“Ana, what in the world are you doing here?” a familiar voice said. “Didn’t Millie tell you that this floor and this room are out of bounds?” I turned to find myself staring up into Mr. Trellis’s troubled face.
“Mr. Trellis,” I whispered, my heart pounding so loudly I could hardly hear myself speak. “I…I’m sorry, no, she didn’t tell me, and I thought I…I…heard a noise.”
“You’re trembling like a scared rabbit,” he said and he removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Then he picked up my flashlight from the floor and flicked the switch several times, but it wasn’t working, which seemed to annoy him greatly.
“Do you think it’s wise to go around exploring noises in the middle of the night, Ana? What if I’d been an intruder? What would you have done?”
I pulled his jacket more tightly around my shoulders. “I’m fast on my feet Mr. Trellis.”
He considered me dubiously while shaking his head. “You’re fast on your feet, are you? That’s hard to believe when you couldn’t even find the door.” Before I could respond, he left me to go to the other end of the room. I had no choice but to follow him, or go back downstairs by myself in the dark. He sat on one of the many boxes in the room and proceeded to read what appeared to be a musical score. He became so caught up that it seemed he’d forgotten I was there watching him as he listened to the music playing in his head and his body rocked and swayed. And then before my eyes his face was transformed. The chiseled frown fell away to reveal an expression filled with wonder and peace, as though a beautiful river of light were flowing through his heart. As I watched him, I was enveloped by an enthralling warmth and I lowered my arms and took a step closer, careful not to disturb him until I was quite certain that he was finished.
After he lowered the score to his knees, I asked, “Did you play that piece before?”
“Yes,” he replied softly.
“What is it called?”
“Most people know it as Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.”
“Is it difficult to play?”
“It’s more difficult not to.” He closed the score with a huff and set it aside, but the soft expression in his eyes hadn’t changed, and he continued. “I used to play this piece for my mother. She said that when she heard it she was able to forget all of her worries. Today marks exactly fifteen years to the day since I lost my parents, and every year on this day, I come up here to look these things over, to read my old music and remember how it used to be.”
My eyes fell upon the shelves filled with his trophies. “Forgive me, Mr. Trellis, I know that it’s none of my business, but why don’t you play anymore? The piano downstairs is so beautiful, and Millie tells me that you were very good.”
He furrowed his brow and studied his fingers. “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t have the heart to play anymore.”
Feeling uncommonly bold, I took another step toward him and said, “Millie told me about the accident and how angry your brother was with you because he couldn’t play football anymore, but that wasn’t your fault.”
Hearing this, he closed his eyes and my heart stopped. I was afraid that this time I’d crossed the line, and that he was going to tell me to leave him be and get back to my room where I belonged. But when he opened his eyes again, they were filled with anguish, not anger. “I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told a soul,” he whispered. “But you must promise to keep it to yourself. Can you do that, Ana?”
I nodded and he shoved a nearby box toward me so that I could sit down next to him.
He glanced at me and then away. “Millie may have told you that her husband was driving the day of the accident, but he wasn’t.” He raked back his hair with trembling fingers. “I was a young man and I’d convinced Mick to let me drive to the recital that day. Naturally, the police and everyone else assumed that Mick had been the one at the wheel and I never bothered to correct them.”
“Darwin doesn’t know either?” I asked, stunned by his revelation.
“He was in a coma for almost a week. He doesn’t remember anything about the accident, and the driver in the other car didn’t survive. I was the only witness.”
We sat in silence for a while, and I searched desperately for something I might say to comfort him. Finally I said, “It was still an accident, Mr. Trellis. You didn’t mean for any of it to happen. You shouldn’t blame yourself anymore, and you must remember that if God planned for you to survive then you should accept his will for your life.”
He considered my words for a moment or two and then the cold demeanor that always held him prisoner returned, and when he looked up at me again his eyes were so filled with rage that my trembling instantly returned and I had to take several steps back. “You shouldn’t speak for God regarding things you know nothing about, Ana,” he muttered. It seemed that he wanted to say more, something hateful, but he stopped himself and stood up. “It’s getting late,” he said curtly. “We should go.”
I stood up and followed him through the corridor and down the stairs to the second floor, where I returned his jacket, and we parted ways without another word. But as I lay in bed, I replayed every moment, every word and glance that had passed between us during those precious moments that his guard was down. Now that I understood the great burden he’d been living with for so many years, I wondered what else I could’ve said to ease his suffering. He’d been annoyed with me, it’s true, but that didn’t change the remarkable fact that he’d trusted me with a secret he’d never told another soul. There was now a special understanding between us, almost like a vow, and thinking of it this way reminded me of the secrets that Carlitos and I used to keep. I remembered how he tugged nervously at the loose fibers of his woven sandals when he confessed, “I saw Papa with the other woman. Her name is Marisol.”
“Did you actually talk with him?” I asked, knowing that Tía Juana would be very angry if she knew that he had.
