Prolog

Saturday, December 9

            "Hurry up or youre going to be late".  Rachel yelled up the stairs from the first floor landing.  When she received no reply from the upper level of the house, hearing instead only light strains of someone singing, she stomped up the old wooden staircase as loudly as she could and stopped at the first bedroom door she came to at the head of the stairs.  "I said".

            "I heard you the first time".  The tall, red headed woman in the bedroom replied.  "I'm late".  She said.  "I'm not deaf".  Claire Daniels was attempting to fasten the top button on a new blouse, the hole being just a little too small for the ornate ivory.  "Can you help me with this"?  She asked her best friend, still standing in the doorway.

            "Is this new"?  Rachel asked, her black fingers deftly working the button through the hole.  Once the errant button was done Rachel pulled out an antique ivory cameo about the size of a silver dollar from her pocket and pinned it to her friends lapel.  "I've had this since I was a child.  My grandmother gave it to me on my first date.  Its funny", she looked at the finely carved piece of African tusk, "I havent worn it for over twenty years but tonight I thought was the right occasion for it".  She stepped back.  "Where'd you get the blouse"?

            "From the 1932 Sears catalog".  Claire smiled, looking at herself in the full length mirror.  "It cost me seven dollars last year.  Do you like it"?   Claire walked over to the corner of the room and lifted the needle off a seventy-eight rpm record of an obviously black woman singing jazz. 

            "I think it's lovely".  Rachel said.  "Why haven't you worn it before"?

            "I didn't have a reason".  Claire returned.

"You do tonight".  Rachel heard a horn blast in the driveway.  "Your ride is here".  She looked out the window to see the 1933 black Packard parked in the drive, below the bedroom window.  "Have fun and Ill see you when you get back".

            "You can still come with me".  Claire said as she ran down the stairs, her heels clicking on the runner.

            "No thanks".  Rachel answered from the top floor railing.  "I have some accounts to do tonight and then schedule your next two speaking dates.  Also Michael wants you to sing at a fundraiser for the Museum.  I may even have time to start that new novel I bought last week in Concord".

            "You need to get out more".  Claire shouted over the wind and snow coming in the open front door.     

Rachel smiled and walked back down the stairs.  'She got out enough', she thought, between her work, helping Claire with her schedule, writing her memoirs, and proof reading Claire's, there wasn't much time for social behavior.  She looked out the front window as the sleek black sedan disappeared into the night.

It always amazed people that met the two women how physically dissimilar they were, yet how alike in spirit.  Rachel was five foot four with shoulder length black hair, black eyes, and perfect skin of a color often described in the newspapers as ebony.  Claire Daniels, on the other hand, had fair skin with just a hint of a winter tan from riding in the car with the top down.  Her Irish Setter red hair was tonight swept high off both sides of her face and up in the back, but usually hung loosely to the middle of her back.  At five foot ten she often towered over those around her, which helped to make her feel more confident, although her insecurities never showed once she was outside the old house. 

            Unlike Rachel who was average in hips, waist, and chest, Claire was ample in two of those.  Although her waist was small for her frame her breasts were rather large but were off set by her waist, which was full, without being fat.  The years of being outside running, skiing, cutting wood, and keeping in good physical shape had kept middle age from encroaching on either and at forty one for Rachel and forty five for Claire, both women looked to be in their thirties.

            Claire slid into the back seat of the black sedan and the driver closed the door behind her.  She normally rode in the front of cars but tonight wanted to stretch out.  As the car cruised out the drive and onto the street she watched the few people still out in the storm.  Many were in their yards shoveling the light snow off the walks while the children played or made snowmen.  Ever since she had been a child she had enjoyed white Christmases.  There was something pure and clean about them and if the temperature stayed below freezing this would be the first one in a number of years.

            About twenty minutes from their destination the car took a sharp curve and Claire felt the large Packard swerve to the right, violently.  Before she could react to the movement she saw a bright light, felt a sharp pain in her chest, and blacked out.  With the man in the front seat slumped over the wheel and the unconscious red head in the back the shiny black sedan slid off the road, struck a stump and rolled twice into a ditch.  Before snow could gather on the metal surfaces of the wreck four men were at the car, pulling out the driver.