The Fallen Angels
by
Gaynor Lynn Taylor

 

Angelica Starkey’s sharp intake of breath caught the back of her throat. A small strangulated murmur penetrated the still darkness of the attic. The large bright star had moved erratically across the sky before plummeting to earth. She clasped her hand to her mouth as the bespangled object landed in the forest beyond the wheat fields, splattering into a million tiny sparkles that danced among the conifers before being extinguished.

‘Did you see that Lucy?’ she whispered to the sagging outline of her rag doll propped on the sill. ‘I ought to wake father, the forest and fields are his, but I‘m not going to. This will be our secret. I wish I had angels’ wings.’

Father called her his ‘Angel.’ But from pictures she had seen, the only similarity was her mass of golden curls. His overprotective zeal was her constraint of liberty.

‘Nobody else in the house could have seen it,’ she told her silent friend. ‘No other window is high enough to see over the tops of the farm buildings.’ In the middle of the night Angelica often escaped the bedroom that she shared with her two brothers, and climbed the unstable, rickety steps.

The grandfather clock in the hall downstairs struck two; its sonorous chimes reverberating in every nook and cranny. Daniel and Peter had long since finished their crude jokes and raucous laughter, trying to outdo each other under the feather quilt with their vulgar sounds and smells. Peter had climbed out of bed earlier, half asleep, as he did every night. The familiar pungent odour rose into the air as his warm urine hissed against the side of the chamber-pot, and splashed over the fluted edge. Angelica longed to have her own room. The boys were never made to say their prayers; never sought protection for themselves, the farm or anybody else.

She jumped from stool that gave her extra height; her bare feet and elfin frame made no sound on the boarded floor. She grabbed the doll by the arm. ‘Do you know Lucy; mother says we all have a guardian angel to help us if we ask.’

Kneeling down and resting her elbows on the round wooden seat, she placed her hands together. ‘Dear guardian angel, please help the star that fell to ground; keep the trees safe and please let me to go there one day.’

 

The winter snows of Ontario had come and gone six times since that night. It was a spring morning when Angelica noticed the blood-red stains. Fear struck a blow to her body. She was unprepared even though she knew something like this would happen one day. Her mother was comforting.

‘It’s quite normal, love, don’t worry. You’ve become a woman.’

But what did ‘becoming a woman’ actually mean? Presumably she could now have babies, but she had no precise idea how that happened in humans, although she had observed the animals.

In the same week, father secured the attic and the room was finally hers. Each night she lit the oil lamp and piled up books on her bed. The biggest and heaviest was her grandfather’s illustrated bible which she read a little each day. But she also borrowed text books from her teacher on biology, botany, English, French, science, history and geography. There was a selection of novels too, and stories from Greek legends.

One day she finished the dawn chores, milking the cows and feeding the hens, and strolled back to the kitchen with fresh eggs for breakfast. Her mother was leaning over the table clutching her stomach in pain. Angelica rushed to her side.

‘What’s the matter mother? Are you ill? Can I help?’

‘It’s nothing, just a bit of stomach cramp. It’ll pass soon.’

Angelica examined her mother’s pallor. ‘You’re working too hard mother. Allow me to help you more, please.’

Her mother pursed her lips. ‘All right, from now on you can fetch provisions and deliver the eggs. Drive the buckboard to town this morning. There are things I need. Take Max. He’ll protect you.’ The sheepdog stretched out his front legs and wagged his tail. ‘Do you remember when Peter pretended to attack you and Max grabbed his arm? Peter yelped like a cat.’

Angelica did remember, but her interpretation of Peter’s attack was different from that of her mother.

Max loped alongside, occasionally diving in and out of hedgerows with a burst of enthusiastic curiosity. The prairie was covered with a burgeoning green haze. Angelica sang as they travelled. The blinding white reflection of sun was dispersing even the deeper snow drifts. Within a week or two, summer would arrive.

She sometimes accompanied father to town when he came to do deals with buyers from cities on the east coast, and several people waved to her. She pulled up the horse and climbed down. It was Peter’s voice she heard. ‘Well, well, if it’s not our precious little angelic sister. I hope father knows she’s here all alone.’