“I tried not to,” Carlitos said, his face contorting with shame, “but I miss Papa so much, I couldn’t walk away from him.” Tears slipped down his face, leaving clean, shiny trails on his dusty cheeks. “I talked to Marisol too. She was pretty and nice, and she gave me a cool drink.” He glanced shyly at me. “She told me I was handsome.”
“You are handsome,” I said, wanting to ease his turmoil however I could. “You know, if I saw my father, I would talk to him too even though I know Mama would be so mad she might never talk to me again.”
“You would?” he said, looking up with grateful eyes.
“Yes, I would. And I wish that I was brave like you so I could go find him and bring him back home.”
“But he’s dead,” Carlitos said, forgetting his own upset for the moment.
“That’s what Mama and Tía Juana say, but sometimes I think they just tell me that so I won’t go looking for him.”
Carlitos nodded his understanding. This kind of parental trickery was something we were both familiar with. “Sometimes I wish that I could run away and live with Papa and his new woman,” he said, but then his eyes flew open in alarm. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“I won’t tell about Marisol if you won’t tell anyone that I believe my father is still alive somewhere in the jungle.”
He nodded enthusiastically, and already I could see that he was less anxious and that his playful mood was returning. “You’re going to make a good wife,” he said, giving me a solid shove, which I promptly returned.
“And you’ll make a good husband, but I should warn you that I’m not planning to have any babies, so I’m going to have to be enough for you.”
He thought about this for a moment and then smiled. “You’re enough for me.”
Eight
WHEN ANA HEARD BENSON’S heavy footsteps descending the staircase, she left Sister Josepha and Jessie, who were still discussing the pros and cons of living in New Mexico. He lumbered down the staircase with his briefcase dangling loosely at his side, and it seemed that at any moment it would slip
away from his fingers and tumble down before him.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he sighed and clicked open the latches, releasing the fragrance of fine leather, paper, and ink. He shuffled through the contents and then looked up at Ana, his expression grim. “Before I proceed any further, I must tell you one last time that in my opinion your plan is ludicrous. I think we should tear these documents up right now and forget about the whole thing.”
“Did he sign them?” Ana asked.
Benson showed her the space where Adam had signed. His signature was shaky, but it was undeniably his. “I told him they were routine addendums. He didn’t bother to read any of it.”
Ana briefly reviewed the documents and handed them back. “Benson, I know this is difficult for you, but it’s the only way I can be sure that Teddy will come.”
“This is no guarantee,” Benson said, shaking his head so vigorously that his jowls jiggled. “And it doesn’t have to be such an extreme arrangement.”
“It will be worth it,” Ana replied.
Benson returned the documents to his briefcase and closed it.
“When will he receive them?”
“Peter told me that Teddy’s back in town and staying with his mother. I’ll have them delivered to her place this afternoon,” Benson replied. “In fact, I’ll deliver them myself.”
Ana was relieved to hear this. “Do you have time for lunch?” she asked.
“I have to get to the office.” Rarely did Benson turn down an invitation to eat.
“You’ll be back soon?”
“I’ll swing by on my way home this evening, but I don’t want to keep you now. Adam’s asking for you.”
Ana gave Benson a quick peck on the cheek and scurried up the stairs with renewed energy. She turned just as he was walking out the door. “Once again, thank you,” she said.
“You know I’d do anything for you. Ana. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t worry, Benson. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
Adam shuddered with every breath, and Ana was angry with herself for having allowed Benson to visit for so long. She quickly counted out his pills, but he turned his head away when she brought them to his lips.
“You’ve waited too long already,” Ana said.
Adam whispered hoarsely, “I want to talk to you.”
She cupped the pills in her hand and leaned forward so that she was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “What is it, my love?”
“It’s about Benson.”
Ana’s heart began to beat wildly as she thought about what Benson might’ve told him.
“He’s a good man,” Adam said.
“Yes, I know. And he’s a wonderful friend,” Ana replied, barely able to endure her anxiety and the agony of her beloved’s suffering.
“He’s always cared for you.”
“And I care for him,” Ana replied, but all she wanted at that moment was for Adam to take his medicine so that his suffering would cease. His eyes opened wide and he stared intensely, but they were focused far away, beyond her. She took this opportunity to offer the pills again and this time he accepted. Immediately after swallowing them, he grew calmer and closed his eyes. Then he suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand with surprising strength. He opened his eyes and said, “He wants you to go with him.”
“I’m staying right here with you. I’m not leaving with Benson or anybody.”
“After,” he whispered. “After it’s finished.”
Once her beloved had fallen asleep, Ana allowed her tears to flow, weeping quietly into her sleeve to avoid waking him. Then she stacked the empty glasses on the nightstand and folded the clean sheets she’d brought up from the laundry the day before. After she finished these chores, she sat back in her chair and gazed down at his face, savoring the tranquillity and quiet of the moment, and thanking God for every painless breath that entered his lungs.
Moments later, Jessie entered the room and sat at Ana’s feet, resting her head on her knee. “He looks peaceful again,” she said.
“He’ll sleep for an hour or more,” Ana whispered.
“I don’t want you to go to New Mexico,” Jessie said.
