Raquel's Abel (21 page)

He wrapped his arms around me. “She always had a regal air about her.”

When she was younger, I remember her walking as if she were floating on air.

“I wonder if your grandfather suspected she was at least twenty years his senior.” His eyes creased as if he wanted to laugh.

“How could a Russian princess have come to Richmond, Virginia and just blended in?” It sounded like something out of a fantasy.

“A fantasy,” he repeated. He took my hand and lifted it to his mouth. Then he began to shower it with tiny wet kisses. “For years it was my fantasy that you would be able to see me.”

“I’m afraid I never let myself dream of a fantasy as wonderful as you.”

With a force his arms pulled me to him and I melted into him.

“I am no fantasy.”

The next day, Grandmother was back to being her normal self as if nothing had happened. Maria Elena rolled her around the grounds while Grandmother admired the beautiful autumn colors of the trees outlining the estate.

I watched them from the French doors of the foyer, wondering what Maria Elena and Grandmother were talking about.

“What say we take a drive on this wonderful day?”

I turned around to see Abel in a gleaming white shirt, pants that ended at the knee, argyle socks below, and a cap on his head.

He looked so cute I felt giddy inside.

“I love to see you smile.” He bent over to give me a peck on the lips.

“Where would you like to go?”

He shot me an impish little-boy smile. “I was hoping we could visit the place where I grew up.”

“The orphanage?”

“Perish the thought. I hope I never see that place again.” His skin flushed and he breathed roughly. “I thought I could show you the house I lived in with my parents.”

I felt a thrill run through me about knowing something more about Abel. “Where is your house?”

“It’s located in a place called Church Hill.” He looked down at the floor. “I do so hope the old place is still there.”

I smiled. “The old houses there, for the most part, are very well taken care of.” I didn’t want to mention that it was a part of the city that had been a run-down slum throughout the sixties and the seventies. In the eighties, however, the old neighborhood with its stately Victorian homes became popular with the yuppies.

“Then we’re off?” Abel ushered me to the front door. “Allow me.” He crossed the circular driveway to my car. He reached his hand down as if to release the hood. “Where is it?” He looked at me.

“What?” I inspected the front of my car wondering what he was looking for.

“The crank, of course.”

“They’ve done away with those.” I giggled.

He bowed his head and I wondered if I’d embarrassed him. “Progress. I should have known.” He took a deep breath. “I guess I don’t get out enough. And, you know, you should drive.”

I nodded. That was a good idea.

Church Hill, where Abel was born, overlooked downtown Richmond. Nowadays, driving through Church Hill was like riding through a war zone. Some buildings looked like they’d been bombed, and others were not only restored, but glistened with bright colors and vivid ginger breading.

Abel pointed to a steeple high up on the side of a hill. “Church Hill was named after St. John’s Church.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said looking at the white clapboard sides and a black wrought-iron fence surrounding it.

“It’s where Patrick Henry gave his famous ‘Give me liberty, or give me death’ speech.”

“So old,” I said out loud as I peered through the fence to the weathered stone grave markers.

“My mother loved it here, the way you can look out at the entire city from the top of the hill.”

I pressed harder on the gas to take us up to the pinnacle.

“Should’ve seen how my dad’s Model T huffed and puffed up this hill.”

We spotted a couple walking along with matching yellow sweatshirts.

“When my mother and father would go for a stroll, my mother would wear a long dress and a hat so large it wouldn’t have even fit inside this car.”

I turned to see his chest heaving as if thinking of his mother was painful. He saw me eyeing him and continued, “And Father was always in a top hat, sporting his cane.”

Abel must have been so lonely all those years, running around my house with no one to talk to.

He looked at all of the cars lining the shady avenues. “I suppose with all of these cars around, no one needs to take a horse any longer.”

“I’m afraid horses disappeared from the streets quite a few years ago.”

He shook his head. “I really should get out more.”

“Where is your house?” We’d reached the heart of Church Hill where a small park occupied the center of the streets that fanned out in all directions.

“Over there.” He pointed to a street with lazy cedars hanging over the sidewalk.

We’d only gone a few feet when he pointed to a house in front of us. “That’s it.” He paused. “It’s painted a different color, but that’s where I was born.”

I looked at a house that was now a light orange and the trim a yellowish cream. H
H
eld up by thin stately columns, the porch wrapped around the front and down the side.

“When was the last time you were here?”

“When Mother went into the hospital.” His voice cracked. “Then I went to your house and when my uncle came to pick me up to tell me my mother had died,” he swallowed hard. “He took me straight to the orphanage.” His jaw clenched for an instant.

I drove farther, and soon we got a glimpse of the backyard.

He pointed. “Right there—that’s where I used to play.”

I saw a lovely little garden at the bottom of a set of wooden stairs. Boxwoods enclosed a stretch of recently cut grass that looked like green carpet.

“I was an only child, so I played alone, except when my mother could spare me a few minutes.” He looked away so I couldn’t see his face. “And then she started to feel poorly…”

“I guess anybody that loses their mother misses them for the rest of their life.” I knew how he felt. At least I’d had my father after my mother passed away.

His hand slid over and engulfed mine. “I missed your mother after she was gone, also.”

“You didn’t really tell me much about my mother. You just said she was never the same after Regina was born.”

He leaned his head back and stretched his neck smiling. “Do you remember those tea parties you and your mother used to have on the back porch?”

I felt my chest heave as I remembered my mother and I putting on frilly dresses and bringing all my dolls and teddy bears downstairs so we could have one big tea party. “My mother used to tell me that I had to make witty conversation with all of the guests.” I laughed out loud remembering her holding her pinky out when pretending to drink tea from the miniature cups.

“I think she had as much fun as you did.” He twirled one of my locks between his fingers. “She had hair just like yours.”

I tried very hard to remember what she looked like. “Tell me, when she got the appendicitis, why didn’t they get her to the hospital in time? If the ambulance didn’t come, then why didn’t Daddy take her in his car?”

Abel stared straight ahead.

“Do you remember what happened that night? Did it just burst with no warning?”

I saw his chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. His lips quivered.

“What is it?” Why was he acting this way?

His voice was low and gravelly. “They shouldn’t have lied.”

A terrible feeling ran through me like a freight train. Then a chill coursed through me giving me goosebumps. “Tell me the truth right now.”

“Your father was trying to protect you.” His gaze was trained straight ahead as if he couldn’t face me.

“Abel, she was my mother. I deserve to know the truth.” Terrible thoughts entered my mind. Did someone…? “Did my father…?”

“No, absolutely not. He loved her.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what?”

He turned toward me. “Your mother took her own life.”

I felt my heart miss a beat as I tried to force myself to relax. “How?” I closed my eyes and braced my head on the headrest.

“She was in the bathtub. When your father found her, all of the blood had drained out of her.”

I jumped out of the car and walked toward the park we’d passed earlier. I leaned against a tree, thinking I’d pass out.

Abel came running toward me. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No.” I held my hand up. “You were right to tell me. I needed to know.”

He took another step.

“Please, just leave me alone for me a minute. I have to digest this news and make sense of it.”

“But…” His breath was jagged as if he were scared for me, then he turned and faced the other direction. “I will leave you alone with your thoughts.”

I walked around the park, trying to enjoy the way the crisscrossing sidewalks were being covered over with orange and yellow leaves. My thoughts filled with anger at both my parents—at my mother for killing herself and leaving me motherless and at my father for lying.

Then understanding began to flow through me. My father had done what he thought was best. How could he have explained suicide to a child? My mother undoubtedly had been very sick at a time when there was no treatment for depression. Surely she thought it was the only way out.