by GinaRJ
“Some call it that… others merely repressed anguish which upon release may bring peace to a man. No matter the case it was good. I have since then been a very different sort of man. And since then I have recalled that letter you sent; that beautiful, genuine, affectionate letter merely requesting assistance for the poor and the orphans and the widowed…and the manner in which I declined it.”
“You needn’t begrudge yourself because of it.”
“I honestly do not recall any letter making me so angry as that one, and I have received many letters that deserved a more livid response than yours. The badness inside of me, I suppose, despised the goodness I saw in that letter…by your hand. I did not doubt you at all. I knew you meant well. But my response was completely inappropriate—uncalled for. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“Of course,” she instantly obliged. “Of course I forgive you.”
He came to her just as she stood. And reaching for her hands, he took them, holding them up between them. “I want to honor that request now, Rachel the Elder.” He grinned as if at the title alone. The word “honor” bounced around in her mind, rotating and repeating itself. Her heart palpitated and her blood began to surge elatedly thru her veins.
“I know how poor the people of Westerly are and have become, how they even distribute amongst themselves so that no man or woman has any more or less than another, how the desire to grow but continue this-this way of life is preferred. The people are poor, rejected by the rest of the world for whatever cause and they need my help. You have requested it, and I will grant it. Now. Here. Two years later.”
She brimmed with an enthusiasm she’d never before felt. “You mean…?”
He squeezed her hands in confirmation. She beamed with delight and almost laughed. “You do not know how happy this makes me.”
“Oh, but I see it in your eyes,” he said, and lowered his gaze just a moment before seriously staring back at her. “There is but one condition.”
The word, like a pail of water tossed upon open flames, quenched her delight. “Condition,” she quietly repeated.
His words came out slow as if he dreaded to say them. “I will grant the request…in return for your placement here…in the Great City.”
Her brows came together. She gave her head a slight shake. “Here,” she softly repeated. “I don’t understand. You…you must have many here to reverence the needy, such as Sister Camille, and not near as many in need as Westerly.”
“No, no,” he corrected, “not in such a way as to reverence and minister to the poor and needy, but…but as my wife.”
She went still while he lowered her hands. “It is surely a shocking request, but the very reason I sent for you. Because I remembered the goodness of your heart and am convinced, especially now, that you would make me happy these last days of my life—however many remain. No man of my line has lived to see an old age, and I am now forty-nine. I have a sickness that comes and goes; these days more often than once upon a time.”
“But Lord Trent, I am—“
“—I know.” He gazed at her as if he already loved her, his expression so soft and gentle, so kind. Her heart went out to him. “I know the manner of woman you are and I assure you…I will not press you to lose your virtue. You may keep it. That will be an agreement between you and I so that after I die you may return the same as you are, if you wish. Please. Consider it.”
She looked down and then back up at him before giving her head a hesitant nod. “I will consider,” she said, certain she’d just told a fib. How could she consider it? It was completely impossible.
“Two days,” he kindly suggested. “And if you would be my guest here…A room has been prepared for you. At the end of the second day you may give me your answer. Whatever the answer, you and I shall be at peace.”
He offered a comforting grin, patting her hands before releasing them, and walked toward the door. “Edwin,” he called out. The doors opened and one of the guards stepped inside. Jacob motioned for her. She came near to join him.
“Show the lady to her quarters.”
“Yes, sir,” he obliged, and swept her away.
******
She not very much later sought solace in the chapel…at the altar where she knelt and prayed.
“I know this is not your doings,” she whispered. “It…it cannot be. But such a donation could go so far. When I think of what could be done.” She sat up. “But I have taken my vows. Will I break them now? Is any sort of charity worth it?”
She pulled herself up and covered her face with her hands. Of course she could not break her vows. Then again she did not want to pass up such an offering for the people.
She dropped her hands, staring up toward the ceiling. “What shall I do?” She lowered her face, an idea coming to her. “If this is to be so, give me a sign,” she prayed. “Please, there must be some sort of sign.” She glanced about, her eyes coming to rest upon the gloom of unlit lamps and candles. “The lamps,” she quietly pointed out. “If this is what you want me to do.” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Nothing happened. “The candles, then,” she observed, and still nothing. “If you would only give me a sign,” she pled. “If you do not, I…I…” She slouched. It was no use. There was no use tempting God.
“It has been written,” said a voice from out of nowhere, “not to tempt him.”
Her body stiffened and her blood went cold. She swung around toward the direction of the voice—the entrance where an elderly man with a long grey beard to match long grey hair stood gaping upon her. His large frame was clad in a thick, black robe, and one hand clutched the curved handle of a cane which he used to make his way down the aisle. He had a patch over one eye, and a slight limp, she noticed, as he came forward.
She had raised a hand to her heart which had skipped a couple of beats. “Sir,” she breathed, “you startled me.”
“Yes, yes, I see.” He came to stand across from her, resting his palms on the crook of his cane. He glanced toward the left and then to the right before simply asking, “What are you doing?” Very thick brows only seemed to be drawn together. A natural crease between them made them appear so.
