Addams Family Book 02 Ch. 02

Warning: there is no sexual content in this portion of the story.

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(excerpt from Chapter 1)

Taking a deep breath, Wednesday Addams summoned all of her resolve, then reached up and gave the noose-shaped bell rope a good, firm tug. The resounding 'GONG' which followed shook the mansion's cracked plaster walls and rattled the ancient windows. A fraction of a second passed before the butler appeared at her side.

"You rang." Lurch spoke in his eerily deep, resonant voice. Not quite a question, as always, it sounded more like a statement of fact.

Chapter 2

"Yes, Lurch," Wednesday said. She had to crane her neck to look up at his long, angular face. After nearly twenty years of living in the same house with this man, nearly twenty years of seeing him each and every day, Wednesday still never failed to be astound at just how very tall he actually was. Wednesday herself, just five feet - three inches tall, had to tilt her head merely to look up at his slightly crooked bowtie. With her dark eyes straight ahead Wednesday's gaze fell some-where between the third and fourth button from the top of Lurch's crisp white shirt. And she was currently wearing three inch heals! Still, Lurch didn't seem nearly as tall to her now as he had when she was a little girl growing up in this house. To a child, Lurch was, indeed, a giant. And still he towered over her. But then, at nearly seven feet tall, the Addams' butler towered over everyone.

"Our house has been such a madhouse the past few days, I've hardly seen you at all," she continued. "And, since we seem to have the house to ourselves for the moment, I was hoping that you and I might have a chance to talk."

"Yes, Miss Addams," he replied. The butler's features remained completely devoid of expression. Standing ramrod straight, his broad shoulders squared, his head up, Lurch's slightly indirect gaze seemed to be to be looking about a foot over Wednesday's head and fall at two separate points somewhere on the wall behind her. Of course, Wednesday knew this man well enough to realize that he was really not looking at anything in particular, but merely gazing off into space as he awaited her request.

"Lurch, I have something very important to talk to you about, something I need to tell you." Wednesday took a step closer, her voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper.

"Yes, Miss Addams."

"Maybe we could begin with you being a little less formal, Lurch. Please, call me Wednesday. You used to call me Wednesday, remember?"

"Yes, Miss Addams."

"Never mind. We can work on that later." Standing this close and looking up at Lurch's face was straining Wednesday's neck. "Perhaps it would be best if we sat down," she suggested.

The butler emitted a deep rumbling groan as he permitted the young woman to take him by the hand and lead him from the foyer, down the three steps, (stepping carefully so as not to tread on Bruno who, though long since dead, his hide turned into a rug, took offense at such ill-treatment) and down into the mansion's spacious living room. Lurch found Wednesday's delicate hand unexpectedly cool and, in spite of himself, his pulse quickened at this physical contact. When she was a child Lurch had held her small hand many times. Her touch had not thrilled him then but Wednesday was no longer a child, and there could be no denying how her touch affected him now.

As Lurch followed behind her, he could not help but admire the way the stray rays of sunlight which filtered though the closed curtains played over her hair. Long and straight, her hair looked incredibly soft. He wondered briefly that her hair which had not long ago cascaded about her lovely face in soft brown waves now appeared jet black. Not unlike her mother's hair. Long and black and very, very shiny. And almost perfectly straight. Gone were the little girl's braids. Gone the little button down dress with white collar and cuffs. The gown she now wore skimmed over her slender, but very feminine body. The little girl who had grown up within these walls was but a memory now. By some form of witchcraft Lurch could only wonder at his little Wednesday had grown into a young woman, a beautiful young woman, before his very eyes.

"Please, sit here with me, Lurch." Wednesday said as she took a seat on the richly upholstered antique courting chair. She took the seat which faced the main living room indicating for Lurch to sit opposite, in the seat which faced back toward the foyer.

Though uneasy by the implied intimacy afforded by this particular piece of furniture, its two deeply padded seats, each facing in the opposite direction from the other, Lurch sat, as bidden. Being far too tall to sit comfortably on a delicate piece of furniture which had been built for individuals of average size, Lurch felt more than a little ungainly, his knees sticking up at awkward angles. Nervous, and unsure what to do with his hands, he folded them on his lap in an effort to keep himself from fidgeting. Lurch turned slightly to his left to gaze down at Miss Wednesday's somber visage as he waited for her to speak.

"Lurch, there is something I have been wanting to speak to you about for some time," she began. "I had to work up my courage and then wait until the right moment. What I have to say is very important to me. Important, I hope, to both of us, and I had to be certain you and I would be alone so we would not be interrupted." As she spoke she reached over the chair's center partition and lifted his right hand into both of hers. Lurch did not resist her unexpected action. Once again unnerved by the physical contact, Lurch's pulse quickened. He gazed down at their joined hands. His breath caught in his throat. Her touch, he noted, felt strangely cool. Her small hands were incredibly soft. Lurch looked back down at their joined hands. How small and delicate her hands appeared, especially in comparison to his own. No longer the hands of a child, her long nails, painted with glossy black enamel, resembled talons. Elegant. Feline. Lethal. Feminine.

