Awaken, Shadows of a Forgotten Past

by Marcia Maidana

  Zaira looked at me, then at Alex, clearly taken aback. “Thank you, sir—I do have double chocolate cake for dessert.”

  “Please leave it in the kitchen. I’ll get it when we are ready,” instructed Alex. I avoided Zaira’s astonished look.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen for a while if you need me. Good night.” Zaira swiftly pushed the cart out of the room. The sound of its wheels on the stone floor vanished down the corridor.

  “I see you sitting here with me, and I just can’t believe it’s really you,” Alex remarked. There it was again, that sense that his words held a deeper meaning, and I was a latecomer to the conversation. I twisted my fork in the pasta on my plate, not wanting to say the wrong thing and ruin the magic of the night—maybe our last evening together. “Florence, you have no idea how you have changed my life.” He reached for my hand, holding it tight. His eyes locked onto mine.

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Perhaps one day I’ll be able to freely confess everything you should know without holding back.” He retrieved his hand, letting go of mine.

  We started eating, making the effort to ignore the obstacle of his mysterious past. I raked my mind for the right thing to say. “I am enjoying Simon’s adventure very much.” Reading together in the comfort of his office had been one of the highlights of the storm.

  “Again, I’m sorry for falling asleep—”

  “It’s all right. These past few days have been exhausting worrying about the weather and staying up so late. It has to catch up to us sometime.”

  “Yes, exhausting and unpredictable, but I’ve also enjoyed a feeling of peace in my heart—a feeling I haven’t had since…” He sighed. “A long time ago.”

  “I feel it too. There is an unusual, tranquil feeling in the house.” I thought it had something to do with Mrs. White’s absence but considered it better not to say it. “It might be the reason that you fell asleep.” Keeping my voice casual, I added, “You must have been having quite a dream.”

  “I was? How do you know?” Alex was full of curiosity, his eyebrows furrowed.

  “You were speaking in your sleep.” I took a sip of water, observing his reaction.

  “Oh…how awful. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, I wasn’t bored.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” His eyes filled with curiosity.

  “You said some interesting things.” I pushed my half-empty plate away and folded my arms in front of me.

  “I’m curious now. You better tell me.” Mimicking me, Alex folded his arms on the table, leaning forward.

  “I suppose it’s okay for you to know,” I teased. “After all, you were the one having the dreams.”

  “Dreams? There was more than one?”

  “A couple.”

  “Great, let’s hear it.”

  “You said confusing things. I couldn’t really understand it all.” I made an effort to remember. “You said words like, heavy fire, hold your post, Marne.” There were other words he had said, but I knew better than to repeat them; they were private memories about death and suffering.

  “I don’t remember having any dreams lately, especially about the war. I’ve worked very hard to train my mind to forget about it.”

  “What’s Marne?”

  “You don’t know?” Alex sounded shocked by my ignorance. I shook my head. “Well, I guess not everyone knows it in the younger generation.” His gaze found the blazing fire coming from the hearth. “One of the most crucial battles was fought at the River Marne during the Great War. That’s where the British and the French stopped the German advance into Paris, saving the city from being taken. It was a bloody battle. It cost innumerable casualties, and it dragged on for what seemed a lifetime.”

  “It must’ve been horrible to witness such carnage.” I felt nauseated at the thought.

  “You have no idea.” He sighed. “When the British entered the war, the recruiting offices were immediately flooded by men. I drove by White Hall in London, and to this day I’m still amazed by what I saw.” Alex now faced me. “Hundreds of young men lined up in the street outside the building, waiting for a turn to volunteer.”

  “They were brave men.”

  “They didn’t know what they were headed for. They were eager and excited to go to war. They didn’t realize that their chances of returning home were close to zero. But I can’t blame them—I knew it, and I was anxious to go when my turn came.”

  “You didn’t want to return?”

  “No, by then I had nothing to return to. But fate would have it otherwise. Me, one of the only ones who didn’t want to return, did.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve suffered so much.” Whatever had happened to him in the past had driven him to the edge of insanity.

  “Forgive me, I haven’t spoken about the war for so long—I got a little carried away. But tell me, what else did I say?”

  I didn’t think his other dream had any importance until I saw his reaction. “You said, ‘Florence, please forgive me. It was my fault—I didn’t come back in time from London.’”

  “That’s funny, I did come back from England on schedule.” He said this a little too fast, and something in his tone told me he was hiding something from me. “What else did I say?”

  “You insisted that if you’d have come back in time I would’ve not…been hurt.” His body stiffened at my words.

  “I was totally delirious. I don’t even remember having a dream. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s all.”

  Alex pushed his chair back and rose; that conversation was over. “Would you like some dessert?”

  Dessert was the last thing on my mind. “No, I can’t eat any more, thank you.”

  “Zaira will be upset in the morning.” He smiled.

  “I think she already is.”

  I watched Alex’s silhouette in the dim light as he bent down to place a couple of logs in the fireplace. I contemplated his broad shoulders and strong arms. Surely, he had been a young man once, full of life and hopes, and most definitely very gifted.

