Awaken, Shadows of a Forgotten Past Page 5

  “What is it that troubles you so much, Miss Contini? Oak’s Place is my house after all. I answer to no one about my whereabouts.”

  I stared at him blankly, knowing that I couldn’t truthfully answer. What was it that troubled me after all? I looked at him, and suddenly, I was afraid of my own self. Something in me was changing as a result of his appearance in my life. Yes, he was absolutely correct; I was in his office because I wanted to see him, to speak to him—and now I regretted it.

  Get a hold of yourself, Florence, I reminded myself. You are here to work—keep that in mind. Keep it professional.

  I spoke flatly, “I assure you that nothing troubles me. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, Mr. Sterling. I’ll be in my office if you need my assistance.”

  I leapt to my feet and left the room. The door shut with a bang—louder than I had intended, especially if Mrs. White was on the prowl.

  I stormed back to my office feeling very much insulted. His harsh words had been astonishingly potent and surprisingly uncharacteristic for what I had gathered of Mr. Sterling—either I had misjudged the man, or he was in a mood as black as I had ever seen. His maligning accusations threw me off balance. Why would he hire me on the spot as though he thought I had something to offer and then insult me by searching my handbag? It was more than enough to justify my wounded ego. But worse was the growing frustration I felt at myself. How could I be so childish, allowing myself to even feel the slightest attraction to that deceitful man?

  I sat at my desk and fought the tears that burned in the back of my eyes. The more I tried, the less I could focus on working. Time dragged on. When the dial on my watch reached the number five, I left Oak’s Place with a sense of relief. I needed to escape to the monastery where I could think about this conundrum I found myself in. Each passing second I drove farther from Oak’s Place, struggling in vain to shake off the memory of his cold eyes, his sharp words.

  After a few minutes, the cold temperature intruded on my stewing thoughts. I slowed the car to a halt and searched for the gloves that should have been in my purse but weren’t. Frustration invaded me as I realized that I had left them in a drawer in my office. Going back to Oak’s Place was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. But it really was bitterly cold, and why should I suffer on account of Mr. Sterling? A man who snooped in my purse and then lied about it. Clearly, any attractiveness I had imagined in him was really just a dream. Working myself into a fine state of indignation, I changed direction, the wheels of the car squealing on the pavement in protest, and arrived back at the house just before dusk.

  My objective was to quickly enter the office, retrieve my gloves and leave without being seen. Slowly, I pushed the front door open and was startled to hear raised voices coming from Mr. Sterling’s office.

  I inched down the corridor, and leaned against the wall, concealing myself in the dim light. It was challenging to distinguish the words. I strained my ears, and soon my hearing adjusted.

  “You don’t understand,” Mr. Sterling argued.

  “Oh yes, I do. You are fooling yourself! Today was close. Way too close,” said Mrs. White. “You need to move on. Look at you—you are killing yourself.”

  “I was trying to move on—but it hurts so much—why does she have to come back to haunt me?” Pain was evident in every word he spoke.

  “Let her go. It’s the rational thing to do.”

  “How can I let her go after all these years?”

  “You are playing a dangerous game. You have to let her go,” she pressed with determination. “Remember your promise.”

  “How could I ever forget? I just can’t see her go.”

  “Very well then, you’ll have to tell her the truth.”

  “You know I can’t do that. She won’t understand—it’s insane! I don’t understand it myself.” Mr. Sterling sounded almost helpless.

  “If you won’t let her go, then you must tell her the truth—otherwise I will.”

  My heart pounded against my ribs, but whether over the intensity of the conversation or fear of being caught eavesdropping, I could not say. I silently backed away from Mr. Sterling’s door and tiptoed to my office. I held my breath as I opened the desk’s drawer, hoping it would not squeak. After retrieving my gloves, I left like a thief in the night. Whatever Mr. Sterling and Mrs. White had been discussing might remain an eternal mystery, but they could never know I had heard their conversation.

