0 comments/ 16038 views/ 4 favorites Addams Family Book 02 Ch. 01 By: Aloysius_J_Smith The Addams Family 1977 - Book 2 A Love Story Addams Family Book 02 Ch. 02 Warning: there is no sexual content in this portion of the story. * (excerpt from Chapter 1) Taking a deep breath, Wednesday Addams summoned all of her resolve, then reached up and gave the noose-shaped bell rope a good, firm tug. The resounding 'GONG' which followed shook the mansion's cracked plaster walls and rattled the ancient windows. A fraction of a second passed before the butler appeared at her side. "You rang." Lurch spoke in his eerily deep, resonant voice. Not quite a question, as always, it sounded more like a statement of fact. Chapter 2 "Yes, Lurch," Wednesday said. She had to crane her neck to look up at his long, angular face. After nearly twenty years of living in the same house with this man, nearly twenty years of seeing him each and every day, Wednesday still never failed to be astound at just how very tall he actually was. Wednesday herself, just five feet - three inches tall, had to tilt her head merely to look up at his slightly crooked bowtie. With her dark eyes straight ahead Wednesday's gaze fell some-where between the third and fourth button from the top of Lurch's crisp white shirt. And she was currently wearing three inch heals! Still, Lurch didn't seem nearly as tall to her now as he had when she was a little girl growing up in this house. To a child, Lurch was, indeed, a giant. And still he towered over her. But then, at nearly seven feet tall, the Addams' butler towered over everyone. "Our house has been such a madhouse the past few days, I've hardly seen you at all," she continued. "And, since we seem to have the house to ourselves for the moment, I was hoping that you and I might have a chance to talk." "Yes, Miss Addams," he replied. The butler's features remained completely devoid of expression. Standing ramrod straight, his broad shoulders squared, his head up, Lurch's slightly indirect gaze seemed to be to be looking about a foot over Wednesday's head and fall at two separate points somewhere on the wall behind her. Of course, Wednesday knew this man well enough to realize that he was really not looking at anything in particular, but merely gazing off into space as he awaited her request. "Lurch, I have something very important to talk to you about, something I need to tell you." Wednesday took a step closer, her voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper. "Yes, Miss Addams." "Maybe we could begin with you being a little less formal, Lurch. Please, call me Wednesday. You used to call me Wednesday, remember?" "Yes, Miss Addams." "Never mind. We can work on that later." Standing this close and looking up at Lurch's face was straining Wednesday's neck. "Perhaps it would be best if we sat down," she suggested. The butler emitted a deep rumbling groan as he permitted the young woman to take him by the hand and lead him from the foyer, down the three steps, (stepping carefully so as not to tread on Bruno who, though long since dead, his hide turned into a rug, took offense at such ill-treatment) and down into the mansion's spacious living room. Lurch found Wednesday's delicate hand unexpectedly cool and, in spite of himself, his pulse quickened at this physical contact. When she was a child Lurch had held her small hand many times. Her touch had not thrilled him then but Wednesday was no longer a child, and there could be no denying how her touch affected him now. As Lurch followed behind her, he could not help but admire the way the stray rays of sunlight which filtered though the closed curtains played over her hair. Long and straight, her hair looked incredibly soft. He wondered briefly that her hair which had not long ago cascaded about her lovely face in soft brown waves now appeared jet black. Not unlike her mother's hair. Long and black and very, very shiny. And almost perfectly straight. Gone were the little girl's braids. Gone the little button down dress with white collar and cuffs. The gown she now wore skimmed over her slender, but very feminine body. The little girl who had grown up within these walls was but a memory now. By some form of witchcraft Lurch could only wonder at his little Wednesday had grown into a young woman, a beautiful young woman, before his very eyes. "Please, sit here with me, Lurch." Wednesday said as she took a seat on the richly upholstered antique courting chair. She took the seat which faced the main living room indicating for Lurch to sit opposite, in the seat which faced back toward the