by Freda, Paula
Yes, Mother, she thought. Definitely a good place to start. You brought me up to attend Church services faithfully, but since college, I've fallen away, always putting my studies and my new life ahead of my worship of the Lord. Yet another one of my mistakes. Yes, I'll join you both on Sunday. And I'll pray for strength to accept rejection without malice if I'm too late to win back Chris' affection and trust.
CHAPTER NINE
Via the Long Island Railroad and the subway system, rather than driving the rental car onto the congested city roads, the threesome arrived at the Cathedral during the in-between time when the services are over. With the lights dimmed, the sunrays flowing through the stained glass windows enveloped the huge interior below in a celestial atmosphere.
Except for a quick tight smile in response to her warm "hello," Chris said nothing more to Lexie, letting Leatrice express any further communication. He opened doors and stood at their back, making his protection and presence readily seen to anyone entertaining mischief at the expense of two beautiful women. But nothing more.
Once inside the Church proper, he whispered something to Leatrice, and walked away to explore the niches and altars on both sides of the main aisles. "He wants to explore on his own, and will join us in about an hour at the front doors."
Lexie thought his behavior odd, unless he meant to avoid any casual conversation that might arise.
There was too much to marvel at for the time being to dwell on Chris' behavior. Inserted between modern skyscrapers, the grey stone Cathedral of St. Patrick was built in the 1800's in the Gothic style of the middle ages, complete with rose window and intricately carved double spires that reached up well over 300 feet. The bronze doors displayed bronze images of various saints and distinguished blessed persons, sculpted individually into niches in the panels themselves. The doors were so well balanced, the panels could easily open separately, top, bottom and center. Among the sculpted images was New York's own Elizabeth Ann Seton, the first American born saint.
The inside of the Cathedral was no less beautiful — tall, ribbed columns reaching to cupola ceilings, the ribbed bronze ceiling over the High altar, tall wrought iron gates, and, four aisles of polished brown old wood pews flanked on either side by altars and shrines and niches dedicated to saints from various times in the history of the Catholic Church. Several of the small altars were fronted by marble-topped railing, and stands with row upon row of glass candle holders waiting for a prayerful soul to choose a small candle from the box at the side of the respective shrine, place it in the glass holder and light it with one of the long slender matchsticks provided, before kneeling in prayer at the altar rail.
Lexie and her mother toured the shrines and altars, respectful of the saints they honored. They stopped a bit longer at the shrine dedicated to Saint Ann Seton. Sculpted against a curved backdrop of modern art, her statue showed her comforting a small girl who clung to her side for protection. Elizabeth Ann Seton, was the first American saint, canonized in 1975. An eighteenth century widow with five children, a convert, a nun, a foundress of free catholic schools for young girls, a protector of the children of the poor, she founded the Sisters of the Poor of St. Joseph and from then on was known as Mother Seton. Manhattan's own saint, who in only forty-five years of life accomplished lifetimes of charitable works.
They continued on, again stopping to admire William Ordway Partiridge's early 19th century version of Michelangelo's Pieta. Three times larger than the Pieta in Rome, Mary sits gazing down in sorrow at her son as she holds him by his arms, his limp body draped lengthwise between her knees and at her feet.
Lexie might have missed the small chapel behind the High Altar and Sanctuary if Leatrice had not noticed it and pointed it out to her — against a backdrop of tall stained glass windows, a special shrine to the Mother of Jesus, with its own set of pews flanking both sides of its center aisle under the curved shaped cupola and tall stained glass windows. Moving forward, something familiar caught the two women's eyes. Someone they knew knelt in a pew midway on the right side.
"Isn't that Chris?" Lexie whispered motioning to the man on his knees.
"Yes, I believe it is."
Lexie took a few steps forward to get a better view. Her mother touched her arm to caution her not to disturb him. Lexie did not wish to disturb him, but the few steps were enough to glimpse what he held in his hands. A Rosary. Her family and Chris' family were Christian, but not Roman Catholics. Lexie knew enough about other faith denominations, to recognize the string of beads and the crucifix that Roman Catholics used to pray their special devotion to the Mother of Jesus. Several of her family's friends were Roman Catholics. "Mom, what's Chris doing saying the Rosary? Did he convert?"
