“What’s so hard about it? Love is a beautiful thing, so I’ve heard.”
Her eyes flew open, and she glared at him. “You can’t love me because of what I am.”
“An angel in the flesh?” he gently teased in his confusion.
She didn’t laugh. Pain flickered in her eyes, making him wish he could erase the last few seconds. “Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flip.”
“It doesn’t matter. Oh Roland, can’t you please just walk away and pretend you never knew me?”
“Can you?”
His low, deep response brought tears swimming to her eyes.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she sobbed softly.
He noticed the passengers staring across the aisle. He cursed public cars and wished for a private car, but to get one, he would have to reveal his identity, and he could never do that.
“Angel, whatever it is can’t be that bad. It won’t change my feelings for you—”
“Won’t it?” She cut him off, a hysterical edge to her words. “You’re so sure, but you don’t know. My aunt said no decent man would have me, and she’s right! You could never want me.”
That she now classified him as decent cheered him, but her self-condemning words gave him pain. “Well, your aunt’s wrong. Why would she say such cruel things to you?”
“You want to know why?” Her voice raised a notch. “Because she’s right. She hates me. Hates what my mother is. What if I were to tell you that my mother was one of the freaks at the carnival—what then, Roland? Would you be so quick to tell me you still love me? You tolerated their presence, even accepted them, when so many couldn’t, but could you really accept me and still love me if I told you that my mother was once a bearded lady at the carnival? Could you?”
She jumped to her feet. “Because she was,” she whispered. “And she is. And that’s who I’m going to see. My mother, who abandoned me as a baby because my aunt said she didn’t want me anymore. And heaven only knows why I’m visiting her now, because I sure don’t!”
Stunned speechless, he could only stare. A pained look of acceptance hardened her features, and she straightened, almost regal.
“I thought so. I imagine I won’t be seeing you again, Roland. Have a nice life.”
She turned and swept back in the direction of the dining car, ignoring the shocked passengers who watched her retreat, many of whom then sneaked glances back at Roland.
Still dumbfounded, he couldn’t move as her condemning words played repeatedly in his mind. His eyes fell shut.
Oh Angel.
Twisting her napkin in knots, Angel ignored her Danish and coffee. What seemed like hours had passed, and still she replayed their words.
She should never have told him those things. What would he have done if she’d told him everything? About being nameless. Illegitimate. Trash.
He probably would have run to the farthest coach from hers, she thought with a hoarse laugh that was more of a sob. She, who never once cried in what amounted to years, now always seemed to burst into waterworks like a fountain. If she’d had a better grip on her emotions, this wouldn’t have happened. With a disgusted sigh she looked out the window, watching the miles rush past in the blur of the lush countryside.
At last the whistle sounded. The train slowed. A porter made his rounds, calling out the location.
Coventry. Her destination.
Her eagerness in her quest began to dissolve. She twisted the napkin tighter. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come. What would she find? What would she learn? That her aunt was right? That no one cared about her and no one ever had?
Someone came to stand beside her. Expecting the waiter with the bill, she looked up… And she froze, all words lodging inside her throat.
Roland looked at her limp hands and took the mangled napkin from them, laying it on the table. “I believe this is where you and I get off.”
“Roland?” she said dumbly, as if staring at a ghost.
He gave her a faint smile.
“But…” She tried to think. “You… Why?”
“What you said changes nothing.” He took her hand, helping her from the table. “I just thought you needed some time alone.”
She moved without thinking, without feeling, letting him guide her through the train. By the time he collected her luggage, she had recuperated enough to speak.
“You don’t have to go with me.”
“No, but I want to. If you’ll let me.”
She nodded, a powerful relief surging through her. She didn’t want to confront her mother alone, feared the very thought, and craved his support.
They moved toward a waiting taxi. Suddenly she stopped. He looked at her, curious.
“I forgot to pay for my food!”
“I took care of it.”
“Roland, thank you, but…” Her cheeks warmed. “I still haven’t paid you back for the first time.”
“As if I would let you,” he growled with a smile that quickened her breath. “You don’t owe me a thing, Angel. Not now. Not ever.”
With that enigmatic reply, he helped her into the cab.
The drive tested every one of her frayed nerves. The countryside was beautiful with its pretty farms and trees in bloom, but with each mile she knew she was getting nearer to the encounter she had longed for and equally dreaded.
Feeling Roland’s warm hand cover hers, she began to relax, then turned her hand in his and gripped it like a vise when the cab pulled into a dirt lane. A small red farmhouse with maples and pines beyond and a cornfield off to one side came into view.
They had arrived.
fifteen
Angel still had not let go of Roland’s hand when the cab stopped in front of the farmhouse.
“It’ll be all right,” he said, trying to reassure her.
