In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions) (22 page)

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.

Taking a shaky breath, she walked his way.

“Roland?”

He turned, clearly lost in thought, but his eyes sharpened as they went to her face.

“Marry me, Angel,” he whispered, his request as intense as his gaze.

“Wh–what?” She blinked, and all coherent thought vanished.

“Marry me.” He gently grasped her shoulders. “You’re all I think about, all I dream of. I want to share a life with you—this life. I want you to be my wife and the mother to my children.” He looked at her lips that had parted in bewildered shock. “Angel…”

Her name came as a hoarse groan that warmed her lips as his mouth brushed hers. She yielded to him, pressing closer, having missed his touch so much….

Then she remembered.

“No.” At the flinch of pain in his eyes when she pushed him away, she quickly explained, “There’s something I never told you.”
Oh dear God, please. Please help me.
She didn’t want to tell him, not like this. But she no longer had a choice. She loved this man. He had to know.

“I–it’s about my parentage.”

Roland relaxed. “Angel, Lila’s condition doesn’t bother me. I think she’s a wonderful lady—”

His words brought some relief, but she shook her head to silence him. “It’s about my father—my… lack of one.”

She was going about this badly. There was no alternative but to blurt out the whole nasty truth and hope she wouldn’t disgust him, hope he would at the very least remain her friend. Somehow she could learn to live with just that, as long as he didn’t leave her life completely.

“So now you see,” she said, as she finished her brusque retelling, “I’m nameless. Illegitimate. I can never change what I am, like you could change your circumstances. I don’t have that choice.”

To her absolute surprise, he moved forward and crushed her to him.

She’d thought she had no more tears left to cry.

He held her close, stroking her hair. “What you are is an angel.”

At his gentle words, she pulled back to look at him. Sincerity shone in his eyes.

“You are what influenced me to change my life and escape the bonds of my family. Your grandfather told me that only God could bring something beautiful out of what was meant to be hurtful and wicked. And He did, Angel. He brought you.” He smiled tenderly, and with his thumb he brushed away her fresh tears. “I consider myself fortunate to have been on the train the night you stumbled aboard. And I struggled over asking you to marry me for some time. I’m not exactly considered a great catch,” he joked, bringing from her a soft smile. “The name Piccoli has struck fear into the hearts of many.”

“You’re nothing like your family!” she argued. “Any woman would be lucky to have you for a husband.”

“Including you, Angel?” His fingertips brushed over her lips, causing her to tremble with new emotion. “Would you consider yourself lucky to be joined for life to someone like me? I think we’re safe now. Your grandfather’s faith has rubbed off on me; I trust that God will take care of us. But could you consider such a thing?”