Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  “With risk of sounding horribly… forward, as well as offering an opinion that likely is completely faulty….” Maggie and Rachel exchanged glances as Robert came to stand by the pale-pink canopy bed. He pointed to it, expression twisted in a grimace. “I believe this would make a stupendous beginning.”

  Rachel arched an eyebrow and delicately crossed her arms. “How do you propose that, sir?”

  Maggie hid a giggle behind a quickly raised hand.

  “Simple,” Robert began, undaunted. “We dismantle it while Oliver finds some capable young men to carry it out.”

  “While that is a commendable proposition,” Rachel acknowledged, “why don’t we, instead, ask those same capable young men to do the dismantling while we pack away my dolls and books? It would be a more efficient use of our time, don’t you think?”

  “Perfectly lovely idea, Miss Samson,” Robert said, bowing. “I yield to your organizational prowess.”

  Maggie sniggered and sent Rachel a sidelong glance, who waved his comment aside while restraining an expression of amusement. Much better than his pleasant persona, I must say!

  Robert rubbed his hands together in boyish fashion and faced the bed. Then he sent her a sidelong glance and leaned slightly toward her. “Are you certain you don’t wish the atrocity burnt? How did you stand all the frills as a girl?”

  Focusing on the bed, Rachel heard the giggles and whispers of childhood exploits into imagination and dreams– She turned away without a word.

  “Although,” Robert began again, this time his tone thoughtful, “considering my experiences with young ladies of fourteen and younger, they all seem to reminisce of castles and knights, and princes holding balls. Perhaps the frills are the essence of that romanticism. Goodness knows I dreamt of suits of armor and jousts.”

  Restraining a smirk, Rachel gestured to the empty trunks that waited outside her room. “Mr. Trent, could you drag those trunks inside?”

  “Drag?” Robert straightened, lifting his chin while putting his shoulders back in such a way that broadened his already impressive stature. “Men do not drag. They lift and carry.”

  Eyebrow arched, Rachel intercepted Maggie’s twinkling gaze as Robert stepped to the first of the massive empty trunks to lift it with ease.

  “Maggie, it appears Hercules has met his match in this one,” Rachel quipped, mildly impressed. Nor would she be surprised if he had little trouble lifting a great many things.

  “Yes, Miss,” Maggie acknowledged with feigned shock and amazement. “It seems so.”

  After Robert had set the trunk within the center of her room he straightened, remaining slightly hunched as he pressed a hand to his back and shuffled toward the door. “All right, we drag.” Yet he exited the room while sending a wink Rachel’s direction.

  Encouraged by Maggie’s laugh, Rachel surrendered to an outward smile as the two followed him to the second story hallway. When Robert began to actually drag a chest into her room, she laughed. “Robert, at least attempt to take the matter seriously.”

  “Where is the fun in that?” he quipped as he continued into her room.

  “Good night,” Rachel sighed, not wanting to admit that his impertinent behavior was the most amusing she’d experienced since she could remember. She turned to Oliver. “I need you to find some young men to dissemble my bed and relocate it to the attic.”

  “Of course, Miss.” He moved away to do as requested.

  When Rachel turned back to her room, she noticed Robert and Maggie standing in the center holding one of her French porcelain-faced dolls. Shrugging aside the initial wave of an unclassified negative emotion, Rachel made her way to Robert’s other side. “I see you have found Babette.”

  Robert raised his scrutiny from the doll held within Maggie’s hands. “Babette?” he repeated, and he said the name in such a quiet voice that it had Rachel examining his expression.

  Maggie looked up, drawing Rachel’s focus. “Rachel, wasn’t this the first doll your father brought back from the Continent.”

  “Yes.” Rachel absently straightened the doll’s pale blue skirt as she continued to keep the memories and recollections at bay. “Babette, cet est Monsieur Trent et Mademoiselle Kelly.”

  “Bonjour, ma petite. Comment allez-vous? Etes-Vous désempare sans votre amie, non?” Robert asked, his perfect intonation causing Rachel to regard him with slightly widened eyes.