foyer. Though uneasy by the implied intimacy afforded by this particular piece of furniture, its two deeply padded seats, each facing in the opposite direction from the other, Lurch sat, as bidden. Being far too tall to sit comfortably on a delicate piece of furniture which had been built for individuals of average size, Lurch felt more than a little ungainly, his knees sticking up at awkward angles. Nervous, and unsure what to do with his hands, he folded them on his lap in an effort to keep himself from fidgeting. Lurch turned slightly to his left to gaze down at Miss Wednesday's somber visage as he waited for her to speak. "Lurch, there is something I have been wanting to speak to you about for some time," she began. "I had to work up my courage and then wait until the right moment. What I have to say is very important to me. Important, I hope, to both of us, and I had to be certain you and I would be alone so we would not be interrupted." As she spoke she reached over the chair's center partition and lifted his right hand into both of hers. Lurch did not resist her unexpected action. Once again unnerved by the physical contact, Lurch's pulse quickened. He gazed down at their joined hands. His breath caught in his throat. Her touch, he noted, felt strangely cool. Her small hands were incredibly soft. Lurch looked back down at their joined hands. How small and delicate her hands appeared, especially in comparison to his own. No longer the hands of a child, her long nails, painted with glossy black enamel, resembled talons. Elegant. Feline. Lethal. Feminine. "I don't know how much time we will have before the others return," Wednesday said. She looked up at him, noticing that he seemed more than a little uncomfortable. "Oh dear," she said, "this is a bit awkward, isn't it?" She took a deep breath and then began again. "I guess it would be best to come right out and tell you what is on my mind. You see, Lurch, I do not wish to marry Adalberto. I don't love him. My heart belongs to someone else." With a bewildered look on his face, Lurch gazed up into her eyes. "It's you, my dearest Lurch." "Me?" he asked in disbelief. Lurch's eyes darted to her face. "Yes, Lurch. You are the reason I cannot marry Adalberto." The butler shook his head slowly in incomprehension. "It's true, Lurch. You've always been very dear to me." The butler fell silent, his dark brows stitched together at the bridge of his nose as he gazed down into Wednesday's face. Was she really saying what he thought she was saying? Lurch continued to alternate his gaze between their joined hands and Miss Wednesday's face. Seldom had he ever sat to near to her and had the opportunity to scrutinize her this closely. Not at least since she had grown into adulthood. She was wearing makeup: mascara, eyeliner, deep red lipstick. The cosmetics made her look even more like her mother. Even this close, beneath the makeup her complexion was utterly flawless. And try as he might, Lurch could not ignore the way the simple touch of her delicate hand made his heart flutter. It wasn't proper that he should feel this way. Not only was Wednesday his employer's daughter, not to mention his own goddaughter, but she was now an engaged woman to boot. Even so, Lurch could not bring himself to withdraw his hand from hers. Again he inhaled the scent of her perfume. It went straight to his head. Not her mother's perfume but a scent all her own. He found the scent exotic - and seductive. That dress she was wearing was definitely new. Lurch's mouth went dry when he noticed the tips of her taut nipples straining against the clinging silk. Wednesday had breasts. For the merest fraction of a second Lurch allowed himself to imagine what it might feel like to actually touch them. Maybe even … kiss them. And taste them. His mouth watered. To his embarrassment his cock swelled again with the beginnings of sexual arousal as he realized Wednesday was not wearing a brassiere beneath that clinging dress. There was nothing between that thin layer of silk and her naked breasts. Full, round, feminine breasts. With more than a little effort Lurch finally tore his eyes away from Wednesday's chest. Suspended above those two, oh, so soft looking mounds of feminine flesh, a spider pendant accentuated her delicate white throat. A gift on her sixteenth birthday from the man who loved her more than his own life. Lurch's gaze continued upward along her neck. Again he took a moment to admire the shape of her chin, her jaw line, her soft, pouting, blood-red lips, perfect nose and delicate cheekbones. Then he was gazing into her eyes. How incredibly black those eyes appeared. Bottomless pools that beckoned him nearer. Beckoned him to plummet into their depths. Beckoned him … toward what? Toward his fondest desire? Or toward his doom? No, there could be no doubt Wednesday was no longer a child. She was a woman now. And now, like all women, she both fascinated and terrified Lurch. To his alarm, Lurch suddenly realized he was leaning, ever so slightly, in Wednesday's direction. