Angel of Ash

by Law, Josephine

  She stood outside the orphanage that night, Asher still not home, wanting to see, search for the man whom she knew existed deep within a hardened soul. It was a beautiful and large home on the outskirts of London, a merry lane, a large manor home with ivy running up the front, its brick face resembled happiness, a garden lovingly tended to on the side, the grass neatly manicured. It held all the warmth that the townhome she lived in with her husband did not. A front plate read, “The William House”, cheery fires and candlelight lit up the home. Angel saw small heads playing; she heard laughter as she hid in the darkness of a large oak tree placed near the side of the house. She’d told the carriage to wait for her at the village, she had to make this trek alone, had to see the truth in Anthony’s words. The sounds of the children nearly broke her heart but it was the view of Asher as he raised one small black haired boy above his head in play and merriment that caused her to fall to her knees.

  “Asher,” she said softly. “Why can you not forgive her? Why can you not forget her and remember me?” She whispered. She slowly walked away, running towards the carriage where she demanded quick leave, where the horses galloped far away from Asher’s home of love and hope until broken she entered the townhome which contained nothing except bitterness and pain. Yet she understood now, Asher had given this woman his life for nearly twenty years, she had been his very existence and when she’d destroyed his trust, his love, his hope and even his very child, there was simply nothing else within him to give.

  Chapter 9

  She bathed with a broken heart; thought of those children which he cared so for, her heart empathized with the orphans, and she wanted to help them, wanted to help Asher. Wanted so much for him to realize that she wasn’t Deborah, that mysterious woman who had killed his soul.

  Near eleven that night she heard the soft click of his door opening and then closing, in the past two hours she’d dressed in a short shift, brushed her hair, written letters to family and thought of Deborah, a woman which haunted her marriage to Asher from the grave. Instead of giving and thinking about Anthony’s story she knocked upon the door between hers and Asher’s room and waited with an open and anticipatory heart to enter.

  “Come,” he said sharply as she herself breathed in heavily, wiping wet palms upon her shift.

  Opening the door softly, Angel walked through the short hallway, stepping into Asher’s room, lit by a large candelabra and a roaring fire as she curled her toes into the carpet, waiting for him to notice her as he undressed before his armoire.

  “Yes, my lady?” He began, his back turned towards her.

  “I-I wanted to wish you a good eve, my lord. And ask that I may lay with you,” she spoke hesitantly, nervously a quiver in her boon.

  He paused as he removed his shirt, nodded slightly. “You may, my lady,” he finally said quietly, thinking that she had gotten over her anger with him. More unsure of himself then he was of her. He heard the soft sounds of her feet moving, the softer sounds of the bed giving to her slight weight. Remembering her words earlier, of a truce, he wearily rubbed the back of his neck. He was so tired, tired of this hate, tired of this anger, yet, it had been so long since he had known any other way.

  Lifting his foot, he pulled off his pant legs, stretching after he completely disrobed and for the first time turning and stopping dead in his tracks. “What did you do to your hair?” He asked his eyes wide, shock.

  “I-I cut it…and dyed it,” Angel said, pulling at one errant light brown curl that framed her face. “It was too much…I grew weary of the heavy weight,” she spoke fast, self-consciously pulling at the short curls that framed her face, that barely skimmed her shoulders. “Do you…do you like it? I didn’t realize how different I would look. I passed a mirror and wandered briefly who was I before I remembered…it was me,” she self depreciatively said, a small, shy smile upon her lip.

  Asher was dumbstruck; he stared at her, her hair, trying to collect his thoughts. She looked scared, scared of his reaction. “It is…different.” He finally managed to say.

  Nodding, she slipped underneath the covers, pulling them to her chin. “Yes, my lord, very different. I do not look the same,” she said softly, giving him a small, sad smile.

  “No, you don’t, my lady.”

  “I feel different, my lord.”