  “Vous parlez François, Monsieur Trent. Bon. Très bon,” Rachel praised.

  Robert met her gaze, smiling. “Est-ce que tout le monde?”

  “No, Robert,” she countered, her lips tilting upward in a very slight smile of amusement. “That isn’t true, and you know it.”

  “What isn’t true? What did he say?” Maggie asked, giving Rachel’s arm a pinch.

  Rachel softly laughed. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I commented that Robert speaks French very well, to which he replied ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ ”

  Maggie focused on him, her green eyes mirroring her bright smile. “Mr. Trent, you know very well that I’m not as book-learned as you and Rachel.”

  The accusation only elicited a wink from Robert before he turned and made his way to the window-seat for the other dolls. “Je suis étonnant, oui?”

  At Maggie’s hiss, Rachel translated, “He said that he’s full of surprises,” while watching him with an expression of amusement. “But we already knew this, didn’t we, Mags?”

  Giggling, Maggie stated, “I had an inkling,” as Rachel admitted to herself that the surprises and shocks were one of the most intriguing facets of his character. Not only did they have her curious as to what could be the next surprise, but they continued to bring him to the forefront of her attention though she had come to crave solitude.

  Maggie moved to stand beside him. “Mr. Trent, where did you learn to speak so beautifully? You speak as good as Rachel.”

  Wrapping one of the many dolls in paper, he carefully set it aside. “My mother. She was French. She spoke to me in both English and French as I grew. Father encouraged it, knowing that the extra knowledge in the business world would help later in life.”

  Rachel made her way to one of the dressers, transferring the clothes within to the second trunk. Another preparation for the world of business. Another quality that secures him as appropriate for the role of “husband”. She felt his glance but didn’t meet it.

  “Perhaps we could converse upon occasion?” he offered, his tone sounding almost cautious.

  Gathering up a few of the wrapped dolls, Maggie pleaded, “Oh please, Rachel. I love hearing it, and maybe you could teach me? You know I’ve always wanted to learn.”

  Finished emptying the dresser, Rachel sent her friend a smile and moved to begin packing away her books. “I’ll do my best, Mags, but I’m afraid it isn’t as easy as it sounds romantic.”

  Maggie’s expression brightened. “Oh how wonderful!”

  Robert chuckled. “It seems she doesn’t hear the truths in your warning, Miss Samson, and woe to her when she realizes her mistake. Although.…” He regarded Rachel while pausing the duty of lowering a pair of dolls into the trunk.

  Rachel held his gaze, eyebrow arching as she adjusted her hold on a pair of books. “‘Although’?” she prompted.

  “Hm.” Robert placed the dolls into the trunk and then pointed toward her before thoughtfully stroking his chin. “I’m of the mind that you would find a way to not only make the act of learning intriguing, you would make the challenge an attractive game.”

  Her arched eyebrow twitched the same moment Maggie laughed and confessed how right he was, immediately offering an anecdote of when Rachel had taught Maggie to write calligraphy and poetry. Rachel found it odd to watch him listen to the anecdote. While she would have preferred Maggie to remain silent, the opportunity reminiscing brought about was an unexpected treasure trove of mild insights into his character. In fact, Rachel had to admit that the opportunity was unable to be categorized. Not only did Robert pose questions and chuckle
at what seemed odd moments, he sounded and appeared genuinely interested. Even displaying what could be considered rapt attention. Rachel watched him while absently tapping her fingers on the topmost book. Something about his attention… unsettled her, and Rachel was determined to understand why.

  Five

  To Tortures Present

  Robert gestured to one of the last trunks to be filled, drawing Rachel’s gaze from the book in her hand. “I will see about bringing the young, brawny men back again.”

  Rachel inclined her head, a thoughtful expression on her face as she watched him leave.

  “He’s a nice gentleman,” Maggie observed quietly. “Spends a great amount of his time here in Massachusetts at the orphanage. Visits several times each year, the children say.”

