Julia

By The Scribe

Disclaimer: All the characters from the "Magnificent Seven" TV series are property of Trilogy Entertainment, The Mirisch Group, MGM Worldwide.

Prologue

Papa's Dove

The dress mocked her.

It was white, with a sweeping skirt and covered with fine embroidered lace, the quality of which was equaled by none. The neckline plunged enough to show her ample chest, and the bodice would cling tightly to her impossibly slender waist when worn. It was a gown to be envied by women, capable of dazzling even the most celibate of men. In it, she would be like the fairy tale princess in one of those books Papa used to read her as a child. He had wanted a dress made worthy of her on her special day, a gown that would serve the most beautiful young bride to ever grace the halls of the family parish church. The emerald necklace that had belonged to her mother and her grandmother before her sat around the neck of the dressmaker's mannequin joining the dress in its elegant display. Somewhere on her dresser was a pair of matching earrings, equally expensive.

Equally sickening.

She rummaged through the jewelry box on her dressing table, searching for the items of value that would accompany her on the course upon which she had been deliberating for some time now. Ever since her father had committed the ultimate betrayal by deciding she needed a husband. She supposed that in the scheme of things, it was inevitable that he should reach this terrible conclusion some day. It had been her hope to fend off this desire of his until after he had passed on and left her the bulk of his money. With a fortune behind her, she would be in the position to select her own husband, or none at all.

She preferred none at all.

Her mother, whom she had never met, had passed on early in life. Eleanor had died bringing Julia into the world, and in the moment where souls pass each other through the threshold of life and death, wife and babe exchanged places in Donald Avery's heart. From the moment of her first spirited cry, the child had become her father's sole reason for being. He lavished upon his little daughter every scrap of his time and love as proof of his undying love for a woman who had gone too early. In her youth, she had adored the affection that was viewed with distaste and disapproval by the rest of her family. She enjoyed taunting them with the freedom of her unbridled lust for life. A lust which led her to form dalliances with any man that met her interest for she was unconcerned by the restrictions placed upon other young women.

She was not other young women and the rules did not apply to her.

It equally aided in her manipulations of those around her, in particular the men that happened to fall helplessly to her charms, that she was an uncommonly beautiful creature in every superficial way. Hers was hair like fire, yet not at all vulgar and crass, rather subtle in the way copper shimmered under sunlight. Her emerald colored eyes showed great intelligence, although she had never had cause to use that high-powered intellect for anything other than her own desires. Her skin was as creamy as milk, untainted, unaccustomed to any activity that might be considered work. She was the kind of woman men would willingly commit all kinds of folly to possess. Her lips were described as soft and enticing as rose petals on a lover's bed. She was created for the sole purpose of seduction, and she knew how to be nothing else.

She wielded her power like some men commanded armies, sending others forward to die willingly on the battlefield. For a number of years she used the men in her life the same way. For a taste of her skin, they would do and say anything, and she enjoyed the exultation of such power over them. It inflamed her with a fire nothing could abate, and she had yet to meet a man she had not believed to be a fool. It was not to say that she had no love for her Papa. He was, after all, the only man who loved her for herself, simpleton though he was. It was the love of a master to a faithful pet, completely selfish on her part and undeserving on his.

By the age of 25, she had more or less fended away with good humor all his attempts to marry her off. However, his health had started to deteriorate and with the realization that his days were soon coming to a close, the urgency grew to see to it that his beloved daughter was not left alone in his departure. He wanted to spare his sweet Julia the agony of loneliness, and for the first time made a decision without consulting her first.

His name was Roderick Packard and he was what was deemed "new money" to the circles of blue blood society. He was not quite forty, coarse and completely unrefined, but he was also frightfully rich and in need of a wife who would make him acceptable to the world he to which he aspired. From the moment Julia had met him, she knew without a doubt that she loathed him with utter and complete hatred. The very thought of his big, rough hands on her made the revulsion in her stomach surface with such intensity she could barely breathe, and somehow, against all expectations, her beloved Papa had willing promised her to him.

She accepted the proposal quietly, never allowing her father to know just how much she hated the idea, all the while conspiring to find some way out of it. Her relatives, enjoying what they felt was her deserved comeuppance, had gloated over the marriage with obvious delight. Julia accepted the situation and allowed the preparations to proceed, all the while wearing the mask of the gracious and dutiful daughter. The wedding day drew closer, and tomorrow she would wear this shroud of fine lace to what she considered nothing less than living death.

Except she had no real intention of going through with it.

Slipping all the jewelry into a small velvet box, she proceeded to the mannequin and took the necklace to be worn during her wedding and placed it with the others. Dropping it in the leather case containing the rest of her belongings, Julia looked up and took a final view of the room in which she had grown up. It was with sadness that she realized at that moment that she would never see the room again. It had been her castle for so long, the ivory tower where she enjoyed her best moments. Now she was forced to flee, like one of the heroines on those romantic novels she had stopped reading after becoming a woman. Picking up the valise, she let out a soft sigh and swept out the door, giving the dress a parting look of hatred because it reminded her why she was abandoning everything she knew for the unknown.