  He did not speak, wasn’t able to, instead blowing out the candles upon the heavy bar, tending to the fire before getting into bed, his eyes unwillingly going to her short cropped hair, the curls delicately dancing upon her nape, slivers lying upon her shoulders, uncovering her ears. The golden coloring was nearly the same as his niece, Lauran. Even her eyebrows seemed lighter in color. “How did you manage to dye it so lightly?” He asked, unable to stop his curiosity.

  “Peroxide, baking soda, ammonia and lemon,” she said, meeting his eyes as he sat on the bed, staring at her. “Every time I washed it out it kept getting lighter and lighter, I feared it would not stop until I grew completely white.”

  He nodded; he could smell the faint hint of lemon from her. They studied each other before he laid next to her, pulling her towards him, his hand instantly going towards her hair, touching the incredible softness. He said no more about her hair as he kissed her lips.

  When next Angel awoke, Asher was gone from the bed, his side cold, the indentation of his body and faint and indiscernible. Placing her shift back on, she unconsciously touched her hair, a small frown touching her lips. Did he realize that she’d cut it for him? To not remind him of Deborah who’d also had midnight black hair, who’s hair also lay down to her waist from Anthony’s description. She wanted to become someone new, someone different, someone he’d be able to see.

  A frown still sitting heavily upon her she stood up and was met with an agonizing cramp in her lower regions. Moaning softly, she fell to the bed, twisting, her eyes touching blood upon the sheets. “No,” Angel whispered, the spots of blood upon the bed sheets where she had laid a bright glare of horror. “No,” she said as another cramp seared through her insides as she bent over in pain holding her middle. “Please, God, please, don’t let this happen to me,” she whispered. “Please, God, don’t let me lose the baby,” she cried as cramp after cramp tore through her body. Her hands twisted the sheets as she moaned in agony.

  When next she managed to stand she nearly fainted, blood rushing down her legs to stain the carpet beneath her feet. Stumbling towards the bell chord she pulled it jerkily, fear and agitation making her movements choppy. She did not care that it was Asher’s valet who answered her call, who saw the blood seeping from her. He barely managed to catch her as she fell into darkness.

  “Young master, your wife has miscarried,” Dr. Jenkins said, speaking softly as he waited for a reaction from Asher who sat in stony silence at his desk, refusing to look up. The young sir looked older than his years, weary and beaten.

  “Is…is the lady well?” Asher finally managed to ask, his hands tightly fisted upon his desk.

  “She will survive, sir, even though her bleeding was heavy, she was after all five months with child. However, she was quite distraught as to be understood. She has been sedated with medicine, my lord; it has eased her into sleep. What would you have us do with the babe?”

  “I will have the priest brought around, to perform last rites. Have the housekeeper place the…the fetus in the downstairs drawing room in his basinet and tell her to have the woodmen, create an infant coffin.”

  “Yes my lord. You may see her now, if you wish.”

  “Doctor. Bates will see you out.”

  “Sir,” Dr. Jenkins said, looking sadly on. “You will have other children. Your wife is healthy and young. This often happens with first pregnancies. I am sorry.” He left after those words.

  Wearily standing up, Asher tried easing the cramp in his neck, massaging it, still staring downward, and remembering his fear and anxiety when a servant had hurriedly called on him at the orphanage.

  “Your wife! My lord! Your wife has fallen ill
!” the servant had gasped out.

  He’d left in a state of panic and flew back to London upon his horse racing inside where a somber air had overtaken the house. Racing upstairs he’d flung open his door only to find Angel crying and screaming hysterically, her hands covering her face, the bed soaked with blood and a small lifeless baby beside her as the doctor worked feverishly over her.

  His vision had narrowed, his breathing had stopped. “No,” he’d uttered finally gaining the attention of the doctor’s assistant who ushered him out. That had been three hours ago. And now the doctor and his assistants had left, the house was silent, Mrs. Bates Angels’ bedside companion.

  It was more than three hours before he was able to leave his study. The downstairs drawing room was closed, the dead baby was inside. His heart contained nothing. He walked inside, there were three candles lit around the child, as it lay bundled in the beautiful Christening gown he knew that Angel had created herself for the past three months.