  “And why would a native of Virginia need to visit an orphanage of Boston?” Rachel asked absently, still staring after him. “Certainly our orphans aren’t any more destitute than theirs.”

  Maggie’s expression showed only the barest hint of amusement as she watched her childhood friend. “Seems to me he’s a kind of mentor to them; he loves them dearly, or what I’ve seen of him with them.” Then, when Rachel focused on her, Maggie turned away and hid a great-portion of her face with the duty of sweeping up debris from the floor. “Or maybe he’s just been bringing books by the score. I haven’t the foggiest.” She glanced toward her friend and noticed her arched eyebrow. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  An absent nod as Rachel once more turned to stare after Mr. Robert Trent was her only response. Instead, her attention was transfixed on the continuing revelations of his character in addition to the pondering of the expression when he would look upon her. She didn’t know how to define it, and it was that which ushered itself past her calm to rumble against her suspicion.

  Rachel once again lowered her gaze to the books in her hand, her expression changing when her focus read the word Journal on the topmost book. Memories of laughter and so many enjoyable times crashed within her mind, causing her to stiffen and feel a moment of regret. As she set the journal onto the mantle of her fireplace, it took more than a little effort to usher those moments and memories aside. They are not you; therefore, they are not to remain.

  Turning from the journal and the photographs displayed along the mantle, Rachel instructed, “Now that most everything is packed, we had best set to work with the wallpaper, Maggie.”

  “I’ll fetch some hot water so we can steam it. Be right back.” Maggie exited the room as Robert returned.

  Turning away, Rachel focused on the final trunk to absently adjust the books within. Robert took to organizing the other side, his occasional glances going unacknowledged.

  “Thank you,” he said suddenly.

  Rachel lifted her gaze to meet his, her hands pausing. “Pardon?”

  He continued to focus on the books within the trunk for another moment before shifting his eyes to hold her scrutiny. “I’ve noticed the reluctance, Rachel, and I don’t begrudge it. It’s only understandable that your privacy and independence would be tenaciously important to you.” He once again lowered his gaze. “Thank you for allowing me to participate, and I will do my best not to intrude often.”

  Rachel continued to regard him in silence as her hands absently touched the hard leather of the books within the trunk. “I appreciate that.” Although she didn’t understand why he would make such a gesture. Their alignment had not been made public, no, but she had already told him that she did not turn back in that which she undertook. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before their current agreement evolved into a standing of engagement, and that publicly declared.

  A smile softened Robert’s expression, dislodging Rachel’s thoughts. “It’s my pleasure, Rachel,” he said, and in the same quiet tone that caused her more than a momentary womanly flutter. That reaction hadn’t been felt for at least seven years, and its presence now caused her extreme surprise.

  Arranging the books within the trunk, Robert motioned toward it. “We shouldn’t put too many more books here or the trunk is liable to be too heavy to move.”

  Lowering her gaze, Rachel focused on those possessions within, from a past that finally journeyed away… and then turned to take up her portfolio. “Just this.”

  There was a brief moment of hesitation before Robert moved to stand beside her. “Maggie had hoped to display these,” he reminded.

  That statement was the only fact which caused Rachel to be torn between completely separating herself from her past and allowing a glimpse to remain. “Maggie has her memories,” she declared finally. “She has no need of these.” Then Rachel moved to the trunk and set the portfolio inside. “They are unimportant. My diplomas will be enough for decoration.”

  Following her to the trunk, Robert withdrew the folder. “They are important.”

  The conviction in his voice drew her attention. “How so?”

  “Because they are of you.”

  Rachel forced a scoff and looked away, arms tightly crossed. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Why don’t you believe it?”

  With internal reluctance, she met his gaze of brown curiosity and concern. “They don’t prove accomplishment, except that of my ability to manipulate words to create an impression of symbolism and hidden meanings.”

