Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  The door opened to reveal a white-haired and blue-eyed man Hank had known since his college days. “Sherrill,” he greeted in a brusque tone. He forced his arm to his side, though the throbbing of his heart made his head pound.

  Dr. Sherrill McEwen glowered the same moment he guided Hank inside. “I told you to stay at home this week.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Hank grumbled, even as he accepted the doctor’s help to the nearest seat in the quaint medical office. “Don’t treat me as if I am an old woman.”

  “Then don’t act a fool!” Dr. McEwen handed him into the chair with a rough motion and then skewered him with a disproving glare. “What are you doing here?”

  “I hope to heaven that isn’t how you speak to your patients.”

  “Hank, if you were a patient you would listen to my direction.” Dr. McEwen crossed his arms. “Are you following the prescription I gave? No? Then—”

  “To damnation with your prescription, Sherrill! I am a dead man with or without the foul stuff.”

  “That has yet to be proved, but you certainly wish to guarantee the outcome.” Dr. McEwen slumped into a nearby chair. “What do you want, Hank?”

  “Laudanum; you failed to make certain I left with a bottle yesterday.”

  Dr. McEwen regarded his friend through a narrowed gaze. “The one prescription you follow is the one I am leeriest to refill.”

  “Fine. Do as you will.” Hank stood but the room tilted and spun, sending him back to his chair with closed eyes. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, white-fisted. When the world settled to a more familiar angle, he focused on his friend across from him. “I begin to wonder if I will see her wed.” The pain of the statement robbed his reserve strength. He sat back with a grunt.

  “I assume you haven’t yet told her.” At the affirmative response, Dr. McEwen shrugged. “Your motives escape me. She is your only child. The love of your life after Marie’s passing. Yet you keep her at arm’s length, much as you would a stranger. Why?”

  “My memory fails on that point,” Hank admitted, his tone muted and glum. “Too much time has passed. Lost.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss the thoughts. But they wouldn’t be disqualified so easily. Nor would his memory of Rachel as a girl and then young lady. “It seemed the wisest course, Sherrill.”

  “For what? It is this which vexes all your friends: the why. You and Barn put together a pretty plan to join your families, aye, but why not celebrate the joining with the girl? Why the secrets and the drama? What does it prove?”

  “Damnation, Sherrill! I told you it’s lost!” Hank slammed his fist down, the timber in the arm of the chair sounding an ear-splitting crack as it folded under the force. He pressed his lips into a thin white line before releasing a fast breath and pushing himself to stand. “The why was lost too many years ago,” he muttered. Then he turned and shuffled from the office, his shoulders slumped and his expression drawn.

  Sherrill followed after him, catching at his arm at the crest of the steps. “If the ‘why’ is lost, Hank, turn that page and tell her as much as you do recall. Ask her to forgive you for being a fool who loved her too deeply and too well.”

  Hank rubbed at his chest, this time not bothering to hide the twist of pain. “Do you see me doing anything of the sort?”

  The doctor threw up his hands. “Set aside your pride and beg her, Hank, if that’s what it takes to move beyond this torture. It does your heart no good, and the resolve may add months if not years to my prognosis. If you truly regret your course, then I would give my suggestion serious consideration before dismissing it out of hand.”

  Then his friend turned on his heel and strode back inside. Hank glared after him, but the truth of the matter rang dangerously clear.

  ~~~

  “Your father is dying.”

  The statement birthed a pregnant pause as Rachel sat rigid; her mind struggled against the report.

  Robert surrendered to a strangled exclamation. “Good night, Father! How long have you known?”

  Mr. Trent continued to regard Rachel as her silence grew poignant. “That is neither here nor there, son.” He sent Robert a brief shift in attention before once more focusing his scrutiny on Rachel’s lack of affect. “Do you see, now, a majority of his motive?”

  Rachel stood, her movements graceful though sluggish. “Excuse me. Please,” she said in a chilled tone of calm. She nodded to each and turned to exit. Robert followed, but she halted him at the door with a blank gaze. “I require time alone, sir. I thank you.”

  Without awaiting a reply, Rachel stepped beyond the office door and closed it securely behind her. Her hold tightened to white-knuckled tenacity before she stepped forward into the dull silence. Her mind refused to shift its focus even as her step took her down the hallway and through the front door of the Trent family home.

  Dying.

  Rachel blinked, but her blank gaze did not focus beyond her inner turmoil.

