Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  Maggie stepped around the furthest corner of the side-trail then, drawing Rachel’s attention and focus back from the inner scrutiny. “There you are.” Maggie motioned back toward the house. “Dinner is about to be served, Rach, and the Mister is waiting. Is Mr. Trent returning to dine with you?”

  Rachel’s thoughts and control faltered, but she hid the very slight flinch with her step forward. “I do not believe so.” She needed time to consider. To plan. To organize. To decide if she should–

  “Oh. That’s a shame.” Maggie’s tone sounded disappointed and caused a slip behind Rachel’s control.

  At Maggie’s side, Rachel met her friend’s gaze. “Why?”

  Looping her arm with Rachel’s, Maggie fell into step beside her. “Why’s it a shame?”

  Rachel inclined her head. “I, for one, have plenty to fill my time, and I’m certain he has other duties at the orphanage pressing for his attention. Hence the reason he couldn’t attend.”

  Maggie smiled. “I wondered about that. I thought I saw him by the gate last night while Toddy was leaving, but when he didn’t come in I thought maybe it was my imagination. Then I didn’t have wits enough this morning to ask if he’d been by the orphanage or if he but went to his property he told of. I’ve wondered after it ever since Oliver said he’s seen men and whatnot head over.”

  Rachel arched an eyebrow, vocalized an absent, “Hm,” and then returned her forward focus.

  Her father met her just outside the dining room dressed in charcoal slacks and shirt-sleeves with a vest. He seldom wore a suit coat, claimed they cut him off at the shoulders, and only gave in to propriety when he left the house. Mostly due to society’s views of their family.

  Rachel pressed her lips together. That mentality had likely been the reason he hadn’t attended dinner the night before, though he had still been away to the supposed appointment from that morning. Todd had noticed her father’s absence and mentioned it. “He never did like me, Rach girl,” he had reminded. “I put too many thoughts of adventure into your head.”

  Now, Henry Samson briefly clenched his jaw before speaking. “What was Todd Richards doing here last night?”

  Rachel deftly gathered her temper into a firm hold as she adjusted her hold on her skirt. “As my friend, it would have been an unnecessary slight to not have him for dinner.”

  “See that it lessens to an acquaintance and nothing more,” he advised gruffly, his brows lowered in a frown. “It’s bad enough to have you entertaining the advances of Robert Trent when you know you’re betrothed. Mind the gossip-mongers should they get whiff of your past frolics with that lad.”

  “I wouldn’t have any beaus save one if you hadn’t forced the first upon me,” Rachel reminded coolly. “I could have been entrusted with the knowledge, Father, and likely would have done my best to make the very most of the expectation.”

  “Don’t make the snap judgment that I didn’t trust you with this decision, Rachel,” Henry chided, his face slightly flushed.

  “Be that as it may, I refuse to marry a man who doesn’t show spine enough to stand against you, or against my refusal for that matter.” Rachel absently straightened her skirts, missing her father’s reluctant smirk. “If he is such a spineless milk-toast, how can he be firm enough to handle the day-to-day business? Mr. Trent–”

  “Bah. Robert Trent.” Her father’s motion toward her drew her focus. “You know nothing about him, girl, so be wary the trust and faith you place in the rogue.”

  Rachel scoffed.

  Henry gave a brusque nod. “You scoff now, but mark my words: every one of us makes an ass of ourselves and the trust we’ve cultivated, be it for the person’s best interest or our own selfish pride. Take care that your pride doesn’t force you the determination to trust someone like Robert Trent of Virginia with more than he deserves.”

  With that, he strode toward the door, snatching his hat and coat from the side-closet. At the door he turned. “See that you and the fool are done with your ‘courting’ by the date set aside for the ceremony. Plans have been made and they will stand, by God, regardless of what you decide one way or the other!” He slammed from the house. Rachel stared after him in mild surprise, her eyebrow arched and her emerald gaze thoughtful.

  Nine

  Inviting Rachel

  “So, where are you two off to this morning?” Maggie asked as she helped Rachel into a traveling gown of different shades of green.