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Summoning all of his rapidly waning self-control, Lurch pulled himself back, sitting just a little straighter, a little taller, reining himself in lest he fall headlong into those fathomless orbs. Still no response. "Wednesday took a deep breath before whispering, "What I'm trying to say is, I love you. I've been in love with you since my sixteenth birthday." There, she'd said it. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly bear it. Sitting very close Wednesday peered up into Lurch's face as she spoke those last three words, looking for some sign, some indication, some hint that Lurch returned her affections. Three little words. Still Lurch's expression did not betray his emotions, if indeed he even experienced anything resembling an emotion over what she had just told him. He remained utterly motionless as his gray eyes burned into hers. Sitting this close to him Wednesday could smell the scent of the man himself, an aroma she found very stimulating, as well as the fragrance of the Ivory soap he used when he had bathed this morning. These two complimentary scents mixed with the fragrance of his aftershave, a very discreet fragrance, the combination was a scent that Wednesday found exceedingly masculine. An unfamiliar tingle between her legs informed her that Lurch's masculine scent, his proximity and just the feel of his hand in hers aroused her sexually. From the day she was born Lurch had always been there. He was like a part of her family, like a beloved uncle. He had also been her very best friend. Her feelings for him hardly seemed like those of a niece for a uncle any more. Wednesday herself had changed a great deal in her nearly twenty years of life, while, from what she could see, Lurch had changed very little. Perhaps a few more lines around his eyes. His hair which had once been slate gray was now silver. Even as a child, Wednesday had always loved the way the silvery strands caught and reflected the light. Especially during late night thunderstorms when she and Pugsley were children and Lurch used to sit and tell them ghost stories, and the silver strands in his hair were momentarily illuminated by blue streaks of lightning through the open window. Though Lurch cut quite a striking figure, so tall and so handsome, Wednesday noted as if for the first time that the man himself was a study in grays, from his steel gray hair to his cold gray eyes. His complexion, too, was ashen. Although his hair was silver, Lurch's eyelashes and even his eyebrows were still almost black. Though he seldom smiled, when he did, it could be dazzling. His teeth were as white and bright as moonlight. Even his clothing ran along that same general mono-chromatic theme. His suits were always of heavy black wool, his shirts were linen, crisp and white. The ever-present bowtie at his throat was always black as were his highly polished shoes. His wool socks and even the garters which held them up were black as well. Invisible beneath his suit jacket, his suspenders were also gray. Wednesday wondered if she might have inherited the artistic talent from her mother that would enable her to immortalize this man on canvas one day, using only black and white oils and creating her own various grays to capture his striking features and his imposing physique. Just perhaps she might also possess the skills to capture a bit of the man's colorful personality on that canvas as well. On impulse Wednesday allowed her right hand to reach up and touch Lurch's silvery hair. As a child, its texture and color had reminded her of fine steel wire. Wednesday wasn't at all surprised to find that it felt a bit wiry as well. As her delicate hand descended down the left side of his face, her fingertips traced the deep horizontal creases that traversed his forehead and the line of his brow ridge, noting the wiry texture of his dark, expressive eyebrows. Lovingly Wednesday touched the scar at the outer corner of his left eye that caused his left eyelid to droop and made that eye appear somewhat smaller than the right one. In all the years she had known him, he had never volunteered any