Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  Rachel regarded him with a slowly descending expression of seriousness.

  The smile on Robert’s face softened. “I’ve an inkling the question you want to ask is not a jest or joke.”

  “Father is of the mind that you could be a conspirer for my… high-opinion so that you could later use it for your benefit,” she admitted. “I argued against the possibility, but of course my reasons stated weren’t based on fact or knowledge of you. Only those of your actions up to this point, which have been enough in my opinion.”

  Robert smirked. “Thank you.”

  “So, if you don’t mind questions into your personal history…” Rachel prompted.

  He adjusted his position within the corner of the carriage so that he could face more toward her. “Go ahead, Rachel. You’re entitled to as many serious questions as you like.”

  Rachel pursed her lips to one side, her fan absently tapping her other hand as she regarded him. “You were born in Virginia?”

  “Yes. Charlottesville. 1862. September 7th.”

  “You attended the University of Virginia there?”

  Robert inclined his head. “Yes.” Then his smirk widened slightly. “Did you know that the faculty convinced Gen. Custer to spare the University in 1865 when Union troops marched on Charlottesville? Instead, they camped on the lawn, sacked many of the Pavilions, but moved on about four days later without spilling one ounce of blood. It’s a wonderful tale. As is the one of the murder of law professor John A. G. Davis, whom was shot by a masked student in 1840. I believe it was that sobering incident which brought about the ‘honor pledge’ later established by the faculty.”

  Rachel arched an eyebrow, encouraging the twinkle within Robert’s brown eyes as he watched her.

  “What?” he prompted. “I like a good story.”

  She smirked. “Obviously.” She motioned toward him with her fan. “What standing did you hold in your classes?”

  “Top five.”

  Her eyebrow lifted again. “Not the primary leader?”

  “Yes, well…” Robert cleared his throat. “I had a bout with the Influenza that kept me out of class for a collection of weeks.”

  Again Rachel noticed a tone of embarrassment. It was as if he didn’t want special attention.

  “I turned in all my work within a few days of their due dates,” he continued, “but unfortunately I wasn’t able to focus enough attention for my debates and my closing statements in order to earn more than the normal credit.”

  “Certainly the fact that you fulfilled the requirement at all while so ill should have counted for something additional.”

  “I didn’t want special treatment.”

  Rachel blinked. “But you were ill!”

  “That doesn’t matter in real life.” Robert shrugged. “I didn’t mind not being in the primary position. Third was accomplishment enough.”

  How different our philosophies on that?

  “My father asked me about that once,” Robert added thoughtfully, tapping his lips with a finger as he focused ahead. “He and Damon both thought I should have approached the Dean to complain, due to the fact I was ill for those weeks. In fact, I seem to recall Father saying that I put in more effort than what would have been expected for the grades I received.” He shrugged again, meeting Rachel’s scrutiny with a smile. “I suppose the fact that Father believed I should have had the first position was enough. He knew how hard I had worked, I knew how hard I had worked, and everything else outside of that was secondary.”

  “But what of the fact your position would ultimately affect any and all positions of employment applied for? Didn’t that concern you?”

  “Normally it would have, but due to the fact I knew my position secured…” Robert smirked. “If that hadn’t been the case, I likely would have complained of my grade. Interesting that, isn’t it?”

  Rachel thoughtfully regarded him as she absently said “Yes.”

  His lips twitched upward. “My question?”

  Rachel blinked, drawing her mind from the regard of his character, and then motioned toward him. “By all means.”

  A smile twitched his lips to one side as he gave her hand another pressure. “Why is your middle name ‘Byron’?”

  “My mother.”

  “Her name was ‘Byron’?” he asked, though the expression in his eyes fairly screamed that he knew very well it wasn’t.

  “No,” she said patiently. “Her name was ‘Marie’. Her favorite poet was Lord Byron.”

  “Ah. Wise choice. Though I prefer Sir Philip Sydney.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow twitched.

