I was in kindergarten when I first saw Sarah Goode. She was a quiet girl, who would patiently sit all day, with her hands in her lap when not engaged in classroom activities. At recess, she played with the other girls, but never seemed as awkward and gangly as her companions. Even at five years of age, Sarah carried herself with poise and grace.
It seemed that whenever I looked at her, she was staring at me with those large, deep green eyes; hers were a shade of green I've never seen before or since, outside of our children. Set in her pale white face, framed by her jet-black hair, I'd feel a chill run up my spine in response to her stare. Try as I might, I couldn't then or thereafter ever look at her without seeing her stare back, except when she was asleep. Even then, she would seem to stir, and her face would move in my direction.
She freaked me out. I'm afraid that from kindergarten onward, I went out of my way to either avoid her or try to humiliate her, teasing and pranking her mercilessly. At five, I told everyone that Sarah had cooties and everyone ran from her on the playground for weeks. At seven, I insisted on pronouncing the "e" at the end of her name, calling her "Goody-Two-Shoes", and naming her the teachers' pet.
My friends and I drenched her with water balloons in the summer and snowballs in the winter. She would not say anything, just stand there with hair dripping around her pale face, as she stared quietly at me. Then she would turn and go home.
Dead frogs in her desk, lizards and bugs squished in her books, spiders and beetles in her lunch bag. She'd collect them and tell me, "Thank you, Will." She'd put her hand into the lunch bag and the arachnids and bugs would climb up her arm. It didn't bother her. That impressed me, and all the guys, but the girls thought it was icky and would avoid her for a while.
It all changed when we got to high school. Sarah was always pretty -- that was part of what bothered me about her. But throughout high school, she went from pretty to drop dead gorgeous. Her skin was perfect -- never a hint of a pimple or acne. Her figure was perfect, her breast not overlarge but just right for her frame. And she had never lost that grace and poise. It only improved, and when she sat primly with her hands in her lap, she attracted more attention than the cheerleaders with their hair flips and pushup bras.
I held out through freshman year. I struggled to avoid her when I could in that small high school, there in Salem, Massachusetts, but with less than 200 students per grade at the time, it wasn't that easy. She was like a black cat, who crossed my path constantly. Each time, her eyes would be fixed on me, even as she moved in another direction.
Then, in sophomore Biology, I had Eleanor Windom as my lab partner. I had a crush on Eleanor and couldn't believe my luck. This was my chance.
But the first week of class, Eleanor's father was hurt in a car accident. His recovery was expected to be long and difficult, with him missing work for at least 6 months. Because of this, the family moved to Milton to live with Eleanor's grandparents. That opened up a seat in the biology class, and Sarah Goode transferred in and became my lab partner.
She didn't say a word to me at first. She just sat on her stool with a small, quiet smile on her face, as her dark green eyes seem to envelope me. I found myself licking my lips and struggling to breathe easily. Her scent was like the perfume of heaven. I hadn't been this close to Sarah in years, and now I wondered why. Her beauty surrounded her like an aura, an aura which warmed me to my core.
I was supposed to talk to her about the biology experiment, but instead found myself saying, almost like an automaton, "Sarah, would you like to go out with me?"
Her smile deepened as she tilted her head to the side, a movement I would soon recognize as her amusement when other people finally realized the inevitable. "Of course." That was all she said.
From then on, we were a pair, and her eyes never left me, at least not when I was looking at her.
We dated throughout high school and engaged in some heavy make out sessions, but she calmly protected her virginity. Somehow, that didn't bother me. I was actually proud of her commitment to virtue.
It wasn't until college that she finally welcomed me to her bed. We both stayed in Salem, going to Salem State and could both have lived at home, but only I did. Sarah insisted on the full college experience and lived at the college. It was at a Halloween Party in her dorm, that she stripped off her witch's cowl and robes, while I shed the Ivanhoe armor I was wearing, and she pulled me down onto her bed and onto her body. It was magical.
In a way, it wasn't what I expected. I mean, I'd heard that a virgin's first time was bloody and could be painful. As far as I could tell, there was no pain and definitely no blood. I fleetingly wondered if my girl hadn't been a virgin, but thinking back she'd never dated in high school, except for me, and I knew very well that this was our first time. In the end, I dismissed the thought. Maybe she'd lost it horseback riding or something. I didn't really care. I just wanted to do it again, and again. Whenever possible. I loved Sarah Goode.
We were married on the Summer's Solstice following graduation. When I broached the subject of where we'd live, Sarah revealed that her family had owned a home in the Chestnut Street District since the 17th century. The house was held in a family trust and was available for Sarah and me to inhabit. We moved in right after the honeymoon, but it took me quite a while to get used to the house.