“I…” She glanced down and up and over. “I was just…” How could she explain herself? She only brought herself to ask, “Who are you?”
“Ah!” Lips pressed together, he grinned. “I knew exactly who you were upon sight yet you do not know who I am.”
“I am sorry but how am I to know?”
“Perhaps if I was donning brown or white opposed to this you would have some idea.”
She studied his black robes, thought for a moment before guessing, “The priest?”
He slightly bowed his head. “Father Nelson, it is.”
She again looked him up and down, judging his apparel which he noticed her doing. “I suppose black is not the most appropriate color when it comes to the Sacred Orders…that is, according to your standards.”
“Well, no, not exactly. White is the preferred color, but not the whitest.”
“That is in your town,” he corrected. “And I suppose the setting here is quite different as well.”
“Your temples and chapels are much more extravagant than those in Westerly. Extraordinary.”
“Yes,” he agreed taking a look about himself. “We of the Western cities do appreciate having fine things to look upon.”
“The people of Westerly will be fascinated when I tell them about it.”
“Indeed,” he plainly agreed, leaning on his cane. “Then you have decided to return?”
“Yes,” she said, and then with furrowed brows guessed, “You know about the proposal?”
“Ah, ah, yes, indeed I do…and perhaps a choice other. I like to think of being the first to hear of it. Jacob brought the idea to my attention some time ago. Heeeee, um, asked my opinion of it.”
“Then you are a confidante of his.”
“I have advised him in all sorts of perils
…some pertaining to matters of the heart…some the soul…and, um, others more natural.”
“Then he values your opinion,” she guessed. “I assume you agreed seeing as to how I am here in this place seeking an answer as to what I should do.”
“Oh, yes, I did agree. But this, my child, is a decision he would have made with or without my consent. No matter the case he would have followed his heart.”
Her shoulders were not so straight anymore. She’d quickly fallen into an even deeper state of utter perplexity. “I do not understand. There must be hundreds of women in New Ebony, all at his disposal. He could certainly have whomever he chooses. Out of them all…?” She could go no further.
“But if it were so that he could have whomever he chooses? Well, then, you would not be here in this place seeking such answers. You have become a choice.”
She found the statement to be very unsettling.
“These other women…” he gave one hand a casual flip. “Their nature does not quite line up with what he perceives would make him happy. Now, I was not granted the privilege of reading this message of yours. From what I hear it was quite poignant.”
“Poignant?”
“Touching.”
“Oh.”
“To the best of my knowledge it was destroyed although he does claim to recall it word for word by memory alone. But I was rarely granted access to the palace in those days. Since his heart has been renewed he keeps me close at hand.” He observed the unlit candles and lamps. “Seeking an answer, eh?”
Having been caught bargaining made it seem all the more ridiculous than what she’d actually felt doing it to begin with. She was a bit embarrassed by it all.
“I fear making the wrong decision. How am I to make it at all? After all, the people of Westerly are very much in need. But who am I to give up my heavenly vows in exchange for earthly ones?”
He thought for a moment before saying, “Certainly, yes-yes, certainly.”
“Then you agree with me?”
“I mean, certainly I see your point.” He chuckled quietly. “Who am I to question another’s convictions concerning such things, what they feel is their vocation, whether it is or is not genuine, is or is not temporary or eternal.” Turning, he used his cane to step nearer the altar. It was then she noticed its remarkable design. Indescribable. It spiraled down in a snakelike form, aligned from top to bottom with rubies of various colors. Very intriguing “You are spoken of well,” he commented, “Rachel the Elder, known for her piety and sincerity, her generosity and intelligence…her ability to practice these things without impudence, and to teach matters pertaining to charity and truth with all modesty. Rachel the Elder whose only fault is an occasional bout with the temper.”
She was caught off guard by these descriptions. The final one especially fazed her. She frowned heavily upon it. “That is spoken of as well?”
“Hum?” Lips pressed together, he nodded.
“I have done well to control it over the years,” she defended. She tilted her head to the side. “How would I be spoken of at all?” She asked, and then again recalled his mention of her temper. “Even that people have heard of?”
“Even that,” he agreed.
She expelled a deep breath. “I would not have guessed.”
“Tell me,” he urged. “Have you and those in Westerly ever heard of a Father Nelson?”
She smiled compassionately. “I cannot say so, no. I am sorry.”
“No need to apologize, child. Westerly is a secluded place. I assume the citizens have not even heard of such men as Mosley or Nathalie.”
She thought for a moment before simply studying him with clueless eyes.
He grinned at her. “Then I shall not be offended.” With that he eased down to sit on the top step of the altar, very carefully as if to not hurt himself. “Have you any other faults?” He came to ask. “Other than this temper that occasionally gets the best of you.”
“Well, I am certain there are unfavorable things about myself that I do not see.”
“Westerly produces fine people,” he decided.
“And you?” She found herself asking.
