Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  Damon and he continued to prank and adventure, when their studies permitted, but as Robert grew up, Rachel had begun to notice more of the letters surrounded something new learned at the office or in his studies of business cultures, his growing infatuation with law, and his fascination with literature and the hidden meanings therein. Several of his attempts at poetry had been adorably simple and yet deep, revealing yet another facet of a complex young man that would lead to the intriguing man of her current experience.

  Then she had come to the letter written his first night at his grandparent’s.

  ‘Dear Lady of Letters,

  ‘Life can be cruel when we least expect it. I’ve been sent to my grandparent’s in Massachusetts, but not for the summer adventure I thought. My hard work and high marks should have earned me a summer vacation. Instead, I’ve been volunteered to help construct an addition. Grandfather thought the knowledge of building would make me appreciate the intricacies of business and cultures in business and a bunch of other things. Maybe it will; I don’t know. But why can’t I play?

  I work so hard, harder than any of the other boys my age, but each day it’s the same. Observing life to learn. Watching people to learn. Studying. Learning. Pushing myself harder and harder every day with it still not being enough. Just once I want to be allowed to watch people simply for the watching. But Father is always there asking questions about them to test what I’ve observed. I want to read something for the simple pleasure of reading it. But Father is there asking questions of the politics and the hidden meanings and parallels.

  I understand that my role as a Trent is important. I understand that my responsibility to the business is higher than anyone else’s, because it’s my family business. But I want to play. I want to laugh. I want to be a kid so that I can have that to remember when I’m a man. If I don’t have that, what kind of man will I be?’

  And Rachel could almost hear and envision the heavy sigh and intense pause. “It is hard, isn’t it Robert? To live this life of high expectations and what seems unreal demands. Yet we continue forward, pushing ourselves harder than anyone has ever pushed us.” Rachel shook her head and absently brushed her thumb against the paper. “And do we understand why we push? No. I don’t believe we do.”

  ‘Grandfather is sorry for the misunderstanding and has promised to set aside as much time as he can for me to have an adventure. But as I’ve only a month to help them build this addition, I don’t know how much time that will leave for childhood games and imaginings of dragon fights and rescued damsels.

  Maybe I’ve but to imagine this as the adventure. Isn’t it better to see the fun than the work?

  I had best go. I hope your summer is more childish than mine. But if it isn’t, we can commiserate together when we meet.

  With blessings,

  Rob’

  Rachel released a soft breath and set it aside, her focus lingering on it with an understanding and compassionate gaze before reaching for the next. To Robert’s surprise, building the addition became a challenge he enjoyed. He hadn’t ever constructed anything as grand and extensive as an additional portion to a house, and so he began to appreciate the intricacies that were necessary to consider in order for it to stand and function and protect the way houses did.

  The confession brought a smile… which warped when she came upon the letter written in a not so sure hand. The formation of letters seemed to have taken quite a bit of effort, and that was when Rachel remembered the scar of his right hand.

  ‘Dear Lady of Letters,

  I apologize beforehand for the shortness of this note, but I wanted to tell you of a swimming/fishing hole found nearly a half-mile southwest of Grandfather’s house. It’s hidden in a gully west of a large cottonwood. If you’d like, when we finally meet I can take you there. The fish are as big as my arm, and very bold. One came right up and bit my toe!’

  Here Rachel noticed a bit of pinkness and a slight warping of the page. The blood from his wound had likely seeped through the bandage to wet the stationary.

  ‘Now I’ve stained the page and you’ll be wondering why.

  I had a tumble and got a scratch. It isn’t anything to worry after. Grandmamma wrapped it neatly and it barely hurts. I won’t be allowed to do much of the fun work for a day or so now, but Grandfather says there’s plenty to do that won’t need me to use it.’

  There was another bit of warping and color. “Robert,” she said in a hushed tone, “do take care.”

  ‘Grandmamma wants to check the bandage, so I’d best go. Again, it’s nothing. So please don’t worry. Boys will be boys.

  Have a good evening, Lady.

  With blessings,

  Rob’

  Rachel gave a shake of her head and a reluctant soft smile as she set the letter aside. Yes. I suppose boys will be boys, but how many are in a position such as you and bear it with bravery and courage? The remembered gash must have been painful, and yet he minimized it. And didn’t he claim that he ‘milked it for all it was worth’? At the tone of this letter, Rachel doubted their impressions of ‘milking it’ were the same. He likely used it only for a day off to discover the aforementioned swimming hole.

  The other letters written during the time of the summer excursion to his Grandfather’s told of fishing expeditions, swimming adventures, and a few days when children from the orphanage had come upon him while sunbathing and been invited to dinner or lunch with him and his grandparents. They had later exchanged addresses and promises to write, and Robert had written of how much fun that day - as well as future days with them - had been.

  It was then Rachel remembered his confession of being a lonely ‘only child’.

