Still holding my gaze, he stopped a couple of feet from me. His eyes held a curious emotion that I couldn’t name. Unsure of the correct protocol and starting to feel flustered with his staring, I decided to feign confidence, and stretched out my hand for a shake that was never reciprocated. For a moment, I imagined how I must look to him. The rain and wind had done a number on my hair, and it had escaped from the clips I had carefully fixed in place this morning. At least my outfit, a leftover from the monastery’s charity chest, complimented my auburn hair and brown eyes. But under Mr. Sterling’s silent appraisal, I felt gauche and awkward, not polished and competent. How on earth was I ever going to convince him I could handle any task he gave me when I was windblown and pale with nerves?
After a moment, he pulled out a chair from the massive desk.
“Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” I replied, wondering why he hadn’t shaken hands with me.
He strolled back to the opposite side of the desk to take his seat. His eyes fixed upon mine as if waiting to hear a confession, and I had the distinct impression that he could see through my bravado. Yet, I had to remain in control if I was to accomplish my goal, so I said, “Here is my information.” I placed my resume on the neatly arranged desk.
The gray morning suddenly grew a shade darker, diminishing the already weak daylight that struggled to light the room. The soft rain that caressed the windowpanes increased in strength, preparing for the restless pounding that immediately followed.
Mr. Sterling seemed totally oblivious to the pouring storm. Just like Mrs. White had done, he stared at the paper for a long moment, causing me to worry once more that there was something wrong with it, something wrong with me.
“Have we met before?” His eyes flickered from the ink on the paper to me.
“I don’t believe so. Have you ever been to town?” I knew the answer; I would have remembered him.
“No. Could we have possibly met in England?”
“I have never left New York. I was born and raised here.” I forced myself to meet his gaze. I had no intention of being a weak female, but I felt captured by his eyes and eventually looked away, unable to hold his firm gaze.
“Your name is Florence Contini.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Yes.”
“You were raised by Sister Dolores Perkins—a nun?” Mr. Sterling looked intrigued.
“Yes.”
“Who was your father?”
“Who was my father?” I shook my head a fraction of an inch to each side. His question left me feeling at a loss.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” he pressed, a little less patiently this time. “Who was your father?”
I had given the same painful answer many times in my life. “I don’t know. I’m an orphan. I was abandoned on the monastery grounds when I was a baby. Granny—I mean, Sister Dolores—found and raised me as her own.”
“But, you were trained at a private school for girls, Higher Grounds. Where is that?”
“At the monastery, several miles north of town. The school was shut down last November after I graduated.”
“I see.” His finger followed some lines on the paper. “You were born in 1917. How can that possibly be? Nineteen years ago…” he muttered, and his eyes seemed to go unfocused, as if his thoughts were taking him to another place, another time.
Something wasn’t right—something about my age—was I too young for the job?
I had to reassure him, to convince him I was capable of being his secretary. “After I graduated, I became the record-keeper for the monastery. Under the current economy, the church keeps a close watch on all of its assets. So, in that regard, I feel most confident that I can manage your business affairs in a satisfying way.”
“You already have a job then?”
“Yes, well, no, not a paid job. The church has cut back on all of its expenditures. There are no funds available at the monastery, and now that I’m of age, I have to justify my living there.”
“I see.”
From the hall came the sound of a loud crash, as if something just outside the door had been overturned.
“Excuse me.” Mr. Sterling quickly rose from his chair, annoyance crossing his strong features.
“Of course.” I nodded. He withdrew from the room and shut the door behind him.
Through the door, I could hear Mr. Sterling and Mrs. White arguing in lowered voices. To my disappointment, they weren’t clear enough for me to make out their conversation, but it was starting to look obvious that I wasn’t going to get the job.
A book bound in rough black leather lay on the desk. I picked it up and flipped through its pages, still aware of the ongoing quarreling outside the office. The yellowed pages turned unwillingly, except for a few of them in the middle, which revealed that they were frequently visited. Concealed between them, I found a torn piece of paper. I retrieved it carefully. It was either ancient or had been through a lot of handling. Time had left only a few legible words on it.
* * *
Named…birth…minutes…died
* * *
I forced my eyes to focus, trying to decipher the faded words, but the irreversible weathering had permanently destroyed readability.
The sounds from the corridor ceased, abruptly bringing my intense curiosity to an end. Immediately, I returned the book to its place.
When Mr. Sterling entered the room, his face bore signs of distress. Whatever the problem had been, it had agitated him. Slowly, he sat down, his arms rested on the desk, his hands turned into fists.
“Miss Contini, I only have one more question for you.” His strong eyes pierced mine, and I braced myself for the worst. “When can you start?”
I wondered if I had heard what I wanted to hear and not what he had really said. Apprehensive to give the wrong answer, I didn’t immediately reply.
“Miss Contini?” he asked again. “When can you start?”
