The Locket

The soft muddy surface gave way as he ran forward, making him fall flat on his face in a puddle. As he lay prone for a moment, machine gun bullets whizzed over his head, striking the two men on either side of him as their corpses fell forward. He picked himself up, now coated with mud, and ran ahead, weaving his way past water-filled shell craters and the bodies of fallen soldiers. As he neared the enemy lines he saw the double row of barbed wire, with men's bodies already draped over it and machine guns catching the remaining men in a deadly cross-fire.

One of men laying lifeless over the barbed wire was Lewis. The adrenaline rush gave way to anger, as Kenneth knelt, aimed and fired his weapon, not sure of what he had hit as a haze of smoke enveloped the battle field. The noise of the enemy machine guns was incessant, as the hail of bullets made mincemeat of the British troops. He heard the bugle call signaling retreat and high tailed it back to his trench, retracing his steps over scores of bodies, and then flinging himself over the edge of his trench and into its muddy bottom. Panting, he was never so happy to be wallowing in six inches of water and mud.

The first wave of the battle over, Kenneth was finally able to catch his breath and a few minutes of sleep. Exhausted and caked with mud and the blood of his comrades, he slumped against the rough-hewn timbers lining his trench. His mates were huddled next to him -- those that had survived the vicious battle -- most sleeping and the others wide eyed from shell shock. A distant explosion shook the earthworks protecting them, jarring Kenneth awake. He suddenly had a hankering for a cigarette and rose to take his cigarette pack out of his top breast pocket.

He never heard the bullet that was heading for the top part of his exposed helmet.

Chapter Five

Catherine

Bad news traveled fast. The list of the names of the dead, wounded and missing were published on a daily basis by the British Army. The war was reaching a stalemate, with a pitched battle in the Somme in the spring of 1918. There were over 100,000 British casualties in a two week span, both sides having perfected the art of killing in a trench warfare environment. Little if any ground was gained by either side. Every morning the list was published in the local papers and posted in every town square in England. On September 17, 1918, the following name appeared on the daily posting of the deceased:

Kenneth Gabriel Blackburn III -- New York, New York, United States

Catherine received a telegram that afternoon informing her of her husband's death. Within hours, both the Tripplehorn and Blackburn families had started gathering at Blanche's house.

Catherine hadn't seen Blanche or Elizabeth since Penelope's birthday party. The mood was somber. Catherine walked into familiar surroundings as she entered the grand entranceway. The smell of home-cooked food drifted in from the kitchen. She was home, but now coming back fourteen months from her last visit, now an unwanted guest.

Elizabeth walked out of the living room and gave her aunt a long hug. She then stood back, teary eyed as her aunt saw a beautiful young woman wearing her locket. As Elizabeth was about to say how much she missed Catherine, Blanche came out from the living room and extended her hand. Catherine hugged her sister, but none of the warmth she expected was there. The rest of the visit was a blur of names and faces, people paying their respects, some of whom Catherine had never before met. As she greeted the continuous stream of well-wishers, she occasionally glanced about the room to see if she could catch a glimpse of Elizabeth. Elizabeth looked like her mother, but had Catherine's personality. She missed her dearly, but knew that she shouldn't take this occasion to re-establish contact with her estranged niece.

The visitors dwindled as night set in. A taxi waited for Catherine as she said her final goodbyes. Elizabeth was standing behind Blanche, bending to the side to see her aunt. Elizabeth held out her land, which Catherine grasped and squeezed as she inched out of house.

When Catherine arrived at her darkened home, she looked around at her surroundings. Kenneth was everywhere. The smell of his cigars. The pictures of the two of them. His rack of pipes and collection of scotches. She had to leave and escape his presence, even in death. She decided to move to Washington, D.C., both to leave a house with unhappy memories and to be closer to her ongoing work on the formation of the national park service. She found a charming two story townhouse in Georgetown.

Chapter Six

Elizabeth

Catherine resumed her break neck schedule working on the formation of the national park service. Even though Elizabeth was always in the fore of her mind, her work schedule didn't allow her to travel to New York. Catherine had no love life to speak of, though she could hide behind the veil of a war widow to deflect any questions about her seeking another husband. In truth, now that she was out of the bright lights of New York society, she was relieved that there was no one to pressure her to find another mate, though she never resolved her insecurities about her own sexuality. All of this angst went into hibernation until something or someone would awaken it.