  Once he returned home from his grandparents, the letters became more sporadic. The reason he gave, along with apologies for it, was that his studies were becoming harder and he didn’t have as much free time to write to her as he had before. So, the letters when he did write grew longer with more and more leanings away from childish adventures and more devotion solely to what he had discovered that week or fortnight of business and law.

  The time when he had rebelled against the betrothal wasn’t mentioned in the letters.

  At fourteen, Caleb went away to school in New York. Anthony still hadn’t returned from India. Joseph had fully enrolled in the military, and Damon had remained in Virginia. Robert’s letters became even more intelligent and passionate about his discoveries of business, and yet there began to grow a somewhat timid and hesitant romantic flavor.

  He began to speak of parties attended and girls he danced with. Favorite dance steps and pieces of music were soon intertwined with his discussions of cultures. New publications of poetry and why they so moved him had begun to find their way woven into his exploration of literature and how it affected popular views.

  More original poetry and philosophical prose began finding its way into the letters as well. Ones he confessed he was afraid to read or show to anyone else. Each time he would write one, he would ask her opinion and her thoughts for when they would finally meet, letting her know it was all right if she didn’t care for poetry. ‘I only want to know the truth,’ he would write, ‘and I’ve come to realize poems say different truths to different people.’

  The subtlety with the wooing and romance in the letters did strange things for Rachel. They awoke a type of wistfulness from a childhood seemingly ages old. They gave the impression of speaking to that young and timid lady rather than the older woman whom found herself even more intrigued by the boy who had grown into a young man… at her fingertips.

  At sixteen, the business and its intrigues held even less of the letters’ focus. Instead, Robert focused on questions of her and her dreams while confessing his. He posed questions of her future and then wrote of what he hoped his would be. He confessed, also, of the growing frustration at being kept separate, hinting at the more intense struggle to remain true and faithful to the vision of a ‘lady God has chosen’ than it had been for the youth of eleven
years.

  Then Rachel found a letter from a seventeen-year-old young man that surprised her.

  ‘Dearest Lady of Letters,

  I begin this letter with a request for forgiveness. Though so many weeks and months and years I’ve written you; though I know that God has chosen you for me and I for you, I’ve kept one eye on other passing ladies and one eye on God. For that I ask forgiveness.

  The thought of being forever alone when I see my friends and acquaintances paired off made me do rash things. No. I’ve still protected my innocence for you, Lady, but wishing after a moment’s kiss or caress is the same as experiencing it. In that, too, I beg forgiveness.

  When I first began writing these letters to you, it was done as an assignment. Then, when I discovered how easy it was to talk to you, it became an adventure. A mystery, you might say. After all, I could tell you things I hadn’t even told Damon or Caleb. But, after a time, I began to see these as nothing more than letters to no one. An exercise. No. No, a habit I couldn’t bear to break. Why? Because our time together has been important in helping me grow into the man I’ve become.

  Much of the time I spent writing to you, however, should have been spent in prayer with God. Asking for guidance. Asking for wisdom and patience. Instead, I sought those from you, and from others, knowing they wouldn’t be able to give me the peace and stability I needed, and yet craving a more carnal acceptance.

  Now God has shown me that in order to be truly dedicated to our future relationship, I need to be even more dedicated to seeking out His wisdom and His will for my life. I cannot continue to focus one eye on Him and one eye on this world. They both must look up, so that our relationship will be the blessing I know it can be.

  This isn’t to say that I won’t continue writing. No, Lady. As I’ve said, I enjoy this time of inner thought and exploration. I enjoy doing my best to write something that might cause a smile or a laugh. I look forward to this time when I can impart a hint into the kind of man you will later be marrying, for I don’t want that prospect to be frightening for you. You deserve happiness, and it is my prayer to be able to offer that to you.

  So, I’m dedicating myself to a renewed passion in my prayers regarding you and myself. So that I won’t forget that these letters are intended for the lady God has chosen for me to marry. So that I won’t forget that there is a timid young woman out there whom will soon read these words while trying to understand the man who loves her. I don’t ever wish to forget the heart of the other, for when I do, then I lose the heart God has sought to create in me.

  And that heart, always, will be dedicated to the happiness of my God and the lady He has chosen for me to marry.

  Love and Blessings,

  Robert’

  Rachel lowered the letter, lowering also her chin as she closed her eyes and shielded them with a hand. Always he took such great care with his future and that of his future wife. Always did he consider the repercussions to an action. As a young boy; as a growing young man; as a grown man stepping toward the future family he so desperately wanted. In all these she felt as if she had somehow played a small part, even though her name did not read at the top of the letters. She felt as if they had indeed been written for her. To her. Because of the part she would play. Because of the part she… wanted to play.