details of the origin of that scar and, never being one to pry, she had never asked. Wednesday's fingertips then explored the arched lines which fanned out from the corner of his eye back toward his temple. Two fingertips then lightly touched the bridge of his nose and the dark circles that bruised the pale gray skin beneath his steel-gray eyes. Gently she caressed one prominent cheekbone and then skimmed along the hollow of his cheek. Her fingertips traced the deep line that bracketed the left side of his mouth, and the strong line of his jaw. Then with the artistic touch of a sculptor shaping wet clay, one soft fingertip traced the slightly downward curve of his mouth and sensual lips. They were surprisingly soft. Finally her hand slowly fell away and, once again, she cradled his big hand between both of hers. Lurch closed his eyes. Slowly he shook his head. The rumbling deep in his throat resumed, this time it sounded more like a groan of pain. "No, Miss Addams." he intoned, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Again …three little words, but to Wednesday their meaning was perfectly clear. All of her hopes and her dreams evaporated with the sound of those three little words. But then, Lurch always had a way of expressing himself most eloquently with a minimum of conversation. As the full force of his rejection hit her, the blood drained from her already colorless face. She felt just a bit faint. Even while she continued to hold his hand, continued to experience the amazing warmth of his flesh against her own, his eyes remained closed. A stabbing pain in her heart nearly made her double over in agony. In that instant Wednesday thought she might just fall to the floor, curl up and die. She would welcome death. Death was far preferable to life without his love. What else was left to live for now? But, alas, that was not her fate. An instant later she realized, to her disappointment, that she was still alive and likely to remain so, in spite of her broken heart. His eyes remained tightly shut. By the goddess, she thought, look at him. He can't even bear to look at me now. For just one moment longer she allowed herself to gaze up into Lurch's handsome face. If this was to be the last time she looked at him she wanted to savor his nearness. Even now she could sense the heat radiating from him, feel the rough texture of his hand in both of hers. Once again she deeply inhaled his scent. She noted the way his chest rose and fell with each slow deliberate breath. She fought back a sudden overwhelming impulse to throw her arms around his neck and kiss those wonderfully soft lips. Hah, she scolded herself. As if doing so might somehow force Lurch to return my love! At that moment, Wednesday almost smiled at her own foolishness. No, she would not do such a thing to Lurch. She loved him far too much to put him in such an awkward position. Hadn't she done enough already to make him feel uncomfortable? Such an unwelcome display of affection would accomplish nothing and would undoubtedly only serve to cause him further embarrassment. Lurch knew now how she felt. She was in love with him. He did not feel the same. On that point he had made his position quite clear. Perhaps Lurch was a playboy after all, just as her mother had always asserted. On impulse she turned his hand over. For a just moment she peered down at his palm. She used one talon-like black enameled fingernail to trace along one of the a pair of straight, unbroken creases that crossed his large palm. Lurch opened his eyes. Though no palm reader himself, Lurch knew enough about chiromancy to identify this particular crease as his heart line. The long unbroken line ran as straight and true as his love for her. His icy resolve almost failed him as she lifted his hand pressed her soft lips into the center of his palm. When she looked back up, her dark eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Please forgive me for embarrassing you like this, my dear Lurch. What do you say we just pretend this whole thing never happened?" Almost as an afterthought she added, "And you needn't worry, I won't throw myself at you … and I will never embarrass you like this again." He watched as Wednesday summoned every ounce of her remaining dignity, rose to her feet and, with all of the poise she could muster, made her exit. Her head held high, she walked slowly across the living room floor. Lurch sat, his face completely devoid of expression, and watched her. His gray eyes took in her every fluid movement. The epitome of grace and elegance, Wednesday's willowy form seemed to glide across