Awaken, Shadows of a Forgotten Past

by Marcia Maidana

  “Let’s not talk about it.”

  “There are things in my past that still haunt me—things that I can’t understand.”

  “You must have loved her very much.” Alex drew in his breath at my words.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” His hand reached for my face to stroke my cheek, and it wasn’t until then that I saw the white bandages around it.

  “You must have been badly hurt,” I whispered.

  “No, not really, I’m used to hitting trees,” he joked.

  “I’m not talking about your hands. I’m talking about your heart.”

  “Do you believe in a Supreme Being?” His question was disconcerting.

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Well, He is the one causing me all this pain.” Gently, his fingers ran through my hair.

  I knew that his words were compelled by grief, but wasn’t about to argue with him. This was one subject where everyone had to find the truth for themselves.

  “I’m sorry you feel like that,” I said.

  His mind racing in different directions, he threw another disconcerting question at me. “Florence, what do you see in me?” And to make sure I understood his words correctly, he went on to say, “I’m old, bitter, and always sick. And as you saw yesterday, I’m also damaged.” Alex placed my hand close to his heart, where I could feel the scar beneath his shirt.

  This time I spoke my mind. “That’s a bunch of malarkey. I don’t think of you like that. When I look at you, I see an amazing man, a brave man. One that obviously didn’t run from battle.”

  “Hmm…no, I never did run from a battle…until now…”

  I knew he was referring to his internal turmoil. Tactfully I said, “Alex, let me help you…please, don’t push me away.”

  “Florence, you are so young, so precious, I have no right…” He didn’t finish the sentence before his voice trailed off.

  “Yesterday, you asked me if there had been anyone in my life. The answer is no. I have never been interested in a man until I met you.” As soon as those words left my lips, I knew I had said too much. I felt his lips touch my forehead, and I reached my face up, hoping to find them, but instantly he arose and strolled to the window.

  “Florence, I feel really old.” His eyes held my gaze, transmitting the heaviness of his apprehension. “You could be my daughter.”

  And he was old enough to be my father, but it didn’t feel that way. I thought about what the poets say; that the soul is ageless, and for the first time, I understood. That’s how this felt—the years had no meaning. They created no barrier. I didn’t look at Alex and see the years, just the man. I yearned to share this with him, but the moment had already fled. His stubborn refusal to look past our age difference, and whatever troubled him from his past, had me torn between wanting to laugh at the sweet familiarity of his character, and feeling like crying at the thought that he might reject this special feeling that was growing between us. Still, if he thought he was going to get rid of me that easily, he was in for a surprise.

  9

  ~ Dreaming ~

  I was aware of Zaira vigorously washing the dishes, but my thoughts wandered from the kitchen and the storm to last night’s events. I remembered vividly the burning sensation I had in my heart as Alex held me in his arms. I thought about our conversation this morning, about his anger and sadness over his past, and I wondered how I could bridge the gap between us.

  The phone lines had been restored at some point, for the phone rang, and Zaira answered it. “Yes, yes. I’m writing it down.” She hurried to scribble down the number of the inn where Mrs. White and Mr. Vines were staying. “He’s out assessing the damage with Mr. Snider right now, but I’ll make sure to tell him—Miss Contini—oh yes.” Her eyes traveled towards me. “Yes, she’s staying here—”

  There was a pause. Mrs. White was undoubtedly full of complaints and questions about the destruction at Oak’s Place, and most likely about me still being here.

  Zaira didn’t say goodbye, she just replaced the receiver. I assumed Mrs. White had abruptly ended the conversation.

  “She didn’t like the idea of me staying here, did she?” I turned from the window to face Zaira.

  “She said you should’ve left yesterday after lunch, as she instructed.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now. They are stranded in town as much as you are stranded here. High Banks has been temporarily closed. The storm knocked down several trees, and now the road is blocked in multiple places, and to make things worse, some parts of the pavement are completely underwater.”

  “That much damage, it’s incredible.” I tried to act appropriately dismayed at the aftermath of the storm, but it was all I could do to keep an elated grin off my face.

  My stay at Oak’s Place would be extended after all.

  “Would you like to play?” Alex asked. He signaled towards the game box sitting on his desk, which he had bought on his way back from England. “It will help pass time.” He smiled, placing another piece of wood in the fireplace.

  “I’m not sure…” I answered, thinking about last night; we had played it and I had lost miserably.

  “Miss Contini, do I see the trace of a coward on your face? Are you afraid to lose again?”

  He could not have struck my ego harder. I could be many things but I wasn’t a coward. “Seriously, Mr. Sterling, you need to be humbled once and for all.”

  “Perhaps, but it won’t be today,” he said and chuckled.

  “We shall see,” I taunted.

  Alex set up the board game as I inspected his features more carefully. He looked healthier today, his skin radiant. His deep blue eyes were alive, revealing an unusual light in them. I couldn’t help myself, and when he said, “Why are you looking at me like that?” I acknowledged to myself that I was staring at him in a way I had never looked at anyone before.

  “I’m not. I’m just thinking about the storm,” I lied. We sat down to start the game.

