Angel

by Danielle Carriere

  “We will be discussing nothing,” Nathan said, his voice dangerously low. “You are not my father, and you did nothing to keep me from him when you had the chance. You have no place in my life and no right to discuss it.”

  Angel looked back and forth between the equally furious Nathan and Clark, the apologetic Felicity, and the flustered Olivia, and found herself suddenly angry at being used as a pawn in their argument. Her presence was not even the catalyst for this fight, she realized. It was the excuse.

  “Excuse me,” she said quietly, satisfied to note that her voice held no tremor, “but I want no part of this.”

  The four seemed surprised to hear her voice, as though they had forgotten she was there. Angel continued. “Your nephew offered me aid, and I chose to accept his kindness. Our situation is nothing more and nothing less. It might be improper, but it is not immoral. I would thank you all”—and here she looked pointedly at Nathan—“to leave me from this discussion.”

  Angel nodded at Felicity. “It was nice to have met you.” And, avoiding Nathan’s eyes, she walked out the church doors to where the horse and wagon stood waiting.

  ***

  Nathan stood frozen beside his cousin and aunt and uncle until the abrupt sound of the church doors closing shook him, and ignoring the jumbled words that spilled all at once in a tangled mess from the others, he ran after Angel.

  He found her, shivering, in the seat of the wagon. “This was a terrible idea.”

  “Which part?” he asked. “Staying with me, coming to church, speaking to Clark and Olivia, or . . .” He paused, then trying to lighten the mood, he finished, “me being related to my family?”

  “All of it,” she said miserably. Then Angel paused, apparently realizing how what she had just said must have sounded. She covered her face and buried her head in her lap. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Nathan thought he should have been offended, but instead, he couldn’t help smiling. “I know.”

  Angel still refused to look at him. Finally, even as he was aware of a small group of remaining people who stood outside the church, whispering in scandalized tones and watching them carefully—Clark and Olivia stood silently at the front of the group—Nathan reached over to gently tip her chin up until she looked him in the eyes.

  “Stand tall, Angel. You didn’t—you haven’t—done anything wrong.”

  Nathan saw the words paint themselves across her face. The corner of Angel’s mouth lifted briefly, then fell, and she hastily scrubbed a tear from her cheek. Nathan pretended he hadn’t seen, instead looking past Angel toward where Clark and Olivia stood. Clark’s expression was distant and disapproving. Nathan glanced at Olivia, expecting to see a similar reflection, but was surprised to realize she was not even looking at him. Olivia’s expression was thoughtful, her eyebrows pinched, and she had eyes only for Angel.

  Chapter 9

  If saving my brother was my first mistake, the drinking was the second.

  ***

  “Did you mean what you said?” Angel asked, shaking Nathan from his reverie. Their trip home had been mostly silent, with both Angel and Nathan absorbed in their own thoughts.

  Nathan sifted through his memory. He couldn’t remember much of what he had said since he had first recognized Clark and Olivia at the church, and most of what he could remember wasn’t particularly pleasant.

  “What I said about what?” he asked

  Angel hesitated, slow to repeat the words. “That I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Nathan glanced at her, surprised by Angel’s question and struck by a sudden pang of sadness that she had felt the need to ask it. “Yes, I meant it. Why?”

  Angel’s voice was small. “You were so angry when you recognized me that first day.”

  Inwardly, Nathan cringed. He was ashamed of much of what he had said in that conversation, but as much as he hated his own memory of how he had acted, the thought of Angel remembering those moments was worse. Nathan shook his head. He knew why he had acted as he had, but he wasn’t sure the reason would make a difference to Angel.

  “Yes, you were,” Angel argued, interrupting Nathan’s thoughts, interpreting the shake of his head as a denial. She continued softly. “You were awful.”

  Nathan turned toward her. Despite the fact that Angel had just called him awful, he couldn’t help admiring her stubborn vulnerability. Besides, he wouldn’t deny what Angel had said. Nathan knew he had been unkind.