the room as if her dainty feet never quite touched the floor. She did not look back. If she had, she might have seen the tears well up in his eyes and spill over to flow down his cheeks. Addams Family Book 02 Ch. 03 "You're right, Morticia," Gomez said as he ascended the stairway from below. "Wednesday is gone. She's not anywhere in the house. I've checked. I've searched every floor. I've even checked the caverns and tunnels below the playroom. Cousin Cackle says he hasn't seen her either." "Wednesday is really missing?! On her wedding day?" Morticia observed. "One of her bags is missing as well." "Only one? Not all of them?" "No, just a backpack. She must be traveling light," Gomez replied remembering all too well the mountain of luggage she had brought with her when she arrived home from the music academy. "Oh, Gomez, you don't suppose that little imp spent the night in the attic guest room with her prometido?" "And the backpack?" Gomez inquired. "An overnight bag?" Morticia offered helpfully. "A young lady must keep certain items close at hand." "Well, I don't believe she spent the night there, but then I can't be entirely certain. I went up to the attic and knocked on the guestroom door this morning but recieved no reply." "Oh dear, do you suppose they've eloped, do you, Gomez?" "That is a possibility, of course, but … without a word?" "It's so unlike our Wednesday. On her wedding day, the flowers, all of the guests about to arrive. The wedding dress Adalberto's mother brought for her has been altered. It fits her perfectly." "Si, Querida, but (shudder) who ever heard of a white wedding dress?!" "Well, there certainly is no accounting for taste, and I will admit the color is hideous but still… the dress is, after all, an heirloom from Cousin Adalberto's branch of the Addams family. Besides which, Wednesday is the bride. This day, this whole wedding is all about her. She knows very well how much time and effort, not to mention how much money we have invested in this wedding. The aroma roast wildebeest is permeating the entire house." Gomez smiled. "It does smell wonderful." He admitted. "Lurch has really outdone himself this time. "The point is, everything is in readiness. Guests are beginning to arrive. How can we be expected to host a wedding without a bride? Do you really think Wednesday and Cousin Adalberto would just run off like this?" "It is odd," her husband agreed. "Even as a child when she ran way from home Wednesday was thoughtful enough to leave a note for us so we wouldn't worry… You don't suppose she's hiding under Pugsley's bed again, do you?" He shook his head. "That's the first place I looked." "Then she and Adalberto must have eloped. There's no other explanation." "Those impetuous youngsters," Gomez shook his head and gazed at he floor as if searching for answers there. As they were speaking a handsome, dark haired man appeared at the top of the mansion's central staircase. "Cousin Adalberto," Gomez greeted him. "We didn't expect to see you here today. When we couldn't locate Wednesday this morning we were beginning to imagine that you two might have eloped during the night." "Eloped? Lamentablemente, no," the young nobleman replied in a thick Castilian accent as he slowly descended the stair case. "There will be no elopement, primo Gomez. Nor will there be a wedding." 'No wedding?" Morticia asked. "What are you saying?" "My bonita prometida Wednesday came to me last evening after everyone had retired for the night and informed me that she could not marry me." "Oh, I am sorry, Cousin Adalberto," Gomez said. "You are too kind. But do not concern yourselves, primo míos. It is for the best." "Did she at least offer you a reason for calling off the wedding?" Morticia asked. "Si," he replied. "Senorita Wednesday told me that she could not become my esposa as her heart belongs to another man. In light of this I had no choice but to release her from our compromiso." "Did she happen to mention the name of the man she was in love with?" she asked. "Alas, no, Prima Morticia, she did not." "Did she at least say where she was going?" "Going? Mi bonita Wednesday has gone away? She gave no indication when we spoke last evening that she was planning a trip." Morticia took Gomez by the hand and led him into the conservatory after Cousin Adalberto had ascended the stairs once more. Both she and Gomez were unspeakably grateful that the young man was taking it upon himself to deliver the bad news of the sudden change in plans to his mother. "Oh dear," Morticia said once the young man was out of ear shot. "The situation is worse than