Awaken, Shadows of a Forgotten Past

by Marcia Maidana

  “Here in the Lady’s garden…” His cunning gaze found the statue. “The one who will always reign—who will never sleep nor let others rest.”

  I followed the direction of his eyes and asked, “Who is she, Mr. Vines? She must have a name.”

  A self-satisfying smile grew on his face. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me—you might be surprised.”

  “Some names, Miss Contini, are buried deep in another time from whence they can’t escape, yet now and then they are heard and felt loud and clear.”

  Was I supposed to figure out his riddle? He most definitely would like to see me try. “Hmm…it’s a mystery, then?”

  “A mystery developing right in front of our eyes.” He laughed.

  Now I was sure he was scoffing at me. “I better keep mine open. If what you say is true, I’m bound to solve the mystery at some point, right?”

  His countenance changed like a chameleon. Suddenly, his scornful mood was gone. When he spoke again, his voice was guarded. “Let me ask you something.”

  “Certainly.” I rubbed my hands to keep them warm.

  “Are you afraid of snakes, Miss Contini?”

  “Snakes?”

  “Yes, snakes.”

  I had never thought much of snakes. I had had a fair amount of encounters with them in the monastery’s gardens, but never cared for them really. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason at all. Have you ever seen one here in the yard?”

  “No.”

  “If you come out here often, you will. They like to bask in the sun on the tiles.” He pointed to the floor.

  “I will remember that.” What was all of this about? I wouldn’t bother myself with it. It would be futile to do so.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. White trotting in our direction.

  “She found you after all,” said Mr. Vines. “I leave you in good hands.” He gave me a sarcastic smirk. Hiding his hands in his pockets and whistling loudly, he started on the path back to the house. Mrs. White gave him a glare as they crossed each other.

  “There you are. Only you would be out in this cold weather,” she hissed.

  “It’s a nice day,” I replied quickly.

  “Was Mr. Vines bothering you?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “What were you discussing with him?”

  I raised an eyebrow. Her meddling was unwelcomed. “Nothing much. He said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Sterling added a couple of items to the list of renovations. He wants you to start the project right away.” Mrs. White handed me a detailed sheet of paper carefully written.

  I took the paper, eager to see what he had added. “Thank you. I’ll see to it.” I kept my excitement beneath a mask of calm.

  “Don’t linger out here too long. You might catch a cold and get us all sick.” Mrs. White disappeared as fast as she had come. It was nice to see her in ‘good spirits’ as Zaira liked to say.

  I was pleasantly surprised that he’d approved my suggestions, adding a few comments next to each of them. At the bottom of the sheet, he had written “Renovate servants’ quarters and the stables.”

  Under the current economy, finding people to do the work for a fair price was a task easy enough. A construction company from Yates County was soon hired, and two weeks later the transformation of Oak’s Place began.

  I came to the house earlier than usual to clear out my office for the painters. As I made my way toward the dining room, my arms heavy with books, the most amazing music filled my ears.

  I turned into the room and saw Mrs. White by the fireplace, observing Mr. Sterling at the piano. Carefully, I placed the books on the drop cloth–covered dining table. The protective cloth covering the piano had been pushed aside, and Mr. Sterling was completely immersed in a soulful melody that made my heart ache.

  I crossed the room to stand by Mrs. White, and it was then I noticed her unstable countenance. At first I thought she would cry, but instead of tears, there was something in her eyes which I had never encountered before.

  “I didn’t know he played,” I commented softly, not wanting to interrupt him.

  “It’s been almost twenty years since he’s played.”

  “It’s impressive.”

  Mrs. White didn’t reply, instead she withdrew from the room.

  The melody started to slow down; his fingers came to a stop. For a moment I felt as if we had been transported to some other time—a time when that same music had filled him with joy.

  “Did you recognize that melody, Miss Contini?” he asked without turning to look at me.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  “Hmm, I thought you would.” His back still faced me.

  “Should I have?”

  “Most people do, Miss Contini. It’s Beethoven.” His fingers found the keys, and the music started again.

  As he played, I admired the changes in the room. It now exuded an energy that had been non-existent before. The depressing dark colors had been replaced by the warmth of the new cream paint. The new windows allowed the sunshine to travel brightly into the room.

  “Do you like it?” Mr. Sterling asked, pausing in the middle of the piece to look around the room.

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I hope these changes will help you feel more comfortable here.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I gave a safe answer. “I think everyone will enjoy the changes.”

  “Thank you for helping with this project. It’s difficult to believe that it’s the same house. It looks so different.”

  “It feels different…” I hesitated for a moment. “Does it feel different to you?”

  Mr. Sterling looked straight into my eyes, speaking directly to my soul, “It feels like a blank page, full of possibilities.” His words were full of undercurrents that filled me with hope and frightened me at the same time.

  I took a few steps away from the piano. “The bricks cleaned up better than I’d expected.” I pointed to the fireplace. “The red and brown tones are very pretty.” I touched the fireplace’s surface, amazed at its cleanness.

  “Pretty indeed,” said Mr. Sterling. A faint light in his eyes told me that he wasn’t referring to the fireplace. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable.

