Vigil

by Cecilia Samartin

  Lillian sat down so she could look me straight in the eye. “Ana, you’re not hearing me. I have a beautiful loft in the city. It’s the kind of place I’ve always dreamed of, and tomorrow I’m having a few things delivered. Best of all, I’m taking you with me. Now that Teddy and Jessie are gone, there’s nothing much for you to do here, and I need you with me, Ana. I need you now more than ever.”

  Stunned by this revelation, I asked, “Does Mr. Trellis know?”

  “Yes, I told you, we’ve been planning this for months.”

  “I mean, does he know that you want me to go with you?”

  Ms. Lillian shrugged, somewhat put off by my question. “Of course he does, and he’s fine with it as long as I help him find another housekeeper, which I’ve already looked into.” Lillian gazed admiringly at me. “But from now on I don’t want you to think of yourself as a nanny or a housekeeper or anything like that. I want you to think of yourself as my personal assistant.”

  “And the children,” I muttered. “What about the children?”

  Mrs. Trellis folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at me, disappointed that I wasn’t as overjoyed with my promotion and this new turn in life as she was. “They’re not children anymore, Ana. They’re adults, and I think it’s best that we start treating them as such.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” I muttered and I stood up to gather the packages that were still in the foyer. And as I helped Lillian organize her luxurious purchases for her new home, one-thousand-thread-count Italian sheets and hammered copper cookware among them, I felt the life dripping from my veins. I couldn’t imagine living away from Mr. Trellis, and it hurt me to think that he could so easily imagine living without me, that after all these years I was nothing more than a housekeeper to him. I chided myself for the rest of the day and tried to rid my brain of these preposterous thoughts, but they crept back in like a trail of hungry ants. If I couldn’t stop them, I could at least modify them somewhat. Perhaps Mr. Trellis didn’t need me the way I needed him, but he was certainly in need of my services at the house. It had taken me twenty years to understand what was required to look after it and him, and a replacement for me wouldn’t be so easy to find.

  I resolved to speak with Mr. Trellis that very evening. I wanted him to know that I would continue working for him if he wanted me to stay, even if it would upset Lillian. I planned to talk with him during the evening meal just as we’d discussed so many other household matters, but for the first time in weeks, Ms. Lillian stayed home for dinner, and I couldn’t possibly bring the subject up with her present. I had cleared the dishes and was rinsing them in the sink when I heard her shrill voice above the running water.

  “First you tell me to take my time, and now you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

  He muttered a reply, and although I couldn’t discern his words, the gruff impatient tone was the same as I remembered.

  “No, I haven’t found anyone to take Ana’s place,” she replied. “Fine, if you prefer I’ll leave tomorrow, and Ana can stay here until I find someone.”

  As their chairs screeched across the dining room floor, I fell to my knees and pressed my hands together in desperate prayer. “Let me stay here forever, dear God. Please, I don’t want to go with Ms. Lillian to her new loft. I want to stay here with Mr. Trellis.”

  At that moment, Lillian came into the kitchen and found me prostrate on the floor before the kitchen sink. “What in the world are you doing, Ana?”

  I stood up hastily and wiped my soapy hands on a dish towel. “I…I dropped a fork, but I can’t seem to find it.”

  “Finish up as soon as you can,” she said. “I need your help.”

  After I finished with the dishes, I went upstairs and found Ms. Lillian in her room packing her things with a vengeance and muttering to herself all the while. “I can’t wait to get out of this rat trap,” she said. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough for me.”

  I helped her fold her fine clothing while saying very little. I was worried that perhaps I’d overheard her incorrectly. Maybe after we were finished with her things, she’d direct me to pack my things as well.

  “There’s been a change in plans,” Lillian announced casually as she appraised her collection of silk scarves in every color of the rainbow. “You won’t be coming with me right away as I hoped. Adam’s being difficult, but as soon as I find a replacement I’ll send for you.”

  The muscles in my face quivered as I willed myself not to smile with unadulterated joy and relief.

  Lillian turned away from her scarves to look at me with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Ana. I know you must be very disappointed.”

  I nodded, trying my best to appear valiant and resigned. “I’ll be fine, Ms. Lillian. You shouldn’t worry about me when you have so many other things to think about now.”

  Ms. Lillian sighed with contentment as she tossed the scarves into her open suitcase. “I’m finally going to make my own life,” she said. “Oh, Ana, remember all those years ago when you told me that if I was patient I’d find my happiness?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, you were right, and this is the moment I’ve been waiting for.”

  I smiled and said nothing, but as I helped Lillian finish her packing, I realized, even as I prayed for God’s forgiveness, that this was the moment I’d been waiting for too.

  Fifteen

  ANA STOOD UP AND slowly made her way to the top of the stairs. From there she could see that her beloved’s door was open. When she approached, she saw Darwin kneeling at Adam’s bedside with his head hanging down and Adam’s hand resting on his crown, as though conferring a blessing.