I thought." "Worse? Whatever do you mean, Querida?" "I was afraid something like this might happen when I stayed away in Washington for so long." "I don't follow." "Don't you see, Gomez? Our daughter had fallen in love with you." "No, don't be silly. I … Do you really think so?" "My dear husband, how could she help herself." "But, Morticia. After all, she is our daughter." "Yes, but she's also a woman. You know very well the effect you have on women, Bubbele. Even our own daughter is not immune to your animal magnetism." " 'Bubbele!' Tish, you know what affect that word has on me," Gomez exclaimed as he grabbed hold of her arm and began kissing his way up from wrist to shoulder. "Gomez," Morticia spoke calmly, "Wednesday now. Bubbele later." "Wednesday? But today is Saturday." "Wednesday! Our daughter, remember?" "Oh yes," he replied reluctantly releasing her arm. "Wednesday, our daughter. Where were we?" "Our daughter Wednesday is in love with you." "But, Cara Mia …" "Haven't you noticed how she's been moping around the house since my return from Washington? Pouting, sulking. Especially in the last few days. She's been even more gloomy than usual. Now, on the night before her wedding, she has broken her engagement and ran away. It can only be because she can no longer have you to herself." "By George! Of course, Morticia. You must be right! Whatever will we do?" The butler walked into the conservatory as their conversation hit a lull and stood there silently, a little apart. In his big hand he held an obviously ancient, well-worn carpetbag. The circles which shadowed his downcast eyes seemed even darker than usual. Mrs. Addams glanced at him across the conservatory. "What is it, Lurch?" she asked. As Mr. Addams turned to look, he spotted the threadbare bag in Lurch's hand. "Where are you going with the suitcase, old man?" Summoning up his resolve, the butler stood shook his head, groaning low in his throat. "Come, come, Lurch," Gomez prompted. "If you have something to say, out with it." "I … I resign," the butler said at last. "Resign?" Morticia exclaimed. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?" "I quit," he replied, then added, "Effective immediately." "Quit? Why on earth would you want to leave us after all these years?" Gomez asked. "What about all of our guests? We have relatives coming in from all over the world for Wednesday's wedding today. Do you really mean to leave us without domestic help at a time like this?" Morticia inquired. "The wedding breakfast is in readiness." Lurch replied. "And the roast wildebeest and all of the other traditional wedding dishes have been prepared for the feast are being kept warm in the roasting oven." "With a traditional orange in the wildebeest's mouth?" "Of course, Mr. Addams." "Lurch, what has come over you?" Asked Mrs. Addams. Lurch groaned and shook his head sadly. "Can you believe this, Morticia? The day has hardly begun and already it's just one shock after another. First Wednesday, now Lurch." Mrs. Addams turned to look up at the towering butler. "Quitting? Has the entire world gone mad? You can't just quit, Lurch. You've been with us forever. How will we ever get along without you?" "Besides," Gomez said. "If you don't give us the customary two weeks notice you will forfeit your pension." "Won't be needing a pension," Lurch replied. Over the many years he had been employed by the family, the butler had been paid well. He had also spent very little of his salary. Between his savings and his investments, Lurch had, in fact, amassed a small fortune. Enough wealth to live on comfortably for the rest of his life and then some. Long ago Lurch had made arrangements that, were anything happened to him, his employer's only daughter would inherit all of his worldly possessions. Now that Wednesday was leaving his life forever Lurch hardly expected to live long enough to spend much of that fortune himself. "No pension? What about references?" "No references either," he groaned. "Lurch," Morticia interjected, "you certainly can't mean to walk out on us while our little Wednesday is still missing?" His head snapped up and he stared at Mrs. Addams in disbelief. "Wednesday is… missing?" he asked in his deep gravelly voice. "Yes, apparently she broke off her engagement to cousin Adalberto last evening, then packed a bag and left sometime during the night." Lurch continued to groan, shaking his head. "No-o-o-o-o..." "Did she say anything to you yesterday that might indicate where she may have gone?" Gomez asked. Not seeming to hear the question, Lurch emitted a deep rumbling sigh. "My