than dismay.
“There is someone who would like to make your acquaintance—Miss Natalie Hamilton.” With a flourish of his hand, Natalie is presented to the handsome man. “The daughter of one of my most prestigious clients and closest friend.”
“You are generous with your compliments, Leon,” Beau interjects.
Natalie hardly listens to Leon and her father’s conversation as she observes the surprising individual before her. She notices his eyes first, such a startling colour of pale blue, contrasting his pomaded raven-coloured hair. Secondly, she is drawn to the coy smile, starting from one corner of his mouth to the other.
“Hello, Miss Hamilton. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Fredrick Ward.” His hand finds hers, and he places a lingering kiss there as a greeting.
The heat from his mouth makes her hand tingle through the silk fabric. Natalie tries—and surely fails—to hide her utter enjoyment of the gesture.
Natalie’s heart flutters at his attention. Heat rises in her cheeks, spreading to the tips of her fingers, still held by the arresting stranger.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ward,” Natalie replies at last.
She can’t help but glance over his shoulder for her mother’s opinion and is met with a nearly imperceptible nod of approval.
Natalie’s mother has given her consent. “Mr. Ward, why don’t you take Natalie on the terrace and show her the beautiful display of lights upon the lake?”
“But of course, if she will have me.” Fredrick bows at the waist before he pauses for Natalie’s response.
“I’d be delighted.” In a moment of bravery, Natalie threads her hand in the crook of his arm with a practiced touch. “Lead the way, Mr. Ward.”
Fredrick removes them from the crowd before leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle her ear. “Call me Fredrick, please,” he says just above a whisper, and she responds with a noticeable shiver as the pair exit the ballroom and steps into the night air.
“Impressed?” Fredrick asks, drawing her attention from the lights.
“Yes. I dare say I am.” Natalie admits without hesitation, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the lights suspended in the air, the fires set on Roman pillars, and the fleet of candles covering every polished surface, including floating lanterns set upon the distant lake’s tranquil surface.
Natalie drops her hand from Fredrick’s arm and takes a turn in the cool night air, needing distance from the intensity of his gaze.
Beyond the stones and trellis, a blanket of stars and a full moon illuminate the grounds of Athabasca Estate, the local country club. The night is luminous enough that their eyes perceive silhouettes of willows and pines covering the rolling hills and the steep peaks surrounding the town.
“I have never seen the club look like this before,” she adds.
“This is a lovely country club. I look forward to exploring more of the estate now that I have moved to Athabasca.”
Her eyes widen at his confession, but she merely gives a graceful nod.
He continues, “I have recently joined my uncle’s firm as a partner. I suppose we will be seeing much more of one another as he trains me to eventually take over his position. Once he retires, of course.”
“That is quite the accomplishment for someone so young.”
“I am not as young as you may suppose.”
Natalie wonders at his age, but remains silent. Fredrick is certainly a man, yet not so aged as to have grey hair or lined skin.
“I hope you find Athabasca pleasant and inviting. Small towns can be challenging to join, as outsiders are not always welcome,” she adds, changing the direction of conversation to more acceptable topics.
“True, but my uncle is reputable and will introduce me to the right sort of people.”
Leon certainly will, as will my father, if my mother is so inclined.
Fredrick offers his hand and bows deeply. “Shall we?”
The music is audible from the terrace, inspiring his spontaneous intentions. Natalie accepts his hand, knowing such an intimate setting can become a source of gossip to onlookers. As they begin to move with the music, she dares to look into his eyes, beguiled by the intensity of their pale, almost-silver hue.
“What truly brings you to our small corner of the world? You cannot be so tempted by the prospect of practicing law in a small town of no consequence, by the endless wills and testaments and land title exchanges.”
He considers her prudent inquiry for some time before answering, “I much prefer a quiet country life to the bustle of the city. I look forward to putting down roots and building a life here.”
“I am sure you will accomplish all you set out to do, sir.”
He leans in close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek.
“Fredrick, I insist.”
She smiles. “Fredrick.”
Fredrick gazes curiously into her eyes, and his face turns thoughtful and unreadable once more. However befuddling his expressions might be to her from one moment to the next, he is devastatingly handsome. High cheekbones, aristocratic nose, and a shallow cleft in his chin. She cannot recall if she has ever seen a more beautiful man in her life. She lets herself memorize every feature.
