Chapter 89: Angel

From the moment Stephens announced the stranger waiting to speak with them, she knew. When Master had left, she dreaded each minute he'd be away. Until these past few years, her entire life had been filled with the deep wrenching sorrow of losing the people she loved.
Now, she felt so very cold and it centered from deep within. She barely noticed Sir's arms wrapped around her. Occasionally, he murmured words she could make no sense of.
She let her mind float... the garden needed tending. Willow's baby was due any day and she needed to order a gift. She'd been struggling to play the eighth Sonata by Prokofiev. Master would be proud if she achieved the difficult piece.
Her mind jumped away from the thought.
Marguerite promised to teach her how to make zucchini bread. Stephens said he'd show her how to change the oil in the cars. Not because she'd ever need to change oil, but because she wanted to know how to do simple things that others took for granted.
"Zachery, sir... I've made lunch. You both need to eat." Marguerite's voice sounded far away.
Angel felt Sir shift beside her.
"Call Stephens and have him join us. We're all eating together."
"Sir?"
"Don't argue with me, please."
"Yes, sir."
Angel felt his fingers gliding over her dry cheeks then her jaw. His lips followed the same path and then he gently took her mouth. Responding was beyond her.
His lips left hers. "We're going downstairs to eat. Marguerite and Stephens will be there. We will mourn together as a family."
She didn't move, but felt the bed dip when he released her and then stood.
"Angel, get up now." The stern words echoed throughout the room.
She tried to focus, but couldn't.
She felt the top half of her body lifted from the bed.
"Open your eyes."
Nothing cooperated, though she tried to mentally reach out to Sir's voice. Her body moved, but she wasn't sure how or why. She had no control.
The loud smack penetrated her brain, though the sting barely registered.
Again.
And again.
The strikes to the back of her upper thigh intensified until finally she wiggled, seeking relief from the hot, steady pain. Her eyelids managed to open and she saw Zachery... Sir.
"We're going downstairs to eat."
He lifted her from the bed and pulled her into his side.
"Walk."
Each slow step brought reality into focus. Master was not coming home.
Marguerite and Stephens waited. Angel had never seen Marguerite cry and the woman's red, swollen eyes caused Angel to look away. Then she glanced at Stephens. He'd aged ten years, and his eyes frantically searched hers. It was too much, and she would have left the room if Sir wasn't holding her.
"Everyone sit."
The voice startled her from the fog that had closed in again. She sat where he put her and knew it was one of the chairs because, through the thin layer of her cotton dress, she felt the cool wood against her bottom. She couldn't look at anyone and just glanced down at the white plate in front of her.
"Monroe left each of you a personal letter."
She focused on Sir's words and managed to look at him.
"You need to read them privately after we eat. The news of his death will not be made public right away. Up until it is, our grief will remain completely private."
His eyes left hers and she watched as he glanced around the table.
"Monroe considered you his family, and while we grieve there will be no hint of servant-master protocol. Somehow, we will get through this together." Sir looked at the two people who were so much more than servants. "I expect you both at dinner each night, though I'll leave breakfast and lunch to you. If you wish to join us, please do. Both Angel and I want you here, sitting beside us. There will be many trials over the coming weeks and we shall survive this as a family."
Marguerite's quiet sobs barely penetrated Angel's consciousness. She wasn't sure how the woman's hand got into hers, but she looked down and noticed the wrinkled skin slightly darker than her own. Angel squeezed and a steady returned pressure brought her further from the haze. Her breath shuddered within her chest and she automatically took the plate of cold cuts handed to her. She released Marguerite's hand, took a serving, and then passed the platter to Sir.
Another breath and she finally looked at Marguerite and then Stephens. Long before she entered their lives, they were Monroe's family. She needed to be strong and make this easier on them. She took a bite of food.
Glancing up at Sir, she noticed his facial muscles relax.
They ate. Angel tasted nothing. Marguerite left the table and came back with a bowl of fruit. Angel nibbled, but left most of it on her plate. When Marguerite stood to clear the table, Sir stood and grabbed Stephens' plate, then hers.
"No, Se駉r."
Marguerite's voice sounded frantic, but Sir ignored her. The men began gathering dishes. Angel followed their example while feeling nothing. They cleaned the kitchen together in silence.
The letters were handed to each of them. She watched Marguerite walk slowly from the room clutching hers close, and then Stephens left. The single envelope in her shaking hands seemed unreal.
Her name. So simply written, so final.
Sir looked on and it gave her the strength to walk to the music room.
The piano bench that had so often given her comfort offered none. The ivory and ebony keys didn't pull her into their world even after lightly running her fingers across them. The joy of music-only one of many gifts given by Master. He drew her out of a world of horror she couldn't face. He set her free, shared his love and family, giving her a reason to live. Then his greatest gift... Sir.
Her breath caught, her tears held back by pure willpower. If she began crying, Master's words would fade into the tears. Shakily, her finger followed the imprint of her name, and then very slowly she pulled the folded page from the envelope.

Angel my love,
While writing this, I imagine your silky skin beneath my fingers, your hair falling over my arms surrounding me in its shelter and your lips pliant beneath mine. I see you swaying with the rope, lost in its midst and the trust of your submission fulfilling my life.
My finest work of art holds no comparison to your beauty. But, what you carry inside is the greatest gift you have given me. There are no words to describe the joy you brought into my life, so I will stop trying.
You are strong. Stronger than you know.
I fear for Zachery. His feelings run deep and he will not verbalize them as you eventually will. Hold him when he needs your arms and take his pain as only you can.
Grieve, but then pick yourself up and live.
Marry Zachery. This is the single most important request I make. Do not let him run away from his feelings. Carry his burdens and bless his life like you have done to mine.
There are needs you have that Zachery cannot fulfill. Eventually, he will see this and seek help, but his stubbornness will cost you both much. Do not fear speaking to him, and be as patient as you can. If this does not work, break one of the statues he hates over his head. Marguerite will patch him up and if the injury is too severe, Stephens is good with a needle.
Marguerite and Stephens think of you as their daughter. Embrace their love and know it is not easily earned. Cherish their guidance and bow to their grace. I could not conceive of more loving, capable hands to leave you in than theirs and Zachery's.
Death does not end my love for you,
Master

She wiped her tears away and then she reread the letter. When finished, her tears completely obscured her vision and mist shadowed the room. Sliding from the bench, she curled into a tight ball on the floor and cried.
Master was wrong. She wasn't strong and she couldn't live with the pain of his loss. The quiet click of the door barely registered. Sir's strong, warm arms surrounded her and then he carried her up the stairs.
He took her into the bathroom, removed her clothes, handed her a tissue for her face then her toothbrush, and patiently waited for her to finish. He ran warm water and picked up a washcloth, dipping it in cream and smoothing it on her face. She remained frozen, lost in an ache so deep she felt like she was drowning.
He carried her to the bed, pulled back the blanket, and helped her slide between the cool sheets. She watched him through a mist of silent tears. When naked, he slipped in next to her, pulling her closely to his side. Sir's lips gently pressed against hers. She breathed in deeply, absorbing his scent, and as their body heat warmed the bed, a gentle waft of Master's scent came from the pillow beneath her head.
The dam broke and a torrent of tears and sobs bubbled up, no longer within her control. Sir didn't offer words of comfort, just held her tightly and let her cry.