  It had been a boy. He lay so perfectly still in the small bassinet, weighing no more than three pounds, with a head of fine black hair. His face was blue, ashen and pale. There was no breath, no movement. He stared at the child and had nothing else within himself to give. He had no more.

  He entered Angels’ room, Mrs. Bates hurriedly standing from the chair she’d stationed by her lady’s bedside. Quickly she scurried to him, whispering. “She is still asleep my lord, fitfully.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bates; I will see to my wife, you may go for the night.”

  “Are you certain, my lord? I am able,” she began.

  “No. Thank you for your diligence, you may go. Ask for the Priest to arrive on the morrow, to perform rites over the…child. I will take him to my parents’ manor estate on the morrow; I will need you to see to the lady then. I shall be back a less than four days.”

  She studied him for a moment before nodding slowly, curtseying before taking her leave, closing the door softly behind her. Asher walked towards the bed in which Angel lay, a new mattress, the sheets changed and cleaned, a small breeze from the opened window across the room clearing the air of the last taint of blood and death, yet a hearty fire chased away any chill Angel may have felt.

  They had dressed her in a long, gray gown and her pale hair lay lifeless upon her. She looked pale and thin, the brownness of her face nearly washed away from loss of blood. He sat heavily upon the chair, wearily, tired. So tired. Would his life ever know peace? Would every one that he touched try to escape him, wrench away from him so coldly. Would that his evil days come to an end. Would that he knew peace.

  Not speaking he guarded and watched over his young wife through the night as a sentinel. He protected her through the night hoping, praying that she would not fall into the darkness as he had. Praying that she still would be his saving grace, that she still loved him upon her awakening. He prayed that she’d forgive him for the loss of their child because he would not be able to forgive himself.

  He should have died, he realized to himself, the mantle striking three in the morning. He should have died when he was six years ago, alone, frightened in that dark chasm, buried nearly ten feet beneath the earth’s surface. And in a way he had, something had broken inside of him, come undone from his body, some piece which Asher knew to be his soul had died. He’d been a shell since the small age of six and since that terrific night every day he’d known no true happiness. There was a madness which he could not escape yet wished to, a madness which he’d brought on to Angel, an innocent. She was not Deborah, he thought, remembering as she cried hysterically over the small babe that laid next to her. She was not Deborah, he thought to himself, taking up the mantra, viewing her gold hair. And he knew why, knew why she had dyed it so. To make him realize that she wasn’t the woman he hated so. To change her looks so that he would finally be able to recognize his wife.

  He would have to walk away from the pain that held him in bondage that scared him. He would have to remember what he had once been. Reclaim a soul which had fled from him, but how? How?

  “Asher?” Angel’s soft voice spoke, achingly familiar. “The baby?” She asked as her eyes opened, dull and listless from more than just the drugs given her inducing sleep.

  “The baby did not survive,” he said quietly. “I am sorry, my lady,” he ended feeling inept and useless.

  “I thought…I thought it was a dream, a nightmare. How wrong I was. So many days wasted, so many nights spent…all a dream, visions of darkness and horror. Visions of death and pain.”

  “I see those visions also, my lady. That is what I see every day,” he said.

  “How…how is it possible to escape?”

  Asher had no answer. He was searching for such an escape himself. The passing days did not make the pain recede, had never allowed him to forget. “Rest now, my lady, I shall be here upon your awakening.”

  She fell back into darkness.

  Angel recovered her strength within the next two weeks. She was tended to by Asher and the servants. As condoling letters were returned in response he replied that perhaps Angel’s spirits would be lifted by visits from her family, his parents and Hunter and Gabriel.

  Arriving en masse, Hunter and Gabriel rented a townhome less than three blocks away and Hunter was soon found upon Asher’s doorsteps, sorrow in her eyes.