  Robert reached up to caress the corner of her arched eyebrow, his eyes focused on the action. “Especially the ones composed for the infamous ‘Stella’,” he added, tone absent.

  Her heart reveled in the simple act of tenderness, shushing her mind’s chastisement. Rachel released a soft and silent breath to keep her action under restraint.

  “Do you have a favorite poet?”

  Rachel slightly shook her head, trying to banish away the fog in order to remember the name…

  “Oh?” he said softly, finger moving its caress from eyebrow to jawline. “That’s a pity.” Then his eyes focused on hers and he leaned slightly forward-- He cleared his throat and sat back, hand releasing hers as he turned in the seat and focused forward, arms crossing and ears and neck flushing red. “I apologize, Rachel,” he mumbled.

  Rachel released another collection of breaths before giving her own delicate clearing of throat and focusing forward as well. “I’ve enjoyed Edgar Allen Poe greatly, of late.”

  Robert adjusted his crossed arms and then looked to her profile. “He went to University of Virginia. Did you know?”

  Rachel shook her head, forcing away imaginations and dreams as she focused on his face with a forced calm. “Did he?”

  Robert nodded. “From what I understand, he attended approximately three years after I was born.”

  “What a small world.”

  Robert smirked. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. Just look at our own coincidences of meeting.”

  The carriage lurched to a stop then, causing Robert to look out the window. “There already? Goodness gracious me. How time flies when one’s otherwise engaged.”

  “But I haven’t had as many questions to ask as you yourself have,” Rachel said, tone clearly mischievous.

  Robert chuckled.

  The back-and-forths were more fun than she had thought possible, much as a portion of her hated to admit it. Her only concern grew to be the tattering hold on her calm. Given the emotional exchanges and the deepening softness she saw in his eyes… Set it aside, Rachel.

  “There’s nothing to say you can’t continue once we’re safely ensconced within,” he said. He opened the door to the carriage and stepped down, immediately turning to help Rachel do the same. “Mind your step.”

  Rachel couldn’t release his hand once both feet were on the ground. The warmth within as well as his soft touch without wouldn’t allow it. Especially not when his hold slightly increased its pressure as her eyes were drawn to a scrutiny of the large brick building.

  A leaden weight dropped into the pit of her stomach. “The orphanage?”

  “I see you know it,” Robert said, a bright tone in his voice.

  “I know it well.” Rachel clung tighter to his hand as she stared at the front doors.

  “Come,” Robert said as he returned her squeeze. “I will give you the tour.” When Robert made a move to step forward, Rachel stopped him with a tug on his arm. He turned to look at her, concern twisting his expression. “Rachel? What is it?”

  The only answer she could offer was a silent shake of her head.

  Robert glanced at the large double doors. Then he turned to Rachel and took hold of both her hands. “Rachel, look at me,” he requested, voice gentle. She pulled her focus from the orphanage and looked up at him. “It’s all right if you don’t wish to visit the children today. I thought y
ou might enjoy spending some time with them, but I won’t press.”

  “I…” Rachel’s eyes again focused to the orphanage. “I spent so much time here as a young girl. I don’t know if I can go back. I want to put my past behind me, not travel back to face the memories again.”

  Robert tilted her head up, smiling when her dark gaze met his. “Rachel, maybe this time the facing of the past won’t be as painful as it was before?” He lowered his finger from her chin. “Maybe the memories will have mercy, giving you something more pleasant to remember?”

  Rachel held his gaze for a long and silent moment before again looking to the door.

  “I must confess that I’ve told the children all about you, everything true of course. They’ve begged me for days to bring you.”

  The statement and confession seemed to trigger the opening of the double doors of the orphanage, for at that very moment it opened to the accompaniment of several shrieks and squeals. Children of all ages and sizes funneled out, calling Robert’s name and throwing themselves into his arms as he knelt down with a smile. Rachel watched the spectacle with a tightening throat and a remembrance of so many dreams of husband and father…

  Then he stood, taking one of the younger girls into his arms as he sent Rachel a small smile. “This is Rachel, everyone.”