The light was behind her brother so she could not see his face. His sleeveless jerkin revealed well-developed muscles in his upper arms that glistened with sweat. He stood next to a young man shorter and stockier than him, but even more powerfully built. The two of them swaggered across the road to where she stood.

‘What are you doing here?’ said Peter.

‘I’ve come for some provisions.’

‘This is Billy.’ Peter smirked as he inclined his head. ‘Billy, this is father’s Angel...’

Angelica smiled, but the appraising stare that she received from her brother’s friend made her uncomfortable, as though he already knew what she looked like inside and out. She glanced down, unable to meet his eyes that devoured her like a trophy ready to be possessed. Instinctively, she lifted the scarf from round her neck and covered her long hair that glowed in the sunlight. Was this what being a woman felt like? She hurried inside the store.

When she came out, laden with brown paper bags, it was Daniel who was waiting for her. He was now 18, more than two years older than Peter. Angelica decided that the local girls would find him handsome with his dark hair, gleaming white teeth and gentle manner.

‘Let me carry those,’ he said. ‘Peter told me you were here.’

‘How come both of you are in town?’

‘I’ll tell you, if you promise to say nothing at home.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘There’s a war on in Europe, a big one involving many different countries. “The war to end all wars,” they’re saying, and as Canadians we’ve been asked to help. I’m here to sign up. I should be leaving next month.’

Horror seeped into Angelica’s bones, her mouth fell open. ‘Don’t do that. Father can’t manage without you.’

‘I’ve thought long and hard. It’s my duty. Father could sell the farm now and ease up some.’

‘It’s his life.’

‘He still has Peter’

‘Does Peter know?’

‘Yes, he’s jealous. He can’t go because he’s too young. But his reason for wanting to go is wrong. For him, it’s a means of getting away.’

Angelica sighed. ‘I suppose even Jesus had to leave home.’

Daniel grinned. ‘He’d understand me then.’

 

The ride home should have been a delight. The air rushed through Angelica’s hair and the sun warmed her face; yet her thoughts were preoccupied. Father would be hurt and angry by Daniel’s decision.

There was a well-trodden path through the forest which shortened the journey by two miles. She turned off the road. The wheels sank into soft ruts and each hoof flung a divot into the air, miring the underside of the wagon. Without warning, Max ran off and disappeared. Angelica shouted to him to come back. When he did not respond she had no choice but to follow.

The horse snorted and began tearing up the sparse grazing as soon as she tied his reins to a low branch. Fronds of thick dead bracken and creepers caught against her ankles and shins. Branches of evergreens stung her face as she pushed past. This was now unfamiliar territory and she lost track of time. Max was barking but she could not see him.

She reached a thick hedge. Was that Max snuffling on the other side? There was a small gap near the ground, almost completely overgrown. She crawled on her hands and knees through the passage until she came to a clearing. Then she saw him. A shot of adrenalin flowed through her limbs; her pulse quickened. A few yards away stood the tall upright imposing figure of an Indian. She would have turned back except that Max sat at his feet. When the stranger lifted his hand, the dog flopped down and put his head on his paws with a gentle whine. Angelica was intrigued. The man wore a hide tunic belted at the waist, over an undershirt and leggings. He had moccasins on his feet. A necklace made of white bones and fancy beadwork adorned his chest. A single feather stuck out of the back of his braided black hair that framed a tanned, strong, angular face with high cheek bones, deep-set eyes and a long nose.

The Indian spoke first. ‘This is a fine animal.’

‘He likes you,’ said Angelica.

The man smiled. ‘All animals sense my being.’

She did not understand but was too polite to say so. Her eyes widened as she gazed around. Acres of land in the middle of the forest bloomed with a vast array of herbs, flowers, plants, grasses, bushes, trees and mushrooms. The heady combined aromas of spicy and floral scents both elated and calmed her spirits.

‘What do you think of my garden?’ asked the man.