  The tears were felt to come, and Rachel let them; for only the second time in eight years.

  ~~~

  ‘Rachel,

  I hope your day and evening went well. My morning consisted of a nice visit to Mr. Richards after a refreshing ride through the country chatting with God of us, myself, and how in the world I wove such a predicament. Not the more pleasant one of courting an entrancing and intriguing woman, for that is certainly nothing but God’s own weaving. I speak of the predicament of hesitation at seeing you again. Hesitation due to the expression of reluctance, suspicion, and fear I might see in your emerald eyes.

  My over-eagerness to protect our tentative and new relationship has me becoming a worrier and an ‘old woman’, as Damon would say. But as I said, I had a nice visit with Mr. Richards after a chat with God and I’ve resolved myself to enjoy our relationship rather than worry after it. For if I worry, that means I’m not trusting God with it, and you deserve His care more than you deserve my worry.

  After my morning with Mr. Richards at Mr. Parson’s ranch, we trekked to the orphanage for lunch and visited with the children. April promised me to send you the enclosed story, and Bobby the enclosed necklace of leather and carved wood. They also wished you ‘Good morning’s and ‘Good evening’s and hope you can visit again soon.’

  Robert rubbed at the back of his neck as he read over the letter. Writing it with an actual name at the beginning felt… odd and yet… so right. For such a long time he had known a name and yet felt a reluctance to write it. Now he had a name and felt a hesitation to write the style of letter he had written as a romantic-minded young man seven and eight years before. Letters she now had in her possession. Letters that would hopefully encourage her trust and attraction, not distance it. But You pressed me to send it on, so I won’t question it now. It was done, and God would do what He would. Always for the best.

  One side of Robert’s lips tilted. “All right, all right. I’ll try a little harder to not be an old woman.”

  ‘I haven’t another surprise to offer at the moment, though I suppose I could have a gift or present of a different kind waiting. I will give it some thought and see what comes to mind. I must admit it’s a bit of fun and adventure to try and surprise you, especially when you seem to have mastered the skill of calm. The challenge to rattle that calm has me plotting against you, I’m afraid.

  If Mother were here, I would ask her permission to prank.’

  Robert chuckled. Yes, indeed what a temptation that has been.

  ‘Though I’m of the mind she would twist my ear at the suggestion. Girls aren’t to be bullied, you understand. They may bully to their heart’s content, but as for us, we must be gentlemen. Yet I haven’t minded being bullied by you. You, by far, are more of an entrancing bully than ever Elizabeth was. Perhaps that is due to the fact you tend to masterfully lead rather than bully. That, and when you sparkle emerald my direction, I haven’t the will to resist.

  Well, perhaps I have, but it’s extremely more fun to surrender.’

  Robert glanced to his desk clock and rubbed at his neck, muttering “Just ask,” as he tapped his pencil onto the desk.

  ‘I hope the letters were welcome, Rachel. It seemed as if the opportunity was right for you to have them, our distance from one another allowing you the time to process and consider. If they were too much too soon, I hope you can forgive me. Since meeting you, I appear to stumble and bumble about. Not as romantic or sophisticated as I had hoped. Ah well. I suppose it goes to show me in a better light. More real than the practiced men of your previous experience.

  ‘And on that note of hope, I bid you adieu. Sleep well, Angel, and know I think of you often and fondly.

  Yours,

  Robert’

  Robert carefully folded the letter and slipped it into a large envelope along with the mentioned story from April and necklace from Bobby. Then, once it had been addressed and closed, he rang for assistance and made his way to the front door of his hotel room. He opened the door and waited there until a steward dressed in the hotel’s burgundy, black, and gold uniform arrived.

  Robert presented the letter. “Can you have this delivered this evening?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Robert pressed a coin into the young man’s hand, received a smile and a nod of thanks, and then re-entered his hotel room as the young man hurried away.

  Submerging his balled fists into the pockets of his beige trousers, Robert leaned back against the door and stared down at the shine of his leather shoes. He blinked, slow and deliberate, and retrieved a small box from the pocket. The edges were worn, the burgundy faded to a dark rose, and yet it still welcomed a smil
e to his face. At times like these, the softness of the velveteen box was a comfort. It had become a habit of his, much like the nervous fidget of his pipe, to stroke the box when he found himself wishing for companionship of a different kind.

  Now that the letters were with her, would this box soon find its way into her care as well? Would he finally be blessed with the vision of the ring upon her finger? Robert clenched his jaw and briefly shook his head, momentarily tightening his hold upon the box before stuffing it once more into his pocket.

  He hoped tomorrow passed more quickly than today.

  ~~~

  Rachel lightly fingered the golden lettering Journal, tracing also the patterns painted upon it by the pre-dawn light. ‘I hope the letters were welcome, Rachel.’ A glimpse without risk of prejudice into a complex man? Yes. The letters had been welcome. An adventure in living that Rachel hadn’t previously had. A weaving of something unexplainable. A mystery unraveling before her very eyes.

  Setting the yet unread journal aside, Rachel’s gaze was drawn to one last carefully sorted sheaf of letters that waited. Those of his later life. Those written from the heart and mind of a gentleman more man than boy. Letters that would be filled to the brink with thoughts and feelings of what she had already come to know as a passionate heart. How much more would these affect her view of him? This gentleman stranger who had become friend and beau in but a small collection of days.