The Black Smile
Part II
"Did something happen today that I should know about?" William Vance asked as he swiftly walked into the bedroom he shared with his wife. The sun had set a few hours prior; a solitary lamp in the corner of the room was lit, sending a soft glow throughout the area. He found his wife standing in front of the only mirror in the room. One hand held an antique hairbrush while the other hand's fingers slid through strands behind the brush.
William walked over to her and stopped just to her right. He leaned one shoulder against the white wall and folded his arms over his broad chest. He studied his wife with avid interest as he waited for her answer.
She really was a lovely woman, albeit a little plain. Her hair was a deep golden color with little waves of texture. The only time she let it hang loosely was in the privacy of their bedroom, just before they went to sleep. He wished she would wear it like that during the day, just so he could see if it truly did sparkle in the sunlight as he thought it did. Of course, that was wishful thinking on his half. She had always been self-conscious about her hair, never letting anyone really view it.
Her skin was pale with delicate pink patches on her face. The woman never wore makeup; she was too laidback to care about the stuff. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of purple dimmed with grey speckles, the same color as Emmeline's. William was grateful Emmeline had received those from her mother; his eyes were a dull and unattractive hazel hue.
Joan Vance's brush snagged on a tangle and she winced. "Is Emmeline in bed?" she asked as she roughly tugged the hair free.
"Yes," William replied, not changing his stance even though impatience was all-but consuming him. He knew something had happened today; he could feel it in the air. The littlest thing could provoke him into anger tonight, he realized. His day hadn't been pleasant, and nearly all of his tolerance was depleted. He wasn't in the mood for his wife's evasive games. "She fell asleep almost the instant her head touched the pillow."
"Good." Joan turned away from the mirror and walked into the bathroom. William heard her set down her hairbrush on top of the sink counter. Letting out a hissed curse, he followed his wife and stopped in the doorway.
"Joan," William said sternly, "you're avoiding my question."
"I'm . . ." she hesitated. "It's not deliberate, I promise."
"Then, what is it?" When he did not receive an answer, he slammed his hand against the doorframe. "Dam.n it, woman! You know I hate it when you do this!"
"I'm trying to think of how to tell you!" she yelled.
"Think faster," he said between gritted teeth. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and started to softly chew on it. Her eyes remained focused on the wall in front of her. He sighed loudly, "I'm the man of the house; it's my duty to protect my family when danger arises. How the hel.l am I supposed to do that if you won't tell me what goes on?"
Her eyes snapped to his. "Well, you don't have to yell!" she snapped. Her high-pitched voice collided with his anger, and he suddenly felt ashamed. The look on his wife's face--utter and obvious fear--caused a pain to stab into his gut. That didn't help is attitude any, however.
He normally wasn't this rude, but his emotions were riding high as of late. He could sense the danger that was growing stronger around him, but he couldn't control it. He couldn't see it, didn't know where it was coming from. He only knew it was there. He felt helpless, almost trapped. Whenever that thought penetrated his mind, his control ceased to exist.
He closed his eyes briefly and took in a deep breath, calming the urge to rush her into an explanation. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have shouted," he said, his gaze still resting on her.
"It's all right, William," Joan said as she pushed past him. William turned and watched his wife sit upon the edge of the bed. "You just need to work on controlling your temper."
William bit the inside of his mouth in order to quell the urge to retort. Although he agreed with that--especially recently--he'd always disliked his wife's habit of utter honesty. He respected it, yes, but it grew tiresome especially when she used that berating tone she'd just adopted. At least once a night, she zeroed-in on one of his flaws--and he had many he openly owned up to--and gave him a piece of her mind. Tonight, he just wasn't in the mood for it.
Ha! he scoffed. As if one could ever be in the mood for it.
Their marriage wasn't one made in love but respect. They had been childhood friends, never anything romantic. Neither had expected her mother--her only parent after her father had died when she was young (an even he'd been around for, unfortunately)--to fall ill as quickly as she did. And no one expected her to express her wish for their marriage on her deathbed. Neither had really believed in love at the time, thinking it messy and overly complicated. Respect was an emotion both was willing to work with.
The couple had wed six months after Joan's mother's funeral. Emmeline had been born nearly a year later. That had been an awkward process, William reflected.
Shaking his head clear of his thoughts, William took a step towards the bed. "I said I was sorry; what more do you want from me?" Again, he received no answer. Choking back the urge to growl, he rubbed a hand through his light brown hair. "Why won't you tell me?"
"I'm trying to," she squeaked.
There was a pause before he said, "But . . .?"