‘It’s amazing.’

‘I’d like to show it to you. I’ve waited a long time for you to come.’

His comment was unfathomable; yet she could think of nothing better. The specimens had come from all over the world: China, India, South America, Africa, Japan and Turkey. She knew where these places were from her studies.

‘But how did they come to be here?’ she asked. ‘Were the seeds blown on the wind or brought by foreign birds?’

‘Probably!’ the Indian replied. He smiled. ‘Come Angel, there’s more.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘I do not need to know. I merely have to look at you.’

They walked together through another bower of firs to a place where a fire was lit and several small wooden shacks were built in a circle. Plants were in differing stages of preparation. Herbs, flower heads and stems were drying or being distilled for their essence and mixed with oil; roots were simmering and leaves being strained like tea. Coloured powders, ground by pestles, filled mortars and jars. Some had been bound already by a sticky honey-like substance and cut by a mechanical device into the shape of circular pills.

Angelica gasped in delight. ‘You must have a lot of helpers.’

‘As you see,’ replied the Indian.

Actually she did not see at all, which was puzzling, but Max was totally at ease so she found it hard to feel threatened.

‘Would you like to learn about my plants?’

‘I certainly would.’

‘Then please come again. I teach those who would hear.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘My name is Eluwilussit from the Chippewa tribe.

‘That’s a long name.’

‘Then please call me Eli.’

 

Angelica eagerly absorbed knowledge of anatomy and the causes of sickness and imbalances in the body. She carefully recorded the processing of medicinal herbs for cures of any kind of ailment. She told Eli about her anxiety for her mother’s health since the doctor had now diagnosed cancer. He took Burdock root and Sheep Sorrel, Turkey rhubarb indigenous to Tibet and the bark of Slippery Elm. The formula and method was precise. He had made his decoction in an enamel pot and steeped it for several hours. ‘Give the tea to your mother every day,’ he said, ‘it will detoxify the blood and curb the growth of the tumour.’

When Mrs Johnson, who ran the draper’s shop in town, developed asthma, she was delighted to find she could breathe more easily after using one of the herbal treatments. ‘What’s in it?’ she asked one afternoon when Angelica delivered her a package.

‘A mixture of Aconitum, Lobelia, Cuprum . . .’

‘Oh, enough, enough!’ said Mrs Johnson. ‘It’s so confusing. I really don’t how you remember it. All I know is that it’s doing me the world of good.’

As she waved goodbye, Angelica saw Billy. He did not speak to her, just leered; she ignored him. She stopped to see Eli on her way home, and left her bicycle beside the path. But when she entered the clearing there was no sign of him.

‘So this is where you hide away.’ Angelica swung round. It was Billy.

He caught her left wrist and pulled her towards him. His mouth pressed against hers and she tasted his foul breath. He roughly squeezed her nubile breast and she scratched his cheek with her nails. He snarled, grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the ground, pinning her legs apart with his own weight. An acute pain seared through her shins. He lifted her skirt. She tried to scream; a fleshy hand covered her mouth. His fist punched her face with force measured to make her compliant but still aware. He released his grip; undid his flies. At his first thrust her insides felt torn apart. Had he cut her open? Her soul cried out. Please guardian angel, help me; help me! Before he had time to repeat the action, a log came down heavily on his head. He rolled over onto the ground, groaning.

The violent trembling of Angelica’s lips made it difficult to feel the cup from which Eli urged her to drink. He helped her to sit up. Seeing Billy lying nearby, recollection flooded back and froze her mind. ‘Will I have a baby, Eli?’ Her voice was barely audible.

‘No my child, you will not.’

But Angelica knew enough to understand that she was damaged and that nothing would ever be the same. She was no longer pure but sullied. She felt like a fallen angel.

Billy recovered but was stunned. He stood up, disorientated and rubbed his head. ‘You bitch! How did you manage to do that? You wait, I’ll be back. Next time I won’t be alone. There’ll be nothing left of this place, or you, by the time I’ve finished.’