  “He was rather vague in his invitation, but I believe we may have been invited to lunch with Toddy and Mr. Parson.”

  Maggie shook her head, eyes twinkling. “That Toddy. You better watch him like a hawk, Rach. I’m afraid he won’t be happy until he’s told Mr. Trent all your nasty secrets.”

  Rachel remembered again Toddy’s insistence that he have “a go at your Mr. Trent”. It was definitely something she wouldn’t put past him in the least. “Yes, well, if he makes a nuisance of himself too extremely, I will simply leave of my own volition.” If Robert remained in order to hear the tales and confessions of a past girl that had been left behind, she wasn’t certain if she would be irritated or not. It would present him with a never before had opportunity to view insights into personal motivations.

  Truth be told, if they were stories of him she would stay.

  “And you really need to have Mr. Trent show you the cottage he talked of the other day,” Maggie continued. “I’ve heard that it’s just lovely, though it hasn’t been getting the attention it needs.”

  Rachel arched an eyebrow, finding it hard to believe that Robert would allow something of such extreme interest and potential to go to waste. “I will ask what he intends.”

  “And maybe you could offer a suggestion or two,” Maggie suggested. “I think you’ll fall in love with it right away.” She finished fastening up the dress and guided Rachel to the vanity for a dressing of hair. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and he moved in after the wedding? You could have your own home!”

  Rachel felt an internal cringe as she lowered her gaze to the vanity top, absently adjusting the position of the combs and brushes. “There has been no promise of nuptials as of yet, Maggie. Such would be pre-mature until I know enough of his person to satisfy my father as well as the Board.” She didn’t know how to imagine a life free from the reminders of expectation. No demands. No condescension. No feeling of… inadequacy. How did one live a life with acceptance and patience?

  Maggie finished placing Rachel’s hair and then helped her into her shoes. “Last things and then you’re off,” she informed cheerily as she chose a wrap and hat. She draped Rachel’s shoulders and tied the emerald netting of the hat under Rachel’s chin, then Maggie smiled. “I always loved you in green; brings out your eyes. You’ve got your mamma’s eyes.”

  Rachel’s expression softened. “Thank you, Mags.”

  “Sure thing. Now, you have fun,” Maggie directed as she opened the door. “Don’t think about nothing but that. You’ve been serious enough these past eight years.”

  Robert’s voice and chuckle could be heard in the hall, then, and Rachel’s expression altered to that of extreme calm. Remembering his request last night and his protection of her poems the day of her room’s redecoration, Rachel had decided that he had fixed himself on the possibility of her recitation. A visit to that past is both unnecessary and unwelcome. Neither was it understood. He had somewhat tenaciously debated her previously, and she still did not fully understand why a stance encouraging the exploration of creative thought would be so important.

  Rachel momentarily frowned, but when she felt Maggie’s sidelong glance she turned to send her a practiced smile. Then she exited her room and moved to descend the stairs.

  Robert concluded his conversation with Oliver, gripped the elderly man on the shoulder, and then turned to meet Rachel at the foot.

  Balancing a smile with a careful consideration of her expressions, he slightly bowed before offering his arm. “Miss Samson, shall we?”

&nbs
p; Rachel said nothing, only inclining her head as she accepted his arm and followed beside him to the front entry and down the steps to the carriage outside. Her mind remained strangely silent and distant as Robert bid Oliver “Good day. We’ll return before dinner.” Then he guided her the few steps from the house to the carriage and handed her up with a gently voiced “Mind your step.”

  As Rachel adjusted her skirts, he gave directions to the driver and then stepped up to sit across from her. The carriage lurched forward and Robert released a deep breath. Then he intercepted her gaze with a lopsided smile. Rachel slowly opened her fan, this one a watercolor of an Oregon landscape – a gift from Maggie – and teased the air near her face. Her scrutiny never wavered from his expression and the laughter that danced there. She had expected him to be more cautious and less forth-coming with his attitude of mischief secondary to the attitude she had shown him the night before.

  “And so the lady regards me with reserve,” Robert observed.