Will it? she thought when she caught sight of a slender woman in the doorway, a veil covering the lower part of her face. Angel didn’t need anyone to tell her who this was: the same woman in the faded photograph of the album in her luggage. Lila.
Roland helped her from the cab. Angel stood motionless at the end of the walk and stared at the woman, who didn’t move either. I have her same curly, dark hair, Angel thought distantly, followed by another thought, even more startling. Why, she’s beautiful. Her eyes were huge and dark, her nose and brow above the veil, delicate and creamy white.
“You are Angel.”
The vision spoke, and Angel gave a terse nod, noting how she didn’t address her as Angelica. Had she first given her the nickname Angel preferred?
Lila held out a slim hand that trembled. Only then did Angel see how nervous the woman also was. “Please, won’t you come inside?” Her voice was quiet and husky. “And your friend as well.” She offered Roland the briefest of glances before looking at Angel again.
They followed her into a comfortable parlor. An elderly man with white whiskers sat in a chair. He looked up, an expectant but uncertain gleam in his eyes. Eyes the color of Angel’s.
“This is my father… your grandfather.”
“It’s a pleasure, my dear.” He took her hand in greeting.
Angel managed a reply, and the woman—her mother, though she still had a hard time thinking of her as such—excused herself to pour coffee. The man who was her grandfather talked amiably with Roland about the farm. When Lila returned, he invited Roland outside to see the land. Recognizing the polite maneuver to give them privacy, Angel smiled in reassurance at Roland, wordlessly assuring him that she would be fine when he cast a questioning glance her way.
“You must have many questions.” Lila stirred her coffee once the men left.
Angel watched her, wondering if she would remove the opaque veil to drink, but she only lifted it slightly, making room for the cup.
“Why did you abandon me?” she asked tonelessly and without preamble. “I thought you were dead.”
Lila’s cup clinked to the saucer. “Th–that can’t be true. Why would you
think that?”
“You didn’t abandon me?”
Lila winced. “Yes. I… I thought it best. Please, forgive me. I loved Bruce very much, and when he died of a brain hemorrhage, I was devastated. His sister—your aunt—despised me. We lived with her then, and she made it clear she didn’t want me there any longer. She hated me for marrying her brother, and—and I knew the carnival would take me.”
She gave a regretful sigh when Angel remained silent. “She convinced me it would be in your best interest to leave you with her. I think now she did it just knowing it would hurt me. And in remembering the difficulties and fear I had for you growing up at the carnival, I realized she was right. You did need a good home. Believe me, Angel, it was very hard to let you go.” She began to reach for her hand but drew back. “I… I wanted to breach the gap between us, to try to right the wrong I’d done. You were twelve when I first wrote. But when I heard nothing,
I assumed you found a happier life without me in it. But why would you think I was dead? Because I stopped writing?”
Angel’s blood went cold in shock then began to simmer with fury. “You wrote to me?” she whispered.
“Of course. Once a month. Up until three years ago, when your aunt wrote back, telling me… that you wanted nothing more to do with me… and to stop…” She gasped. “You never got the letters!” Her words came out hoarse in troubled realization.
“Aunt Genevieve told me you died when I was three.” Angel’s angry shock reverberated in her words. Her aunt had purposely kept them apart! Knowing that, and after what her mother now shared, Angel grew bold. “She was wrong. So were you. That’s why I’m here.”
Her mother’s eyes swam with tears. She sat frozen in disbelief. “And now… now that you know… a–and see what I am? A sideshow freak?”
Angel’s heart ached for her pain, and she answered with a question. “Do you wear that thing all the time?”
Her mother blinked in confusion. “The veil? No. I wanted to make you less uncomfortable. I—I have a deathly fear of razors, you understand, because of a bad accident with one as a child. I wear this when it’s not just Father and me. He used to spurn me, too, but when I learned he was ill, I left the carnival to care for him, and God mended our relationship. Father doesn’t mind me like this anymore.” Her words rambled nervously.
Angel slipped out of the chair and knelt before her mother. Looking steadily into her eyes a moment, she reached up and gently pulled down the veil. Her mother tensed as Angel took in the short, curly beard then gasped as she curiously put her fingertips to it. It was soft and silky like everything about her. Angel’s tears fell as her mother’s did, and she lifted her eyes to the beautiful dark ones that regarded her with both dread and hope.
“I don’t care what you look like either. Ever since I can remember, I’ve dreamed of you. Of you holding me and singing me to sleep. It was the only memory I had, and I thought it would be the only one I’d ever know.”
Her mother tentatively cradled her face. “You would never close your eyes unless I sang to you. You were my Angel, my one bright light, and when I walked away that morning, the sunshine left, too.”
“M–mama?” Angel whispered on a childlike sob, the years, the hurt, the anger all falling away.
