Chapter Thirty-Six
“All brave men love; for he only is brave who has affections to fight for…”
~Nathaniel Hawthorne
The holiday decorations along city streets mesmerized Brian. The apartment he occupied looked onto a bright string of white and blue lights that streamed down the road as far as the eye could see. Every house appeared to compete with the next in its display of holiday decorations and cheer.
He, on the other hand, did not feel the least cheerful. He missed his homeland, his family, but most of all he missed his beautiful Angel and her family. Now, in the lonely hours, time had become his nemesis, and the long stretch of empty time collided with the hunger of his dreams.
At least a hundred times during the past month he’d considered asking one of the crew to help him use the confounded telephone box to call her, but he didn’t have the phone number and was embarrassed to ask for assistance.
The constant struggle to blend in while not fitting anywhere kept him aloof and quiet. He avoided conversations about family and home, and tried to learn about modern day sports so he could converse with his fellow workers. He read every newspaper cover to cover, and sometimes more than once. Though he got on well enough with the men, shared a few brews at the local bar, at the end of the day, he returned to his tiny apartment to dream of the woman who haunted every moment whether awake or asleep. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the silky texture of her skin, taste the slight tang of salt when she’d been in the throes of passion. The smell of flowers reminded him of the bouquet of her hair.
He saved every penny he earned. At least Alistair had helped him establish a bank account shortly after his arrival. He deposited his checks keeping only a small amount of cash to see to his meager expenses. He’d earned two sizeable bonuses, the largest one given last night when he agreed to work through most of the holiday.
When the job concluded, which wouldn’t be for another month or more, he’d go to Alistair and repay the financial debt he owed the man. He could never compensate for the other debts of loss. Maybe with the passage of time and by a miracle of the season, Angel’s grief and disappointment will have mellowed enough that she’d speak with him again. Perhaps she’d accept his apologies and find it in her heart to forgive his failures.
A group of carolers singing holiday hymns paused in front of a café two doors down the street. The prayerful melodies gave him hope. He didn’t expect her to welcome him back with open arms, but he prayed they still had a chance. However slight that chance might be, he intended to pursue her. “I’ll win your forgiveness, my love, even if I have to grovel. And Highland warriors do not grovel.” He intended to fight with every ounce of determination he possessed.
He vowed, on this most holy of seasons, she would be his again.
* * *
Two days before Christmas, the mail carrier delivered a large box addressed to the family, with a return address from Char’s attorney’s office. Inside, they found multiple colorful boxes nestled in red and green tissue paper with a note from Char that read, “Please read the note now, but save the gifts for Christmas.”
Dear Family,
I’m sorry to disappoint everyone and miss the holiday celebrations. I won’t elaborate further, you all know why. I know you understand my reasons for leaving. However, I wanted to send a few things to let you know that I’m with you in spirit, and love you desperately. I left the packages with my attorney to ship in case I’m not in a convenient location to manage it from the road.
Until we meet again, remember me well, as I remember each of you.
All my love,
Charlotte
A heavy silence settled over Angel as she handed the note to Granny M and slipped the packages under the tree. The note and gifts only heightened the aching absence of her friend. Granny hugged Angel. “She must find her own way, dear. We must strive to be happy and send her only loving thoughts. Things will work out as they are intended.”
Angel wanted to believe Granny’s words. She wanted to believe with every desperate beat of her heart, but she hadn’t seen anything work out in the past few years. After repeated thrashings by reality, one learned not to believe, not to hope.
On Christmas afternoon, everyone put on their best happy face, told favorite stories from Christmases past, shed a few tears, and sang carols. The gifts from Char included a beautiful, polished gourd bowl for Lauren, a small gourd pipe holder for Alistair, a blue, purple, and white beaded headband for Angel, a tightly woven basket with lid for Granny, and a package for Jonas with a note to Angel attached.
“She always has made the most beautiful baskets,” Granny said. “That trip to the reservation after her parents’ deaths was the perfect environment to heal and learn an exquisite craft.”
Angel handed a package to Jonas, “you read the note.”
“It just tells you to make sure you deliver this gift because she had not called me before leaving.” His voice took on a gruff timbre. Inside the box on a pad of red velvet laid a new Swiss Army knife and a note about being boy-scout ready for their next camping trip. Angel wondered if she’d ever be able to go on another camping trip.
Jonas shook his head. “That’s our Char, always remembering everyone while pulling away at the same time.”
“I don’t like that Char sent a package through her attorney and hasn’t called us. I called Mr. Tremble’s office yesterday, but he’d already left for the day. The secretary kindly scheduled me on his calendar for a brief meeting on Monday, as his last appointment of the day. Perhaps she gave him some sort of itinerary.”
“Have you been to Char’s home lately?” Lauren asked. The whole family worried about Char’s continued absence. “You know, Angel,” Alistair interjected, “the FBI established The National Crime Information Center’s Missing Person division last year. If Mr. Tremble hasn’t heard from Charlotte, we might consider having him contact the organization and declare her a missing person. She probably won’t like us taking such action, but it is unusual that we have not had any word from her except these packages, and who knows when she arranged for them to be sent.”
Angel brightened for the first time in days of unending monotony and depression. “You’re right, that’s exactly what I will do.”
Sunday night Angel tossed and turned as though Granny’s precognition abilities now plagued her. She had a terrible feeling about Char’s continued absence, and needed to find her right away. She threw off the covers and stepped onto her balcony. The wind had picked up, and a thick fog blanketed the night. The hoot of an owl and the wind rustling in the trees sent her thoughts away from Char toward scrabbled cliffs and into sheltered forests where memories of Brian haunted her with desperate longing.
Every moment spent with Brian came back in vivid clips. The thought of forgetting the feel of his hands on her body, the urgent demand of his passion when they kissed, frightened her. She never wanted to forget a single touch, a single kiss, a single shared laugh. No other man would ever fill the void his absence had left. Guilt and remorse became constant companions along with the thought that she’d lost her one true match. Char’s absence only served to intensify the sense of loss and despair already weighing heavily on her heart.