  ~~~

  Robert stared after Rachel with a pained gaze, the strife marring his usual pleasant countenance. Her tone rang empty when she requested distance. Such a void of emotion….

  His father gripped his shoulder, drawing his dark gaze. “This is one of few times when you should do the opposite of what has been requested.”

  “Yes, sir.” Robert bolted from the house at a quick trot, pausing at curbside to take stock of his surroundings. Rachel’s graceful yet rigid cadence drew his attention. He stepped after her, though he felt nothing but uncertainty as to how accepted his presence would be. He knew his father spoke true, but…. Robert slowed his pace, lingering behind her. Lord, soothe her pain. But how open would Rachel be to the Lord’s touch, even in this time of need?

  Rachel halted but her gaze did not waver from its intense scrutiny of the walk. Following an internal press, Robert moved to stand beside her. Her profile revealed naught but the same chilled calm. Without a word, Robert offered his arm. She accepted, and her fingers dug deep, even beneath his suit coat.

  “Shall we retrieve Maggie on our way to the station? I can send our regrets to Chris for missing the Display.”

  “No. We will attend the Display this evening only long enough to voice our regrets. Please make the arrangements of a return afterward.”

  “Of course.” Robert stepped forward, Rachel falling into step beside him with no change in expression or tenacious clasp to his arm. He covered her hand with his as he lifted his gaze and prayers heavenward.

  Seventeen

  Frayed Cords

  The return journey on the train did little to alter Rachel’s stoic attitude. In fact, Robert felt more distant from her due to their lack of interaction. She retreated within herself, bolting her emotions safely behind a wall of calm that Robert didn’t know how to open. Sitting beside her became the one comfort he could offer; the only one allowed to himself, truth be told. He went through the motions of reading the paper as he prayed for her heart and mind. Rachel, however, would stare at the passing scenery with an unseeing gaze, oblivious to his presence or prayers.

  “Just leave her to herself, sir,” Maggie suggested at one point. “She was like this when she found she was to be sent away. She’ll come ‘round.” The assurance provided little to no consolation. Instead, it birthed in him an intense reminder how much he despised helplessness; his own, especially.

  Now the train was due to arrive in Boston within the hour and Robert still had no idea how to help her through her turmoil. Lord, allow her to sense my fondness, if nothing else. Let her know, somehow, that I would do all within my power to shield her! To lessen her burden! Robert scoffed at his romantic nonsense. He folded the newspaper with a deliberate action and tossed it onto the table across from him.

  “Just so.”

  The unexpected statement from Rachel drew his attention. Her emerald gaze revealed nothing of her mindset; neither did her tone. He wrestled to display a smile as his mind sought proper words for the situation. Much to his dismay, no words rose to the
challenge.

  Rachel shifted her blank expression to stare ahead, her gloved hands loose on their clasp of her ever-present fan. “Thank you.”

  “For what, pray?”

  “Silence. Words act as nothing more than clutter in awkward moments.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she began to toy with her fan. “I needed the time to my own thoughts without the intrusion from others.” Then she returned her gaze to the passing scenery, but not before casting her fan away and taking his hand into a tight clasp.

  Robert lowered his focus to their joined hands. “Have you come to a decision then?”

  Rachel shifted her emerald gaze to meet his regard. “As it pertains to what, pray?”

