Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  “Oh yes, Papa,” April agreed, voice hushed but excited.

  Robert softly pinched her nose, eliciting a giggle, and then reached over and tousled Bobby’s head of blond hair. The young boy grinned. Then Robert focused on Rachel, offering her a smile that looked to be a combination of encouragement and thanks. Rachel returned his smile, though hers felt more reserved and guarded. Standing, Robert gave all three a boyish wink before moving back to the very excitedly chattering group of younger boys and girls. April focused glittering blue eyes on Rachel, shoulders raised in a happy shrug as she clasped her hands together. “See why we love him? He’s wonderful.”

  Bobby chuckled and shook his head, welcoming a shove from April and a scold of “Be quiet, Bobby. You love him, too,” as Rachel watched and listened in odd silence.

  ~~~

  “I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself, Rachel,” Robert told her as the carriage journeyed away from the orphanage.

  Rachel lightly fanned herself, her focus on the scenery outside. “Thank you for having me.”

  As Robert watched her profile, he couldn’t read anything from her expression save the usual calm and firm control. But he still heard her laughter as she had listened to the tales and stories of the children. He could still see the twinkling of her eyes as she had watched their faces while they spoke of him and their adventures together. He had recognized that expression. He had recognized the calm as more natural. More… peaceful.

  “I had no idea you were such an avid child lover,” he confessed softly. “It was remarkable to see how they all took to you.”

  Truth be told, it had made him a little envious. Of those looks of love and happiness he had seen so clear on her face when with them. Those are the very gazes I hope to see directed toward me, Lord. One day.

  “And to see the look of devotion and love on their faces when they look at you was proof enough they see you as the parent they lost.” Rachel’s calm emerald gaze finally met his brown one. “You should feel honored to be so highly adored.”

  “I am,” he said quietly.

  “Have you ever thought of adopting a pair of them to give them a family lost?”

  Robert lowered his gaze to the pipe in his hands, forgetting now when he had taken it out of his inner suit-coat pocket. “I have.” But what family without a mother?

  “But what family would they have without a mother?” Rachel asked, leading.

  Robert smirked. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Rachel continued to regard him in thoughtful silence, making him wonder if she knew that he planned to broach the subject with her as the day for their joining drew closer. You know how long I’ve prayed for the opportunity to give some of these children families. Yes. I know I’ve led so many to homes around the country, but what of Bobby and April? Each year they grow older, putting them past the age that everyone seems to want… And each year he felt more and more a call to take the role of ‘Father’ upon himself.

  But would Rachel have the same call?

  ~~~

  The carriage rumbled to a stop outside the main gate, waiting for it to be opened and ushering in an odd silence as the pair within waited for their inevitable parting.

  Robert faced her, giving her hand a gentle pressure. “I think I had better excuse myself from your company for the next few days,” he confessed softly.

  The carriage rumbled forward again as Rachel’s scrutiny moved to his face. His expression seemed guarded for the very first time in her acquaintance of him. “Why?” she asked simply.

  Clearing his throat, he lowered his focus. “I need to spend some time in prayer. Time for focus on purposes rather than the next feeling.” Robert sighed and looked up. “A relationship is a delicate thing, Rachel, and I would rather not jeopardize ours. Not so early.” His lips twitched upward as a softer and more boyish expression soothed away the seriousness. “Just a day or so. Mortals can’t survive perfection for too long a time.”

  Rachel regarded him in surprising calm for a long moment before nodding and accepting his secondary squeeze to her hands and his boyish smile of relief.

  “Thank you.”

  Then the carriage pulled to a stop outside the front steps of the estate and the driver had climbed down to open the door. Robert stepped out, immediately turning to offer her his hand and steady her descent. He smiled down at her for a brief moment before leaning forward to kiss her softly on each cheek. The tenderness of each touch ushered Rachel to a wondering at the different calm that had settled within. It wasn’t as cold. It was more… comfortable. As at the orphanage.

  Straightening, Robert gathered her hands and promised, “I will have a surprise waiting for you in the morning.”

  Then he kissed each hand, releasing them to tip his hat toward her, and finally turned away. He gave the order for the carriage to move on as he disappeared inside. Once it lurched forward, Robert slid down the glass to lean out, removing his hat in a gentlemanly salute while offering a somewhat serious expression of farewell.

  Rachel smirked, but as she watched the carriage depart, the smile softened. Within and without.

  Ten

  A Lady of Letters

  Rachel looked around her room with a blank expression. The childish wallpaper had been taken down to reveal lovely wood paneling that served the purpose of enhancing her uniquely framed collection of poetry. The canopy bed had been dismantled and removed, as had the small chairs and two of the dressers. Instead, she now slept on a beautiful oak four-poster bed, she had a new cushion for her window seat, and two overstuffed chairs set across from her fireplace with an antique coffee table between. The dressers had been replaced by antique pieces as well.

  This was now her room, and within it a new memory. One of male laughter. Of a story revealing a small portion of a shadowed history. ‘Might I be of help?’

  “Help?” she whispered. Since when had she, a Samson, ever admitted to needing help? Confessing a weakness and then accepting the encouragement and steadying hand of a friend. Had she ever?