Fredrick moves closer. “Would you be so kind as to show me around Athabasca? I know very few people here and would appreciate an insider’s perspective on the community.”
“Why me?”
He hesitates. “You seem trustworthy.”
Natalie contemplates his request.
“Of course,” she agrees. “I’d be honoured.”
“Thank you.” Fredrick’s voice lowers, his eyes dropping to her lips before meeting her eyes once more. “I would very much like to be your friend.”
“Do you often dance in the moonlight with friends?”
His lips quirk. “Only my very special friends.” His slow smile roves from one corner of his mouth to the other in what she guesses is his signature grin.
“You are incorrigible.”
“I do try,” he agrees.
Natalie thinks about his words, the intensity of his posture as he asked.
Surely, Fredrick will charm the town silly in no time.
“I will consider your request, if friendship is what you desire.”
“And if I desire something more than mere friendship?” His eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Then you will just have to wait and see.” She moves to look away to hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Do not look away,” he commands.
Natalie feels his thumb lifting her chin, his breath mingling with hers, and the night falls away. She stares into his eyes, mesmerized by the curiosity in them. His thumb rubs against the corner of her lips before he lowers his hand, only to wrap it around her hip, the other trailing her spine.
“Thank you for your kindness. I do not take them for granted.”
She feels the sincerity in his words, as she is entranced by the intensity of his stare. No one had ever looked at her with such rapt interest.
His lips meet hers in a soft, timid kiss. His lips linger, almost as if they intend to claim her mouth completely, but refrain.
“Natalie,” he whispers before pulling away, leaving her breathless.
A cough startles Natalie from her spellbound state. Embarrassed by their proximity, she shrinks away from him, although Fredrick looks unconcerned. The man’s pale blue eyes never leave her face, a promise hidden in their depths.
“Miss Hamilton.”
The young woman knows the deep timbre of that voice, the rolling accent that emphasizes the second syllable of her name. However, the voice, which is usually full of mirth and humour, is severe, and dread pools in her stomach.
Natalie turns to face Matteo, aware he witnessed a very private moment, a slip of propriety from a lady, but he is honourable and will keep her secret. He has always kept her secrets, as he’s been her confidant since they were children, and this precarious situation—that Natalie is hiding on a darkened terrace, kissing a gentleman she barely knows—will be no different.
“You are needed immediately.”
“Wha—”
Matteo doesn’t let her finish. “The young ladies are gathering for the waltz.”
The father-daughter dance is a pivotal feature in the evening’s events, one that cannot be missed.
Matteo’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching.
Natalie blanches, knowing Matteo well enough to realize that if his easy smile is missing from his face, something is terribly amiss.
“A Miss Howard is looking for you as well,” he mutters.
Cass!
She gasps.
In the bustle of her entrance into society, Natalie forgot her friend was not named in the grand entrance line.
“Thank you. I will be in straightaway.”
Natalie nods—a polite excusal of Matteo—and he gestures to the eastern corridor before disappearing in its direction.
Fredrick is none the wiser of their familiarity.
Natalie turns her attention back to her present company. “I am so sorry, Fredrick, but I must leave.”
He nods before taking a step back. “Of course.”
“Will I be seeing more of you soon?”
Fredrick smiles. “I certainly hope so.”
He takes her hand once more, kissing the silk, as is polite, and turns to leave. Natalie watches as he walks back into the ballroom, his arresting presence turning many ladies’ heads, after which their curious gazes turn in her direction.
“Natalie, are you coming or not?” Matteo whispers as he pokes his head out the eastern exit, that stricken expression still shadowing his face. “Come on.”
Natalie makes her way to the doorway, stomach in sudden knots. “What happened?”
His eyes widen, as if he’s just now registering her appearance, and his gaze wanders from the customary tiara to her white gown. “You look—”
“Never mind that now.” Natalie waves her hand, dismissing his words.
He blinks, and the moment is gone. “You’ll see, principessa. She’s in here.”
“Do not call me a princess.” Natalie recognizes his sarcasm. “I am not in the mood for your teasing.”