  I glanced at the quiet piano sitting in the corner of the room. “Would you play for me?” Hesitation filled his eyes, and I added, “Please.”

  After a moment, when I started to lose hope, Alex agreed. “Very well.” Walking towards the piano, a shadow crossed his face, giving me the impression that instead of a gift, music was a curse to him. Almost in slow motion, he placed his fingers on the piano keys and began to play. I leaned my back against the side of the fireplace and closed my eyes. He played with all the feeling that he tried to hide behind a stoic façade. All those enigmatic conversations, the times when he abruptly changed the subject or simply didn’t answer my questions were uncovered by the passion that flowed through the music. Only after the music stopped did I become aware that my cheeks were damp with tears.

  Alex looked up and caught me wiping my eyes. “Do I play that poorly?” He walked over and brushed off my tears with the back of his hand.

  “Terrible,” I joked. My attempt to regain some semblance of self-possession was hindered as I felt his touch on my face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just emotional,” I lied. I knew I had never been so happy. “You play so beautifully.”

  “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” he said in a husky voice.

  “I think I know exactly who you are, Alex.” I suppose I should have been surprised at my boldness, but I was finding out that love had a way of driving away shyness.

  “And who is that?” Alex asked. “A dusty, old antique that has seen better days?”

  “You can pretend if you want, but we both know that isn’t true. I know you’ve had your share of sorrow, but that doesn’t mean you’re damaged or defective. It just means you’re human.” I willed Alex to believe my words. I hoped that they might break the barriers he kept putting up between us. But when he spoke, I knew that I hadn’t c
onvinced him yet.

  “You’re so young—so innocent,” he said. “You deserve so much more.”

  “It’s not what I deserve that I care about, but what I want.”

  “And what do you really want, Florence?” His eyes searched mine as if trying to reach my soul.

  “I want to be a part of your life.”

  “You might never know how much that means to me.” I felt his soft lips touching my forehead and I trembled, both from the sweet wildness that coursed through my veins at his touch and the fear that Alex’s secret past might conspire to keep us permanently apart.

  10

  ~ Following the Heart ~

  “I will miss you.” Alex walked me to the faithful Buick, parked in front of the circular drive of Oak’s Place.

  “Not more than I will miss you,” I assured, and looked back at the house; longing to stay tore my heart.

  “I don’t know about that. Drive safe.” Hands hidden in his pockets, Alex watched me drive away.

  I maneuvered carefully down High Banks Road. Fallen trees, standing water, and all types of debris alongside the road passed by like an endless motion picture. A disorienting feeling took hold of me. This scenery was the world turned upside down. Yet, it fit perfectly with the way I felt about my personal life. Since I had started working at Oak’s Place, my life had made a violent transfiguration from the inside out. I had lost all control; I was at the mercy of my feelings.

  Yet, when I entered the monastery grounds, I felt a curious sense of relief; I had crossed the line into a safe territory, a place where I could think clearly, where an invisible shield protected me from all the insecurities, doubts, and fears.

  I pushed the kitchen door open, aware of the voices eagerly chattering inside.

  Granny, Sister Callahan, and a few other sisters were gathered around the table. All dressed in their black and white attire, they looked like oversized magpies circling their prey.

  Granny turned around at the creak of the door. “Child, it’s so wonderful to have you home!” She hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.

  “It’s good to be home.” I returned her hug. Feeling her sincere love surrounding me made me glad to be back.

  “Fannie, Fannie is back!” Sister Callahan shouted. Putting the paper she had been inspecting back on the table, she strolled towards me. My feet left the floor for an instant as her arms tightened around my body.

  “Hello, Sister Callahan,” I squeaked. She released me and I stepped away from her.

  There was a collective greeting from the rest of the sisters as I approached the table to discover what their excitement was about. To my great astonishment, I saw several of my drawings, along with others I didn’t recognize.

  Seeing the puzzled expression on my face, Granny quickly explained, “Florence, forgive me for showing them your drawings. Sister Cox here,” Granny signaled towards a thin woman with a pointy nose standing beside her, “loves drawing herself, and she wanted to see your work. I meant to put them back.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not a good artist, but I hope you like them.”

  “I disagree with you, young lady. Your work proves that you are a talented artist. I’m impressed,” Sister Cox complimented, her long fingers holding one of my papers up close.

  “Thank you.” I started to sit down to examine Sister Cox’s work, but the most exaggerated and loud screams coming from Sister Callahan brought all of us to stand rigidly.

  “Who is this?” she asked me. I gasped when I caught a better look at the paper she was advertising in total bliss.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. The scorching sensation running through my veins testified that Sister Callahan had trespassed my personal boundaries.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” she insisted with determination.

  I stared at the drawing of the young Alex I had recently drawn. So, did all the nuns, especially Granny, whose eyes seemed to double in size.

  “He is absolutely gorgeous!” Sister Callahan went on, “And so young. Around your age—isn’t he?”