Leatrice shook her head. "No, not that I know of. Your Dad and I saw him at our Church services, with his Mom and Dad, the Sunday before we left. Maybe, he simply follows a private devotion. You don't have to be Roman Catholic to pray the Rosary to the Lord's Mother."
"I've never seen him do this before," Lexie said, perplexed.
Leatrice said, "You have been away for a long time. Let's move away from here and not disturb him. You can ask him about this some other time."
Lexie sent her mother a cynical smile. "Yes, that's if he ever decides to say more than two words to me."
"Don't worry about that. I think he's being willfully perverse to show you he's over you," Leatrice said. "But me thinks the gentleman doth protest too much," she added in a wicked tone.
"We'll see, Mom," Lexie whispered, unable to argue down the sliver of optimism.
They turned back toward the main altar and continued their tour.
The right side of the Church proper was as studded with mini shrines. Not too far from the entrance, they passed the shrine to St. Jude. He was known as the patron of impossible dreams and desperate requests. Lexie paused in front of the candle stand, remarking how hardly a candle holder remained empty. "Mom, will you light a candle with me. I think my request may qualify as a lost cause."
Both women managed to find two empty candle holders. They each picked a candle from the box on the floor in the corner of the shrine, and placing them in the glass holders, they lit two slender wood matchsticks with the aid of a flame already burning. As they applied the flame to the unlit wicks, they sent their prayers in unison to the Lord's apostle whom the bronze statue of a robed man holding an image of Christ close to him and looking heavenward, represented. Lexie closed her eyes and tried to imagine the simple man in humble Jewish robes who followed Christ, and after the Crucifixion and Resurrection, preached the gospel, and like several of the Apostles, was martyred; a simple man who now lived with Jesus in Paradise.
On their way out, Mother and daughter visited the gift shop annex. Leatrice did not comment when Lexie purchased a crystal-beaded rosary.
Chris met them at the front doors. Now that they'd toured the Cathedral's interior, they knew a little more about the detailed independently sculpted figures on the bronze partitions. Lexie purposely fixed her gaze on Chris' face and noted that his features appeared calmer, less somber. Peaceful was the word that came to her mind. She smiled at him, and he returned her smile, if tentatively. Her sliver of optimism grew.
Across the street, the black bronzed statue of Atlas holding the heavens gave way to Rockefeller Center with its skyscrapers, stores and theaters, and promenade fountains. The sunken lower plaza encompassed the giant ice skating rink presided over by the gilded statue of the Greek Titan Prometheus bringing mankind the gift of fire. At the moment the fountains at the base of the gilded monument were turned off, but when on, colored shoots of sparkling water and light would amaze and complement.
The trio wished they could stay longer to view the many sites of beauty and skilled artistry, but they needed to finish packing and catch a plane back to open fields and farmlands, and prairies, and snow-capped mountains and buttes, back to Montana.
CHAPTER TEN
Buckled safely in her window seat, Lexie watched th
e runway drop away, shrink and disappear as the Jet climbed into the sky. Above the clouds, the plane settled on its belly into an even, steady run. I'm going home, she thought, turning to glance at Chris in the seat beside her. With three seats abreast on each side of the main aisle, Leatrice should have been sitting where Chris sat, but shortly after they boarded, the Flight Attendant, apologizing profusely, requested Leatrice if she did not object, to change seats with another passenger who for health reasons needed an aisle seat. Leatrice obliged, and an elderly woman with a cane now sat in the aisle seat. Lexie cast a glance over her headrest at her mother who occupied a window seat a few rows behind. Did fate have a hand in this change, giving her the opportunity to be close to Chris, exchange conversation during the next four hours, possibly open a venue to rekindling their relationship? Or was it Leatrice's doing?