Matteo ignores her remark and instead leads her through the eastern corridor and takes a turn into the servants’ tunnels. Natalie has never been through this area, but she knows Matteo has worked as a server at the Athabasca Estate for a few years and must know the corridors well.
She eventually sees Cass lingering in the shadows of the hallway, peering through a crack in the doorway leading into the lobby of the estate. Natalie is filled with worry as she waves Matteo away to give the ladies privacy.
He smiles in return with a lift of his brow. You must explain later, is what his gesture says before disappearing into the dark corridor.
Matteo will find her later and interrogate Natalie about her tryst with Fredrick, the reserved young woman hiding from prying eyes, and whatever gossip he overhears tonight, but for now, the debutantes need to make their way to the ball before Cass loses her nerve once again.
“Cass?”
Cass doesn’t move as Natalie approaches, nor does she turn to acknowledge her friend’s presence.
Cass is too skeptical and obstinate for a woman. She has known for a great long while that she was not meant to follow in the footsteps of her mother—a delicate beauty who married for status, whose future was to be saddled with children.
Or one child, as it so happened.
Cass whispers, “I couldn’t—I just could not make myself walk through those doors and down those stairs.”
A lingering silence fills the corridor.
“All those people…”
Natalie understands the paralyzing terror her friend felt at the thought of standing before a crowd, on display for the world to scrutinize. For as unwaveringly fierce her character may be, a panic seizes the young woman amid any crowd regardless of her preparedness.
“A weak disposition,” a doctor once said, but nothing could be further from the truth.
She is simply cut from a different cloth.
“Do you think there is a chance we can convince your parents that you simply missed your entrance by accident?” Natalie asks.
Cass looks incredulous. “I doubt they would be convinced. Mother knows I cannot stand when people gawk.”
“They never gawk. They admire.”
“Gawk and admire are synonymous, Natalie.” Cass glances nervously at her friend before her eyes flit away again.
“Is that so bad?” Natalie asks.
“I could not stand to walk into a life filled with their judgement and derision. The gilded cage of womanhood.” Cass’s tearful eyes meet Natalie’s, her voice almost lost. “I-I couldn’t breathe.”
A life of judgement and derision indeed. A life of limits and expectation. A life of striving for an acceptance that might never come, forever placed on a pedestal for all to scrutinize. Natalie can empathize with her friend’s fears and hesitation, as she wars against her own self-doubt and secret desires.
“You are the only daughter of one of the most successful men in that ballroom, heiress to his fortune. Beautiful, intelligent, and talented—”
“I am the daughter of an accomplished man.” Cass’s face turns sombre, as if she has accepted herself to be inferior. “I am not accomplished in my own right. Intelligence is useless without meaningful purpose.” She bites her lip at her embarrassment. “And none would call me beautiful.”
Natalie remains undeterred.
“You are not yet accomplished, but you will be.” Natalie soothes her friend with the hope of something more in the future, but cannot conceive herself what that path might be. “And you have always been brilliant and beautiful to me.”
Cass remains stoic.
Natalie lifts her chin. “Well then, I believe you have two options—sneak out of your debutante ball or sneak in. I will be by your side either way.”
Sincere in her offer, Natalie is afraid for the young woman, as they both know that what has transpired this evening will have a lasting effect on her life beyond these walls.
“Thank you, my friend,” Cass says, expelling a breath.
Natalie’s hand then finds Cass’s fingers in the shadows. Natalie pulls Cass’s hand as she walks past the daunting threshold. The young women make their way to a side entrance to the ballroom and walk through the doors, as if they were merely gone for a moment.
Natalie spots Cass’s mother first. She has a tight smile under turbulent eyes, searching for her missing daughter. Natalie bends her head in the direction of Cass’s family.
Cass takes a deep breath.
“Anything to drink, ladies?” Matteo appears with a tray of champagne flutes.
Natalie mouths, Thank you.
He quirks his dark brow in a silent response. Did I have a choice?
No. Her mouth curls.
Cass’s gaze shifts between Matteo and Natalie. Matteo and Natalie stare at one another in wordless communication before Natalie turns to Cass once more, breaking the connection.
Matteo bows his head in her direction before approaching another group of young debutantes, melting into the crowd.