Her mother swiftly embraced her, and memory sharpened to reality. Angel clutched her hard, crying in earnest, while her mother rocked her, holding her head to her breast. At the pure, sweet sound of the first lines to the lullaby from her dreams, Angel smiled through her tears, knowing no matter what the future held she would never be alone again.
Roland would never forget the stunned look of hopeful confusion on Angel’s face when he told her he was staying, too, thanks to her grandfather’s invitation. His own need to find work and hide somewhere secluded—and Birch Grove Farm, nestled in the middle of a small community, was about as secluded as you could get—coupled with his desire to help the aging minister aided his decision. Pastor Everett never had fully recovered his robust health after fighting pneumonia, so Roland was more than happy to help. Of course, being near Angel had been the main reason he stayed. So much of her previous behavior now made sense, and the only regret he had was that she hadn’t trusted him sooner, though he couldn’t blame her. He supposed if their situations had been switched, an ex-gangster wouldn’t be his first choice as a confidant either.
Lila had dispensed with the veil, and Roland was amazed, intrigued, and impressed that a woman who’d gone through so much suffering could have so stalwart a faith. To her soft-spoken question regarding the absence of her veil and his feelings on the matter, he casually assured her if they could tolerate his being a Piccoli, he could handle her beard, since his misfortune was the greater of the two. At his clear acceptance, any remaining tension dissolved, and Lila even laughed.
Everett expressed his faith with almost every sentence, opening up the Bible after suppertime and reading aloud then opening discussion. And Roland had a lot of questions.
“God is the Author of second chances,” Everett told Roland one afternoon. “He gave one to me and my daughter, gave one to Lila and her daughter, and he’s given you a second chance, too, son.”
Roland couldn’t argue with that. After his association with Mama, with his Angel, and now with her family, it wasn’t long before one Sunday morning Roland made his decision.
He walked alone outside, his heart full with all he’d learned, and fell to his knees. The sun had just risen over the horizon, beaming hope. “I surrender all,” he whispered, shaken. “All the pain and bitterness, all the anger. I choose to follow in Your footsteps, Lord. Please cleanse me of my many sins, wash me in Your blood… make me whole.”
Caught up in a cushion of peace, what could have been minutes or hours later, he rose from the ground and felt as if a burden had literally dropped from his shoulders.
Mama was right. God did answer prayer.
With each week that passed, Angel felt more at ease around her mother, whom she’d come to regard as a friend, and her grandfather, who became to her a wise teacher. His words inspired her to open her heart, to forgive her aunt and cousins, and not to judge herself harshly for things she couldn’t help.
Her mother’s story shocked and saddened her, and it was with great care they delved into the question buried but always dominant in Angel’s mind. Her father. Her mother admitted she never knew the identity of her attacker: The night had been dark, and she’d never seen his face. But she assured Angel that she was very much wanted and always had been.
“You were my lifeline, Angel. My reason to carry on. And such joy you gave me! Everyone at the carnival loved you….” The more she spoke of Angel’s early years, the more embers of memories faintly stirred: snippets of when her mother took her on her first ride on the carousel, after all pleasure seekers went home for the day and the operator gave in to the request of the man Angel had called Uncle Bruce before her mama married him.
Her grandfather was her counselor, her mother her inspiration, and Roland… She took in a deep breath as she envisioned the man who took up the greater portion of her thoughts. To her he meant the world. A friend, a protector, a confidant. Her reasoning finally gave in to her heart, admitting if only to herself that she was madly in love with him. She still hadn’t told him her dark secret. With her mother’s example, she came to accept what could never be changed. But would he feel the same about her once he knew? Of one thing Angel was now sure.
“Mama,” she said late one Sunday afternoon, “I want what you and Grandfather have. What my friend Nettie and Mama Philena have.” She smiled softly. “She said it was thanks to your influence that she found God. Will you show me how?”
Overjoyed, her mother prayed with her, and Angel added words of her own. “Thank You, dear Lord, for bringing me to this moment, for helping me find my mother, for Nettie, and for all those at the carnival who helped me understand what true beauty is. Please help my aunt and cousins to learn. And thank You for becoming the
Father I never had.”
Her mother squeezed her hands, her eyes teary, and Angel hugged her, feeling as light inside as goose down.
“It’s amazing,” her mother said, “how the stubborn doings of one woman who came to visit the freak show that night long ago and wouldn’t take no for an answer”—here she laughed—“could have initiated all this. God truly is a miracle worker, and just you wait and see, Angel, the plans He has for you!”
Thrilled and eager to share her news with Roland, Angel kissed her mother and hurried outdoors. She caught sight of his tall form, his back to her, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the land. Weeks of hard labor had strengthened his already lean, muscular frame, and her heart pounded in shy admiration at the sight of him.
In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions) Page 16