“I’m not going anywhere right now,” Ana murmured.
“But how about later…after…?”
Ana gently stroked the hair away from Jessie’s forehead. “Let’s just focus on right now.”
The roses were in full bloom and Millie so enjoyed fresh flowers in her kitchen that I spent the better part of an hour selecting the most beautiful roses for a fresh water bouquet. Jessie was with me in her carriage and every time I snipped a stem with my clippers, she squealed with delight and waggled her little arms and feet in the air. Then suddenly, she became still and gazed at me with her big, curious eyes. Dropping my clippers to the ground, I knelt down next to her and gazed back. Every time I smiled, she smiled. If I grew serious, she did as well, watching me intently, trying to predict my next move. Then, just for fun, I stuck out my tongue. She appeared momentarily confused, but then much to my amazement, she stuck out her tongue too.
I nearly fell back on my heels, and she grinned as though on the brink of madness. I plucked her out of her carriage and she chortled with happiness. At that moment I spotted Lillian watching us through her bedroom window. I waved to her and she gave me a halfhearted wave in return. She’d been avoiding me ever since I’d discovered her with Jerome several weeks ago, and for the most part I was glad. I felt awkward and ashamed for her and a deep sadness for Mr. Trellis. I also felt guilty about my role, but whenever I convinced myself that the honorable thing to do was to tell him about what I’d seen, I realized that this too would be wrong, and as my mother always told me, “What happens between a man and woman is private.”
Even so, I thought the time had come for us to move on, so with Jessie in my arms I rushed upstairs, intent upon having her perform the little miracle I’d just witnessed for her mother. Surely this would ease the tension between us. I knocked on her bedroom door and entered. She was still sitting at the window, her lovely eyes alternating between sadness and the joy of seeing her little girl.
“She did something amazing just now,” I said, placing the child on her mother’s knee and then explained how she’d poked out her tongue at me.
“She didn’t,” Lillian said, duly impressed.
“I swear that she did. Try it and see if she does it again.”
“Like this?” Lillian said, poking out her tongue like a schoolgirl.
“Yes, but she has to be looking directly into your eyes.”
And so it was that after a few more attempts Jessie performed the little miracle for her mother, who rewarded her with a flurry of kisses all over her face. But then Lillian’s delight turned to sorrow, and her tears began to flow. I brought her the Kleenex box from her dresser. She plucked several tissues out, then blew her nose.
“Oh, Ana, I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I feel as though I’m dying inside.”
I sat down next to her. “Are you in love with the painter, Jerome?” I asked, feeling that somehow I’d earned the right to ask this question.
She threw her head back and laughed, appearing for an instant just as she did when she lay with him on the couch. Then she shrugged, and wiped her eyes. “I’m in love with his body and with the way he makes me feel, that’s all.”
I was shocked to silence.
“You may find this hard to believe, Ana, but when I was your age, I’d already slept with countless men.”
It was ludicrous to associate such an image with a woman as beautiful and refined as Lillian. In my mind, women who did this were girls who hadn’t been blessed with natural beauty. If they were going to be noticed at all, they had no choice but to engage in the most lurid behavior. But Lillian need only bat her lashes to bring an entire regiment of men to their knees.
In response to my baffled expression, she said, “Women like me a
ren’t born, they’re made, and my lessons began at a very early age.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lillian, I don’t understand.”
Jessie started tugging on her mother’s pearl necklace, so Lillian removed it and gave it to her daughter, while placing her on the floor near her feet, where she remained happily engaged.
“When I was a little girl about Teddy’s age, the woman who took care of me was nothing like you. She was lazy and she didn’t enjoy looking after children. One of the duties she least enjoyed was bathing me. I’d splash about so much that she ended up soaking wet. So when her teenage son visited one summer, she delegated bath duty to him, and I liked the arrangement even better than she did. He was a sweet, handsome boy who liked washing me in the most meticulous manner you can imagine. He didn’t mind getting wet and often stripped down and got into the bath with me. Oh, how we played. I never wanted bath time to end,” she said.
“That’s child abuse,” I said.
“Oh, I realize that now,” she replied. “But at the time, the secret ‘tickle game’ as we called it was the most fun I’d ever known, and I missed him terribly when he went back to school.”
“Didn’t you ever tell anyone what happened?”
“I couldn’t betray my best friend,” Lillian said, her eyes round. “At least that’s what I considered him to be then. He told me the grown-ups would never understand the secret we shared and keeping the secret was almost as much fun as playing the game.” Lillian twisted the tissue she held, and little pieces fell to the floor. “That was just the beginning of my story, and there were many more adventures that followed,” she said, her eyes darkened by regret. “I learned things I shouldn’t have, and trying to unlearn them has been my undoing.” She turned to me, her expression as earnest as I’d ever seen it. “It didn’t take me more than a minute or two to figure out that Jerome would be open to my advances.”
“What that boy did to you is wrong, Ms. Lillian. You can get professional help, and maybe if you do, your secrets won’t hurt you as much as they do.”
Vigil Page 18