  The fan paused as she regarded his handsome face and the expression within, especially when compared to the tone of his voice. As Rachel held his gaze, she again felt the pull and the press, as well as a hint of terror colored by a twinge of a need to trust. Somehow she knew he saw and felt the same, for his expression minutely changed. It softened. Rachel lowered her gaze to her fan. True softness hadn’t been shown to this Rachel Samson…. “How’s daddy’s little angel?” …and a fleeting memory of being lifted into arms at a return from work–

  “You’re terribly thoughtful this afternoon,” Robert offered carefully. “Should I press? Or leave it?”

  Rachel delicately shrugged, shrugging off, also, the confusion and lingering pain as she focused on him. “Leave it to the morning. I’ve dedicated myself to enjoy this picnic.”

  “What about a continuation of the game we started a few days before?” Robert crossed his arms and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Questions by the hundreds have plagued me since we ended it.”

  “Will the journey end before I get to voice my own questions?”

  Robert chuckled. “I highly doubt it. We’ve a jaunt ahead of us, but I’ll be sure to allow us plenty of time to ask equal questions.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel motioned toward him. “You may ask the first.”

  “Hm. Now to choose which is the most important.” Robert pursed his lips, pushing them slightly to one side as he regarded her. Then he smiled and voiced, “Ah. I have it. When did you first begin writing in verse?”

  --“What’s this? Daddy’s girl has a poem?” He pulled her up onto her lap, eyes smiling as he prompted, “And what does this poem say, angel”– Rachel shoved the memory aside with a frown as she released a somewhat annoyed sigh. “Robert, couldn’t you ask a different question? I don’t write in verse any longer, so why does it matter when I began?”

  “It matters because it’s a portion of a person I’m interested in knowing better. If I had been involved in your past as Mr. Richards or Maggie, then I wouldn’t ask. Well, more than likely anyway. But as I haven’t had the opportunity to know much other than what is common knowledge–”

  “You needn’t use guilt to manipulate an answer,” Rachel said, tone sharp. Robert regarded her, the intensity of his scrutiny actually making Rachel’s hackles rise. She looked away, her frown deepening. “I apologize,” she said tightly, and she seemed to offer him more apologies and pardons than anyone in her history.

  “Rachel,” Robert finally began, his tone cautious, “you know that I wasn’t truly attempting to manipulate you into an answer, don’t you?”

  Rachel pressed her lips together. “Yes.”

  Again the silence of his scrutiny descended, causing Rachel to snap open her fan and tease the air around her face with sharp movements.

  “Why do you get angry with that question?” he asked, voice as careful and cautious as before.

  --“Another poem, angel? Goodness me. Aren’t I blessed–” Rachel snapped the fan closed and gripped it with her other hand until she heard the sound of the wood pop. Then she faced him. “I don’t know. I only don’t want to answer. I don’t even wish to think about the answer.”

  “Do you want to know why you become angry at it?”

  “I…” She clenched her jaw as she held his gaze, noticing the concern and caution in his expression. …Her father accepted the poem from Rachel’s outstretched hand. “A farewell verse, angel?” he said softly. He looked down at it for a long moment before focusing dark eyes on her face. She bit her lip, tears glimmering in emerald eyes… Rachel released a long and quick breath as she forced herself to loosen the grip on her fan. She looked away. “They belong to her.”

  “You don’t like being reminded of her, do you?” Robert ventured carefully.

  Rachel wordlessly shook her head, though she knew he would ask the one question she didn’t want to answer.

  “Why?”

  --“Must I go, Papa? Couldn’t you teach me?” she asked, voice tight and broken. Her father shook his head. “No, Rachel. I couldn’t. This school is what you need to get ready. To make you better.”--

  Rachel could feel the tears press at her; tears she had fought back for most of the eight years she’d been away. Such a weakness invited torture and misery. Such a side of sensitivity only provided them with an area to manipulate and… hurt– Robert moved to sit beside her, his brown eyes attracting her attention before she could look away to the safety of the scenery outside. Instead, she was accosted by the surprising presence of pain in his expression.