Elizabeth was going through a sexual identity crisis of her own. Now 17, she was a young lady, not a girl, and had matured into a budding New York socialite. Blanche was relieved that Catherine had immersed herself in her work, thus solving the issue of who was winning Elizabeth's heart. Blanche had won. Elizabeth was everything she had hoped for in a daughter and was turning heads in the social circles in which they ran. People often commented on Elizabeth's beauty and her maturation into the next generation of the New York elite.

But who was there to ask Elizabeth what she wanted? Her mother had her own plans. She thought that a 17 year old was incapable of charting her own course. She had an absentee father. He was always traveling to some exotic location to expand his mercantile business. Her aunt was exiled to Washington, D.C.

But Elizabeth did have her own mind. She hated the contrived social occasions. Her growing maturity allowed her to see for the first time the shallowness of high society living -- the pettiness and the hypocrisy. She wanted nothing more than to get away. She had heard talk of a League of Nations and was fascinated by the rapidly changing world order. She started thinking about why Catherine was unable to travel to New York and her commitment to her cause. She wanted to make a difference instead of being matched with a man she didn't love. Elizabeth saw many of her friends pairing up, but felt no real attraction to men. She knew nothing of women being attracted to each other and was told in no uncertain terms that it was simply unthinkable. Yet, there was a growing and nagging feeling she had that all was not as others expected of her. She was different, she just didn't know how.

News of a growing war in Europe took Catherine's mind off her damaged relationship with her sister and her unresolved feeling towards her niece. The news was not good. There was a stalemate in France. She felt Kenneth had died in vain. There was nothing bright in Catherine's horizon except her work. She decided to immerse herself in her work and to wall off her stagnant personal life.

Elizabeth was sitting in the drawing room, watching the condensation run down the window, and wondering why her Aunt Catherine had broken off contact with her family. Her mother was always vague about the reasons why Catherine didn't visit any more, and Elizabeth suspected her aunt's absence was her mother's doing. The stifling heat and humidity of the summer also marked her 18^th birthday. Her larger celebration was the previous Sunday, but this Tuesday, the actual date of her birthday, she reserved for her best friend Gabrielle. Gabrielle was loved by Elizabeth and hated by Blanche for precisely the same reason -- she was carefree and wild. Elizabeth felt uplifted whenever she was with Gabrielle. Blanche cringed every time Gabrielle visited, thinking the worst was happening.

Little did she know, at least for her, the worst was happening. On that Tuesday Gabrielle came over for a sleep over. The dinner was uneventful and both girls excused themselves to go to Elizabeth's room. The conversation turned to a familiar topic.

"So, do you have any prospects in front of you?" asked Gabrielle.

"No," answered Elizabeth. "None."

Gabrielle raised her eyebrows. "You're a very attractive woman. The men should be lining up outside your door."

"They are," said Elizabeth, stifling a yawn.

"But you said ..."

"I'm not interested," Elizabeth declared.

"In men?"

"They bore me."

"But ... you don't want to be a spinster, do you?" asked Gabrielle, somewhat incredulously.

"I couldn't care less," said a flippant Elizabeth.

Gabrielle had a notion. "Do you like ... girls?"

Elizabeth bristled at the suggestion. "I do not."

Gabrielle knew this wasn't the end of this conversation. "How do you know? Have you ever been with one?"

"No," huffed Elizabeth. "I don't need to have to know I don't want to." A chill ran up her spine.

"So if I kissed you, you're sure you wouldn't feel anything?" asked Gabrielle, not wanting to let go of the topic and also wondering what it would be like to kiss her best friend.

There was a long silence. "No," Elizabeth declared, without conviction.

Gabrielle sensed Elizabeth's curiosity and inched closer, taking Elizabeth's head in her hands. Elizabeth didn't resist and instead closed her eyes. Gabrielle leaned forward and pressed her lips against her girlfriend's. Elizabeth felt sparks as Gabrielle's lips brushed against hers. Gabrielle pulled back. She wanted to get her friend's reaction.

"So did you ..."

"Kiss me again," Elizabeth interrupted, in a voice now filled with conviction.