"I don't know how much time we will have before the others return," Wednesday said. She looked up at him, noticing that he seemed more than a little uncomfortable. "Oh dear," she said, "this is a bit awkward, isn't it?" She took a deep breath and then began again. "I guess it would be best to come right out and tell you what is on my mind. You see, Lurch, I do not wish to marry Adalberto. I don't love him. My heart belongs to someone else."

With a bewildered look on his face, Lurch gazed up into her eyes.

"It's you, my dearest Lurch."

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. Lurch's eyes darted to her face.

"Yes, Lurch. You are the reason I cannot marry Adalberto."

The butler shook his head slowly in incomprehension.

"It's true, Lurch. You've always been very dear to me."

The butler fell silent, his dark brows stitched together at the bridge of his nose as he gazed down into Wednesday's face. Was she really saying what he thought she was saying?

Lurch continued to alternate his gaze between their joined hands and Miss Wednesday's face. Seldom had he ever sat to near to her and had the opportunity to scrutinize her this closely. Not at least since she had grown into adulthood. She was wearing makeup: mascara, eyeliner, deep red lipstick. The cosmetics made her look even more like her mother. Even this close, beneath the makeup her complexion was utterly flawless. And try as he might, Lurch could not ignore the way the simple touch of her delicate hand made his heart flutter. It wasn't proper that he should feel this way. Not only was Wednesday his employer's daughter, not to mention his own goddaughter, but she was now an engaged woman to boot. Even so, Lurch could not bring himself to withdraw his hand from hers. Again he inhaled the scent of her perfume. It went straight to his head. Not her mother's perfume but a scent all her own. He found the scent exotic - and seductive.

That dress she was wearing was definitely new. Lurch's mouth went dry when he noticed the tips of her taut nipples straining against the clinging silk. Wednesday had breasts. For the merest fraction of a second Lurch allowed himself to imagine what it might feel like to actually touch them. Maybe even … kiss them. And taste them. His mouth watered. To his embarrassment his cock swelled again with the beginnings of sexual arousal as he realized Wednesday was not wearing a brassiere beneath that clinging dress. There was nothing between that thin layer of silk and her naked breasts. Full, round, feminine breasts. With more than a little effort Lurch finally tore his eyes away from Wednesday's chest. Suspended above those two, oh, so soft looking mounds of feminine flesh, a spider pendant accentuated her delicate white throat. A gift on her sixteenth birthday from the man who loved her more than his own life. Lurch's gaze continued upward along her neck. Again he took a moment to admire the shape of her chin, her jaw line, her soft, pouting, blood-red lips, perfect nose and delicate cheekbones. Then he was gazing into her eyes. How incredibly black those eyes appeared. Bottomless pools that beckoned him nearer. Beckoned him to plummet into their depths. Beckoned him … toward what? Toward his fondest desire? Or toward his doom?

No, there could be no doubt Wednesday was no longer a child. She was a woman now. And now, like all women, she both fascinated and terrified Lurch. To his alarm, Lurch suddenly realized he was leaning, ever so slightly, in Wednesday's direction. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Summoning all of his rapidly waning self-control, Lurch pulled himself back, sitting just a little straighter, a little taller, reining himself in lest he fall headlong into those fathomless orbs.

Still no response.

"Wednesday took a deep breath before whispering, "What I'm trying to say is, I love you. I've been in love with you since my sixteenth birthday."

There, she'd said it. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly bear it. Sitting very close Wednesday peered up into Lurch's face as she spoke those last three words, looking for some sign, some indication, some hint that Lurch returned her affections.

Three little words.

Still Lurch's expression did not betray his emotions, if indeed he even experienced anything resembling an emotion over what she had just told him. He remained utterly motionless as his gray eyes burned into hers. Sitting this close to him Wednesday could smell the scent of the man himself, an aroma she found very stimulating, as well as the fragrance of the Ivory soap he used when he had bathed this morning. These two complimentary scents mixed with the fragrance of his aftershave, a very discreet fragrance, the combination was a scent that Wednesday found exceedingly masculine. An unfamiliar tingle between her legs informed her that Lurch's masculine scent, his proximity and just the feel of his hand in hers aroused her sexually.

From the day she was born Lurch had always been there. He was like a part of her family, like a beloved uncle. He had also been her very best friend. Her feelings for him hardly seemed like those of a niece for a uncle any more. Wednesday herself had changed a great deal in her nearly twenty years of life, while, from what she could see, Lurch had changed very little. Perhaps a few more lines around his eyes. His hair which had once been slate gray was now silver. Even as a child, Wednesday had always loved the way the silvery strands caught and reflected the light. Especially during late night thunderstorms when she and Pugsley were children and Lurch used to sit and tell them ghost stories, and the silver strands in his hair were momentarily illuminated by blue streaks of lightning through the open window.