  I checked my watch. “I should get going. I still have much to do before the painters arrive.”

  “The workers have started on the stables and the servants’ quarters,” he said calmly, ignoring my attempt to leave.

  “Yes, Mr. Snider told me.” I inched towards the door, pausing in the threshold.

  Mr. Sterling followed. My finger ran over the dusty canvas that protected the wooden door from the fresh paint, then I absently touched my nose. He paused to stare at me and I gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he was looking directly at my nose. Playfully, he said, “Allow me.” Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped my nose and said, “Just a bit of dust is all.”

  He hovered over me and as I felt his soft breathing, I had the insane impulse to kiss him. I looked at his hands, and the desire to reach for them swept over me. I wanted to touch his skin, to feel his warmth. My eyes drifted shut. I was losing myself in an incomprehensible attraction—but I hardly cared anymore. I opened my eyes and found his gaze. Then he moved closer, and my rational instincts overrode my heart; my words were short and unstable but sufficient. “Good day, Mr. Sterling.” I fled the room without a backward glance.

  Spring was in full swing, and the transformation of Oak’s Place was complete. My only regret was now that the projects were done, the small interactions between me and Mr. Sterling would cease. “One thing at a time, Florence,” I said to myself, walking out of my office.

  “You will be here Monday, right?” I jumped at the unexpected voice in the foyer.

  “Yes. I’m planning on it.” I turned to face the corner, and saw Mr. Sterling there.

  “I will be waiting for you.�
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  Why? “Is there anything important happening on Monday?”

  “I just want to show you something.”

  “I have a little time now, if you’d like to show me today.”

  “No, it has to be on Monday,” Mr. Sterling responded firmly.

  “Very well.” I buttoned my coat. “I will see you Monday then.” I walked out the front door, pretending I wasn’t in the least bit curious.

  The weekend would be torture.

  7

  ~ The Storm ~

  Unlike all of the weekends since the nuns from Europe had arrived, this one has been long but pleasantly quiet. Granny and the sisters spent most of their time at the local parish helping Fr. Thompson organize a charity project. I felt for the priest; Sister Callahan presented a real trial to his patience.

  Sunday came as the warmest spring day of the year so far. I tossed on my bed, bothered by the increasing amount of light invading the room. I hid under the covers to trick my mind, but the ceaseless chirping of the birds kept me awake. With a sigh, I threw the bedding to the side; I would embrace the new day.

  The stairs leading up the East Tower stared back at me from across the room, beckoning me to follow them up into the warmth of the sun. Quickly throwing a robe over my nightgown, I grabbed some paper and pencils, and climbed the steps.

  The view from the tower stretched across fields, houses, buildings, and small pockets of forestation. The dull winter colors were completely gone, replaced by different shades of green.

  Near the short wall encompassing the terrace, sat a small metal table accompanied by two chairs. Placing the paper and pencils on the table, I occupied myself with making a sketch of Mr. Sterling’s face as he looked in the picture of the young general which I had in my office. I thought I might escape his eyes by drawing them. Nonetheless, that night he showed up in my dreams.

  I found myself in an obscure forest. The tall trees were clumped closely together; the air was too dense to breathe. I was at the mercy of the soldiers that surrounded me. They were mercenaries—that much was absolutely clear.

  Their leader, a quite tall and muscular man dressed in black, stood a short distance from me. His rifle aimed at a person kneeling on the ground. The victim’s face was undistinguishable from my point of view. Yet, I was desperately pleading for his life.

  I wrestled helplessly with the man who constrained me. His arms tightened around my body and I winced in pain. Simultaneously, I heard a blast in the air and saw the prisoner fall to the ground. The soldiers vanished, suddenly, as if by magic, leaving me alone with the wounded man.

  I ran to his side and turned him over. His shirt was covered in blood and I gasped in sheer terror and dismay. I ripped his shirt open hoping to stop the bleeding, but at once, I saw that the deadly bullet had hit its mark. The young Mr. Sterling lay dead in my arms. My anguish was so real that my sobbing awoke me.

  My heart palpitated wildly as if wanting to jump right out of my chest. I arose from my bed and began to pace the room trying to make sense of it all. These dreams, or perhaps nightmares, were a regular occurrence now, and I hardly knew if I was infatuated with Mr. Sterling, the master of Oak’s Place, or the younger version of him that kept appearing in my dreams.

  I parked the car on the circular drive in front of the house. Zaira and Mr. Snider were arguing in the garden nearby.

  “No. I think a water fountain would be better here,” Mr. Snider insisted.

  “Yes, it would if we cut down some trees so it can be seen from the road,” Zaira argued.

  “It doesn’t have to be seen from the road,” he snapped irritably. “No one comes out this far anyway.”

  “Men—they just don’t understand,” Zaira complained, addressing me. I approached them, trying not to step on the garden tools that lay on the ground.

  “You tell her, Miss Contini,” Mr. Snider prompted, “that a fountain here will look better than there.” He pointed to a spot just a few feet ahead.

  “Why don’t you two sit down and draw the garden on paper,” I said. “That way you can plan and see it better.”