  “Why, Rachel?” he asked again, pressing her to reveal something she had hidden away in another life.

  --“You need to be brave while away, Rachel,” Her father reminded, his voice gently firm. “Will you do that? Will you do your very best?”-- Rachel swallowed hard before whispering, “She wasn’t good enough,” her voice threatening tears.

  “But why would you think that?” Robert asked. “She had close friends. She had a family that loved her. Why would you think she wasn’t good enough?”

  The expression in his eyes remained as compassionate and caring as she ever remembered, not allowing her retreat. --Rachel solemnly nodded as she voiced a hushed, “I promise you’ll be proud.”-- Rachel desperately tried to blink the memories away. “Why wouldn’t I? He sent me away.”

  Robert released a soft breath as he gathered her hands into his. “Rachel, your worth isn’t determined by that.”

  But how could it not be? The action had changed everything, beyond repair.

  Robert sighed and moved close, his arm embracing her shoulders while his hand gently enfolded her upper arm and his thumb began a soft and soothing stroke. The action of comfort and tenderness invited the tears closer, but Rachel fought them back.

  “I didn’t intend to ruin the mood for the picnic,” he said softly.

  Rachel bit the inside of her lip. No. He never intended harm. He never seemed to even seek it out. Not as they had at school. He only attempted to discover things about her that often led to a darker part of what should have been a happy life. Making her face something that she had convinced herself didn’t matter.

  “Can I attempt to get it back again?” Robert asked, his voice gentle.

  Rachel took in and released a deep breath before giving a silent nod. Accepting the fact that she needed a draw back to a smile. Admitting that she sometimes feared what lurked behind the calm.

  “All right. Then I will attempt another question.”

  Rachel looked to her left, meeting his gaze to recognize a slight twinkle of mischief behind the care and concern.

  “Do you swim like a fish or a frog?”

  The question sounded so preposterous that Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “Robert.”

  “What? It’s a legitimate question, as I’ve been told I swim… Well, I’ll let you find that out at a later time. I seem to recall Mr. Richards hinting at the presence of a swimming hole around here close.”

  “Aren’t we a l
ittle old for escapes to swimming holes?” But a great portion of her longed for those days of no cares, save whether or not she would be caught by her parents dressing down to her bloomers to swim with a handsome boy of thirteen years with blond hair and flirtatious eyes.

  Robert feigned a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have it on good authority that swimming - bathing they sometimes call it - is the newest rage. They’ve even designed quite an assortment of ‘swimsuits’. Besides, it’s been ages since Damon and I had the opportunity to find a secluded spot for fishing, swimming, or overall daydreaming. I believe the last time I was able to do so was… at the age of fifteen?” Robert’s expression grew thoughtful before he nodded. “Yes. Fifteen. And what a shame it was to lose that,” he confessed, pointing at her while giving a minute wink. “Why should we grow older and grow up?” He crossed his arms and scoffed. “A waste of time, if you ask me.”

  Rachel fought back the smile as she shook her head and lightly fanned herself. “All right, all right. We’ll schedule a trip with Maggie and Toddy to our swimming hole north of the orchard.”

  Robert sent her a sidelong glance. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Toddy once accused me of swimming much like a drowning dog.”

  “Certainly you jest. With your gracefulness of movement?” He scoffed. “I won’t believe it. Mermaid, yes. Dog?” He scoffed again.

  “Very well. Judge for yourself, but not until we’ve arranged the purchase of appropriate swimwear.”

  “Why wait? Bloomers and undershorts should be good enough.”

  A flush burned her cheeks as she snapped his arm with her fan. He grinned, as boyishly attractive as ever, and captured the fan as it came down for the second strike. “Robert Leonard,” Rachel scolded as she attempted to pull the fan from his hold.

  But what fun to be teased without prejudice. To smack and push. To flirt and discuss. To explore a friendship whether or not something blossomed.

  Robert chuckled and released his hold on the fan, accepting the second smack with a flinch and a laugh. “All right, all right.” Then he again crossed his arms and gave her a nudge. “Your question?”