Lexie glanced at Chris again. His eyes remained closed, although she doubted he'd fallen asleep this soon after takeoff. Was this his way of avoiding conversation with her?
"Lexie, if you want me to change seats with your mother, just say so," he asked, without opening his eyes.
Startled, Lexie fibbed nervously, "N-no, it's all right. I'm fine. Just looking to make sure she's okay."
Silence. It was starting to grate on her nerves. Lexie closed her eyes. Maybe he had the right idea.
Tired from all the past few days' emotional and physical stress in preparation for the trip, within minutes she dozed off.
The day was bright and warm, the sky white with the intense light from the sun. Jasper was getting on in years, but he still enjoyed a slow trot across the grassy plains with his mistress's daughter. She was light and easy to carry. At the moment they were not moving. Lexie's upper body and head were bent, resting vertically across his neck, her left hand holding the rein, and her right hand gently smoothing the fuzz on his cheek. She was waiting for Chris to come across the fields and meet with her, as he had done countless times since they were children. Lexie saw him, riding his bay stallion, heading toward her. She straightened, and waived heartily. "Chris," she called excitedly. Her smile faded as he reined in his horse to a stop way across the field. He must not have seen her. She waved again, calling out "Chris." Still no movement, no response. The thought crossed her mind that she should nudge Jasper forward, but her legs wouldn't move. In despair she cried out, "Chris!"
"Lexie, are you all right?" Chris asked, nudging her shoulder. She opened her eyes. He was right beside her. A sense of warmth and contentment spread through her, and as quickly faded. He was there beside her, but he wasn't her Chris any longer. In that twilight moment when inhibitions tend to be loose and reality surreal, her answer to his question blurted from her lips unrestrained, "Chris, I need you."
The shock on his face laced tightly with disbelief, but an instant later, shifted to anger. He controlled it. "Having a nightmare?" he asked.
Lexie heard the contempt, and came fully awake. He wasn't kind anymore. What had she done to him! "A nightmare, yes," she replied. "And good ole Chris was there to wake me. Thank you."
She faked a quick smile, composing herself. The man hated her. She faced forward, dismissing further unnecessary conversation.
Shortly after the plane landed and they disembarked, Chris went to the car rental desk so they could drive the rest of the way home. Leatrice took Lexie aside.
"Well, dear, any good news to report?"
"The man hates me," Lexie reported vehemently.
"What makes you say that?" her mother inquired, stunned.
"Everything he's said or done since he came to New York has been wattled with contempt. He's not the boy I left behind. There is no way I can rekindle the love he once felt for me."
"You are right about one thing," Leatrice said. "He's not the boy you left behind. He's a man, one who was cruelly hurt. It's hard for a man to trust a woman, once she's broken his heart."
"So what am I supposed to do? Throw myself at his feet?"
"The first thing you need to do, is to get that petulant look off your face, and start working on rebuilding his trust."
Lexie cringed, recalling what she'd said to him upon waking up — A nightmare, yes. And good ole Chris was there to wake me. Thank you. Definitely not conducive to rebuilding his trust. Her mother was right. She needed to get past his anger, past his mistrust, past the protective wall he seemed to have built around himself to deaden his feelings for her. She needed to get past her own pride. She must tell him, without sounding like a spoiled child who has thrown away a toy, and suddenly realizes she wants it back. She must tell him, even if he threw her attempt to reconcile back in her face. He had to know. And it must be soon, before he returned to his parents' ranch, and she might never see him again.
Her parents often commented, that once Lexie made up her mind to do something, she did it. The moment Chris returned, car keys in hand, she lifted her chin and faced him squarely.
"It's very important that I speak to you — privately." Lexie grimaced at the imperative tone of her voice. It made her request sound like an order. She swallowed hard, and asked, "There's a sweet shoppe, further back. Would you permit me to buy you a cup of coffee? Please."
Chris sent Leatrice a questioning glance. She was equally surprised, not expecting her daughter to react this quickly.
"Oh, go on you two," she said. "There's a couple of clothing shops I'd like to browse through. I'll meet you outside the terminal in a little while." She turned and headed in the direction of the clothing shops mentioned.