  He wanted to search her face. Angel sometimes spoke with such openness that it caught him off guard, but those times were so few and far between that Nathan had begun to suspect he would find the truth more often in the nuance of her expression than in the words themselves. But at the moment Angel was adamantly focusing her attention somewhere near the twitching ears of the team pulling the wagon.

  “I know I was unkind. I’m sorry for that,” Nathan said.

  Angel glanced at him. “You already said you were sorry.”

  It was obvious she expected something more. Nathan knew it was the why. And the how. Why he had been so angry, and how that could have changed so quickly. But Nathan didn’t want to speak about it, so he asked her a question instead.

  “What else do you want me to say?” he asked.

  Angel eyed him, then shrugged and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  That was a lie. Nathan knew it was a lie. But then, he thought, he had known what she wanted from him but had asked anyway, hoping for the answer she had obligingly given—nothing—so his question had not been wholly truthful either.

  “I spoke with the telegraph operator today. The train should be in early next week,” Nathan said, changing the subject. Angel nodded, acknowledging his words but saying nothing.

  The remainder of their trip home passed in silence.

  As did the afternoon.

  And the evening.

  After Nathan had climbed into his bed, he lay with his hands behind his head, staring past the ceiling. A small noise interrupted his thoughts—the lifting of a door latch and then a soft voice.

  “Nathan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please tell me why.”

  Nathan groaned internally. This was not a conversation he wanted to have—the thought of trying to explain the thoughts that had been racing through his mind all day made him cringe—but he forced himself to roll out of bed and walk toward Angel’s room. As he crossed the room, he heard the soft thud-click of a door shutting and a metal latch falling back into place. It was the sound of late-night conversations through solid doors, a familiar sound. He relaxed.

  Still, the words were so slow in coming that he thought Angel must be wondering if he was going to speak at all. Finally, ignoring the sour feeling in his stomach and the pounding heart in his chest, he took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly, steadying himself before he began speaking.

  “It’s not normal to care so much about someone you’ve only known for not even a day—I know it’s not. But you were my lifeline. Up until that day there were so many voices—some real, some inside my own head—telling me my life was a mistake, and that’s all my life would ever be. And then I met you. You were everything my father was not. When I was with you, everything didn’t hurt. Part of me thought you really were an angel. I swear I know how crazy that sounds, but when I met you, for the first time I believed that someday my life could be different than what it was.

  “Every day afterward I lived and breathed that memory. Then, when I stopped in town and talked to the storekeeper that day I met you on the road and he told me . . .”

  Nathan’s voice trailed off, and Angel spoke flatly, picking up where he had left off. “Man to man.”

  The words sounded even worse when Angel said it out loud than they had inside his own head, and Nathan cringed, but continued speaking. “Up to that point, in my mind you were this real-life angel who hadn’t been hurt by anyone or anything, who could fix all the brokenness around them. Even after I stopped needing to believe th
at was true, I still wanted it to be.”

  “And then the angel you had imagined died in the same moment you recognized me.”

  Nathan nodded, painfully, even though he knew Angel couldn’t see him. “I blamed you for that. I know I was cruel—the worst part is that I meant to be—but I was wrong and I’m sorry.

  “After you told me what happened, and I realized it wasn’t your fault . . . I don’t know. It was easy to justify saying what I said before I knew the truth about what had happened. After you told me, all I could think was how awful I’d been. I’m sorry.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Angel spoke. “You’ll never think of me the same as you used to, will you?”

  It was more of a statement than a question, begging confirmation rather than an answer, but Nathan thought carefully before he responded.

  “Nah,” he said, “but if I did think of you the same as I always had, it would be because we’d never met again. Real people change, Angel, and I’m glad you’re real. I’m glad you’re real, and I’m glad you’re here.”

  When Angel was silent, Nathan added, “I know that all sounds crazy.”

  “Maybe,” Angel said, and he could hear a slight smile in her voice, “but it sounds nice too.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, and then Angel asked, “Your aunt and uncle—Clark and Olivia? Are they really so bad?”