  I drove away in confusion. My earlier confrontation with Mr. Sterling seemed to be a remote event now, having been replaced with the latest incident. Who had they been talking about? It all pointed to me, but it didn’t make any sense. What was it that haunted him? What truth were they talking about? Was Mrs. White such a hideous person after all? Or, was she just trying to help? There had to be a reason why he put up with her. I was deeply troubled as I considered the unthinkable—what if she wasn’t against me after all?

  4

  ~ Fear and Excitement ~

  The strange conversation I had overheard continued to perturb me in the ensuing days. Mrs. White’s and Mr. Sterling’s words pressed upon my mind mercilessly. Who or what was Mr. Sterling trying to get away from that caused him so much agony? I couldn’t shake the crazy feeling that I had been the center of that conversation. But that was insane. We were strangers. There was nothing besides a job between us. And surely any possibility of friendship was ruined after our last encounter.

  My curiosity was in full swing. Part of me wanted to stay away from Mr. Sterling’s private life. But the illogical, emotional side, yearned to know more. I was sure that Mrs. White could see right through me. Yesterday, she had informed me that I’d have two weeks of Christmas vacation instead of one, which seemed to confirm my suspicions.

  “Good morning.” Surprised, I looked up to see Mr. Sterling in the doorway of my office. I had the feeling that he may have been there for some time already.

  “Mr. Sterling…” I quickly rose from the chair.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I didn’t expect you…I didn’t hear you coming…”

  “Miss Contini,” he said, watching my face carefully. “Are you happy here?” He moved into the room. “Let me rephrase that. Are you comfortable working here?” In that moment, I felt certain that I would never understand Mr. Sterling. For heaven’s sake, did he care or not? Was he a potential friend or a harsh-speaking enemy? Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer his first question.

  “Yes. It’s just work, after all,” I replied cautiously, afraid of saying something that could provoke another mood swing.

  “It is just work,” he repeated calmly. “But this house can be a little intimidating for a young lady. It’s old and far from town—quiet and cold.”

  Why was he saying this to me? “It does get quite cold at times.”

  “You could work in the dining room. It’s much warmer there.” There was a faint shine in his eyes.

  “Yes, that’s true. Thank you. It hadn’t occurred to me.” I started to relax; it appeared that his more gentleman-like side was to prevail in this instance. His politeness was welcome but strange after the wild turn our last conversation had taken.

  “I hope that working here is not too much for you—a thirty-minute drive twice a day must be tiresome.” He sat on the edge of the desk, his eyes level with mine.

  “It’s not too bad. Besides, Mrs. White has given me two weeks off for Christmas, so I’ll get a good rest.” I sat back down and pushed the chair away from the desk, away from him. His eyes widened at my words. I wondered if he disliked the movement away from him or the idea of me being on vacation.

  “Christmas…it always comes with all the noise and busyness.” There was longing in his voice that seemed to belie his words.

  “You speak as if you didn’t like Christmas.”

  “It’s a sweet and sour feeling for me. I feel the anticipation and hope of the season, but it leaves me empty when it’s gone.”

  “I’
m sorry you feel like that. It will be here sooner than we think, only three more weeks.”

  Changing the subject, he said, “I would like to ask something of you.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Could you make a list of suggestions to improve this old place?”

  “I’ll be…happy to do that.” What was this all about?

  “You look stunned by my request.”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “When I bought this house, I didn’t care much about its condition. The last thing I wanted was to have people invading the place, taking away the peace and quiet. I never thought about renovations then.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  “Change of heart…hmmm.” He looked away. “Let’s just say I think some renewal will bring a little cheerfulness to us all.”

  “Do you have any specific instructions?” I leaned forward to reach for my notebook and the sleeve of my blouse slid upward, revealing the silver bracelet fastened around my wrist.

  Mr. Sterling’s eyes immediately snapped to the object. “Where did you get that?” he asked abruptly.