  “Hmm…funny, Miss Contini—I was also thinking about the storm.” I looked down at the game, avoiding his gaze. Alex distributed the small game cards on the board. “Florence, I’m sorry you are stuck here with an old man.” Obviously, I wasn’t the only one constantly disturbed by inquietudes.

  “Stop saying that. You’re not that old.”

  “Florence, I’m more than double your age. When you are fifty, I’ll be dead. Have you thought about that? Look at me and answer truthfully.”

  My defensive side kicked in. “You speak as if you were a hundred years old.”

  “I might as well be. I feel like it sometimes.” Alex rolled the dice and moved a few spaces. I observed the calm, exact motion of his hands. My eyes flickered to his face. He had an air of self-control and maturity obtained through time, suffering, and patience. I finally wondered how many years of experience separated us after all.

  “All right then. If you are so worried about it, out with it! How old are you?”

  Alex looked at me and smiled widely. He had been waiting for the question. “I’m forty-four years old. I was born January 16, 1892, in Landford.” His voice carried a distinctive sound of relief—I now knew.

  “You are only forty-four! Eighty is old, not forty!” I sounded convincing, but ironically, for the very first time, I felt uneasy over the twenty-five-year gap between us.

  “If you say so—”

  “Besides, the age difference has its advantages, you know.” I had his immediate attention; a shadow of amusement crossed his countenance. “I feel safe with you.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes, of course.” I laughed. “Oh wait— is that what all of this is about? Are you setting yourself up for compliments?”

  “Maybe.” Alex handed the dice to me. “Roll the dice.”

  I did as I was told and moved five spaces. “No, Mr. Sterling, I must confess, that’s not all…you aren’t bad-looking either, but you already know that.”

  “We
ll, thank you. In other words, you are saying that I’m not good looking.” I opened my mouth to reply, but stretching his arm over the desk, he placed a finger on my lips. “It’s a good thing that what I’m lacking you possess in abundance, enough for both of us. I mean beauty, not intelligence.” He chuckled, reaching for the dice.

  “You are a very arrogant man, Mr. Sterling.”

  He shook his head in disagreement, his lips still holding a smile. “And you are a very beautiful woman, Miss Contini,” he said, looking straight into my eyes. I held his gaze for an instant, but as my blood rushed to my face, I looked down. I found it very difficult to speak after his comment, and under the intense look in his eyes, it was impossible to concentrate.

  The game went on, our pieces moving around the board many times…mostly in silence.

  Finally, Alex interrupted the awkwardness in the room. “You know, it’s interesting that you can manage situations that other women couldn’t even imagine—” He paused, considering his next move on the game. I looked at him with a puzzled expression on my face. “I’m referring to my behavior in the forest. Yet, you melt, like a snowman in the heat of the sun, when told how beautiful you are.”

  I smiled, trying not to melt again, and when I handed him the dice, he took my hand in both of his. If he only knew how his touch made me feel, I was sure he would never alienate me from his life.

  “Are you ever going to speak to me again?” Alex softly asked.

  “It depends…”

  He was intrigued. “It depends on what?”

  “If you win or not…” I joked.

  “I guess I’m about to find out then.” Alex let go of my hand, rolled the dice, and moved a few spaces on the board. He pointed to a Monopoly card. “I’d like to buy the railroad, and by the way, you owe 10% income tax to the bank. And I will also buy two more houses.”

  “It’s not fair!” I complained, knowing I had just lost the game.

  “What’s the matter?” He feigned ignorance.

  “Why do you have to win all the time?”

  “I can let you win once if you want me too.”

  “No. I want to win fair and square.”

  “I have all my life to play. How long do you have?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging me.

  “I shouldn’t be speaking to you—you are impossible.” Feeling the frustration of a loser, I grabbed a stack of cards and threw them on the floor. “Oh! I’m sorry—winners clean up.”

  “You’re not going to help me?” He sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at me.

  “That’s not going to work,” I lied, knowing that I couldn’t resist his glare very long.

  “I just have more experience than you do—buying and selling things—I mean—that’s all. It must be the age difference.”

  “Sure, it is,” I mocked. “You just happen to have it all.”

  “It’s dangerous having it all—you could lose it all.” Perhaps fearing that I would take the rest of the cards from the board, he quickly piled them and put them back in the box.

  “There is no gain where there is no risk,” I snapped, looking out the window. There in the garden, menacing and majestically, stood the statue of the lady and child. His eyes followed mine, and I felt a sudden change in the atmosphere, as if a cloud of darkness had descended upon the room.

  “Risk is not always good,” Alex answered, his gaze fixed on the statue. “The things that matter most in life can’t be risked or bought with money. I’m a very wealthy man, Florence, but I’m also the poorest man in the world.”

  I bit my lip to refrain from speaking and waited for him to continue. But he didn’t. Instead, he started to clean up the game.

  Zaira announced dinner soon after. It turned out to be a simple meal of Irish stew and soda bread, but it tasted heavenly. With Zaira as the cook, that came as no surprise. After supper, Alex invited me to read in his office.

  “You may select whatever volume interests you. I’m in the middle of something myself.”