  “They prove accomplishment, Rachel,” he pressed, the use of her name causing another internal shift. “In the recognition of what is creative and artistic. A glimpse at what moves a soul.”

  A soul that hadn’t been moved in years. A soul that had been brow-beaten and harangued until it had shifted and altered to a direct opposite– To hide a flinch, Rachel sharply strode to the trunk, taking up the folder of poetry to again place it within. When she moved to close the lid, however, she couldn’t. Rachel’s attention snapped to Robert. He held the lid while watching her with a calm and kind expression. The emotions caused Rachel to very nearly stepped back from him, but she forced aside the hiccup of panic and held his gaze.

  “Being artistic does not countermand the logic of business,” Robert informed in a gentle tone. “It adds greater depth to the possibilities you see.”

  She looked down, pushing away the softly spoken words of understanding as she once again pulled at the lid. He wouldn’t release it, and a hint of tightness clung to her throat.

  Reaching around the lid into the trunk with his other hand, Robert withdrew the folder. Only then did he slowly lower the lid. “Childhood, yes. Self, no.”

  The trunk held her attention as she fought with control and calm, unprepared for the internal conflict at what should have been a simple discussion. When she felt her calm was once more firmly held, she finally lifted her gaze to meet his. He smiled, and again Rachel saw an expression within his brown eyes that had her looking away.

  Quietly clearing his throat, Robert motioned to the hall outside. “There seems to be some confusion as to where the able-bodied men are to come,” he observed, his tone more cautious than amused. “I will go see.”

  Rachel heard his steps move toward the door and down the hall a moment later. “Childhood, yes. Self, no.” Delicately crossing her arms, her gaze shifted to focus on the portfolio he had yet again set on the trunk at the foot of her bed. “It adds greater depth to the possibilities you see.”

  Maggie entered the room, then, informing, “Oliver’s bringing the steamers.”

  However, Rachel couldn’t lift her gaze from the portfolio, nor her focus from a remembrance of the words he had said or how he had said them. His expressions. His body language. His tone.… “Maggie?”

  “Yes?”

  Rachel moved her focus to Maggie who stepped toward the corner nearest the fireplace and judged the security of the wallpaper. “What else do you know of Mr. Trent?”

  Maggie turned, expression curious. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Rachel said slowly, shifting her gaze back to the entry of her room. “You spend a great deal of time at the orphanage. How many
times have you met him?”

  One eyebrow lifting, Maggie followed Rachel’s gaze before once more focusing on her friend. “Not as many as I could count on one hand,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “Why?” When Rachel didn’t answer, Maggie’s lips twitched upward and she turned away.

  Rachel didn’t understand her growing curiosity of this man, although she supposed his unexpected actions could be justification enough. Seldom taken by surprise, Robert Trent’s entire persona seemed to be one surprise after another; a puzzle that intrigued her more each moment she found herself in his presence.

  As if thoughts of him summoned his arrival, a collection of footsteps approached moments before Robert entered the room. He smiled and gestured to the four men behind him. They were all his approximate age. “See? I’ve found them. Now I won’t be required to embarrass myself further.”

  “Oh, Mr. Trent,” Maggie teased, “surely you’ve no doubt you could lift the trunks with the best of these boys?”

  Rachel hid a small smile while Robert’s features twisted to a grimace. “It has been my experience that strength fails when flaunted.” He briefly winked at her. “Especially in front of lovely ladies one seeks to impress.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow twitched upward.

  Maggie sent Rachel a sidelong glance. “That doesn’t surprise in the least.”

  “Here now,” Robert protested as he came to stand beside her. “Miss Kelly, is that a slight?”

  Maggie said nothing. She simply turned away and resumed her testing of the wallpaper on the walls. Rachel, however, could see her friend’s expression was mischievous and amused. She seems to like him. Not a difficult accomplishment, considering his flippancy and well-rounded personality.

  “Miss Samson,” he complained, coming to stand beside her and drawing her full attention, “You had best warn your friend to be kind to your guests, or they’re liable to pull a prank.”