Page 3 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER TWO.

Present Day

A hiss in the air, followed by the jarring screech of squeaky brakes, announced their arrival.

“Alright, everyone off the bus,” Hunter shouted, standing at the front of the vehicle, close enough to the driver to hear him breathe.

Hunter didn't care too much for tight spaces, but what he cared about was often overlooked.

With the swinging door open and the cold rushing in, Hunter waved the students off the vehicle.

“Thank God for parent volunteers, am I right?” Sadie, the only other fifth-grade teacher, bounced up smiling.

She was the wittiest, least serious person he knew.

Fifteen years his senior, she’d declared herself his cool, hip aunt.

He needed her dry humor in his life. Otherwise, he would drown alone in a sea of depression.

Their school was underfunded, and the fifty-seven kids between their two classes were proof of it.

Sadie fluffed her silver-gray bangs and pulled her long pigtails down over her shoulders just as a group of boys ran straight into her petite frame, roughhousing as they followed the line outside into the parking lot.

“How many more days until the holiday break?” she huffed.

“Two days. Getting too old for this finally?” he asked, winking.

“Never.” She tossed her hair back like a high school girl trying to flirt. “You’re one to talk—are you in your fifties yet?”

“I just turned forty and am holding onto that youth for as long as I can,” Hunter joked.

“Just don’t buy a motorcycle. You might be too old for a midlife crisis. That’s for cute little men who just turned thirty-five.”

“Oh no, no, I’m far too practical. Besides, I already bought helicopter flying lessons last week.”

“God, I hope you’re kidding.”

“I am,” he said after a long pause, as Sadie hit him lightly in the shoulder. “But I probably should. The only people that survive in zombie apocalypse movies are the ones that have access to helicopters.”

“Solid logic, Mr. Gunnan. Good to know that you're shaping the minds of our youth.”

Hunter smirked and then followed Sadie off the bus. A group of feral kids ran wild, excited and hyped up on the candy canes given out at every store, every library, every grandmother’s house around Stockbridge.

When did Christmas blend with Halloween?

The wind at the edge of the manor grounds was sharp enough to slice. It moved through the Berkshire hills in hollow gusts, rattling the bare branches like bones knocking in warning. Snow spiraled, restless and dry.

There was no sun, only a dim, silvery glow pressing through the fog, casting the old manor in shades of sorrow and sleep.

The children’s breath curled in the air like ghosts as they chased each other on the asphalt, boots crunching on the frost-hardened ground. The manor loomed above them, its chimneys exhaling faint streams of smoke.

Hunter gave Sadie a look meant to say, “We will survive this field trip.

“Alright, students, parents,” Sadie shouted, clapping her hands.

“I almost have tenure, so let’s keep me employed a little longer by making sure no one gets lost. Everyone picks a buddy and then picks a parent.

That is your group. Parents, keep track of your groups, and we will all get out of here alive. ”

“Is she always so severe?” a snarky blonde mom laughed from behind the group of kids.

“Find out whose parent that is and torment them for the rest of the year,” Sadie whispered to Hunter. He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his burgundy sweater and heavy winter jacket.

“Hello, students of Stockbridge Elementary,” a too-perky male tour guide yelled, emerging from behind the buses. “This is Vultauge Manor, built before the Gilded Age. There's a lot of history to explore here, and it’s Christmastime, so some carolers are singing in the foyer. Let’s go learn.”

As Hunter expected, not a single kid seemed impressed or excited.

Most of them had their eyes glued to their phones, and he honestly didn't care. He was becoming as bad as the kids, thankful for each day crossed off the calendar as winter break crept closer. He’d rather be alone to wallow in the depression that had clouded him for so long that it now felt like a familiar friend.

That was another problem with this career choice. It required him to be present when staring at a white wall, on a heavy dose of antidepressants, was a more appropriate setting for him. This manor had a bad habit of plunging him into that darkness. It held too many memories.

Their group climbed the path toward the large red-brick manor, surrounded by meticulously maintained grounds. The Berkshires loomed in the near distance, dense with a forest of haunting trees. Hunter always thought those woods looked like they were begging for attention.

There were many stories about the trees, how they were said to be alive with spirits.