“Please tell him thank you for me, if you get the chance,” Cass says.
“I will. I promise.”
They reluctantly part ways—Cass making her way towards her parents, Natalie making her way towards her own.
As she reaches her parents, Mrs. Devereux begins her toast to the distinguished young women of Athabasca’s best families. Natalie ignores the entire toast as she watches Cass exchange whispers with her parents across the room.
“Where did you run off to, my dear? Mr. Ward returned some time ago from the terrace,” her mother asks, smiling gracefully behind pearly teeth.
“I was in the powder room. Not to worry. All is well.”
Her voice drops lower. “Your disappearance has nothing to do with Cassandra Howard and her lack of proper presentation, correct?”
Natalie’s mother does not approve of her friendship with Cass. Aside from the Howards’ great wealth, she believes the acquaintance holds no benefit for Natalie.
Not “proper” company, not suitable for a Hamilton.
Natalie places her champagne flute in her mother’s empty hand. “Of course not, Mother.”
She slips away as the debutantes are called to the ballroom floor in unison at the wave of Mrs. Devereux’s hand, conveniently avoiding further conversation as the string quartet begins the ball’s father-daughter waltz.
Natalie’s father smiles down at her, and she returns the gesture. As the song begins, the pairs’ timing is just right. Natalie is relieved when she notices Cass in the arms of her father.
She takes one final risk, gazing beyond the shoulder of her father to look for a particularly handsome gentleman, but when she does not find his uniquely pale glacial-blue eyes, she feels sharp and piercing disappointment.
Could Fredrick have left already? She dearly hopes not.
Natalie’s eyes flit around the room as the song comes to its final crescendo, and all can feel the tension building in the room.
“Be patient, my dear,” he whispers.
Her stomach tightens.
The tradition of Athabasca’s father-daughter dance is the pinnacle of the evening’s events, for this is the moment all have been waiting for with equal amounts of ardent expectation and trepidation. A man—any man—interested in calling upon a young lady as a potential partner is expected to interrupt the father’s waltz and replace him as a suitor. However, if a debutante is not interrupted or someone distasteful shows interest, their future prospects might be negatively affected.
Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie sees the beautiful Meredith Freeman is interrupted first, her father trading places with none other than Andrew Sutton, son of the esteemed Mayor Don Sutton. Meredith’s auburn tresses, vibrant in contrast to her alabaster skin, glimmers in the candlelight. She peers once more to see Meredith’s face glowing with smug confidence.
“Of course she is first to be asked,” Natalie grumbles to herself.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing, Father,” she mutters.
Another and then another share in Meredith’s joy until Natalie’s smile falters. Her hand is suddenly squeezed by her father’s, who witnesses his daughter’s distress, moments before their waltz is interrupted.
She turns, nearly forgetting her next steps, entranced by the sight of him—Fredrick.
Natalie beams as Fredrick nods to her father and extends his hand. The couple begin to turn in perfect harmony, synchronized, as if by some unknowable force.
“I’m glad to have found you,” Fredrick whispers.
She expels her breath and nods, unwilling to utter a sound and break the spell that has surely been cast upon them.
As am I.
Chapter 2
The twilight air cools the back of Natalie’s neck as she stands on her bedroom balcony overlooking the flower garden, listening for the company she is certain will come. The moonlight is bright enough for her to see the edge of the tree line, the foliage obscuring the lake that runs along side her home.
Her thoughts wander to the familiar face and warm voice she awaits for in the dark, and smiles.
Natalie waits with the knowledge he can never stay away, bouncing on her feet while humming a jaunty tune played at the ball. She longs to tell him all about the debutante ball—the parts he missed, that is—and she knows he will want to hear every detail.
Natalie fills the time with thoughts of the night’s unexpected joy and the decadence of the ball. Her feet ache from endless dancing, and her cheeks are sore from the practiced smile.
She dares herself to consider the handsome Fredrick, picturing his arresting gaze and sculpted features. She recalls feeling the heat from his lean body as they danced, his large hands wrapped around her waist, and the pressure of his silken lips as they grazed hers for a brief moment under the stars.