It was past midnight when she made her way down the darkened hallway to Papa's study. As anticipated, the servants and the rest of the family were safely tucked away in their beds and unaware of her nocturnal departure. She was dressed in dark clothes that were not really her color but she wanted to fade into the background, at least until she was out of California. Confident that no one was about, Julia stepped inside the elegant confines of her father's study. There was no need to light the lamps, she knew the layout of the room from memory and the moonlight peering through the glass doors was just bright enough to offer some alternate illumination.

The safe was hidden behind her mother's portrait, and before she took it from the wall, Julia paused to take a final glance at it. Her mother stared back at her with that non-judgmental smile of hers that often gave Julia comfort on those rare occasions her conscience had reason to bother her. She wondered briefly what Eleanor Avery might think of her actions. Removing the painting, she turned her attention to the safe behind it. She had retrieved the combination a few days ago while Papa had gone to visit Roderick Packard to discuss the fortune she would be inheriting once they married. No doubt, Packard would have total control over it, she thought bitterly.

Working quickly, she soon had the heavy door of the vault open. Inside were several inch high stacks of fresh, crisp bills. Papa never did trust banks entirely and so he always kept enough in the safe to ensure his financial security in the event the establishment attempted to leave him penniless. She knew that there was something in the vicinity of $50,000 inside the vault and Julia wasted no time liberating its entire contents into her valise.

Suddenly, the room flooded with light. She spun around and saw Papa standing before her in his nightclothes with a bewildered expression on his face.

"Julia? What are you doing?"

There was no point in lying. Even as she decided whether or not she would make the attempt, she could see his eyes darting from the empty safe to the valise in her hand. Very quickly, he would guess her purpose.

"I am leaving Papa" she remarked neutrally. Julia had hoped to avoid this encounter, but now that it was here, she supposed she owed him the truth.

"Leaving?" he said, astonished. "You are to be married tomorrow!" he exclaimed taking a step towards her. This too, was something she had anticipated and her fingers slipped into the small purse she was carrying.

"Stop where you are Papa." The derringer stared in his face before the old man had been aware of his daughter reaching for it inside her purse. The astonishment in his eyes defied description.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his shock having faded now into anger.

"The meaning of this Papa," she said as she moved slowly towards the glass doors, "is that I am leaving this place and I am never coming home."

"But Roderick..." he stammered, quite unable to believe that this was his cherished daughter pointing a gun at him.

"Is a pig and before I let you prostitute me to him for whatever reason, I would rather eat this bullet first. Goodbye Papa" she started to turn around.

"Julia!" he ran forward, "you're not leaving!" He could not let her go! "We will talk this out!"

"No!" she said sharply, swinging back around to aim the gun at him again. "Don't assume I won't use this Papa." The ice in her voice was enough to convince him that she would indeed pull the trigger, even if he could not fathom how his daughter had become this cold-blooded thief standing before him.

"Why?" he asked, his voice starting to break.

"Why Papa?" she almost laughed at absurdity of the question. "Why am I leaving, why won't I marry Packard or why have I taken all your money?"

The old man could not speak. The question demanded answer but his heart was pounding too loudly for that. He had heard the whispers and ugly little rumors about his Julia from the others in his family and knew that their delivery of such tales was motivated by jealousy. Until now, he had shunted all such venomous stories to their proper place in the back of his mind. Now they all rose up in his memory like the threat of dank water from the bottom of a well.

"Because Papa," Julia met his gaze sharply, "I tire of you deciding what is good for me, by your silly standards. If I choose to marry, which I doubt I will, it will be to a man of my choosing, not yours! Your money would have been mine if I had been born a man! It is an inheritance I would no doubt never see if I married that pig. No Papa, I will take what is mine and I shall go. You will never see or hear from me again. Goodbye."

With that, she turned on her heels and walked out through the glass doors.

He watched her disappear into the night, still coming to grips with the sting of her words. In particular, the word 'prostitute'. Is that what she really thought of him? The anguish of that realization clutched his heart with such pain that for a moment, Donald Avery believed he would die. Stunned, he walked to the open vault and saw that she had only taken the money and left the other valuables within. With trembling fingers, he closed the safe door with a soft clang as it locked again and replaced the picture that kept it hidden.

The agony inside his chest had not abated, even when he staggered to his desk and sat down. He sat on the leather chair, unaware that the cold night air was blowing through the open doors. The only thing in his mind was how terribly wrong he was about his daughter and what the short sightedness had cost him. He stared at the picture of his beloved wife with tears running down his cheeks as he gazed into the emerald eyes he had seen a thousand times before. Unlike Julia who was a slender, petite thing, Donald was round and ungainly. His dark hair had become grey and was unruly no matter how hard he tried to comb it. His blue eyes saw little these days and were hidden behind a pair of steel rimmed glasses. Until this moment, he had never felt so old.

He knew without doubt she meant what she said. Julia Avery would not grace these halls again.

He could have her brought back. However, he loved her too much to keep her caged for too long, and the moment of release would see his dove taking flight again. It was better not to try. Easing back into the leather chair, he ignored the heart crying out its warning as it stiffened in pain. It was broken he decided and there was no reason to pick up the pieces.

He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to take him away to a place where Julia did not hate him any more.