  “They knew what my father was, and they left me with him,” Nathan answered simply, “but if you want to get to know them, I’m sure you’ll have your chance. It looks like they’re going to be around for a while.”

  “It’s odd to think your father’s brother is a preacher.”

  Nathan snorted his agreement. “Yes, it is.”

  “Is Clark like your father?”

  “Maybe in some ways. I think Clark has a temper, but he’s better at controlling it than my father was. My father never had anything good to say about Clark, but I guess he’s never really had much good to say about anybody. As far as I know, Clark hated my father, and hates me too, because I’m my father’s son.”

  ***

  Angel closed her eyes against the now-familiar twinge in her chest and rested the back of her head against the door. It wasn’t right. She had no right. No right to feel anything toward Nathan other than the debt of gratitude she owed him for his kindness. No right to hope for anything more.

  She was pregnant with another man’s child. She hadn’t started to show yet, but she knew she would soon. And then what?

  The daydreams of childhood were not for someone like her, and when she caught her mind wandering down that path, she forced herself to answer the question. And what then, Angel? she asked herself harshly. Even if he could possibly care for you beyond the simple kindness he’s shown you, could you ask him to be a father to your fatherless child?

  The answer was always no.

  Chapter 10

  I once heard it said that a moral was something a man would stand by, no matter what. I guess I don’t have any morals—not once the whiskey’s inside of me.

  ***

  The next morning, Angel woke to the sound of arguing.

  “How long has she been here?”

  “A couple weeks,” Nathan’s voice answered.

  “Nathan.” This time it was a female voice that spoke, softly, more encouragingly. “Why is she really here?”

  Nathan’s raised voice again came through the door. “It’s not your place to care one way or another. You haven’t been in my life for years, and certainly not during any part of it when you would have been of some use. None of this concerns you.”

  Angel cracked the door open just in time to see Clark step toward Nathan.

  Nathan’s entire body was rigid, stony. Then, his head tilted slightly as one eyebrow rose. The words were not spoken, but they screamed through the air. Are you sure you want to do that?

  Clark looked at his hand, clenching the collar of Nathan’s shirt. He looked up at Nathan, who stared evenly at him.

  “Clark,” Olivia said softly. Clark released his grip on Nathan’s collar, stepping back and shaking himself as though only just realizing what he had been doing. He seemed to look at Olivia for direction, stunned.

  “Clark,” Olivia repeated. “Nathan is not his father.”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Clark stammered to Nathan. He closed his eyes, shaking himself again, then said more firmly, “I’m sorry, Nathan. Your father and I have not been on good terms for quite some time, you should know—”

  “Nobody is on good terms with my father,” Nathan interrupted him.

  “Yes, well,” Clark continued stiffly. “I apologize for taking out my feelings toward your father on you.”

  “Everybody does.”

  The three stood in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Olivia said, “Nathan, why is Angel here?”

  “Felicity already told you—she needed help,” Nathan answered.

  Angel cleared her throat, and almost as one, they turned to look at her. Nathan looked relieved to see her, with traces of the frustration that had been directed at Clark still evident on his face. Olivia’s face held a rather unnerving expression of concern. Clark merely looked pained.

  “Nathan was just telling us that you’ve been staying here the last few weeks,” Olivia finally said, breaking the silence.

  Unsure of how much information to offer, Angel said uncomfortably, “Just the last two weeks.” Looking at Nathan, she added, “Nathan was staying in the barn, but then it got so cold. He brought his mattress in and he’s been staying inside since then.”

  Even as Angel spoke, she could feel the awkwardness of her words. She glanced from Nathan to Clark to Olivia. Nathan appeared mildly amused by her explanation. She had no idea how to interpret Clark’s expression. And Olivia. Olivia was watching her thoughtfully, with eyes that seemed to hold a greater depth of understanding than Angel thought her own abbreviated explanation could have elicited.