Such thoughts are considered inappropriate for a young lady, yet her hand reaches to touch the phantom warmth lingering on her mouth.
Fredrick seems to be everything Natalie dares to hope for in a husband and all she has ever wanted—her parents’ approval and a secure place in the world.
A shadow of insecurity flattens her hopefulness at the memory of Fredrick dancing with Meredith Freeman after the father-daughter waltz.
Her stomach lurches at the recollection.
Natalie shakes the thoughts from her mind, sipping the champagne she pilfered from her father’s storeroom instead.
A distant rustle accompanies heavy footfalls as a figure finally appears in the distance. But it isn’t until Matteo is directly below her balcony that Natalie can see the details of his face.
“You still awake, Natalie?” he whispers.
She leans over the railing of the balcony. “What a ridiculous question, Matteo. How can I possibly sleep after tonight?” she quips, straining her voice as loud as she dares to without waking her parents.
“True, true.” His face broadens into an easy smile, friendly and warm, as always, as his arms rise.
Natalie swings her leg over one at a time, taking care of the bottle still in her grasp. She lowers herself at a familiar pace, rung by rung on the lattice she has scaled a thousand and one times over the years. She passes the bottle to Matteo as soon as he is within reach, and then she finds her feet on the ground beside him in an instant.
Natalie looks into the dark brown eyes of her other half, her best friend, with a sudden sense of completeness. Nose to nose, they stand in the dark, the space between them mere inches. Neither withdrawing, neither touching.
I’ve missed you, she thinks.
Well, here I am, he responds in a wordless communication they have spoken since childhood.
The pair have been raised in unison since she forced him to attend her tea party when he didn’t know one word of English and over time learned to read one another’s expressions with ease.
“Good evening, Miss Hamilton.” He bows at the waist.
She snickers before swatting his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Patrillo.” She curtsies.
Matteo straightens and takes a long pull from the sparkling wine before handing the bottle back, the flash of appreciation in his eyes as he looks down at his friend, still wrapped in her gown. “Come on then, principessa.”
He holds out his hand to Natalie in a familiar gesture, and they link their fingers without hesitation. Turning to make their way towards the trees, he leads her into the woods, if only to give him a moment to collect himself.
Hidden deep in the trees between their two houses—one grand and the other a small cabin—stands a lone, gnarled oak. A misplaced tree in a glen filled with pine and birch. A misfit and an unlikely dweller, much like Natalie and Matteo. The oak is broad and tall with a hollow at the centre, where they once hid their favourite toys and knickknack treasures discovered over the years, tucked away and long forgotten.
The tree—where they spent many days playing and laughing like wildlings—favours one branch that leans nearly horizontally, which they often use for their leisure.
This very oak was the epicentre of their childhood adventures, used as a fort or a pirate ship when they roamed the untamed seas. Now, the wide branches are a sanctuary, a beacon calling them home, where they can simply be Natalie and Matteo. Lifelong friends. Not a debutante and a Sicilian immigrant. Not an heiress and daughter of a businessman and the son of a cook and gardener. Not a young woman of privilege and a young man who scrapes every penny earned for his family. Not acquaintances unsuitable for friendship. But a little girl and a little boy who found one another, against unlikely odds, in their lonely lives and discovered a sliver of belonging.
This oak has sheltered all their secrets since the beginning of their friendship and will continue to last long after they are gone.
Natalie is the first to see the oak in the dark, closing the distance in seconds. Both settle at its base in a familiar routine, their backs against the grainy bark and legs sprawled before them. Natalie in her pearlescent silk dress, now tragically wrinkled. Matteo in his dressing clothes, collar open and jacket removed.
An odd pair they make indeed.
Natalie sighs as she takes a long drink and then hands him the bottle. “Here you are, sir.”
Matteo keeps his voice light. “After however many glasses I poured for your kind tonight, I suppose I should take advantage of the offer.”
“My kind?”
Matteo scoffs, looking incredulous. “You know what I mean—the upper echelon of good society. Also known as those I was born to serve.”
“We are quite the taskmasters.”
I’ll not insult my friend by pretending I know nothing of what he says.
Aside from their class differences, Matteo is not only a Sicilian immigrant, but also a Catholic, and those from Athabasca have a lot to say about both.