  ‘Ushering aside the past can present a challenge. I’ll gladly help wherever I can.’

  Rachel released a deep breath and lifted her gaze. A knock sounded. “Yes?” she responded absently.

  “I’ve a parcel for you, Miss,” Oliver informed, voice muffled through the door. “Mr. Trent,” Rachel turned, “had a messenger bring it by.”

  The expectation wavered and dissipated. “Thank you, Oliver. Leave it there by the door.”

  “Certainly, Miss. Breakfast will be served presently.”

  Rachel turned back to her scrutiny of the room with a sigh. “No, thank you, Oliver. Only coffee in the sitting room.”

  “Yes, Miss.” The sound of his fading steps echoed in the hall.

  Rachel closed her eyes, her mind focusing on the inner alteration to her attitude regarding men and their role within her life. Robert’s lack of intrusion had cultivated her intrigue and caused her to pursue more of him. More answers to the questions, which invited more questions and a more… desperate pursuit. Fanning the attraction until she couldn’t explain it away to simple good looks and respect.

  A slow breath escaped as Rachel opened her eyes and turned away, making her way past a carefully placed parcel and down the stairs to the sitting room off the main hall and across from her father’s downstairs study. Often serving as her mother’s sanctuary, Rachel felt the sudden urge to spend a few quiet hours there surrounded by books and comforted by the quiet presence of the memories of her mother.

  Upon entering, Rachel paused but a moment before moving to stand in front of the window looking out onto the garden. She clasped her hands behind her, remembering how Robert’s gentle temperament remained the same, as did his understanding and uncanny ability to know… Rachel rubbed at her forehead and then turned to sit in one of the armchairs by the large window.

  A small drawer within the antique coffee table across from her chair caught her eye, so Rachel leaned forward to
pull it out. The action revealed a slightly tattered and faded cigar box of her father’s favorite brand. Her eyes misted with tears as she pulled it free to open it. Inside rested a pendant, a picture, and a small brooch with a chipped cameo. Rachel retrieved the picture while biting her lower lip.

  “Rachel?”

  Rachel looked up. Maggie closed the door behind her and stepped farther into the room, holding the delivered parcel in her hands. “Hello, Maggie.” Rachel lowered her gaze back to the box and the items within it. “I found my treasure chest.”

  Maggie sat in the chair across from her, setting the parcel beside her chair. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “I remember when you hid those. Your mother gave them to you when you were ten. You thought you’d lose them, so you hid them away here.”

  Rachel stared down at the photograph and caressed the smiling face with a shaking finger. “The dreams and fantasies that we grew up with are so different from what I’ve found myself living, Mags. The reality of it frightens me sometimes. Makes me even long for Mamma’s touch on my head…” She looked up at her childhood friend. “How will I be strong enough, Maggie? How will I continue without her? She showed me what it was to be a woman, and now that’s gone. How will I know what is proper and expected?”

  Maggie reached across and covered one of Rachel’s hands. “You’ll know because your mamma taught you right.”

  Rachel’s head fell back against the chair, and she closed her eyes with a deep sigh. “She taught me to be feminine and delicate. She taught me to be sensitive to others. She taught me to respect my elders and to honor God and the church.” Rachel raised her head again, expression pained. “School taught me to be hard. Suspicious. To control all aspects of my life so that I will never be caught unprepared. School taught me to question authority and bypass it. To listen to only that which benefits me and my wealth…” Rachel sighed and lowered her gaze to the photograph of her mother. “Eight years, Maggie. Eight years I’ve been bombarded with such an opposite teaching… How can I remember a life that I don’t believe ever existed?”

  A tear escaped as she squeezed her friend’s hand. “You pray.”

  Rachel looked away, pulling her hand free. Then she set her childhood treasures back into the box and tenderly closed it, tucking them back into the drawer. “Prayer. A simple sounding solution to a complex problem of arrogance and pride,” she said in a low voice. Rachel looked up to meet Maggie’s gaze. “What would I pray? For Father’s sudden change of heart? For a return of a time of peace and happiness?” She scoffed.

  “You pray that the Lord would get you ready to see what you need to see,” Maggie offered carefully.

  The parcel at Maggie’s feet drew Rachel’s attention a moment before she turned her focus outside the window. “I’d like to be alone, Maggie.”

  “Of course, Rachel,” the woman said softly, and she left the room without another word.

  The parcel again drew Rachel’s focus, and she could hear Robert’s gentle baritone promising a surprise… Rachel leaned forward to retrieve it, running her fingers along the brown paper wrapping before setting to work at the task of opening it. Removal of the brown paper revealed a plain white box, equally square, with a removable lid. Hesitantly lifting it, she lightly bit her lip before leaning forward to look within. An eyebrow arched as she reached inside to retrieve a portion of letters and papers bound by twine or simple blue material or leather… There were four parcels and then dozens of loose-leaf letters intermixed with pictures, and then a leather-bound book below.

  Posted on the underside of the box lid could be seen an envelope bearing her name. She retrieved the notecard within and opened it.

  ‘Rachel, please accept this invitation to travel back to my past. With love, Rob.’