  “Ah. Now we come to a question that is beyond my ability to answer. I but noticed a particular expression of thoughtfulness marring your countenance throughout the journey. My only assumption is that you attempt a rather important decision.” Her gaze returned to its unseeing view of the landscape. Robert rested his other hand upon her shoulder. Her muscles grew taut under his touch but she did not flinch away. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “I do not know.”

  The silence that followed the statement raised an eyebrow, for he expected more by way of refusal. In fact, her confession of indecision hadn’t been expected.

  “Will you press?”

  Her quiet inquiry drew his full attention to her profile. The clasp of her hand did not lessen. “Should I?”

  “Do what it is your God presses upon you, for up until this day he seems more aware of my very self than even I.”

  Robert balked at the opportunity to witness, the chill of her tone heightening an extreme wariness. Instead, he continued to regard her profile while allowing himself a caress of her hand that still clung to his. Lord, do I? The air is fraught with tension. I would rather not speak of such a thing as ‘religion’ when she is near breaking. It seems rather heartless to say ‘God is in His heaven, so all is right with the world.’

  “You remain silent.” Rachel’s focus turned with reluctance. “Could he truly have nothing to say in such a time as this? Death beckons; pride is cut to the quick with a skill that mocks; and doubt has made its way into each decision I deliberate. It would seem to be the perfect instance for a miraculous intervention that would cause angels to roar hallelujah and return me to the fold.”

  Amusement twitched one of Robert’s lips upward as he lowered his gaze to their clasped hands. I seem to have under-stated the tension portion, Lord. I do believe it may be best for me to keep my mouth closed.

  “The silence remains,” she observed. More of her attention shifted, as demonstrated by the alteration of her position. “Are you also swayed by these events?”

  He met her inquiring gaze. “Swayed? Yes, but not in such a way as you believe, though even that is an assumption on my part.”

  “Do you debate your answer?”

  “Only the wisdom of it, or lack.” His smile twisted. “Admit, Rachel, that in your current disposition most subject material related to grace, mercy, and other such ‘religious’ notions would not sit well.” Well did he remember the same upon the death of his own mother.

  The green of her eyes darkened. “Indeed.”

  Robert allowed his gaze to retreat to their clasped hands. “Death serves as the most complete separation one human can suffer from another. Wrongs are left un-righted. Bitterness is left to embitter further. Sweet memories become further torture if left to our mind’s devices.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance and noticed her pallid countenance. Again, any words of comfort didn’t rise to the challenge. The silence intensified, if that was possible, yet Robert felt no compunction to speak.

  Finally, Rachel turned again to the window, the muscles of her shoulder beneath his hand beginning to tremble. “I do not wish his death,” she whispered, the words faint against the clack and clatter of the train. “I wish for his satisfaction. Pride. Understanding.” She shook her head, the slight motion freeing a minute tear. The drip of it from her jaw nearly tore the heart from Robert’s chest. “I do not wish his death,” she hissed. Rachel hid her eyes behind a trembling hand. “Robert, what am I to do without him?”

  Robert drew her close, not fully prepared for the intensity of her response. She turned into his embrace, her fingers digging into the lapels of his suit-coat as she buried her face into his chest. Then, for the first time in his knowledge of her, she sobbed. Her entire form shook and trembled with the force of the grief, and the unadulterated agony within each wail cut him to the soul. She cried for each day and hour of heartache that culminated to that point in her young life.

  She wept, and the sorrow was palpable.

  After a time the sobs lessened, the grief quieting – at least in part. Robert continued to hold her, and she him. Once she stirred against him he withdrew, taking that opportunity to tuck his kerchief into her trembling hand.

  She daubed the tears from her eyes and flushed cheeks and then attempted a return of the kerchief.

  He enfolded her hand in his, the action drawing the rich emerald of her troubled gaze. “Keep it, Angel, in case you have need.”

  She inclined her head, her eyes lowering to their clasped hands. A press within restrained his action of drawing back, though his heart almost faltered under the weight of this additional stressor. How would he continue to keep her at arm’s length at such a time as this? It was more than he could fathom.