Angelica could not recall how she got home. But neither her mother nor father seemed to notice any change in her. Perhaps her dishonour could be hidden from them. It was then she saw the telegram on the table:

We deeply regret STOP Daniel Starkey STOP Killed in action STOP.

 

Eli’s medicine helped mother to recover from her illness, but father fell into a deep depression, and when Peter left, he hired a manager called Jed to run the farm. They never saw Peter again, although there was no news of his death.

It was three months later that Billy came for his revenge. He arrived with a gang of nine young thugs carrying knives and bludgeons, weapons to be used against garden tools. Nevertheless, Angelica stood in the centre of the large clearing wielding a pitchfork. She no longer cared for herself, but if they damaged the plants she would kill at least one of them. Billy stood in front of his gang prepared for an easy fight. His head jerked; he took a step backwards, his mouth was a gaping rictus of fear.

‘I’m not tackling that,’ said one of the lads, ‘I’m off.’

‘Me too,’ said another. They all turned and ran, pushing each other from behind in their urgency to retreat.

Angelica turned to Eli. ‘What was all that about?’

Eli smiled. ‘I guess they changed their minds.’

She stuck her fork in the ground. ‘I was looking forward to a fight. I hate him. I shall never be able to wash away my shame.’

‘Bitterness will destroy you. You must try to forgive, child.’

‘Never,’ she said shaking her head. ‘I will never, never forgive.’

Jed was ten years older than Angelica. In the years that followed, the farm prospered under his leadership. Father agreed to try one of his daughter’s concoctions and after a while took fresh interest. Angelica found herself gazing at Jed’s face more frequently than she wanted to admit to herself. She liked his lopsided smile, the way his mouth moved when he spoke, the glint of fun in his eyes when he teased her, the way he pushed his hair away from his forehead, and frowned when perplexed. But he was a man. No God-fearing man would be interested in her, if they knew the dark secret in her heart.

She continued to learn from Eli. Then one day he sat down on a log opposite her. ‘It’s time for me to go, Angelica. My work here is ended. I can teach you nothing more. The rest you will learn from life.’

‘But what shall I do without you?’ she asked.

‘It will be shown to you quite soon.’

Angelica threw her arms round him. ‘Please don’t go.’ He hugged her. As she watched him stride away, his corporeal being seemed to fade and vanish. She wept.

Later that evening she sat on the veranda. Jed left the cowshed and strolled towards her. ‘May I join you?’

‘Please do.’

‘You seem despondent, unhappy. Can I help?’

Perhaps it was the kindness of his voice but soon she was sobbing into his shoulder.

‘You know that I want to cure sick people with my herbs?’

‘I certainly do. Your fame has spread over half the province.’

‘Well, I’ve been taught all I know by an Indian and now he’s gone. He’s been part of my life for so long. I miss him.’

Jed handed her a kerchief. ‘I thought you learned these things from a book; I didn’t realize someone was teaching you. What’s his name?’

‘Eluwilussit.’

‘That’s an old Algonquin word meaning “Holy One.”’

Angelica blew her nose. ‘That’s strange. How do you know?’

‘Promise not to tell?’

She remembered Daniel had once asked for the same vow. ‘I won’t tell.’

‘My great grandmother was Cherokee. There are many who wouldn’t associate with me, even now.’ He paused. ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ Jed waited for her to nod her head. ‘We have fields on the farm where you could propagate your herbs and plants. It would be closer than gathering them from the forest. I can give you a hand to move and replant them.’

Angelica beamed. ‘Oh Jed, that would be wonderful!’

 

They spent months selecting plants, building new sheds and buying more equipment. A store was established in town. The venture injected new life into the family.

‘Why not turn our surname round and call the business Key Star Remedies?’ suggested father.

‘Good idea,’ said mother. ‘I’d love to run the shop. Perhaps we can open in other places.’

Jed and Angelica sat most evenings on the terrace discussing their days. ‘You have some wonderful products,’ he said.

Angelica sighed. ‘But they’ll never be totally accepted without the approval of the medical profession.’ She stood, and leaned back against the balustrade. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I must study to be a doctor to gain credibility; then perhaps a university will test and approve them.’