  Ana hesitated and then decided not to enter. She wandered back downstairs and found herself in the music room. The late afternoon sun spilled in through the window, filling the room with a hazy golden light that inspired her recollection of the beautiful music she’d heard here. Sitting in the chair closest to the piano, her eyes traveled over the graceful contours of the instrument. With its lid propped open, it reminded her of an eagle on the wing soaring through the sky. The next moment it was immovable and timeless as a mountain range, always true to itself and its beauty. It represented the strength and depth of her beloved.

  She slowly approached the piano, pulled out the bench, and sat upon it. She carefully lifted the cover to reveal the keys. The ivory was slightly yellowed, but the black keys hadn’t lost their luster. Her fingers gently brushed their tops without making a sound. She dared not press down and disturb the peace in the room.

  Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she began to wipe away a thin layer of dust from the glossy surface, leaving a discernable streak. She worked her way down the legs of the instrument, along the broad sides, and across the back in a gentle and caressing motion until every inch of the piano gleamed. She then studied the intricate internal construction, the golden strings and white hammers that looked like a harp neatly fitted within the piano’s wood frame, as beautiful and delicate as jewelry. How she’d enjoyed watching the hammers dance across the strings as her beloved played, and whenever she stood as close as she was at that moment, she could feel its vibrations traveling through her body.

  After Lillian left the house, the weeks that followed were a dream. Mr. Trellis played for me every night, and for well over an hour I was with him as the music soared around us. I spent most of my days supervising the cleaning staff or working in the garden. In the evenings I prepared simple meals for Mr. Trellis and Benson, who was a regular dinner guest now that Lillian was gone. We often sat around the table in the sunroom with candles lit until late into the evening. I enjoyed waiting on them and listening to their conversation and joining in from time to time, especially if the discussion veered toward the children. I was floating on such a sea of contentment that I didn’t notice the passage of time. If Teddy and Jessie had come through the door at that moment, my life would have been perfect and complete.

  The subject of Mr. Trellis’s divorce
came up often in conversation. The most contentious issue involved the house. Mr. Trellis was willing to compromise on everything but that. On several occasions I heard him say to Benson, “I’ll give her whatever else she wants, but I won’t give her the house, or any part of it.” They never curtailed their conversation because of me, but I kept my distance at these times. I didn’t feel comfortable talking about Lillian, and although my heart had secretly aligned itself with Mr. Trellis years ago, I didn’t want to be put in the position where I would have to openly take sides.

  It wasn’t getting any easier explaining to Sister Josepha why, once again, I had changed my mind about going to New Mexico. There had been so many reasons over the years that I was starting to feel like an irresponsible child who kept inventing clever reasons for why her homework wasn’t done. Nevertheless, I wrote that my services were once again required at the house and that considering the upheaval the divorce was causing for all family members, I’d have to wait until the situation had stabilized before leaving. As always, her response was gracious and kind. “When the time is right, you will know,” she wrote back. “Until then, I will always hold a place for you here as I do in my heart.”

  As Christmas approached, I took great pleasure in decorating the house. By then, Teddy and Jessie were aware that their parents had separated, so I wanted things to be as pleasant as possible for them when they returned home for the holidays. I put wreaths in every window and selected a tree for the main room that was more than ten feet tall. I needed a ladder to decorate it and even then, Mr. Trellis had to put the star on the very top. More than ever, I wanted Teddy and Jessie to feel that they were coming home to a house filled with warmth and love.

  One evening, just a few days before they were due home, I was listening to Mr. Trellis play the piano when he stopped abruptly and said, “Ana, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you look so content.”

  “I always feel happy when I hear you play,” I replied.

  “Would you like to learn how to play something yourself?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I could. It’s probably too late for me.”

  He slid over to make room for me in the bench. “It’s never too late,” he said with a stiff nod.

  I sat next to him, intensely aware of his thigh so close to mine. He placed his hands on the keys and asked me to copy him. I tried very hard to imitate the arch in his hands, but this was difficult to do with quivering noodles for fingers.

  “Ana,” he said, somewhat surprised, “why are you trembling so? Don’t you feel well?”

  I was so overwhelmed that it took me a moment or two to find the words to answer him. “I’m afraid that I’m going to disappoint you and that you’ll think I’m stupid and dull.”

  “I could never think that about you, Ana,” he replied. “You should try to be more confident.”

  My vision became blurry, and I felt the blood racing through my veins. His nearness was affecting me so intensely that I felt the need to get away from him or risk appearing even more foolish. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trellis. I suppose that I’m not feeling very well after all. May I go now?”

  He hesitated as though perturbed by my question. “Of course, Ana. You’re free to come and go as you like. You know that.”

  “Thank you,” I said and I left as quickly as I could.

  He continued to play for some time after that, and as I listened from a safe distance through the open window, I imagined myself still sitting next to him on the piano bench, our hands crossing over each other and bridging beyond the rapture of the notes we played.