  “You’ve guessed my secret. I never turn down a chance to read,” I said. I was soon perusing his personal library, and was delighted to find a copy of Lester Charteris’s latest Saint book, Saint Overboard. I had secretly read all the previous books that the town library had, but since they were published in Britain, there was always a year’s delay before the American editions were printed. Granny would have forbidden me to read crime novels had she known, but I was captivated by the tales of Simon Templar, a modern-day Robin Hood and crime fighter. Still, I wouldn’t have figured Alex as a fan—he seemed too serious.

  “I see you’ve found one of my favorites,” Alex observed, looking over my shoulder.

  “Mine too. I can’t believe you have the latest title.”

  “I picked it up when I was in London a few months ago. I think you’ll enjoy it. Simon finds himself in some precarious predicaments.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me the ending. I want to be surprised.”

  Alex chuckled and picked up his own book from his desk, settling on the sofa. As I made my way over to a cushioned chair in front of the fireplace, I paused and tilted my head sideways to peek at the spine of his book. “A Passionate Prodigality: Fragments of Autobiography by Guy Chapman,” I read out loud. “What an intriguing title. What is it about?”

  Alex hesitated a moment, then answered, “It’s a memoir by a soldier in the Great War. He fought on the Western Front and describes his experiences rather vividly.” A shadow passed behind his eyes, and though I wanted to ask more, I had the feeling that I might be trespassing on a sensitive topic. I settled down, and in spite of the excitement of the past days and my concern for Alex’s inner demons, I was soon deeply immersed, following the Saint as he waded into deep peril and vanquished villains at every turn. If only real life were that easily resolved.

  “Hold the line, men! Stay where you are!” The words came from Alex, hoarse and desperate. Startled, I dropped my book and looked at him. At some point in the evening, the warmth of the fire and the quiet of reading must have gotten to Alex, for he was asleep, his book askew in his lap. “No…Marne…fire…”

  The mumbled words continued until I walked over to him and reached out hesitantly, wondering if I should shake him awake. He moaned again and then fell silent. In sleep, he looked much younger, but whatever dreams haunted him still left their mark on his brow. This time, my hand moved on its own and softly touched his forehead. He gasped and his eyes flew open. I froze for a moment, concern for Alex warring with embarrassment at being caught hovering over him. My fair skin betrayed me, flushing warmly, and I took a step back and blurted out, “You fell asleep.”

  Now it was Alex’s turn to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It must be later than I thought.” He stood up. “You must also be tired. Perhaps we should retire for the evening.”

  I nodded and went to place my book back on the shelf. Alex said, “You may keep it until you’ve finished—you can even take it back home if you need more time.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back for it in the morning,” I replied as we stepped out of his office into the hall.

  Alex walked me to the door of the guest room and kissed my hand. No one had ever kissed my hand before, yet it felt natural. “Good night, Miss Contini.”

  “Good night, Mr. Sterling.” I watched him walk away. Alex was right. I was suddenly aware of how tired I was, but I didn’t think I’d sleep at all.

  As I snuggled deep in the comforter, tired and confused and filled to the brim with a sense of something momentous around the corner in my life, I drifted off to sleep, in spite of my prediction.

  “I brought you a cup of tea.” Zaira’s smile was brighter than ever. I wondered if her happiness was due to the freedom we all enjoyed not having Mrs. White around, perpetually hovering over us.

  “Zaira, you are too kind. Thank you.” I took the cup and saucer from her.

  “Careful. It’s very hot.”

  I signaled tow
ards the chair on the opposite side of my desk. “Please sit. Stay for a while.”

  “Where is Mr. Sterling? I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

  “He retired to his room to rest.” I took a sip of the tea. “It really is hot,” I said, pressing my lips to suppress the heat.

  “I told you.” She shifted in the chair until she felt comfortable. “Speaking of rest, how late have you two been staying up?”

  Her question made me twitch. Propriety condemned my behavior. I shouldn’t stay up late and alone with Mr. Sterling. I blew softly on the tea to cool it down a bit. “Don’t know—late.”

  “Very late indeed. Good thing I don’t wait up for you…” she paused, “and good thing you are always back in the room in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Zaira. I appreciate your honesty.” A few observations and she brought me back down to earth—I needed to stay on solid ground and not lose my head.

  “This storm is really something, isn’t it?” She glanced at the window. Just then, lightning filled the room and a few drops here and there started to fall on the grounds.

  I sighed. “It’s treacherous weather. Just when I think it’s getting better, it’s just gaining force to unleash its fury again.”

  “By the looks of it, it’s about to do that again.” Zaira shivered, betraying her serenity. “I thought it was clearing up—obviously not.” She inhaled deeply once and then she did it again. “Oh well, there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “It could be worse.” I didn’t say it but we could be stuck in the house with Mrs. White and Mr. Vines.

  “I guess.” She waved a hand at me in resignation. “But tell me, how are things at the monastery? Is Granny doing well?”

  “I think so. I called her this morning. The sisters are having a bonding time.”

  “How exciting.” Zaira was all for it. I wondered if spending time with Sister Callahan would change her mind. Maybe not. After all, Sister Callahan was from England as well.