In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions) (21 page)

“I told you when we were last together at the carnival.” Her cheeks flushed as if she also thought of their kiss. “I care about you, Angel.
You
. I want to be with you. And I think you want the same thing.”

Her gaze fell to the table. “I can’t be your m–mistress.” Her face flooded with color.

He stared, at a loss. “Did I ask you to be? Do you still have such a low opinion of me that you think I would? This isn’t a movie, Angel.” His tone was sober. “Despite what they show about gangsters, just because I come from a family of them doesn’t mean I woo every pretty dame—lady,” he corrected, remembering how she disliked the former word, “and take her to my bed.” Her face flushed darker at his frank words. “Don’t you get it?” He leaned across the table, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached for her hand. “I care, Angel, because I love you.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he expected.

Her face lost all the color that had rushed into it earlier, her eyes went huge, and she snatched her hand away.

“You can’t love me,” she choked out.

“Too bad. Because I do.”

“No, you don’t understand….” She backed up a step. “You can’t! Just—just leave me be, Roland. Please!”

She hurried out of the dining car.

He blinked, confused, then went after her. For the first time he noticed they’d drawn the interest of every patron there, but he didn’t care. Something troubled her, and he wanted to know what it was.

Sneaking a peek at the destination on her ticket while she’d been dozing on the platform bench had been a cinch. Suggesting to a fellow passenger that the lady there might miss her train had produced the required results, as Roland watched from a safe distance and the man had roused her. But trying to get Angel to see the facts would take every ounce of reason and persuasion he possessed, along with help from above, if Mama was right and God did listen.

He never doubted God’s existence. It just seemed hypocritical for his grandfather to attend mass in the morning and order some poor sucker’s death in the afternoon, at times brought about by his father’s own hand. With that kind of upbringing, Roland had quickly been jaded. But Mama Philena was a different story, living her belief, showing it in her actions. And even Angel, in her confused way, had been enlightening, admitting her own ignorance in matters of faith but sharing Nettie’s verses and inspirational sayings, which seemed to help her.

He caught sight of Angel in the aisle of the second coach. She turned at his step, a plea in her eyes. “Please, Roland, don’t do this.”

“You can’t keep running from life, Angel. At some point you have to stop.” He gently took her elbow, guiding her past her seat and to an empty row a short distance away. He couldn’t help but notice her tremble.

If he’d not been positive Angel shared his feelings, he might never have admitted his own. But he had seen the tenderness returned in her eyes more than once, had noticed her face light up when he would approach at the carnival. He had known since he first met her in his private car that she was hiding something, something she was afraid would now upset him, and he resolved to remain calm no matter what she revealed.

Not wanting her to feel closed in, he took the seat near the window, shifting his hold from her elbow to her hand, and pulling her into the row with him. She sank to the seat, her body stiff.

“Tell me what’s got you so upset.”

She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Angel, darling… I want to help. Don’t clam up on me.”

“Why, Roland?” she bit out softly, her eyes still shut. “Why did you have to fall in love with me? Why’d I have to—I… I can’t do this, don’t you see? It’s too hard.”

“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.

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.”