  The children swarmed around Rachel then, taking hold of her hands as they asked all types of questions. After several hundred had been asked and left unanswered, she laughed, the fear retreating from the bombardment of laughter and childish giggles accompanied by the soft expression on Robert’s face.

  ~~~

  Rachel watched him absently, the internal silence ringing with intrigue and curiosity as he explained to the children what he intended for the small book of stories. The children had gathered around his chair in the orphanage’s small library and looked much like a living blanket. One young girl on his right leg and a young boy on his left, at least half a dozen boys and girls gathered around his feet, and two children hanging on each arm of the chair as they listened with rapt attention.

  A soft touch at Rachel’s arm drew her attention. A young girl, April she believed, stood at the arm of Rachel’s chair. Her blue eyes were striking within her pale skin, with this framed by dark brown hair plaited in two long braids. She wore a simple dress of blue with a white overlay, part of the orphanage’s uniform. April appeared to be nine years of age, with a sad expression in eyes and face that made her appear almost… wistful. Yet, when she smiled, as she smiled now, that wistfulness seemed more hopeful than sad.

  “You’re very pretty,” April said, her tone hushed and timid.

  One side of Rachel’s lips lifted. “Thank you. I thought the same of you.”

  April’s pale cheeks flushed. “You think so?”

  “I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t.” Rachel adjusted one of April’s braids to the front. “Why don’t you go stand with the others?” she asked carefully. “Don’t you wish to hear about the stories in the book?”

  April shook her head, smile remaining. “That’s alright. I didn’t want you to be by yourself.”

  “I appreciate the thought, young miss.”

  “Can you call me April?” she asked, eyes suddenly wide.

  “Of course, if you’d like.”

  April nodded. “I would like it very much.” Then she leaned back a bit and focused her gaze behind Rachel’s chair. “Bobby,” she called in a whisper, “you can come and say ‘hello’. She’s very nice.”

  A muffled voice behind was heard to say, “I know. He said that she was.”

  “Then why won’t you come out? I thought you wanted to meet her?” April pressed, voice still a low whisper.

  Rachel continued to regard the girl’s gently intense expression, not noticing the softening of her own.

  “I don’t know,” came a muffled reply. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  April softly giggled. “Oh, Bobby. You silly, of course she’ll like you. Papa said so.”

  Rachel blinked. “‘Papa’?”

  April’s smiling face focused once more on Rachel. She nodded and then smiled at Robert, intercepting his wink. “He said it was alright for us to call him that. Because Bobby and I haven’t had a Papa longer than the others.” April again looked to Rachel. “And we love him as if he were our Papa, so Bobby and I decided that it would be okay.”

  “It sounds as though you and Master Bobby put a very lot of thought into that decision.”

  April’s eyes crinkled at the corners with her giggle as she again leaned back to speak to the boy hiding behind Rachel’s chair. “Ooo, Bobby. She called you ‘master’. Doesn’t that make you feel so grown up?”

  Silence followed the statement, but Rachel could have sworn she heard the shuffle of material. He had likely shrugged.

  April’s expression grew suddenly serious and concerned. “You’re being very different today, Bobby. Are you alright?”

  Another shuffle of material.

  April focused her concerned blue eyes on Rachel. “He’s not normally this shy.” Then she again looked behind the chair. “I thought you wanted to meet her,” she reminded gently.

  At yet another shuffle of material, Rachel stood and slowly moved around to the back of the chair. Bobby was positioned on the floor with his back against her chair and his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Blond-headed with a light complexion only little darker than April’s, Bobby had a boyishly handsome face and looked to be only a little older than April, perhaps closer to eleven years of age. He also seemed to be growing into the age of awkward height and lank.