"But . . ." she tried to continue, but failed. Her eyes rested on his face, unshed tears glistening in their depths. A choking sound came from her throat just before she jumped to her feet. "It frightens me, William!" she sobbed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest. In return, he enveloped her in his arms and held her close, absorbing her tears in his work shirt.
The sight of her tears was like water to a small flame. No matter how frustrated he was, when her tears started to fall he wanted nothing more than to soothe the pain away. That's how it had always been, what had started their friendship to begin with. He couldn't bear to see her in agony.
"It frightens me so!" she said between sobs.
"Shh, sweetheart," he soothed as he rested his chin on top of her head; "it'll all be fine. Calm down . . ." His hands began rubbing relaxingly up and down her spine. My God, how he hated to see her like this! He may not love her as a man, according to most people, should love his wife, but no woman deserved to be this distraught.
William picked her up and carried her over to the bed. He sat upon the mattress and settled her on his lap. With her arms still around his neck, and his wrapped around her waist, he rocked comfortingly. Within a few minutes, her sobs had subsided to silent tears.
"Feeling better?" He angled his head so he could watch her face. Her left side was pressed against his chest; her eyes were blankly staring at the wall. Reaching up, he placed his fingers beneath her chin. With the pad of his thumb, be wiped away the streams of her tears and then angled her head so she was looking at his face. "You ready to tell me now?"
She sighed. "It involves Emmeline," she began.
"I figured," he responded, giving her an understanding smile. "Otherwise, I doubt you would have reacted so hysterically."
"I didn't react hysterically!" she shouted indignantly. At his raised eyebrows, she let her shoulders fall down dejectedly. "Oh, buggar it, you're right. If anything were to happen to her, my life would lose its meaning."
"Gee, thanks." He gave her a false injured face. He knew what she was saying; he felt the same way.
"Oh, you know I didn't mean it like that!" she chided, a small smile forming on her lips. Her lips froze when she realized what she was doing, and then started again to form a rueful smile. She hugged him one last time and stood up. "I suppose I should thank you for that," she said as she wiped away remaining tears from her cheeks, her smile now made of light cheer.
"For what?" he asked, enjoying the friendly glow emanating from her eyes. He had missed that recently.
"The interlude of humor." She smiled. "There hasn't been a time since we moved out here that I've been willing to smile at nothing. I've been too concerned about you and keeping Emmeline safe and--oh! It's just a little overbearing sometimes."
"Well, as much as I'd like to maintain the mood, you really need to tell me what's happened." Her smile slowly faded and was replaced by a frown in her eyebrows. She folded her arms across her chest and walked over to the window. Nudging back the curtains with her shoulder, she stared out. Moonlight washed over her, making her appear almost ethereal. William sensed the fear and sadness once again engulfing his wife.
He stood. "Joan?" He knew she couldn't hear him. This was how it always worked; whenever she had to explain something she didn't like, she always escaped to her thoughts. William walked to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the coldness of her skin through her plain, yet thick, nightgown. "Come on, just--"
"The men were back," she stated simply, her eyes not moving from the window. Her words threw him off-guard.
"Men?" he asked. "What men?"
"Those men we don't trust." She glanced back at him, saw his confused expression, and sighed. Closing her eyes and rotating her head back to face the window, she continued, "You know, the men that come to the fence and watch the house. The ones who sneer at you whenever they see you in town. The father and son pair--they live down the road."
William instantly tensed. "You said it involved Emmeline?"
"Yes." Her answer was barely audible. He waited for her to continue, but she never broke the pause. Damn her hesitancy! She had the nerve to make him dangerously worried, and now she refused to tell him the details?
He grabbed her shoulders and swung her to face him. Her slight gasp was lost on him. He just wanted to know.
"Woman, you best start telling me what those villains did to our daughter!"
"I told you to control your temper!" she retorted. "And I'm trying to tell you!"
"You've been 'trying' for some time now." He belatedly realized he was being rude again. His control had snapped, however, and there was no use in trying to regain it until she told him. He knew this; she knew this.
"Shut up," she grounded out. "Every time I think of those men touching Emmeline, I go mad!" She squirmed out of his grasp, but didn't move away. His hard gaze trapped her to that spot. "It's hard for me to explain; you have to understand that."
"No matter how hard it is for you, with your evading the issue, it's twice as hard for me."
"I know. I'm . . . sorry." She offered a weak smile. When his face remained stern, her smile fell away and she looked at the floor. "Perhaps you should sit down."
He complied. They both moved back towards the bed, but, whereas he sat down stiffly, she stood--just as stiff--in front of him.
"Get to talking, wife," he all-but growled. She gave him a sharp look. She hated to be termed as that; he didn't exactly care at the moment.