A horrible injustice, but such nonsense is his reality.
“Matteo, you are not built for service. You, sir, are built for more than you know,” she states, confident in her words. “One day, the busybodies and naysayers will know whom they turned their noses up at and feel shame.”
He looks doubtful, avoiding her gaze.
Matteo often remarks that Natalie is too innocent to be aware of the darkness often dwelling within others, always seeing the silver lining in life and believing the very best in people, even when they do not deserve her kind regard.
Natalie is hardly an objective observer of his life. However, she sees in him what he cannot see in himself, for his fear of failure outweighs any reasonable optimism he may harbour.
“I hope you’re right, Natalie. Don’t mistake me; I know my parents have always been grateful to your family and that your parents have experienced scrutiny for simply employing my parents, but I want—”
“More,” she finishes when his voice fails him.
Matteo is the brightest student in his class with top marks, yet he has always been often overlooked.
“I was accepted into the University of Toronto.” The seriousness of his tone is reflected in his pensive expression.
Natalie springs forward and wraps her arms around him. “You finally did it! You were accepted!”
He returns her fervent hug. The warm scent of his skin overwhelms her as he wraps his arms firmly around Natalie.
“I’m so proud of you, Matteo,” she whispers.
A shy smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he pulls away. “Sì.”
Matteo only speaks in Italian when overcome with emotion—or when teasing her, of course. Natalie leans back, curious about what caused his use of Italian, and discovers fear lingering on his face.
“I knew you would get into the program.”
“I was less confident than you. Getting into medicine is difficult—and the expense!” His hand pushes his curls from his eyes, revealing the apprehension lining his face.
“My father has already told your parents he will loan them the money for tuition,” she says, knowing her words will wound his pride.
“I cannot ask that of your family.”
He cannot let a lifetime of self-reliance get in the way of his future; Natalie won’t hear of it.
“You can, and you will,” Natalie says with finality, one born from privilege and certainty. “You must.”
The friends remain at an impasse as they pass the bottle between them, alternating drinking, both contemplating Natalie’s statement. They allow the cool drink to refresh them and blanket their thoughts of the diverging directions their lives are about to take—Matteo attending university and the expectation for Natalie to marrying. The looming changes they face are daunting yet certain.
“If not for yourself, then for your family. They rely on you—you know they do.”
He nods as Natalie watches his ego wrestle with his reason.
She finally nudges Matteo with her elbow as he stares beyond the trees and into the night sky, avoiding her gaze. “What are you pondering about with such concentration?”
She watches the furrow between his dark brows deepen, which only occurs when he is exceptionally cross.
“He kissed you tonight. That gentleman.” Matteo’s face grows red, his heart hammering within his chest, yet he persists. “You let him kiss you. Why?”
Her eyes widen at the audacity of his question. “I don’t know. I suppose I was caught up in the moment. Why does that matter? It’s not like you haven’t kissed girls, Matteo.”
He says nothing, but the truth is in his silence. Natalie looks at his sober countenance, tipping her head to the side to study him.
“Was he your first kiss?” Matteo cannot hold back the words, much to his chagrin.
She grins at his obvious discomfort. “Yes. I don’t make a habit of going around town, kissing men, you know.”
“A debutante would never.” A responding smirk haunts his mouth.
“Exactly, and my parents would find out and kill me for my loose morals if I tried.”
“You’d certainly give the old hens in town something to flap about.”
“What wanton behaviour,” she says.
“A fallen woman indeed.”
Matteo’s voice catches in his throat as he takes in the beautiful young woman before him with a gaze that is both familiar and yet entirely new.
Natalie is not his, nor will she ever be.
Natalie’s amusement dies as she takes in Matteo’s suddenly forlorn expression. Loss and grief are written in his eyes, in the downcast curve of his lips.
“This is almost over, isn’t it?” he asks with sharp finality.
Natalie was hoping they would have a lighthearted discussion of the evening’s events, laughing until they cried, as they have often done in the past. Now she knows such trivial pastimes will not be on tonight’s agenda.
They have waited long enough to have this conversation—a conversation she’s never wanted to have with him.
The end of one chapter of their lives and the beginning of another.