  The parcel of letters held in her right hand drew her attention as she lowered the notecard. Then she set the card aside and slowly drew out one of the letters. It bore no addressee, save that of ‘Betrothed’. The date on the envelope placed him at the age of sixteen and herself at the age of fourteen, just arriving in France. The next letter had been dated a few days later, and so on. Another parcel of letters, this one fastened by the leather strap, had been dated two and three years before and bore the title ‘Dear Lady.’ Rachel softly smiled.

  The parcel fastened by the blue piece of material was dated after the first, with the title again written as ‘Betrothed’. The tone of the loose-leaf letters appeared much younger. All seemed to suggest that he had known of his future from an early age and done his best to face it. Sometimes with gentlemanly determination and gallantry; other times with reserve; and still others with resignation. Never once had he turned from the fact that one day he would marry.

  Now Rachel held that past within her hands.

  She placed the letters back within, withdrawing instead the leather-bound volume titled ‘Journal’. She traced the gold lettering before opening it. The date read nine months previous. Rachel stared at the date, remembering her own struggle at that time of impending graduation and the realization that her mother would die without her… Blinking away the burning, Rachel slowly turned to the first page. The writing flowed evenly spaced and well-formed, though it looked to be written quickly. It was… strong handwriting. Purposeful. True.

  ‘October 7th, 1887. This journal is written as an introduction to you, the lady God has chosen me to marry. With it I will also include the letters written throughout my life so that, though we’ve been separate, you might have this opportunity to meet the boy I was and compare him to the man God has helped me to become.’

  Rachel closed the book, the sharp sound resulting from the quick action causing a start. Placing the book back within, her eyes couldn’t be forced away from it. Nor could her heart be directed away from the curiosity and extreme gratification of such a thoughtful gift. Even amidst the struggle of his entire life, with the challenges and obstacles and horrible happenings of reality… Rachel worried her lower lip as she continued to stare within. How does a boy become such a man? And the answer was within the box. Held in the letters and the pictures and the book that had been written for her and yet not.

  But a fear of what she would find kept her back, though her training argued furiously against it.

  However, curiosity wouldn’t be ushered aside, propelled even stronger forward by intrigue and a desire to understand him. So, Rachel reached within once more, gathering the loose-leaf papers to arrange them by date before also gathering the parceled letters and doing the same. That done, she stared at the top most letter, written in a strong and yet young hand…

  The door opened but didn’t attract Rachel’s focus. She hesitantly retrieved the first letter, releasing a slow and long breath as she scanned both front and back, not noticing Oliver bringing in the tray of coffee and setting it down onto the coffee table in front of her. Then, without realizing Oliver had come and gone, she focused again on the front page and began reading.

  ‘To whom it may concern,

  My tutor wants me to begin practicing my composition, so my mother suggested I write to you. I told her I don’t know where to send it, but she said that would be all right and that I could just save it and give it to you later.

  I’m sorry for not addressing you properly, but I’ve forgotten your name and Mother has gone now to visit some friends in town and Father is in a meeting. I’ll try to remember to ask later and make a note.’

  Rachel couldn’t help but smile, giving a small shake of her head as she tried to reason an age by the tone of the letter. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to date it.

  ‘I suppose I should introduce myself because I don’t think I’ve written you a letter before. My name is Robert Leonard Trent, but Caleb and Anthony call me Bobby and Damon calls me Rob. Joseph calls me Lenny, but he only does it to make me mad. He knows I hate that name. Last time he called me that he said a bad word, too, and I popped him in the nose. I got an ear twist for it, and Mother says I should be sorry, but Damon says he d
eserved it. I feel bad for hitting him, there was a lot of blood, but maybe now he won’t make me mad on purpose anymore.’

  Rachel shielded the laugh with a quickly lifted hand, eyes crinkling at the corners. “So you’ve a bit of a temper, do you, Robert?” she observed, again remembering her own witness to it the day she had missed their engagement for coffee.

  ‘Damon and Caleb say we should prank him, but I don’t know. I might get into trouble again, and then I wouldn’t be allowed to visit my Uncle in Le Havre next summer. He has a yacht and a big house by the sea and a lot of secret passages to explore. Mother said I might be able to take one of my friends if I was good, but if I prank him I might not get to go at all. I thought that I should ask her if it’s all right for me to do a prank if it’s but a little one. Then at least I will have asked permission, even if she says ‘no’.

  Rachel laughed aloud. “You silly boy,” she said quietly.

  ‘It’s time for my arithmetic lesson now. If the letter was boring, I’m sorry. I never know what to write until I sit down to do it. I hope you’re well, and I hope you’re enjoying your winter. It’s snowing here. A lot. I made a snowman yesterday and it’s still standing, but he has a lot more snow on his hat than he did when I put it on last night. So I’ve planned to dump it today after dinner. I only need to make sure I look out for Anthony. He likes getting me with snowballs when I’m not looking.

  My tutor is threatening to tell Father I haven’t finished.

  Sincerely,

  Robert Leonard Trent’

  Rachel set aside the letter with a continued smile before taking up the next one. It also had no date, but the writing looked to be the same style as the previous.