"All right, Lexie," Chris said. "Let's hear what's so important that it can't wait till we get back to the ranch."
"It's waited long enough. Do you mind leading the way."
Chris eyed her curiously. And for an instant he seemed unsure of what to answer.
It dawned on Lexie that she didn't recall ever asking anyone to lead the way. Even as a child in the school playground, she led.
"Well—okay, let's go," Chris said. "Come on."
She quickened her steps to walk alongside him as he strode in the direction of the small sweet shoppe. Once inside, she squelched her first impulse to pick a table, and waited.
Chris asked, pointing to a small round white metal table with two old fashioned ice cream parlor chairs set cozily in a corner, "That one okay?"
"Yes, it's fine," she replied.
"Sit, I'll get the coffee," he said. "Medium size, light, one sugar, right?"
Lexie smiled. "Yes," she nodded. He hadn't forgotten.
The young woman in a candy-striped pink uniform and soda fountain hat, serving behind the counter, filled Chris' order.
Lexie sat waiting for Chris to bring the pink striped paper cups filled with the steaming coffee, all the while gathering her courage to say what needed saying — that she still loved him and wanted to pick up where they left off. But when he sat down opposite her, she felt her throat constrict, and her heartbeat quicken, while it felt as if butterflies danced in her stomach. She took a quick sip of her coffee.
"Chris—" she began.
"Listen, Lexie, if this is about how we parted, not to worry." Chris said. "I was angry and hurt, so I stormed out of your sight. But I've had two years to come to terms with your decision. I've moved on with my life." From old habit his hand reached out to cover hers, but he withdrew it before it could do so. "I've dated some local girls. Among them, Linda's daughter, Macey. She seems to like me. You don't have to feel uncomfortable around me. And you don't have to worry about me. We're still friends. We will always be friends. Is that what you wanted to talk about? Lexie?"
"Y-Yes— That's it. We're still friends. We'll always be friends," she said. He's dating other girls. Macey nurtured a crush on him in high school. She struggled against the sob forming in her throat, and the tears threatening to fill her eyes, wanting to scream, You can't date other girls. You belong to me. Macey can't claim you. You were meant for me. Instead, she forced a smile and sipped her coffee and fought her emotions. I'm too late, way too late
, she kept repeating to herself, until both had finished their coffee and left the sweet shoppe. She rejoined her mother outside the terminal while Chris drove the rental car to the front of the terminal to pick them up.
"It didn't go well. I can see from the look on your face," Leatrice said.
"I'm too late, mother. He's quite over me. And he's even found someone new." Lexie chuckled brokenly. "Shades of Deja vu, mother. Macey, Linda's daughter."
Leatrice gasped. "I don't believe it! She shouldered her daughter. "I know Macey. As sweet as clover and as toxic. Definitely not his type."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chris wiped the bottom of his boots on the black rubber mat in front of his parents' kitchen door. He entered and took off his rawhide jacket and old Stetson, and hung them on the hook bar's third peg, reserved for him by his mom and dad. The fourth, fifth and sixth peg were for his younger siblings — his brother, Nick, and two sisters, Sharon and Debra. Mom and Dad used the first two. Some of his friends thought this system bordered on the obsessive, but it kept the peace when four small rambunctious children fought like cats and dogs as to whose and on which peg coats should hang.
The drive from the airport took over two hours. Add another hour and a half to drop Leatrice and Lexie at the Triple R, receive Seth's bear hug and earnest thanks, say his goodbyes and wish them all well. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. Being in Lexie's company hurt too much. All the old feelings and desires had come rushing back to tear at his heart. Oh, yes, he moved on with his life, as he reassured her, that is, to the point where unbidden tears didn't well up in his eyes whenever he saw a young couple walking hand in hand down the street. Old couples helping each other brought a pang to his chest. Because he always wanted and believed that he and Lexie would live their lives together, love what children and grandchildren the good Lord sent them, and grow old together. Heaven wouldn't feel complete without her.