  Benson arrived early for dinner the next afternoon, although this in itself was not unusual. He enjoyed following me about, chatting while I finished my chores. But on this day, he was distracted by a guest he brought with him, an attractive woman with a neat blond bob. She was an attorney who’d recently joined his firm. I was in the kitchen reaching for the wineglasses off the top shelf that he’d requested when Benson entered to help me while his friend waited in the sitting room. “Now, Ana, I don’t want you to get jealous,” he said with an exaggerated frown. “Sandra and I are just friends, although I’m hoping that Adam takes a liking to her.”

  I nearly dropped the glass in my hand. “Mr. Trellis? But he’s not even divorced yet.”

  “That’s true,” Benson replied with a devious flicker of his bushy brows. “But it’ll be good for him to get his mind off the divorce, and in the meantime, life goes on.”

  “Does Mr. Trellis know about your plan?”

  He glanced warily over his shoulder. “Actually, neither of them do. We’ll just have to see what happens, won’t we?”

  Nodding somberly, I handed him the glasses, and he left the kitchen with a wine bottle tucked under one arm.

  Sandra was a decidedly elegant and self-assured woman who shook my hand as though I were one of her colleagues. She made every effort to include me in her conversation with Benson, which was difficult to do since I wasn’t up on current events and I had nothing clever to say about the news last night, or the state of international affairs. I was only servile and quick to understand that a glass was empty, or that Benson would like the window open because it was starting to get a bit stuffy. But I did as necessity required and smiled politely whenever Sandra turned to me as her graciousness demanded that she do. And all the while, I was unable to shake the sadness that had fallen over me since Benson told me of his intentions for Sandra.

  The more I observed her, the more perfect she seemed to be. She was intelligent and lovely, yet clearly not overly concerned with her appearance. In fact, I noticed that there was a loose thread hanging from her sleeve and that she probably hadn’t refreshed her lipstick for several hours.

  In spite of my sadness and upset about the whole situation, I liked her. I liked her very much and I knew Mr. Trellis well enough to know that he would like her too. In the span of a half hour or so, I had convinced myself that they were perfect for each other.

  When Mr. Trellis arrived home he looked especially weary. I informed him that Benson had brought a friend for dinner, and he wasn’t very pleased to hear it, although I suspected that he’d find fresh energy when he met Sandra, and I was right. Within minutes I could see that he was captivated by her. I hovered about the periphery and filled wineglasses. I floated in and out of the room, checking on this or that, trying my best not to disturb or interrupt.

  After I’d served the meal and refilled the water glasses, Mr. Trellis noted that I’d set only three places.

  “Ana, you won’t be joining us?” he asked.

  “I’ve eaten, thank you,” I replied, eager to leave them and go to my room. The longer I stayed in their presence, the more I felt myself shrinking away. As I climbed the stairs, I realized that although I was a simple woman, with simple thoughts and desires, over the years I’d managed to tie myself up into so many knots that I hardly knew who I was anymore. My mother’s voice followed me all the way to the top of the stairs and down the corridor to my room: “I was the greater fool to believe that a man’s sweet words and caresses could ever banish the harsh realities of life.”

  “I didn’t listen to you, Mama. Why didn’t I listen? How could I ever allow myself to hope that a man like Mr. Trellis could ever be interested in a woman like me?”

  I took a hot bath and climbed into bed. All was silent, and a sense of peacefulness came upon me when I heard the strains of piano music coming in through my open window. It meandered like a river, haunting my dreams, washing over me and threatening to drown me in my sleep. I saw his face, his dark, stormy eyes; I heard his voice, and I felt the warmth of his thigh running along the length of mine. I inhaled the wonderful perfume of his body, his hair, his hands, and I felt the stir of his soulful music filling me up. And I imagined Sandra swaying to the sound of it, her eyes closed as she allowed him to seep through to the depths of her soul as well.

  When I couldn’t take it anymore, I bolted out of my bed and yanked the window closed with such force t
hat I was afraid I’d shattered it, but my tantrum had produced nothing more than a tiny fissure in the glass that was almost as invisible as I felt.

  Sitting alone in the front room late on Christmas Eve, I gazed at the blinking lights on the tree. Teddy had returned from college the day before, and Jessie from her first term abroad just that morning. The two of them had spent the afternoon with their mother and were now fast asleep in their rooms. They informed me that Ms. Lillian had found a new “personal assistant,” who sprayed her sheets with lilac water, and that because of this she was no longer so upset that I wasn’t able to go with her to her new loft. Teddy and Jessie, on the other hand, were delighted that I was home to greet them when they arrived. Thinking back on how they’d embraced me at the door, I felt it was almost as if nothing had changed.

  Millie and Fred would be coming by the next day, and Millie had promised to make her Christmas morning coffee cake. Benson would come too, and we would open presents before preparing the meal, as we did every year. Sandra and Mr. Trellis had been out once or twice, but she had family back east and would be spending Christmas with them. I had started to doze, anticipating what a perfect day it would be, when I felt movement and was startled to find Mr. Trellis sitting next to me, watching me with sad and curious eyes. He and Dr. Farrell had spent quite a bit of time earlier that day talking in the study, and his mood had remained somber ever since then. He appeared distracted, and even when Jessie announced that she’d broken up with her Italian boyfriend, he didn’t appear to be listening very well.