  “Asher,” she spoke softly as she was escorted to his study, noticing that there were dark circles underneath his eyes which gazed at an open window. The weeks in which she had last viewed her brother saw him weary, aged older than his twenty-nine years. She spoke softly as he still had as of yet noticed her. Her heart melted upon remembering as a child how Asher would often have this such façade. Staring at nothing for passing hours until troubled he’d awaken as if from a dream, not remembering where the time had gone.

  As she touched his shoulder gently he blinked, a cloud of confusion settling upon him. “Hunter? When did you arrive?” He asked, standing.

  “Just now,” she spoke, not telling him she’d watched him and called his name for more minutes than she cared to count. “I have come to visit with Angel,” she said.

  “Yes, of course, she should be…in her room,” he said, escorting her thusly while Hunter walked behind her brother his strides still long and powerful, no matter the state of his depression.

  Worrying over him, she touched the back of his hand once they reached the second floor landing, pausing. “And you brother, how do you fare?”

  “Well, of course,” he said brushing off her concern. “Leave your cares for the lady, sister; she needs them more than I ever did.”

  With that he pushed open Angel’s door, escorting his sister inside where Angel sat upon her window seat, music sheets upon her lap, a summer dress on, and her hair…

  “Angel?” Hunter asked questioningly, pausing at her first view of her hair. Like Asher her weight was wan, circles beneath her eyes. Her hair was golden in color and short, barely brushing her shoulders in curls. “Angel, your hair,” she exclaimed.

  Standing swiftly, Angel smiled, rushing towards Hunter, laughing. “I know, I know, my friend, oh, what a wonderful surprise!” Exclaiming the two women hugged tightly as Asher closed the door behind the two, they barely noticed his exit.

  “What did you do to your beautiful hair?” Hunter spoke again after hugs and a kiss of friendship.

  Self-consciously tugging at one curl, Angel shrugged nonchalantly. “I felt it was time for a change, do you not like it?” Asking worriedly she viewed her visage upon the mirrored armoire. “Oh, I know it is dreadfully different but it has grown on me, and the lack of heaviness has shown that it seeks curls which I never knew.”

  Hunter stood behind her, touching the shortened curls. “Yes, I do like it,” she stated emphatically. “You look so different, I would never have recognized you if we had passed on the street. It is beautiful. What did Asher say?”

  Shrugging, Angel turned towards Hunter. “Not much of anything,” she confessed. “Not much
of anything.”

  “Oh, Angel, are you two still not at peace, I had such hopes,” Trailing off Hunter pulled her friend back towards the window seat and they sat, holding hands. “Such hopes that even upon this sad state of news, you would reconcile and I would find this household in a better state.”

  “The funny thing is, this household is in a better state, even with my miscarriage,” she said.

  “I am so sorry, when I heard the dreadful news I was crushed. How do you fare, my friend?”

  “Well, if truth be told. I wept for five days straight until I realized that perhaps there is a small lining even under such dreadful happenings. Even though Asher and I have not completely reconciled, so to say, we find each other, we found a small state of peace. As if a truce had been born and white flag risen. The doctor has recently left and stated that I could have more children, it happens sometimes upon first pregnancies. He has ordered me to eat and fatten up and make Asher happy. As if life is so easy I miss my baby,” Angel admitted brokenly, the tears in her throat thick. “It was a baby boy, I saw him…he had black hair, like me…a small dimple…he was so tiny, Hunter, so tiny and he left me, he left me alone. I could not wait to see him, to hear his cry, to see the color of his eyes. Lord Jesus, I wanted my baby so badly, so very badly.”

  “Shh…it will be alright, love, it will be alright.” Hunter promised wrapping her friend in her arms, hugging her, comforting her, as the tears both dropped from their eyes. It was long moments before Hunter was able to speak again. “We could all wish it were so, all wish life was perfect, and right, and filled with innocence and love, but that we cannot have, while we travel upon this earth and our peace cannot be found in ourselves, dear love, it cannot be. Yet, Asher’s happiness is of his own making and choosing, not yours.”

  Nodding, Angel smiled sadly. “I have now come to this realization, Hunter. I cannot force happiness and forgiveness upon your brother that is something in which he has to find himself.”