Chapter 10

Harm let the letter in his hands fall to the floor, "I never loved Peter Rabb!" He murmured. All the stories that his grandmother told was of the great love of her life, his grandfather. He grew up idolizing the man, wanting to be like him. He got up and looked out the window seeing his brother ride in the pastures on one of the horses. He smiled. Maybe he could convince Sergei to live here and help out with the farm.

Harm looked around the small storage room. He realized slowly that it wasn't a storage room, it was his grandmother's haven. There were pictures of him on the wall, the last one being his service picture. He noticed a double silver frame hanging with no picture on it. He picked it up and brushed the dust off. Harm's Wedding Day on side was a picture of his mom and dad on their wedding day, the other side said reserved for Baby Harm. He sighed realizing that it would be one event, if it were to ever come to pass, that she would never see.

He looked around the room and found other pictures of his grandmother. There was one of her when she was younger. Gingerly removing the picture from frame, he saw her familiar handwriting, Sarah Winchester, Age 16. He looked down at the picture. Her dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she looked like she was laughing. There was something oddly familiar about the young Sarah Winchester, the smile . . . it reminded him of Mac's. Picking up his cell phone, he prayed that Mac would still have reception.

"Mackenzie."

"Hey Mac, it's Harm."

"Hi. Are you okay?"

"I finally made my way into my grandmother's secret room, and so far, I have to say that I don't like what I am finding. Mac . . . she never loved my grandfather."

"Harm, slow down. How many letters did she leave you?"

"I dunno."

"More than one?"

"Yes."

"Well then, before you decide something about Grams, don't you think that you should read all of the letters first?"

"I know. But I also called because I wanted to hear your voice. I don't know Mac, I don't know why her death is causing me to question everything . . . I don't know why I can't just handle her death."

"Love."

"Excuse me?"

"You loved her with everything you are, and she loved you back fiercely. Harm, you have always felt more deeply than any man I have ever known. You need time to digest things. Call me a little bit later."

"Okay."

"If I can sneak away for the weekend I will."

"Thanks Mac."

"What are friends for?"

"You are more than just a friend Mac." He said hanging up before she had a chance to respond to him.

'What the heck did he mean?' She asked herself as she pulled into the McDonalds to get herself a Big Mac (her favorite burger there) and smiled thinking about her upcoming weekend with him.

Harm smiled when he hung up with her and reached for the next letter that had a number 2 in place of where the stamp was supposed to go.

Dear Harm,

Now that you have read the truth, that I never loved Peter Rabb, you are probably wondering why I got married to him. Simply put, I was a woman trying to survive in a society that didn't have a place for women. I thank God everyday that you and your Sarah live in a society that have a place for strong women. I would like to think if I were allowed, I would have sought the adventure of the military as something other than a nurse or a stenographer.

I want you to take a couple of minutes after you read this letter and go to the old trunk in the corner of my room. Open it and you will find pictures of me. Most of them will be from when I was 16, the summer that changed my life, the summer that I came to live with my aunt on the Winchester family farm.

Harm, when I sixteen instead of being allowed home from boarding school for the summer, my mother decided to send me out to Aunt Margaret's farm. I was the youngest girl, and she had noticed my father, who was an alcoholic, growing a roving eye towards me. He had abused all of us girls, so to save me, she sent me away. I hated her for that, but that summer was the summer that would change my life.

Harm put down the letter and ran down the stairs to the closest bathroom and lost his breakfast. He couldn't believe that he came from a line of men that would hurt women . . . the thought made him physically sick. He couldn't stand the thought of Mac growing up in an abusive household, but to know that his grandmother grew up in one too . . . the similarities between the women were beginning to grow.

Harm peered out the window and saw Sergei sleeping on the hammock with faithful Luna standing guard. He made a mental note to check on his brother a little later and went back into the room to finish the second letter.

Harm, you are the first person to know of the abuse of Grandfather Winchester, other than your grandfather. I would have reported it, but times were different, people were different, I was different. I just want to let you know that you are nothing like your great grandfather, so perish that thought your handsome head. Okay sailor?

I moved out to Winchester Farms when I was sixteen. I hated it at first. There was a "simple" farmboy who would help out at the farm for extra money. He was eighteen and he teased me mercifully. I hated him, but then when I saw him smile for the first time, I knew, deep down, that he was the one for me.

Harm, I am still deeply in love with him to this day. There is so much that I need to tell you, but there is so much more that you have to know. But not now, the story has to unravel, and hopefully, you my dear boy, can learn the final lesson that I have decided to try to teach you.

I love you,

Sarah Rabb aka your Grams

Some quick AN - Studying did not win - so here is another chapter - read and review as always. There have been some changes in the timeline - just because I don't want people to go bonkers with historical accuracy . . . chapter six has some minor changes, if you read it, you may not even catch it, so here it is - Francis is Harm's uncle, got killed in the war, Peter is Francis's older brother, killed also in the war (nothing about where or how they were killed, that will be revealed in later letters). Freakin wars, nothing good ever seems to come out of it.