“As soon as you require,” I answered in what I hoped was a casual voice, hiding how astonished I was.
“Would tomorrow be too soon?”
“Tomorrow should be fine.”
“Then it’s settled. Mrs. White will help you get started. She knows more about my own affairs than I do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sterling. I won’t disappoint you.” My head was already racing; I hoped to keep that promise.
Without a pause, Mrs. White entered the room. Her timing was impeccable.
“Very well,” she said flatly. “I’ll show you to your office.” Realizing that she had already known that I would be hired was disconcerting.
“Thank you, Mrs. White.” Mr. Sterling nodded at her but immediately turned his attention back to me. I could still feel his gaze on me as I followed Mrs. White out of the office.
Mrs. White led me back down the hall into the very same room in which I had been seated earlier. She walked briskly across the room and with a single pull on its strings, the curtains parted to reveal a large window bathed in raindrops. The room flooded with the day’s gray light, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that my office would be much less oppressive than I had originally thought.
“Everything you need is in here,” she informed. “There is no better time than the first day to clarify your position. All rules must be understood and followed. Failure to follow any of them and the cost will be your job.” She paused, giving me the opportunity to speak. I mentally sighed at what I had gotten myself into, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Jobs of any type were in such low supply that I couldn’t complain. Not only that, but I was determined not to give Mrs. White the satisfaction of knowing that she left me feeling unsettled. She was evidently pleased that I had nothing to say.
Mrs. White handed me a small book from the desk along with a pen. “You may want to take some notes.”
I sat down and readied myself to write her instructions. She retreated to the corner of the room to open the doors of an enormous armoire. I couldn’t believ
e how many books and documents had been packed in it. Carefully, she extracted several thick leather bound volumes, completely filling her arms.
“The family’s solicitor was in charge of all of this, but he retired at the same time we moved to America.” With a loud thump, she unloaded the heavy books on top of the desk. “Mr. Sterling owns many large properties. These books contain everything that relates to his acquisitions. In here, you will find deeds, tax information, rents, fees, settlements, etc. Your job will be to organize, update, and maintain it all.” Mrs. White went on explaining my duties in putting Mr. Sterling’s affairs in order.
As she spoke, I took notes, but my mind kept wandering back to Mr. Sterling.
“I’ll meet with you at the beginning of each day to go over your tasks. I hope that you’ll catch on quickly. I’ll provide any relevant information you need.”
“All right, thank you, Mrs. White.” By the expression on her face, I knew we were equally thrilled to work together.
“Now, this is the perfect time to go over the rules.”
“I’ll write those down too.”
She situated herself in the chair across from me, demanding my complete attention.
“Rule number one: you are never, under any circumstances, to disturb Mr. Sterling. You will refer to me for absolutely everything. Mr. Sterling suffers from an unknown disease. At times, he gets violently sick. Rest and isolation are the only way he can cope with it. So, it is imperative that he is not disturbed.”
A mysterious disease? Was that the reason why he didn’t come to town? Was that the reason why they needed to get his affairs in order? He didn’t look that sick to me. I suspected that Mrs. White was not being frank with me, and I promptly decided that I disliked rule number one.
“Rule number two: you are not to discuss any of Oak’s Place’s private matters outside these walls.” I understood rule number two a little better. I kept writing. “Rule number three: you are not to wander around the premises. You will only be allowed in certain parts of the house, and I strongly suggest that you don’t cross any boundaries. We don’t like people prying around.”
From the many things that Mrs. White had said, I learned one thing with certainty—she was both the lawmaker and the law enforcer at Oak’s Place.
2
~ No Real Explanations ~
My visit was over and I had a job. I started the engine of the black Buick and slowly drove away from Oak’s Place. I had never been very appreciative of the old car, the church’s last generous gift to the monastery before the economy’s downfall. To me, it looked like a funeral hearse, and I hated funerals. But today I was grateful to have its transportation. Surely I would appreciate it even more now that I needed it to get to work.
The clouds, along with the rain, had vanished, giving way to a faint noon sun. The rural road surrounded by trees was a tranquil companion to my thoughts. I wondered if I just imagined all the things that had transpired at Mr. Sterling’s house.
The afternoon didn’t seem real—more like a half-remembered dream. I found myself mystified at the strangely attractive Mr. Sterling. His strong presence and classical features might account for some of that, but I had never been one to swoon over a good-looking man—not the leading men in the movies, not the boys in town, and definitely not a man old enough to be the father I never knew. Still, there was something in his eyes that I found both compelling and frightening.
On the other hand, Mrs. White’s strict set of rules did feel very real. Growing up at the monastery, I was accustomed to rules and regulations, but this was different. Florence, be honest with yourself, the tiny voice deep inside of me urged. Why do her rules trouble you so much? The more my mind dwelt on the subject, the more inclined I felt to break her rules, especially number one. But reality shouted strongly in my ears—Mrs. White was in charge at Oak’s Place, and if I hoped to keep my job, I would do as I was told, regardless of my desires.