They kissed again, this time with more passion, their tongues briefly touching. Though they didn't go further that evening, Elizabeth knew she had tasted a delicious, forbidden fruit. She didn't know how to deal with the thoughts running through her head but there was one thing that was for certain -- she liked it.

That innocent kiss morphed into a more amorous relationship, but neither girl had the courage to go beyond French kissing. Gabrielle spent more time at the Tripplehorn household then Blanche felt was appropriate. Blanche wanted to get Elizabeth away from Gabrielle and suggested that Elizabeth consider colleges away from the New York area, to have a change of scenery and to find her own way. Blanche strongly suggested Smith College, which she had attended as well. Elizabeth went along with the suggestion, visiting Northampton and talking to other graduates of Smith College. But to everyone's surprise, Elizabeth declared that she was going to attend college at Georgetown to study political science and economics.

Blanche was flabbergasted by the announcement. "I thought you were going to go to Smith. It was all arranged."

"You said I was going to Smith. I never said I was going to go there."

"But you led me to believe ..." Blanche felt like she was standing on quick sand and that the earth was going to swallow her whole.

"Mother, you heard what you wanted to hear. I went there to visit because you asked me to." Elizabeth was emphatic with a sound of finality.

Blanche knew she had lost. Catherine had won in the end. She nonetheless tried guilt. "And isn't a mother's wish enough?"

Elizabeth flicked aside her mother's last attempt to rescue the situation. "No mother."

"And where will you stay when you're in Washington, D.C.?" Blanche feared hearing the words, but felt compelled to ask.

"With Aunt Catherine, of course, that is if she'll have me."

For Blanche, this was the worst of all worlds. Elizabeth was not only moving far away but she was also willingly falling into the clutches of her sister. She begged and pleaded with her daughter, but to no avail. Elizabeth was headstrong and her mind was made up.

Chapter Seven

Catherine and Elizabeth

It was sunny, hot and uncomfortably humid, which for Washington, D.C. was typical summer weather. Catherine was enjoying her Saturday, catching up on her newspapers and magazines that had been piling up on her desk and sipping an iced tea. The tranquility of that late morning was disturbed by a knock on her front door. Not expecting anyone, Catherine walked to the entranceway wondering who might be calling at this unusual hour. She opened the door and before her stood Elizabeth, holding a satchel in one hand and a suitcase in the other. There was sweat running down off her brow. Catherine hadn't heard from either Blanche or Elizabeth since the service for Kenneth so she was startled by Elizabeth's appearance.

"Elizabeth!" she exclaimed, unsure of what more to say.

Her favorite niece broke into a broad smile, dropping her bags and hugging her aunt. Catherine's arms went around her niece, tentatively at first, and then gripping her tightly.

There were questions swirling in Catherine's mind. Why didn't you write? Why are you here? Did you want to stay with me? How is your mother? Do you know why I didn't go to your 18^th birthday? She knew that she didn't want to upset Elizabeth and instead said nothing. She picked up Elizabeth's bags and carried them upstairs to the guest bedroom. As she placed the bags down, she turned to Elizabeth and said, "I'll be downstairs finishing my tea. Why don't you freshen up and then we can talk." Elizabeth gratefully nodded. Catherine left her alone, shutting the door behind her. She realized her life was about to change, and that the carefully constructed cocoon around her was now ripped asunder.

Elizabeth sat on the bed and examined her new home. The guest bedroom was tastefully appointed, with a large window overlooking the street. There were cream colored lace curtains that were pulled open, and a matching dark walnut bed and armoire. The high ceilings and expansive window gave the room a feeling of being light and airy. She peeled off her clothes and put on a robe that was hanging in the armoire. She started walking to the bathroom down the hall to wash herself and get ready for the long conversation that was to come. She stopped, midway, sensing the silence, and feeling at peace for the first time in as long as could remember.

As Elizabeth climbed up the stairs to get ready for dinner, Catherine rushed to the kitchen to prepare it. She found the chicken she had bought for herself was large enough for two, and rummaged through the pantry to find four serviceable potatoes. She cut the chicken in pieces and browned them, and then added lightly boiled potatoes, onions and carrots to make a hearty stew. She found a bottle of wine in her cupboard and put it out on the table along with crystal goblets. As Elizabeth was in the tub washing away the grime from a full day's travel, her aunt was primping the dinner table with cut flowers.