  Rachel knelt, immediately noticing how Bobby’s arms tightened slightly around his legs as he ducked his head a little lower. “I’ve wanted to meet you,” she said in a quietly calm tone, immediately noticing a slight shift in his eyelashes as he briefly looked toward her. “Ever since your papa showed me your pictures and told me a little bit about you. Only…” Her sudden silence drew another quick glance, and Rachel lowered her gaze. “Only I thought you might not like me.”

  April knelt beside Bobby, eyes wide as she watched Rachel’s face. “But why not?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Rachel met April’s gaze, watching Bobby from the corner of her eye as he slightly lifted his chin. “I’m very different from your Papa,” Rachel said. “You’re familiar with him, but not with me.”

  “But Papa told us about you,” April reminded, and then her smile returned. “Papa likes you, so we knew we would like you, too.”

  A small smile softened Rachel’s features. “I’m glad of that. It’s quite scary to meet new people, isn’t it?”

  April nodded, her pretty and expressive face showing serious agreement.

  Rachel slowly and cautiously focused her attention on Bobby, intercepting hesitant green eyes and an uncertain expression. He was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.

  “Hello,” she voiced very softly.

  Bobby lowered his gaze. “Hello.”

  “May I sit beside you?”

  Quick glance. “Alright.”

  Rachel very carefully adjusted her position to the space beside him, rearranging her skirts before again focusing on his down-turned face and intercepting his sidelong glance. “I am happy to meet you,” she told him, careful to keep her voice as low as possible.

  However, Bobby didn’t move his focus from the intense scrutiny of his knees.

  April watched Bobby for a silent collection of moments before resting a hand on his arm. “Bobby…” she encouraged. “What’s the matter?”

  Bobby lowered his head, and to Rachel’s horror he confessed “She looks like Mamma,” in a quiet and sad voice.

  “Oh,” April whispered, and her hand didn’t leave his arm.

  Then Bobby lowered his head to rest his forehead against his knees.

  Rachel couldn’t help but place her hand on his back near his shoulder. He didn’t cringe or flinch, as she had expected, he only sniffed.
Sadness tightened her throat as she watched him, remembering how Robert had described him as a boy who made it a point of seeing the positive in every harsh situation. How hard he must be struggling to do so here…

  Rachel lifted her hand to softly stroke and smooth the hair on the back of the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, Bobby,” she offered.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said, voice muffled. “It’s alright that you do.” Then Bobby took in a deep breath and released it slowly, sounding another sniff as he adjusted his arms around his legs and his forehead against his knees. “I know why Papa likes you,” he confessed in a muffled voice. When he lifted his head, he focused on Rachel with a somewhat weak smile and dark green eyes.

  Rachel’s expression softened, her hand again stroking his hair before giving his back a comforting rub. “And why is that?”

  Bobby wiped under his nose with his sleeve. “You’ve a kind heart.”

  A phrase she hadn’t heard paired with her since almost before she could remember. Do I? “Thank you, Bobby.” Do I?

  He nodded, rubbing first one eye and then the other with the back of each hand.

  Then the chair behind them creaked, causing the three to look up into the softly concerned and yet smiling face of Robert as he leaned his arm against the top of the chair. “Hey,” he greeted softly. “Is everything all right back here?”

  April and Bobby both nodded. “Oh yes, Papa,” April said. “Bobby was just sad because she looks like his mamma.”

  Robert moved around to crouch in front of Bobby, the concerned expression a bit more prominent as his hands gently enfolded the boy’s arms. “Are you all right?” Robert asked softly, the gentle tone arresting Rachel’s focus.

  Bobby nodded.

  The concern on Robert’s face lessened and he gave the boy’s arms a brief pressure before releasing them. “Thank you for keeping Miss Samson company, Bobby. April.” Robert sent Rachel a small smile before refocusing on the pair. “I might need you to pay special attention to her still, as I believe Emily, Hannah, Jeremiah and the others have a few special demands on my attention. Something mentioned of special pictures and stories and whatnot. Is that all right?”