Iron gates greeted me as I drove onto the monastery’s property. The monastery was one of the oldest buildings in the area. It had been the house of monks for over a century before the sisters took over. After visiting Oak’s Place, the two-story structure, recessed a good ways from the road, looked dull in comparison. If it weren’t for the four corner towers, it would’ve looked like a gigantic rectangular box. The painted stained glass windows also helped its personality for the best, and brought much light into its wide halls.
The church insisted that very little updating be done to preserve its originality and history—I didn’t agree. Granny said it was a work of art; I called it out of date. Although I did appreciate the fact that in their eagerness to depict gothic architecture, the builders had forgotten to add the menacing gargoyles. The monastery was much better without them.
The Buick came to a stop near the back door that accessed the kitchen area. I turned the key and the engine quieted down. Leaving the security of the car, I embraced for a harsh reprimand.
Granny was seated in the kitchen, waiting for me. Dressed in her black habit, she looked even smaller than she really was. Her sharp eyes, staring at me from behind her round glasses said it all; I was in trouble.
“I was afraid you had forgotten your way home.” Granny pulled off her glasses and placed them on the large table.
Noticing the newspaper on the countertop, I showed her the ad. “I went to Oak’s Place to apply for the job.” I plopped myself down on a chair. Through the years, I had learned how to manage her temper. I’d let her lecture me without arguing. Then, after the tirade was over, I would apologize and try to explain and defend my actions. I’d learned it was often easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.
The old grandfather clock chimed twice, assuring me that Granny had been speaking for at least an hour. Although I occasionally nodded and made a sound of approval, my thoughts were trapped in tomorrow; I was curious and anxious to return to Oak’s Place.
Granny finally ran out of words, giving me an opening.
“I am sorry. I should have talked to you about it.” At the little white lie, I crossed my fingers. Granny meant well, but so did I. If it weren’t for our dire financial circumstances, I would have gladly talked it over with Granny before acting so impulsively.
I proceeded to tell her about my visit to Oak’s Place, avoiding anything that might alarm Granny. She wasn’t easily convinced and bombarded me with questions. Only disclosing half of the truth proved itself to be challenging in more than one way. To keep up the veracity of my story, I had to think through every answer twice to make sure it was consistent with what I had said before. I felt a pang of guilt, which quickly vanished when Granny took my outing to Mr. Sterling’s house better than I expected.
“I don’t know, Florence. I don’t want to judge Mr. Sterling, but as you know, there are plenty of unpleasant rumors going around about him and that place, still, I suppose some things in life are unavoidable. And it’s a job, after all.” Granny rose from the chair and walked over to the stove to start the kettle.
“Granny, Mr. Sterling is old and very sick. I think they just need to have his affairs put in order. His health is fragile.”
“That’s very interesting—interesting indeed,” Granny reflected to herself, turning from the stove to look at me. Her searching eyes worried me for a moment. “If he is so sick, why would he leave his homeland and come here?”
“Maybe he needed a change. I’m not sure. But I do need an income, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Tea, child?” Granny pulled two cups from an upper cupboard, and I noticed a new box of tea sitting on the counter.
“Yes, please.”
“And you say that this Mrs. White is a good, refined lady who will be at the house at all times?”
“Of that I have no doubts,” I said wryly.
Between the noise from the hissing kettle and the heavy veil around her ears, Granny couldn’t hear clearly. “What was that, child?”
“Yes, Mrs. White will be wo
rking directly with me.”
“Who else did you say lives there?” Granny returned to the table with our tea.
“Mrs. White mentioned a gardener and a cook in addition to Mr. Vines, the chauffeur.” I calmed my grumbling tummy with a few sips of the warm tea.
“Sounds like Mr. Sterling has the right amount of helpers.” Granny nodded, agreeing to her own comment. “All right, I guess you could give it a try. But under no circumstances do I want you to work there if you find it to be a questionable place. Promise me that at the first sign of impropriety, you will abandon the job at once. To me, there is nothing that matters more than you, child. Money will come some way or another. It always does.”
“I promise.” I hoped that time would justify my actions.
“I guess both of us will be busy for a while,” Granny said with an impish smile.
“What have you got yourself into this time?”
“Well…Sister Callahan is bringing a group of sisters from Cambridge to tour the United States. They’ll stay with us for a while. Isn’t that good news?” Granny spoke rapidly, feigning excitement.
“What could possibly be good about that?” I sputtered in shock, remembering the last time Sister Callahan had been here. Her bulky figure instantly formed in my mind. “It’s terrible!”
“Child, don’t be such a pessimist!”
“I’m not being a pessimist. I’m being realistic. Every time she comes, she causes a huge commotion and not just at the monastery, but everywhere she goes.”
Awaken, Shadows of a Forgotten Past Page 2