He remembered being dared as a kid to run through them but never having the nerve.

He was made fun of the entire bus ride home, despite no one else running through them either.

It was too dark in there, too separated from the sky, the leaves whispering secrets into the wind.

Along the winding path leading to the front steps, lanterns had been lit—too many to be practical.

Their golden light bled into the fog, flickering over freshly cleared walkways and wreaths that groundsmen were actively decorating.

The hedgerows were trimmed, and the statues dusted clean of snow.

Even the great fountain, long dry and cracked, now glistened with a sheet of ice, its edges ringed in evergreen.

“We really do the same field trips every year, don’t we?” he mumbled.

“Well, anything else would take effort, and who has time for that?” Sadie laughed.

“Miss Rothlin, I need to go to the bathroom,” one of Sadie’s students said, twirling her hair nervously as they walked up to the entrance. “My group parent told me to ask you.”

“See, what did I tell you? Those parents are useless,” she grumbled near Hunter’s ear, and he grimaced because there was no way the girl hadn’t heard.

“There is a bathroom right when we go inside, in the lobby, up these steps,” Hunter said.

“You’ve been here too many times,” Sadie smiled, an edge of sadness lingering at the corners of her mouth. He hated that lingering sadness. It had become unbearable over the years.

“Once a year for every school field trip when I was a mere lad,” Hunter said in a terrible Scottish accent.

“That’s not all,” Sadie said as they followed the back of the group into the front entrance of the manor.

“No. That’s not all.” There was a cloud that hung over his head that day, and no matter how often he tried to shake it, it was still there.

Hunter supposed that time didn’t really heal all, no matter how long it had been.

Not when he couldn't stand the sympathy that lingered like an oversensitive switch when someone came within ten feet of him.

“Alright, everyone, come inside, gather close,” their tour guide said.

He looked closer to Sadie’s age. Retirees often volunteered within the local historical societies.

“Now, Vultauge Manor has been around since 1901. Its original builders were a young couple who excelled in the arts. If I understand correctly, the male head of the household was a writer, although he wrote under a pen name that was never verified to be his true identity. He disappeared alongside his daughter around 1915, leaving his wife to run the manor. It was eventually sold to the state to preserve its historical value. Now, Vultauge Manor is used for field trips and events like weddings and holiday balls.”

Hunter tensed, triggered by the introduction. He would never learn to cope.

“Now, everyone, hold your questions until the end. We will begin by touring the interior, followed by lunch on the exterior grounds, before we go in-depth into the gardens.”

“Can we go into the forests?” a kid shouted.

“Again, hold all questions until the end—and no, please stay on the grounds with your assigned groups.”

“He’s a pro,” Sadie said. “See? Easy day. I have a bag of sweets in my pocket. I’ll be sucking on those and letting my mind wander all day.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows at her.

“What?” she laughed. “It’s Christmastime, and everyone is doing great.”

“You're a national treasure, Sadie. I just want to make sure you get that tenure,” Hunter said as their group started to move past the lobby. A gift shop on their right attracted a few straggling kids. Hunter saw Sadie’s blonde student emerge from the bathroom. Everyone seemed accounted for.

So far, so good.

“Here, cherry. Your favorite.” Sadie held out a hard candy. Hunter sighed and took it, popping it into his mouth right away, the sugar bursting against his tongue.

“Stress eating. I recommend it,” she laughed.

Hunter nodded, smiling, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

They spent the next ninety minutes following the guide through rooms where vintage furniture was roped off and tapestries from a century ago decorated the walls, hanging from the top moldings.

Hunter watched as some students’ eyes glazed over while parents hushed others whispering through the told histories.

“You know, this place is very brown. I can’t remember—was your wedding this brown?” Sadie asked as they entered the last common room—the event space, a ballroom where Hunter had once held a woman in a white dress against him.

His throat dried every time he walked in there. His late wife was a lovely, spritely thing who had insisted they marry right where they met—on this school field trip. Hunter had been in the fourth grade. She’d been in the sixth.

“We had poppies in every color,” Hunter said.

“Oh yes, yes, I do remember all the flowers. It did combat the brown.” Sadie sighed. “I miss Sarah. She had those eyes that somehow saw your strengths and ignored everything else.”

It was true.