Though Lurch cut quite a striking figure, so tall and so handsome, Wednesday noted as if for the first time that the man himself was a study in grays, from his steel gray hair to his cold gray eyes. His complexion, too, was ashen. Although his hair was silver, Lurch's eyelashes and even his eyebrows were still almost black. Though he seldom smiled, when he did, it could be dazzling. His teeth were as white and bright as moonlight. Even his clothing ran along that same general mono-chromatic theme. His suits were always of heavy black wool, his shirts were linen, crisp and white. The ever-present bowtie at his throat was always black as were his highly polished shoes. His wool socks and even the garters which held them up were black as well. Invisible beneath his suit jacket, his suspenders were also gray. Wednesday wondered if she might have inherited the artistic talent from her mother that would enable her to immortalize this man on canvas one day, using only black and white oils and creating her own various grays to capture his striking features and his imposing physique. Just perhaps she might also possess the skills to capture a bit of the man's colorful personality on that canvas as well.

On impulse Wednesday allowed her right hand to reach up and touch Lurch's silvery hair. As a child, its texture and color had reminded her of fine steel wire. Wednesday wasn't at all surprised to find that it felt a bit wiry as well. As her delicate hand descended down the left side of his face, her fingertips traced the deep horizontal creases that traversed his forehead and the line of his brow ridge, noting the wiry texture of his dark, expressive eyebrows. Lovingly Wednesday touched the scar at the outer corner of his left eye that caused his left eyelid to droop and made that eye appear somewhat smaller than the right one. In all the years she had known him, he had never volunteered any details of the origin of that scar and, never being one to pry, she had never asked. Wednesday's fingertips then explored the arched lines which fanned out from the corner of his eye back toward his temple. Two fingertips then lightly touched the bridge of his nose and the dark circles that bruised the pale gray skin beneath his steel-gray eyes. Gently she caressed one prominent cheekbone and then skimmed along the hollow of his cheek. Her fingertips traced the deep line that bracketed the left side of his mouth, and the strong line of his jaw. Then with the artistic touch of a sculptor shaping wet clay, one soft fingertip traced the slightly downward curve of his mouth and sensual lips. They were surprisingly soft. Finally her hand slowly fell away and, once again, she cradled his big hand between both of hers.

Lurch closed his eyes. Slowly he shook his head. The rumbling deep in his throat resumed, this time it sounded more like a groan of pain.

"No, Miss Addams." he intoned, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

Again …three little words, but to Wednesday their meaning was perfectly clear. All of her hopes and her dreams evaporated with the sound of those three little words.

But then, Lurch always had a way of expressing himself most eloquently with a minimum of conversation. As the full force of his rejection hit her, the blood drained from her already colorless face. She felt just a bit faint. Even while she continued to hold his hand, continued to experience the amazing warmth of his flesh against her own, his eyes remained closed.

A stabbing pain in her heart nearly made her double over in agony. In that instant Wednesday thought she might just fall to the floor, curl up and die. She would welcome death. Death was far preferable to life without his love. What else was left to live for now? But, alas, that was not her fate. An instant later she realized, to her disappointment, that she was still alive and likely to remain so, in spite of her broken heart.

His eyes remained tightly shut. By the goddess, she thought, look at him. He can't even bear to look at me now. For just one moment longer she allowed herself to gaze up into Lurch's handsome face. If this was to be the last time she looked at him she wanted to savor his nearness. Even now she could sense the heat radiating from him, feel the rough texture of his hand in both of hers. Once again she deeply inhaled his scent. She noted the way his chest rose and fell with each slow deliberate breath.

She fought back a sudden overwhelming impulse to throw her arms around his neck and kiss those wonderfully soft lips.

Hah, she scolded herself. As if doing so might somehow force Lurch to return my love! At that moment, Wednesday almost smiled at her own foolishness. No, she would not do such a thing to Lurch. She loved him far too much to put him in such an awkward position. Hadn't she done enough already to make him feel uncomfortable? Such an unwelcome display of affection would accomplish nothing and would undoubtedly only serve to cause him further embarrassment. Lurch knew now how she felt. She was in love with him. He did not feel the same. On that point he had made his position quite clear. Perhaps Lurch was a playboy after all, just as her mother had always asserted.

On impulse she turned his hand over. For a just moment she peered down at his palm. She used one talon-like black enameled fingernail to trace along one of the a pair of straight, unbroken creases that crossed his large palm.

Lurch opened his eyes. Though no palm reader himself, Lurch knew enough about chiromancy to identify this particular crease as his heart line. The long unbroken line ran as straight and true as his love for her. His icy resolve almost failed him as she lifted his hand pressed her soft lips into the center of his palm. When she looked back up, her dark eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Please forgive me for embarrassing you like this, my dear Lurch. What do you say we just pretend this whole thing never happened?" Almost as an afterthought she added, "And you needn't worry, I won't throw myself at you … and I will never embarrass you like this again."

He watched as Wednesday summoned every ounce of her remaining dignity, rose to her feet and, with all of the poise she could muster, made her exit. Her head held high, she walked slowly across the living room floor. Lurch sat, his face completely devoid of expression, and watched her. His gray eyes took in her every fluid movement. The epitome of grace and elegance, Wednesday's willowy form seemed to glide across the room as if her dainty feet never quite touched the floor. She did not look back.

If she had, she might have seen the tears well up in his eyes and spill over to flow down his cheeks.

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End of Chapter 2.