Elizabeth dressed and followed her nose and the good smells emanating from the kitchen. She pushed the swinging door of the kitchen to enter it, finding Catherine standing in front of the stove drizzling in a flour slurry to thicken the chicken stew.

"It smells wonderful," Elizabeth said as she entered the kitchen.

Catherine turned her head away from the stove to look at her niece. She saw a freshly scrubbed young woman, every bit the spitting image of her mother, with high cheekbones, a finely chiseled nose, ample breasts and an hourglass figure that would be the envy of any woman.

"Have a seat at the dinner table. I'll bring out the stew shortly," said Catherine, turning back to stir the pot.

"Thank you. I'll stay here Aunt Catherine," replied Elizabeth, not wanting to leave sight of her aunt. "It's been too long since we last saw each other."

"I know," said Catherine, trying not to sound too dejected over her self-imposed exile since Penelope's birthday party. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you over the past year."

"You don't have to be sorry. I think I know why."

"Do you?" asked Catherine, with genuine surprise.

"My mother is jealous of you," observed the young brunette.

Catherine let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry to say it, but I agree with you. It was the locket. She thought I was trying to buy your love."

"You didn't have to buy my love," Elizabeth said reassuredly. "You've always had it."

"I know. But your mother thought it was too grand a gesture. Her jealousy got the better of her."

"Well, I'm here now."

"That you are. How long do you plan on staying? I heard you got admitted to Georgetown."

"As long as you'll have me."

"Then it's settled. You'll stay with me while you're going to Georgetown."

Catherine tasted the stew and finished it with a pinch more salt and pepper. She used potholders to carry her improvised dinner to the table. She ladled each of them a bowl, and the two of them chatted until late into the night. As they stood in the hallway to bid goodnight to one another there was a fleeting thought in Catherine's mind to kiss her niece full on the lips. She dismissed the thought and gave Elizabeth a peck on the cheek.

Elizabeth was captivated by her classes, and her weekdays soon fell into a routine of classes, studying, and a shared dinner with her aunt. The dinners were always lively affairs, with Catherine talking about the imminent formation of the National Park Service and Elizabeth discussing post-war world events. She wrote to her mother regularly, telling her about her studies and leaving out any details about her deepening relationship with her aunt.

One night Elizabeth had difficulty sleeping, and went out of her bedroom and was on her way to the kitchen to get something to eat when she passed Catherine's door. The door was shut but light was flowing out from the gap underneath it. As Elizabeth inched closer, she heard her aunt singing softly and impulsively decided to crack the door open instead of knocking. She saw her aunt sitting at her dressing table and brushing her long blonde hair.

Elizabeth was mesmerized the practiced act, each time the hair bouncing as it was released by the brush. Then Catherine adjusted her position slightly in her seat, now allowing Elizabeth to see the front of her aunt's nightgown, the bodice unlaced, in the reflection from the dressing room table mirror. As the brushing continued, Elizabeth's eyes fixed on Catherine's snow white breasts, now exposed, as they heaved back and forth in time with each stroke of the brush. Elizabeth was getting aroused by the sight of a mature woman's body, her nipples hardening and her feeling a uncharacteristic tightening of her loins.

Confused, she stepped away, forgetting the purpose of her trip, and going back into her room, still awake, but now aware that the area between her legs felt warm, wet, and tingling. She climbed into bed, and as she slipped under the covers her sleeping gown pulled up, exposing the lower half of her body. Her hand wandered down between her legs, feeling the moistness of her undergarments, and then pulling them aside to touch her swollen sex, which welcomed the touch of her fingers.

She thought of Catherine, her placid beauty, her long flowing hair and the gentle curves of her breasts. She pictured herself standing behind her aunt, leaning forward to cup the heavy breasts. Elizabeth's fingers slipped past the curling nest of her pubic hair, the soft pulpy flesh yielding as she felt the onset of her first orgasm. The wickedness of her thoughts, instead of dampening her passion, ignited it. The thought of something so forbidden as intimately touching her aunt set off a powerful climax that caused her to arch her back and raise her hips off the bed, her erotic thoughts giving way to the waves of pleasure that rolled through her. Exhausted, satiated and confused, she fell into a deep slumber.