  “How long are you and Olivia planning on being here?” Nathan asked Clark, drawing his aunt and uncle’s attention away from Angel, much to her relief. “Is this appointment temporary, or will you be here longer?”

  “Well,” said Clark, glancing at Olivia, “we thought we’d try it out and see how it goes. We will be here at least through the first part of spring.”

  Nathan scowled and opened his mouth, but Olivia interjected quickly, “Will we be seeing you both next Sunday, perhaps at church and then for supper afterward?”

  Nathan and Clark both froze. It was obvious that neither had anticipated Olivia’s offer. Angel eyed both of them, but when neither spoke, she turned to Olivia.

  “That is very kind. Thank you for your offer. We will see you on Sunday.”

  Where Nathan and Clark had been focused on Olivia, as one they redirected their attention toward Angel. She tried to ignore them, focusing instead on Olivia’s warm smile. Olivia glanced at Nathan and Clark, then spoke briskly. “Well, I think we’ve kept you long enough. We’ll let you get back to your day.”

  As they walked out the door, Clark turned and laid a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan’s body tensed, but Clark met his eyes.

  “I am truly sorry for my actions earlier, Nathan. You have so much of your father’s look that I sometimes forget you don’t necessarily have his heart.”

  The qualifying word did not escape Nathan’s notice, and he tried to shake off Clark’s hand. “Necessarily.”

  Clark’s grip tightened on Nathan’s shoulder. “Yes, necessarily. I hope for your sake, and hers”—he nodded toward Angel—“that you don’t. You would be better off with as little of your father as possible.”

  “This from someone who left me with him for—how long has it been, Clark?” The cold glint in Nathan’s eyes told Angel he knew exactly how long it had been. “The last time I saw the both of you was at my mother’s funeral.”

  Clark stiffened and drew back from Nathan. “It’s not that simple. There were things that you knew—you still k
now—nothing about. We were lucky to even come to your mother’s funeral. I said it was a foolish risk, but Olivia insisted—”

  “A foolish risk?” Nathan’s voice grated, rising as he spoke. “Is that what attending my mother’s funeral was to you—a foolish risk?

  “Perhaps that was a poor choice of words,” Clark said hotly, “but it was a risk. You don’t know—”

  “I don’t know?” Nathan cut him off again, but this time his voice was barely audible. Dangerously quiet. “Tell me what exactly I don’t know about my father. That he’s a drunk? That he’s dangerous? That he beat me—his own son—within an inch of my life, and probably killed my mother?”

  Clark looked at Nathan with something close to sympathy, and this time when he spoke, the words were quiet and firm, almost gentle. “There are things even you don’t know about your father, Nathan.”

  Stunned, Nathan stepped back from Clark, and disbelief and fury flashed over his face. Clark turned to Olivia, already perched on the wagon seat and silently watching their exchange. “We should go.”

  He nodded at Angel and Nathan, then climbed into the wagon. He hesitated briefly before he said, “I do hope we’ll still see you on Sunday,” then he clucked his tongue at the horses, and Clark and Olivia pulled forward. Olivia took Clark’s hand in hers, then turned to nod her goodbyes. Angel waved from inside the cabin door. Clark did not look back.

  Angel didn’t dare speak to Nathan. His eyes were flashing as he stalked past the door, heading toward the barn. After a few minutes had passed, she followed his path out the cabin door and stood on the porch. She could see him pitching hay down from the loft to the animals below, and as she watched the vigor with which he was attacking his task, Angel better understood how he had managed to keep the property in such immaculate condition by himself. If his current behavior was any indication, Nathan was in the habit of taking out his anger on the farm chores, and Angel imagined his father had provided an ample source of frustration.

  She did not see Nathan the rest of the morning. Or afternoon.

  Angel was already in her room and had turned down the covers of the bed when a creak of the cabin door and footsteps on the wood floor announced Nathan’s return. The footsteps paused, then grew subtly louder. The soft rap of knuckles on hardwood came slowly, hesitantly.