  “It galls me that he keeps such facts to himself,” she admitted. “How can I believe I truly follow in his footsteps when faced with such secrets? How am I to overcome the sabotage to my own self-confidence?”

  The calm in her tone made it impossible to classify her attitude. “I don’t believe it is done out of malice, Rachel.”

  “Regardless, it is done and the negative effects ripple outward beyond my scope of control.” She cast him a slight glance. “I am half-tempted to deny my responsibilities for a joint venture with you to spite him.”

  Robert chuckled. “I will accept that as a sincere bit of flattery, even though it is pure foolishness. You would forever look back on the decision with doubt and regret.”

  Rachel scoffed but didn’t voice any refutation.

  He brought her hand to his lips, the action drawing her gaze. “Angel, speak to your father,” he pressed. “This particular instance demands specialized attention.”

  “This I understand, Robert, and yet….” Her darkened gaze faltered and drifted. “If he cannot trust me with even this, what else is there for us? Even you trusted me with a secret that could have torn our relationship asunder.”

  “There is tomorrow, and in that you have the power to construct a transformation. Let him have his secrets, but do not keep your own. Continue in your forthright behavior. Speak with him. Listen and hear what he confesses with not only his words, but his eyes and body language.”

  “It chafes my spirit; what you ask requires more patience than I can imagine!”

  “In this duty is your investment in tomorrow.”

  “You request much more from me than I wish to give, Robert.”

  Nodding, he brushed her knuckles with his lips as he held her gaze. “I know, Angel, but your character thrives on challenge.”

  Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “That is a dangerous understanding to have of my particular character.” Rachel took up her fan then, snapping it open in her usual graceful style. “La! How I despise the corner! Yet you have deftly contrived one with logic and the passion of your debate.”

  Robert laughed, a small portion of his mind noting how the sound and action played in the depth of her eyes. “Corners can be adventurous places, Angel.”

  “Indeed.” Yet her response sounded suspiciously absent-minded as she continued to regard him.

  “What do you plot?” he found himself asking. “My wary nature is all agog with the dangerous gleam in your eye.”

  “I plot nothing more than usual.”

  Robert
’s eyebrow twitched upward. “But what, pray, is usual?”

  At that Rachel turned her gaze, her fan continuing to pulse as it successfully hid a great portion of her expression from his view. “A future, a business, a joint venture… lives that hang in the balance, the least of which is my own.”

  “Intrigue soars at that statement, you wicked woman.” Rachel cast him a coy glance, one that sent his heartbeat soaring as high as his intrigue. “Be careful the expressions that spark from your gaze of jade and emerald, Angel,” he requested in a somewhat gruff tone.

  Without warning her countenance shifted to that of blank existence and she lowered her fan. Resting her head back against the velvet upholstery, Rachel stared up at the ceiling of the train car without expression.

  The complete shift in attitude ignited concern. “So now we come to a confession of your decision.”

  “Just so,” she admitted in a low tone. “It is a multi-part decision, in truth. One that effects not one relationship but two: Ours, and that of mine with my father. More so than just this, it will affect our future on both fronts.”

  “Is this decision unwavering? Or is debate and discussion allowed?”

  The question elicited a slight smile as her gaze flicked to him for a moment. “It wavers.”

  He settled himself beside her, gazing up at the same spot on the ceiling as he laced his fingers behind his head. “Go on.”

  She chuckled, the soft sound playing like caressing fingers across his soul. It drew his gaze and a smile, that tilting into one of boyish amusement when her focus was there to meet his.

  “Have you considered a civil union?”

  Robert’s smile vanished as he gaped at her. “A what?”

  “A civil union. A part of me does not trust that he will allow my inheritance to follow me into our marriage. However, if we are legally married by a Justice of the Peace, I will have met the final term of the Trust requirements and will have power over my inheritance by right. Father would be powerless to stop the transition.”