Apparently, at 6'2" I'm a bit taller than Sarah's ancestors, as I had to lower my head down to my shoulders to pass through the doors. Sarah loved the old house, but the doorways, the antique plumbing with rusty pipes and showers that went frigid if anyone flushed a toilet, and a coal burning furnace caused me to wonder at the cost of "free" rent. Plus, the house was imbued with a musty, slightly rotted smell.
When I had finally had it after whacking my head for the umpteenth time and suggested that we move into the 21st century, Sarah gave me that half smile and that tilt of the head. She quietly gazed into my eyes and laid her hand on my cheek. "But I love this house," she said quietly. "And it loves me."
I nodded, thinking, "And I love you." So, over the next three years, I painted, repiped, and even reshingled the roof. We revarnished the wood floors. Somehow, the low doorways ceased to be a problem. I didn't even notice them anymore, except when visitors gave themselves lumps on their heads. When we could afford it, I replaced the coal burning boiler with a new water heater and an electric HVAC unit. The house became a home.
As I fixed the home, I became interested in its history. I spent some time at the historical society doing research and discovered that the house had actually been built by Jeremiah Towne, a scion of one of the oldest families in Salem. It wasn't until the mid-19th century that Lucilla Towne married Matthew Goode, and the house passed onto the Goode family.
I was excited to learn this history and rushed home to tell Sarah, who was in the solarium nursing our firstborn, Blaise. We'd just celebrated our third anniversary when two weeks later, on July 3, Blaise joined us. He was the male image of his mother, with those striking green eyes and that jet black hair framing his pale face.
As I eagerly began to relate the house's history, Sarah gave a gentle laugh and said, "Yes, I know. You didn't have to go to the historical society. I could have told you the history."
"Well," I said as I sat down and put my arm around my bride and my son, pulling them close, "Maybe you can tell me about your family. When did they come to Salem?"
That head tilt and that smile. And Blaise gurgled. "We've always been here, Will. I was named after my ancestor, Sarah."
I thought, "What?", but said "Sarah Good? The witch? But her name was G O O D, while your name is G O O D E."
"I don't know when they added the 'E' to the end. My father told me that the family fled after Sarah's death, and when they returned to Salem, they might have added the 'E' to distance themselves from their family history." She moved Blaise to her shoulder and burped him. I stared at the drip of milk hanging from her luscious nipple. I think I lost track of our conversation, because I just said, "Oh," and took my son into my arms as Sarah covered up and rested her head on my shoulder. We sat contented as the evening light faded.
The years passed. Blaise was joined by Gwendolyn, Tabitha and finally, our little doll, Circe. All green eyed, black haired and pale faced. And they all would be looking at me when I turned to look at them. Like mother, like her son and daughters. I thought it was a little creepy until Sarah assured me that it wasn't, that like her, they just loved me and were in tune with me.
The children made July especially busy for us -- they were all born in July. I suggested that we should just have one big party, but Sarah was horrified by the thought. "Each child needs to be celebrated," she explained. "There are rites of passage that each child should face alone." So, each July I gained several extra pounds from birthday cake and the accompanying ice cream.
I really believe that we had the closest family in Salem. We did everything together. Where there was one of us, you could count on us all. Except strangely, for Halloween, which was strange. In college, Halloween had been our holiday. Sarah loved to get into her Cowl and Robes and would pick different costumes for me each year. The magic of Halloween permeated our sex on those nights and would seem to invigorate it for the following year. If we introduced something new to our lovemaking, it was done on Halloween. I would look forward to it every year.
But once we had married and moved into the family home, it seemed like one of Sarah's nine aunts would need her that evening. Sarah would apologize to me and then pack up the children, returning the following day. She always assured me that it was okay, looking deep into my eyes, giving me her smile with a tilt of her head. I'd spend the day decorating the house for the evening and then handing out candy to the children of Salem. Sarah always told me that she knew Halloween was my favorite holiday, and hers as well.
When Circe was just three months old, Aunt Hecuba had the Halloween emergency for the year that demanded Sarah's aid. Off went my family and up went the decorations. I was atop the ladder hanging a witch on a broom from the facia boards, still bemused by the deep green-eyed stare my sweetheart had given me before she left. I was thinking of her when my foot slipped on the rung of the ladder, and I went flying. Unlike the witch I was hanging, I didn't have a broom to hold me up and whacked my skull on the hard ground.
When I awoke, the sun was beginning to set. I lay there, wondering where my wife was. I remembered Hecuba's emergency but couldn't remember what it was. I don't think that it was even mentioned. The peace that I had felt, the comfort that had come from Sarah's calm assurances had abandoned me when my head struck the ground.