He laughed silently. “I have many faults. Some are quite apparent, others not.”
“I suppose that to be the case with us all.”
“Yet you can name nothing in reference to your own. I, on the other hand, do not find it difficult at all to do so.”
“Your title speaks for itself. I am certain you are a commendable man to be here in this position.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I help guide the people and they overlook my imperfections.”
“What sort of imperfections?” She carefully prodded.
“Well,” he held onto his cane, staring outward past her left side. “Let’s see, I, um, have been known to drink too much wine on occasion.”
“I suppose that could be overlooked.”
“I once took a man’s life, although in defense of my own…if it is to be justified at all.”
“That could certainly be forgiven.”
“I also have three sons, each by a different mother, and two daughters of the same.”
“Oh,” she replied, humbly startled by the confession.
“That, child, was many years ago. I was young, and quite dashing if I do say so myself.”
“And the people allowed you to stay here in the…?” She stopped. “Forgive me, I—I should not pry. But I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “Things are done quite differently in Westerly.”
“Well, I have not heard of such a profession of guilt, not amongst a member of the High Clerics. Our town has not been faced with any such problem.”
“Perhaps a man with, um, say clerical ambitions in the same situation would venture away from Westerly opposed to risk becoming a spectacle.”
“No,” she disagreed. “The people are very swift to forgive. Everyone knows this.”
He grinned. “Yes. Yes, I suppose.” He took hold of his cane to pull himself up. She instantly went to him, taking his arm to assist…not that it was necessary. He seemed able enough. He straightened himself, patted her on the shoulder. “Go now, get some rest. Unless, of course, you wish to remain and wait.”
“Should I wait?”
“I imagine you already know what to do. Although,” he glanced about, “such a thing as candles and lamps lighting themselves would be nothing short of a remarkable observance.”
His wise old unpatched eye met hers. She smiled at him, and even laughed. “I’ll walk with you.”
CHAPTER THREE
She slept peacefully that night in the comforts of a very exquisite chamber. The room was the coziest, and certainly the most sophisticated she’d ever occupied. Its size alone was likely equal to that of dozens of her small, humble rooms combined. She imagined the furnishings cost more than that of all the citizens of Westerly’s combined.
At first she’d paced back and forth across the floor, a finger to her chin examining the proposal, and once and for all decided that she would certainly decline it.
But she imagined what it would be like to live in such a place, to be married to such a man as Jacob Trent. He was not only wealthy, as she now saw for herself, but also rumored to be the emperor’s most favored noble. Oh, and he was handsome as well, and tall and strong. She would be the envy of every available woman in the Great City and beyond. She would have no need for anything, and actually have more than required.
Of course this didn’t line up with her vocation. She could not indulge in such a lifestyle, nor could she simply abandon her calling and the citizens of Westerly. They needed her. No, she decided, she was called to be as she was and so she would stay.
She awakened that morning to a tapping on the door. The maiden, Tilly, who’d been assigned to assist during her stay entered with a tray and offered her breakfast.
“Good morning, milady,” she kindly greeted. Rachel sat up stretching. She thou
ght of how well she’d slept, also considered the title she’d by now been referred to as oodles of times—milady. How could one adapt?
Tilly came forward and positioned the tray across her legs then went about straightening the room although hardly in need of it.
“Tomorrow morning you will dine with Lord Trent,” she announced with her usual humble, trained voice. “This morning he is away tending to a matter outside the city.”
Rachel deliberated as she chewed a bite of pastry. What would she do with herself? Being idle was not something she was accustomed to. Perhaps she would revisit the chapel and say her prayers before afternoon.
She watched Tilly, who’d gone about straightening the room. Maybe she would have a clue. What exactly would a guest of such a place do to occupy their time?
“What shall I do until he returns?” She found herself asking.
“Tis a beautiful morning, milady,” Tilly said, stopping what she’d been doing for a time. “Perhaps a stroll in the gardens. They are beautiful this time of year. Lord Trent should return around the start of noon. You’ll sit with him at his table. He will be having guests—the duke of Tarot and the duchess.”
“Duke?” she warily repeated, chewing slowly. “Duchess?” She felt queasy just thinking about taking part in engaging such a couple.
“Do not worry, milady,” Tilly soothed. “Tis no trying matter. The duke and duchess are not difficult to entertain. You shall see.”
She thought about this, even a bit later as she did as suggested, taking a stroll about the gardens which were absolutely gorgeous and serene…beautiful, just as Tilly had insisted. Yes, she’d escaped the chamber after choosing something to wear from a generous assortment arranged specifically for her; everything from gowns and scarves, corsets, skirts and bustles, robes and stockings; Far too many things for a mere two-day visit. Tilly assisted with her bath and her attire, and insisted upon brushing her hair which she praised in the process saying how “very beautiful” it was. As the maidens the morning before she also insisted it be kept down, and pampered it with dabs of fragrant lotions. It fell down her back in natural wavy locks, and she had to admit even to herself that it was quite stunning.