  “It’s just a drawing from memory…someone I remembered seeing a long time ago.” I felt exposed, embarrassed, and at the same time ashamed at myself for feeling that way. I had just lived the most amazing days close to the man in the drawing. Why the pretense? Why did I feel the need to hide from reality?

  “Well, that’s just too bad. He is the perfect match for you.” Sister Callahan laughed. My heart dropped. After admiring the drawing one final time, she returned it to the table.

  I had lost all desire to socialize. “Good night.” I headed to the hallway.

  “Florence, you haven’t had dinner yet,” said Granny.

  “I’m not hungry.” Granny didn’t argue with me. I had the uncomfortable sensation that she could read me like an open book—that she knew the exact events that had transpired at Oak’s Place.

  I left the kitchen to find solace in my room, but along with it, I also found the loneliness I felt without Alex. I sat on my bed, feeling a strange emptiness in my heart. I knew I would see him tomorrow, but tonight I missed him desperately.

  The weeks following the storm flew by. Those unforgettable days had marked a turning point in our relationship, but for better or worse, I wasn’t yet sure. The only thing I was certain of was that my heart still pounded in anticipation every time I saw Alex.

  A flood of sudden realization—a reckoning of time unexpectedly came over me. Quick images of the recent weeks ran through my mind like a beam of light.

  I saw how I had worked less and less hours and spent more and more time with him. I saw us reading in his office, horseback riding, walking through the gardens, eating together, playing games. I saw his eyes looking at me with deep love and desire. I saw his total respect for me, and I loved him for it, and was frustrated at his restraint and reserve at the same time. Would the love I saw in his eyes ever be enough to help him break free of the past so that we could explore a new life together? I dreaded the answer to my question, for I also saw his hesitation to visit the monastery and meet Granny, even though I had invited him several times. I saw how he pulled away from me every time Mrs. White reminded him of how “out of place” and how “inappropriate” our relationship was. I saw my own insecurity at not knowing the exact nature of our relationship; Alex treated me more like a child than a woman. We were just friends after all…good friends—Alex’s own words.

  The most piercing memories came last, the ones that caused a searing pain—his unknown past, his secrets, and his deceased wife. His love for her created an abyss between us. And then his health—seven out of the last fifteen days Alex had been terribly ill. Was it a physical illness that extended its terrible claws onto his emotional and intellectual self? Or, was it the other way around? Whatever it was, I feared I was losing him to a faceless enemy, one I couldn’t fight nor defeat—death.

  Alex wouldn’t allow me to be around him when he was sick. He preferred to conceal himself behind closed doors to fight his demons alone. Today I hoped he would feel better. I hoped to spend time together.

  It was unsettling how when I let myself hope, a sharp premonition pricked my heart; my dream was about to turn into a nightmare.

  He stood in the sunlight by the back window of his office. His gaze traveled from the statue out in the garden to look at me. There was an undeniable trace of guilt and resentment in his eyes. “Good morning. How are you feeling today?” I approached him feeling the anticipation of his embrace.

  He stretched a hand out to me, suggesting me not to come any closer. “Today is not a good day. I don’t want you to see me like this,” said Alex, his voice faint. I froze in place, my pride injured.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to get another opinion.” I had to try one more time; Alex needed to seek different medical assistance.

  “Florence, it’s not as bad as you think. Don’t worry, I’m used to it. In time, it will go away.”

  “I’m not convinced.” The urge to help him se
ized upon me, and I felt helpless, hopeless, and disarmed, realizing that perhaps he had simply given up.

  “Why can’t you see it? I’m old and sick. If you were smart, you would walk away from me before I can cause you more pain,” he said coldly.

  “Walking away from you is the only thing that can cause me pain,” I responded defensively.

  “You are blind! There is nothing I can offer you. Nothing besides money!” There was a solid wall of fear and despair between us now.

  “Stop speaking like that! Can you hear yourself?” I was a few feet away, yet he was unreachable.

  “You should leave. Find someone your own age—someone who can completely belong to you.” His eyes turned back to find the statue of the lady through the clear glass. His heart still belonged to her. I wondered if she had loved him the same.

  “Is that what you want me to do? Leave? So, you can feel sorry for yourself the rest of your life, hoping that the dead will come back to life?” Blinded by jealousy, mad and hurt, I wanted to make him feel my suffering.

  “You could never understand. When you love the way we loved—I—” He stopped, perhaps regretting his words. He groaned in frustration, his hands turned into fists.

  I tried to hold my tongue, but when he wouldn’t even turn to look at me, I lost control. “I could never compare to her. Is that it? She was just too great, wasn’t she?” I struggled to hold back my tears.

  “No, that’s not it. The problem is exactly the opposite. You remind me of her too much. Do you understand? Too much!” His tone scared me, bringing back the memory of his anger the day at the meadow. I didn’t want to see that side of him again. Drawing back, I considered my next words carefully.

  “Very well.” I softened my tone. “Tell me to leave and never come back, and I will do it.” My emotional distress surmounted my ability to control it, and at last my tears ran freely.