  “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. Zaira stared at me, obviously disliking my suggestion. “Let’s go find some paper.” He dropped his garden gloves onto the ground and headed towards the house.

  “Sorry,” I whispered to Zaira, who didn’t answer but managed a polite smile. We followed Mr. Snider around the house into the kitchen where I gladly left them to figure out their dilemma.

  Hurrying down the hall, I once again heard Mr. Sterling and Mrs. White arguing in his office.

  “It will only bring more pain and regret,” she warned.

  “I’m willing to suffer it.”

  “Why are you so blind?”

  Their private conversations were unbalancing, confusing to me. I purposely chose to ignore them. I picked up my pace and hurried to my office.

  A stack of documents sitting on my desk required my immediate attention. There were papers to be revised, phone calls to be made, and checks to write. Normally, my daily routine would have kept me fully engaged, but today I kept glancing at my watch, only to find that it seemed to be running slow. Mr. Sterling’s words last Friday were eating at me. “I just want to show you something,” he had said. I was anxious to find out what he meant.

  At mid-morning, I took a break to visit the kitchen and get a drink. Perhaps on my way I’d cross Mr. Sterling. Instead, I encountered a very moody Mrs. White.

  “Mr. Vines and I are going to town,” Mrs. White informed Zaira and me. “Miss Contini, if you’d like, you can go home after lunch.” It was more a command than a suggestion—a strange suggestion, to let me go early on a Monday. I kept my silence.

  “Here is the supply list for the kitchen.” Zaira handed her a long piece of paper.

  “Very well,” said Mrs. White, taking the list from Zaira. “Feel free to go home after lunch,” she insisted. With a glance in my direction, her eyes demanded an answer.

  “Thanks,” I responded. “I might.”

  She folded the paper and marched out of the kitchen. I stared after her, fully aware of how unsettled she looked.

  “It’s nice of Mrs. White to let you go early,” Zaira observed in a quiet tone. “Isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “They are lucky to go to town.” I could tell Zaira longed to go herself.

  “Why don’t you do the shopping?”

  “Mrs. White wouldn’t allow it. My place is here in the kitchen.” She sighed in resignation.

  “She is very old fashioned.”

  “A little too much. But besides that, Mr. Vines is the chauffeur, and I wouldn’t like driving to town with him.” She faked a shiver.

  “You can say that again.” I laughed. “Maybe you can come see me during the weekend.”

  “I might take you up on that,” she said with a smile.

  I returned to my office pondering Mrs. White’s generous invitation to leave work early. Was there a reason why she wanted to get rid of me?

  I was disappointed when noon came and I hadn’t heard from Mr. Sterling. The thought of going home crossed my mind, more as an act of pride than obedience to Mrs. White. I buried my head in my arms on top of the desk in frustration.

  “Miss Contini, are you sleeping on the job?” His deep voice held a note of teasing. I looked up to see Mr. Sterling leaning on the doorway, his arms folded.

  “No, of course not. I was thinking about leaving. Mrs. White said I could go home after lunch.”

  “You won’t get very far sleeping on your desk.” He chuckled. “Are you leaving then?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you can’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t say you could.”

  “But Mrs. White…” I started to say, trying to not give in so easily, but he interrupted my arguing.

  “She works for me just like you do. Did you forget that I wanted to show you something?”

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p; I feigned ignorance for a moment. “Oh, that’s right, you mentioned it last week.”

  “Come with me,” he instructed. “Bring your coat.”

  Zaira’s astonished expression saw us pass through the kitchen on our way to the back gardens. She winked at me. I flushed and hoped that Mr. Sterling hadn’t noticed.

  Mr. Sterling came to a halt in front of the stables. He pushed one of its heavy wooden doors open to let us in. Inside, two sturdy horses, one white as snow, the other jet black, stared back at us from the stalls. Their eyes glimmered in the semi-dark enclosure.

  “They are gorgeous!” I cried. “Where are they from?”

  “I bought them from a farm in Knoxville, Tennessee.”

  “When did they arrive?”

  “Yesterday. I thought you might like to go for a ride.”

  “I—haven’t ridden for a long time,” I hesitated.

  “But you like horses—don’t you?” The tone in his voice called for an affirmative answer.

  “Yes, I do now.” I patted the white horse’s forehead.

  “Now? You didn’t before?”

  “I was terrified of horses when I was a little girl. It took Granny—the nun who raised me—a long time to get me to trust them. She arranged lessons for me with a local farmer.”

  “Was there a reason for your apprehension?”

  “No, I was just born fearing them.”

  I stole a glance at him and saw that his smile was gone, in its place a look of sadness. I worried if it was something that I had said or maybe not said. Being with Mr. Sterling would be much easier if there were no mysteries surrounding him.

  “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” he reflected thoughtfully. “Since I didn’t want to give away the surprise, I didn’t instruct you on what to wear today—” He looked down at my long skirt. “Perhaps we should wait for another day. You’ll be safer riding astride.”

  “Nonsense, it’s a great idea. I’m not very good at it, but I enjoy riding. I’ll be just fine,” I quickly assured him. “What are their names?”

  “I have only named her.” He pointed to the white horse. “Her name is Lady.”