Natalie swallows what feels like a burning rock in her throat. She knows what he means by this—the intimacy of their lifelong friendship. Their commitment to one another. A bond built on an easy and unassuming camaraderie—playing tag together as his mother cooked, learning to climb trees, swimming in the stream, her crying over her first crush teasing her, her cleaning out his bloody cuts after a particularly mean brute at his school threw a rock at him while calling him cruel slurs.
This will change as their lives change, as their responsibilities as adults grow. The love between the pair, which has evolved over time, will become something they can no longer hold on to so tightly.
Becoming finite, as childhood always does.
Natalie’s eyes mist as the thought of losing him makes her feel hollow inside. Nevertheless, she cannot see a way forward as they are now—an inseparable duo, incapable of being apart from one another.
“We both knew this time would come. We both knew we couldn’t remain children forever.” She searches for his gaze in the dark, but his head is turned from her. “Matteo—”
He flinches, as if struck, although he isn’t surprised by her words. He finally turns his head and meets her eyes. The pain she sees staring back at her is torturous to behold—a mixture of grief and longing in his gaze—and then he schools his face into a blank, unyielding expression.
Matteo clears his throat. “We could always try.”
His hand finds hers in the dark, and they lace their fingers—he does so because change is frightening, and she does so because she knows he needs comfort.
“I think I’d rather not,” she whispers.
They both know she is right. They can no longer hold life at bay any more than they can fell the great oak they sit beneath.
“If we must grow up, promise me, you will not forget me when you get married and have a house full of clamouring children.”
“Only if you promise not to forget me when you become a world-renowned physician.”
“No promises there.” He winks before growing tense once more, raising the nearly empty bottle to the forest. “To adulthood. May we be ready.” His words ring, as if a foreshadowing of their futures, as if their diverging paths were chiseled in stone, a riot between their own wills and what is expected.
He tightens his grip on her fingers in silence, the bottle forgotten. His head turns, brown eyes locking on to blue with palpable melancholy.
Natalie’s heart wilting at the thought of being separated from someone who feels like home. May we be ready for the future, together or separate.
“I’m not quite an old maid just yet,” Natalie declares while standing up, willing their hearts to lighten. “Get up, and let us have one last dance this evening.”
He groans.
Natalie spent many days leading up to her debutante ball forcing Matteo to practice the waltz, and although he never liked dancing,
“Pleeeease.” She emphasizes the word with a whine.
“You’re insufferable.”
Natalie likes to think she was kinder than Mrs. Devereux at training someone to dance; however, she is wholly unsure.
“If I must.” He lets out a loud groan but gets to his feet, wiping the dust from his trousers, grumbling until they stand toe to toe.
They come together amid the trees. Matteo’s callous hand wraps around Natalie’s delicate fingers, and he places the other on her waist, willing himself not to become distracted by the soft curl of her smile.
He hums with a deep, throaty baritone as she counts their first steps. They twirl under the canopy of leaves, a dance as familiar as the trees themselves. A slow, steady churning in the night.
“I’m not ready,” Matteo voices, hesitant but insistent as his forehead meets hers in the darkness.
“Neither am I.”
The pair dance in silence, crickets trilling and rustling leaves their only music. The couple turn, slowing until they eventually cease, hand in hand, arms wrapped around one another, memorizing the other’s face.
Matteo’s curly hair falls before his boyish face, his form nearing the precipice of manhood, his shoulders heaving with the exertion of their steps, and Natalie feels equally breathless in his arms, but they stand, content in a moment spared just for them.
Natalie stands on her toes and presses a small kiss onto his cheek. “Thank you for the dance, Matteo.”
His face deepens in colour, now invisible in the night, but he remains otherwise silent. He need not ask what she thanked him for, as he already knows all that which was left unsaid between them.
Thank you for a lifelong friendship without the constant expectation of perfection.
Thank you for never judging me for who I am. For who I am not.
Thank you for keeping all my secrets.
Thank you for loving me, always.
Thank you for letting me go.
“Good night, Natalie.”
“Good night, Matteo.”
Matteo gives Natalie’s hand a small squeeze before wordlessly excusing himself, slipping into the night once more, leaving Natalie and all the unspoken words to forever remain with all their secrets between the trees.
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