Jed looked up. ‘Some man will claim the discoveries for himself. You ought to retain patents on the production at least.’

‘Whatever happens, we’ll always know the truth,’ she said.

Jed studied her face, rose to his feet and moved next to her. ‘Angelica, do you know that . . . that I love you?’

She turned to look at him. ‘Do you?’

‘Is it possible you could feel the same one day?’

Angelica shook her head so that curls escaped their fastenings and fell onto her shoulders. ‘I can never love or marry.’

‘Why not? I don’t understand.’

She noticed the tinge of desperation in his voice and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t tell you. Please don’t mention it again. Can we be friends?’

Stepping back, he looked down. ‘Forever,’ he said.

 

Angelica caught sight of her reflection in the glass doors of the head office of Key Star Pharmaceuticals; a trim looking woman in a calf-length fitted red suit with a jaunty black hat, clutch bag and high-heeled shoes. She pulled on her gloves.

‘Your car is outside, Doctor Starkey,’ said the receptionist.

Angelica breathed in the cool air, grateful for her life. She asked the chauffeur to wait and walked across the main road to a large grey-stoned church. A man sat in the back pew, his crutches rested beside him; the top of one trouser leg was sewn together. A fit of coughing interrupted his prayers; he hawked and spat phlegm into a dirty grey rag.

The man looked up; recognition dawned. He tried to rise and shouted, ‘Angelica, Angelica, please don’t walk away. I prayed we might meet here one day.’

Angelica observed him in detail, swallowing hard to stop a sudden flood of repulsion and nauseous bile. Yet common humanity compelled her to approach.

‘Billy,’ she said in disbelief, ‘Billy, is that you? What happened?’

‘The war . . . gas. Been over twelve years now,’ Billy explained. ‘But I couldn’t die until I made my peace with you.’ He paused, biting his lip. ‘I should tell you, your brother Peter is dead, stabbed by a rival drug gang. He died in my arms.’

Angelica could not speak, realizing how much she had loved the brother she always thought she despised.

Billy continued, head bowed, ‘I sinned against you more than I can bear. You were angelic. My gross act turned you into a fallen angel. Can you ever forgive me?’

Angelica studied the altar’s crucifix, supported by two celestial winged creatures. She slipped onto the seat beside him feeling light-headed, warm; free. An oppressive burden had lifted. ‘Do I look like a fallen angel, Billy? Yes, I forgive you.’

Billy sobbed. ‘Thank you. I’m so sorry for wanting to destroy what you loved.’

Her eyes lacked focus; she was standing amidst the herbs, clutching a pitchfork. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I’m surprised you even have to ask. We couldn’t compete with all those Indian tribesmen. There were hundreds of them aiming tomahawks or bows and arrows directly at us. It’s a wonder they didn’t trample your plants into the ground. Who were they?’

Her eyes glistened. She remembered the star that plummeted to the ground, spreading its sparkles across the trees. She paused and smiled. ‘Those Indians Billy - they were fallen angels.’

 

The car followed the road to the family farm where Jed now managed the Key Star factories and plantations. As they drew up, she saw him packing suitcases into the back of his Ford Model ‘A’ Roadster.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

He stepped towards her. ‘I can’t stay here any longer, Angelica. You know how I feel about you, but you have a new life now.’

‘Jed, my life is nothing without you.’

‘Then marry me.’

Her voice wavered; was hesitant. ‘There’s something you ought to know. I was raped as a young girl. My heart has been full of hatred.’ She looked directly at him. ‘But God has helped me forgive the man who did it, and I’ve forgiven myself. Can you forgive too?’

Jed rocked her in his arms. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You weren’t to blame. It’s in the past. What matters is our future.’

Angelica touched his cheek. ‘It’s taken me a long time to understand that. You’re a good man Jed Harris.’

‘So, is that a yes?’

‘On one condition, if we have a son, we call him Eli.’

 

© Gaynor Lynn Taylor

 

 

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