  “The bracelet?” I was nonplussed by the suddenness of the subject change.

  “Yes. Where did you get it?” His tone demanded an immediate answer.

  “It was left with me when I was abandoned at the monastery.”

  “Can I see it?” His countenance had changed; it was tense now. I took it off my wrist and handed it to him. “Florence Contini,” he quietly read the engraving on it. The way Mr. Sterling looked at the bracelet, totally consumed by it, the way he turned it in his fingers with such tenderness—gave me the distinct impression that this wasn’t the first time he had seen it. The thought brought chills to my body.

  “Excuse me if I’m interrupting something important,” Mrs. White’s sudden voice echoed in the room. Mr. Sterling stood and turned to face her.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked in alarm. It was then that I noticed how pale he looked.

  “Nothing at all.” He curled up his hand to conceal the bracelet within.

  “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you,” she addressed him.

  Mr. Sterling made a few tentative steps towards her, and I wondered if he would take the bracelet with him, when he turned back toward me. “I trust your judgment, Miss Contini.” I found myself caught unaware for the second time in the same conversation. In response to my blank expression, he added, “About the house—in response to your earlier query, no specific instructions. Thank you for your time and let me know what you come up with.”

  “I will.”

  As Mrs. White stepped into the corridor, he came back to the desk and held the bracelet out to me, avoiding my eyes. I watched him leave the room, wondering what the story behind their relationship was. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a player in the story, but with no clue what role anyone was playing.

  As the snowflakes continued to descend upon the open fields of Western New York and we braced for a long, harsh winter, the last day of work before my Christmas break snuck up on me.

  “Are you sure we have enough firewood for the winter?” Zaira’s question to Mr. Snider as we finished lunch was very appropriate.

  “Yes, yes. The old stable is well packed with wood ready to be used,” Mr. Snider replied in an edgy tone. “I’m well aware of how much we needed last winter. These beasts are impossible to keep satisfied.” He signaled towards the enormous brick fireplace at the far end of the kitchen. “And there are six of them!” He exited the kitchen mumbling something about women underestimating the labors of men.

  “Poor Mr. Snider. It will be a busy winter for him,” I said to Zaira.

  “It gives him something to do during the cold months.”

  I nodded. “It would be impossible to live here without the fireplaces.” I glanced at some of the darkened spots of humidity on the brick walls.

  “You can say that again. We better keep Mr. Snider happy or we’ll freeze to death.”

  “But why buy this primitive, isolated, and dark house that hasn’t even been updated with a coal furnace?” Without thinking, my thoughts came out.

  “Good question.” Zaira laughed. “Mr. Sterling does prefer the isolation that Oak’s Place offers, and he likes the fireplaces. I think it reminds him of his house in England. One of his favorite things to do is to read by the fire.” As Zaira spoke, a vivid image flashed in my mind, as if it was a forgotten memory of Mr. Sterling, young and joyful, seated in an elegant armchair reading the newspaper by the burning hearth. To his side, a young lady lay on a couch fast asleep. His eyes briefly left the paper, and he looked at her with such sweetness and love that I shook my head to get rid of the incomprehensible image, yet the searing pain in my heart caused by that scene lingered. Zaira went on speaking about all the downfalls of Oak’s Place as a suitable dwelling. I tried to listen; her input might come in handy for the list of improvements requested by Mr. Sterling, but I found it difficult to concentrate.

  After our meal, I returned to my office with mixed feelings. I played with my pen, trying to come up with ideas. A fireplace in my office, I thought jokingly, thinking how nice it would be to have one in the room. I was conscious of how much could be done to improve the house, but I wanted to gather efficient ideas and make intelligent choices. For some reason, I had taken this assignment to heart. Maybe it was the look on Mr. Sterling’s face. Maybe, it was the dreams, although I hadn’t had any for several weeks. Whatever the reason, I didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Sterling. Besides, I was enjoying the chance to be creative. I’d perfect the list during my days off.