"The men were at the fence again," she restated. "Emmie was out playing in the fields. She had gotten out when my back was turned. I had started making supper, you see, and forgot to check on her. You know how she likes to take afternoon naps. Normally she comes to me for a snack before she goes out."
"You should have been watching more closely. The kitchen and the back door are in the same room, for Christ's sake!"
"I can't help it if I've been a little distracted!"
"Your 'little distraction' could have resulted in our daughter's death!" His hands began to fist in his lap.
"I doubt it. If they had wanted to kill anybody, they could have done away with your entire family today. I didn't even notice they were there until Emmeline pointed them out, I was so distraught." He grunted, not offering anything more. Glancing at his delicate wife, she looked like she wanted to slap him. Part of him shied away from her in guilt for provoking her; the other half was grateful she was just as enraged as him.
However, most of his anger was towards himself.
"And where were you, Mr. High-and-Mighty?" she sneered. "You were late tonight. Again. Had you been here, maybe this whole fiasco could have been avoided!"
"Work ran late," he said uncomfortably. He wasn't going to add more. She didn't know the truth as to why they were living in the middle of the countryside, but, then again, neither did he. William was a member of a secret organization in the Ministry of Magic set up in order to seek out secret workings of dark wizards. With their activities becoming more frequent, more public--more dangerous--the minister had hand-selected a small group of Aurors to work in the department. If they found anything suspicious, they were to attempt to stop it.
The little town they were living just outside of mostly consisted of Muggles. However, there had been numerous reports of odd lights and sounds coming from the surrounding forests; in response, he had been sent out to investigate. Besides the animosity from untrusting and spooked Muggles, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. That was where his uncertainty of his mission came in.
"Of course!" Joan cried out in a mocking tone; "It's always about work! Your job better be compensating you for all of this overtime you're having to do. There may come a day when something truly does happen, and you're going to regret ever coming out here!"
In some cases, he already did. He hated being secluded; he missed living in London. When he and his wife had arguments like this, he could at least go out and distract himself. Here? He didn't trust his neighbors enough to leave his family alone for one minute at night. He never questioned why he felt safer in the sunlight; he just did.
"Arguing is going to get us nowhere, as we both know well," he said as he glowered at her. "What role does Emmeline have to play in all this?"
She hesitated again, much to William's annoyance. Once she began, though, the words flowed out. She retold about what Emmeline had told her about the encounter, the men's reaction to her being there, her fear, everything. William listened carefully, not once interrupting. By the time she was finished, his anxiety level was higher than it had ever been before.
This assignment was getting out of hand, he decided. He had started an inquiry about the two men, but, so far, had only been brought back with positive reports. It had been said that they were an observant pair, closely watching the newcomers to the area. So, their watching the Vances's house hadn't been abnormal from their normal routine. Until his wife's explanation moments ago, he had thought them almost harmless. Now, he wasn't so sure.
He sighed loudly, getting the attention of his wife again. "How the hell do we explain this to Emmeline? She's already started asking questions."
Joan looked startled. "What has she asked you?"
"She asked why Muggles couldn't accept us because they don't trust us. Not in as many words, though."
She frowned. "She asked me the same thing," she replied in a quiet voice. Then, her eyebrows flew upwards and a smile started to spread across her lips. A small giggle escaped her throat. He knew why she was laughing; the hard questions were left to him.
"Thanks, Hun," he said wryly, a small grin starting to form on his face. He shook his head and stretched his arms upwards. He was tired, he realized. He was both physically and mentally exhausted.
She yawned and started to trek back towards the bed, the grin disappearing from her face. She was back to worrying herself, he noticed. Curling her legs beneath her bottom, she sat upon the bed next to him and leaned against his chest. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and held her close.
"They know I'm afraid of them," she said softly. His eyes shot to hers, wariness now evident in their depths. She sighed, "It was in their looks, a sort of smugness."
He gave her a comforting squeeze. "Soon, this will all be over. We can go back to London and continue living our old lives." He'd even tolerate his nosy neighbors if it involved being able to walk onto his porch without grasping his wand tightly.
"I'd like that," Joan stated, her voice tinted by sleepiness. Unconsciously, he nodded in agreement. "In the meantime, what am I to do about Emmie? I can't let her wander outside anymore, not with those men getting brazen enough to interact with her." She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, slowly exhaling it. "What am I to do?"
William had asked the same question many times in the last five minutes. Leaning down, he kissed the top of his wife's head and rested his cheek against her hair. She shifted into a comfortable position, and, before long, she was sound asleep.
He was staring at the wall in front of him, listening to his wife's deep, even breathing, when he muttered, "Pray the sun fails to shine each day." He closed his eyes and squeezed her shoulders once more. "If there is no sun, she won't go out."