fault!" he exclaimed dejectedly. "Your fault?" Mrs. Addams asked. "What's your fault, Lurch?" "Wednesday is gone … My fault." "Why would you cause our daughter to leave, Lurch? I always thought you liked Wednesday." "I do." His deep voice rumbled. "What happened between you two that would cause Wednesday to run away from home?" "She told me…" "Yes, Lurch?" Morticia prompted. "She told me…" "Come on. Out with it, old man," said Gomez. "What did Wednesday tell you?" "She said … she said she was … in love with me." A stunned silence followed the towering butler's revelation. Gomez was the first to regain his voice. "In love? Did you hear that, Tish? Our little Wednesday is in love! And it's not with me! Well, congratulations, old man, I…" Morticia gently laid a hand on her husband's arm and instantly Gomez fell silent. Pulling her husband aside Mrs. Addams spoke to him quietly. "Gomez, I don't think we are getting the entire picture here. Our Wednesday told Lurch that she was in love with him, but … is it possible that Lurch does not return our daughter's sentiments? You know what a playboy the man is." Mr. Addams turned back toward the butler. "Is that true, Lurch? Do you feel the same way about our little Wednesday as she feels about you?" Gomez asked. Lurch groaned. "Come, Lurch," Morticia coaxed. "This is no time to hold back information. Do you feel the same way about Wednesday as she feels about you?" After a long pause he replied. "Yes, Mrs. Addams." "You are in love with Wednesday?" Lurch nodded slowly. "Yes, Mrs. Addams." "If she loves you and you love her, I don't see the problem. She's called off her wedding. Her betrothal no longer stands in your way. Why did she break off her engagement and then just disappear like that? … Where could she have gone?" Gomez asked. "I believe I understand," Morticia said quietly to her husband. Turning back to the butler she said, "Lurch, you didn't tell Wednesday how you felt, did you? You didn't tell her you shared her feelings." Rumbling low in his throat, his eyes downcast, Lurch shook his head miserably. "But why not?" Gomez asked. "If you two are in love with each other… Why didn't you tell her how you felt?" "I…I…cannot!" "But why?" "She is … was … engaged to marry a count and …I'm ... a servant." "Oh, I see," Gomez said. "You felt that Wednesday is too far above your station, something like that?" Lurch nodded his gaze at the floor a few feet ahead of him. "Why, that's just silly, Lurch," Mrs. Addams said. "You must know you've always been more than a mere servant to Mr. Addams and myself. You're like family." "Mrs. Addams is right, Lurch," Gomez added slapping the towering butler on the back. "If you are the man our little Wednesday has chosen, well, I for one would be more than happy to call you 'son'." "And I feel the same way, dear Lurch," Morticia declared tenderly patting his big hand. "Father? Mother?" Lurch asked in disbelief. "Now that might take a little getting used to. In the mean time, Lurch, maybe it would be better if you just tried calling us 'Gomez' and 'Morticia'. But as my lovely wife just said, you've always been family as far as we are concerned." "Is that why you wanted to quit your job? You did not want to be here to see the woman you love marry another man?" Again Lurch nodded, still groaning. "Well, that's all settled, then. Wednesday is not marrying Adalberto." "Now we have to figure out where she may have gone," Morticia mused. "We must find our daughter, Gomez!" "More to the point," Gomez corrected, "Lurch must find her." He turned to the butler. "If you truly love that woman, it's up to you to track her down, old man. Search the four corners of the earth if you must. Leave no stone unturned. If our little Wednesday is the woman for you then, by George, go out there, find her! Tell her how you feel, and bring her back home!" Lurch hesitated. "But… what…what will I say to her?" Lurch asked uncertainly. "You might begin by telling Wednesday how you truly feel," Morticia said. "" "You do love Wednesday, don't you. Lurch?" She queried. "Yes, Mrs. Addams." "Then tell her so," Gomez prompted. "Simply tell her 'Wednesday, I'm in love with you.' That really is all you need to say." "…Wednesday … I … am … in … love … with … you…" "By George, you've got it, old man." Lurch groaned and shook his head. "What's wrong now?" "What if she doesn't want to come back?" He asked. "You might try telling her that you're sorry. When it comes to women and matters of the heart a good, old-fashioned, heartfelt apology never hurts." "Yes, Mr. Add… Gomez," the butler replied. End of Chapter 3.