  I had hoped to speak to Mr. Sterling before I left for my vacation, but this morning Mrs. White, who was acting even a little more peculiar than normal, informed me that Mr. Sterling had had a severe relapse. No one except her was allowed to see him.

  I left the comfort of my seat and stood before the window. Even though late fall had a way of immobilizing things, I loved to look upon the grounds. The cessation of the season had always amazed me, as it was an illusion. There is much life invisible to the natural eye still contained behind the lonely and cold times of the year, ready to flourish in all its splendor with the rolling in of spring.

  “Florence!”

  “Zaira, you startled me.”

  Swiftly, Zaira tramped across the room to meet me. “You are not going to believe this.”

  “Believe what?”

  “She left for town—” Zaira was almost out of breath; she must have run to my office.

  “Who did?”

  “Mrs. White.”

  I shook my head not grasping what the problem was. “And?”

  “Florence, don’t you see?”

  “No, Zaira, what’s the matter? Mrs. White does as she pleases.”

  “Aha!” Her hazel eyes grew bigger in anticipation. She had a story to tell. “But not when Mr. Sterling is as sick like he is today. She never leaves his side.”

  “That’s true…” This very morning, she said—only she was allowed to see him.

  “I can’t believe she left. It’s odd, truly odd,” reflected Zaira.

  “Did she say why she had to go?”

  “No—well—yes.”

  I frowned. “Explain yourself, Zaira. Did she or did she not?”

  Zaira shifted her hips and folded her arms across her body, ready to launch into a full discussion. “She came into the kitchen soon after lunch to make Mr. Sterling’s tea. I was on my knees scrubbing the base of the fireplace when Mr. Vines walked in to speak to her. Being on the other side of the room, I wasn’t able to hear much of their conversation.”

  “But you did hear some of it—right?”

  She nodded and threw a quick glance at the doorway to make sure we were the only participants in the discussion. “Mr. Vines informed her of something, but his voice was barely audible even to Mrs. White, who asked him to repeat himself.”

  “Did he?”

  “Y
es, yes—and whatever he told her had her in a frenzy.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “It must be really serious then.”

  “Mrs. White said, ‘It can’t be, not now…’ Mr. Vines went on to mumble an earful of nonsense or at least that is how it sounded to me—I didn’t understand any of it.”

  “Seriously, Zaira, you didn’t catch any of it?”

  “Well, he did say something like ‘It might blow up right in—’ I want to finish his sentence with ‘our faces’ but I’m not certain.”

  “Hmm. What can it be?” The wheels in my head started to turn—this was truly interesting.

  “Don’t know—but of her reply I’m certain. She said, ‘All is fair in love and war.’”

  “That just gave me the creeps.” I shivered.

  “I know, right? When it comes to them, one never knows.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Did you hear anything else?”

  “Mr. Vines roughly grabbed her by the arm. Mrs. White didn’t take that very well and slapped his hand off. Then, putting an end to it she angrily said, ‘It can’t be interrupted now.’”

  “Interrupt what?” I took in a deep breath; my inquisitive mind needed more oxygen to make sense of all of this. “Zaira, do you have any idea what they’re referring to?”

  “No, Florence, I don’t, and that’s about all I can tell you because just then, I accidentally dropped the brush, bringing their attention upon me. Instantly, they were silent as the grave. Playing dumb, I picked up the brush and kept brushing the fireplace’s bricks. They took their conversation to the gardens, and shortly after, Mrs. White returned with the announcement that they were going downtown to get some supplies. Of course, I did not dare to question her, but we all know that the pantry is well stocked, and I can’t think of anything that would be so urgent. Mr. Vines got the car ready in no time at all, and out they went.”

  “They will never stop to amaze me.”

  “You can say that again. She even forgot all about Mr. Sterling’s tea—and that in itself is unbelievable.”