The Cathedral

Abigail would never admit to being more than sixty, and that started ten years ago. She took massive pains to preserve the beauty that had seen her through life, including working out nearly every day down at Vic's Gym where she was practically a legend. More than one youngster had tried to keep up with her only to fall flat on their young, unlined, faces.

The one wrinkle in Abigail's regimented life was the loneliness that pervaded it. Rich, vain, and self absorbed, she had never bothered to cultivate any real relationships with other people. Not even one of her four husbands. And now she was beginning to feel the true effects of that aloneness.

Stepping out of her posh condominium, she finished pulling on her fine kidskin gloves and waited impatiently for Jules to bring the car around. At this rate she would never make it to the theater where she could see and be seen at this year's retread of A Christmas Carol. She could never tolerate The Nutcracker. All those lithe young bodies? She thought not!

Jules finally arrived and, after seeing her aunt into the back seat, pulled serenely into the holiday traffic. Abigail thought little of her niece's feelings with regard to being in her employ. As far as she was concerned, she had done the girl a favor in giving her the job and the simple apartment after escaping from the hellhole of a bad marriage. Had Abigail been around, she had no doubt she could have saved the girl from that bad experience. It was disgraceful that her brother, Jules' father, had done little to stop her himself. But, then, he was more interested in his bookie than his own blood.

Eventually they arrived at the theater, where Jules once again held the door while her Abigail emerged in a fragrant cloud of her signature perfume.

"Please return in three hours, Jules."

With a curt nod she walked away on her black stiletto heels, her fashionable red coat held tight against the brisk Chicago wind. Wind that wouldn't dare muss the perfectly coiffed platinum blonde hair.

It never occurred to her that Jules might like to take in the show herself. It certainly never occurred to her to actually invite her niece to accompany her. It never occurred to her what Christmas was really about. To her, it was, after all, a commercial holiday. A time for networking and making alliances. And it all started with seeing and being seen.

Jules, for her part, loved Christmas. In spite of her spartan childhood and disastrous choices in life she still reveled in every facet of the holiday, from holy to secular. After watching her aunt disappear into the theater she resumed her seat behind the wheel of the custom Caddy that fairly shouted opulence. Abigail would never know how Jules watched over her, and Jules was careful not to give away that secret. Just as she was careful never to refer to her as Aunt Abigail. She was Miss Abigail to her.

Making her way through traffic, Jules drove carefully to the cathedral near the middle of town. After parking the car nearby she hurried inside and took a seat. She never missed an opportunity to simply sit in the immense silence and let it speak to her. Let it soothe away the aches and hurts of the past and present.

Incense and the smells of burning candles filled the air, and time passed quietly as the great cathedral worked its magic. Eventually, however, the time came to return to the outside, and Jules reluctantly left the warmth of the church and hurried back to the car.

Three hours to the second after she had left, Jules pulled up to the curb, just in time to see her aunt walk from the theater. There was something different, though, in her demeanor and concern filled Jules as she stood by the open door of the Caddy. Careful to keep her face expressionless she waited until Abigail was securely seated before closing the door and hurrying around the hood and behind the wheel once again.

Minutes ticked by as the Caddy made its way slowly through the increasing traffic. Snow had begun to fill the cold, Chicago wind, and it seemed everyone was in no hurry to get anywhere.

Sneaking covert glances in the rear view mirror, Jules watched her aunt stare unseeing out the door window. In all her life she had never seen Abigail rattled. Not even during the recession when her entire fortune was on the line. Abigail simply didn't let life get to her. She had an agenda and she stuck to it. Anything that threatened was simply an obstacle to overcome. It fascinated Jules to see her this way, even while it concerned her. Abigail would never want to know that her niece harbored any warmth toward her. She was an employee, nothing more.

Hours later Abigail roamed the condominium in her fine negligee. If she had smoked she would certainly have been smoking like a chimney, but smoking was forbidden. It only encouraged the lines she fought so hard against.

Instead she nursed a strong drink. While she insisted on a driver, Abigail took great pride in being self reliant and had fixed her own drink. The dinner left by the maid went forgotten in the kitchen. Abigail had other things on her mind.

Gone. Stephan was gone. How had she not known? How could she have not known that he had died an entire week ago? She took a shaky drink, never acknowledging the threat of tears apparent in her action.

Staring beyond her reflection in the dark window, she didn't see the snow blowing past or the pedestrians hurrying by her building. Her mind was a million miles away, or rather, sixty years.

Stephan had been a member of some obscure royal house. Tall, lean, and devastatingly handsome, he had turned many a young woman's head when he entered a room. Back then, Abigail had been a different person. Young, fun loving, and just as beautiful as he was handsome, she had played the coquette with consummate skill until she had had Stephan right where she wanted him. In her bed.

But the diversion had morphed into something else. Love had blossomed between them, making its way stealthily through the passion they had thought they only wanted. Eventually, marriage had become a desire every bit as strong as the desire that pulsed through their young bodies. Everything seemed possible. Even a marriage between a nobleman and a common young woman.

Reality, however, had other ideas. When Stephan had approached his parents, with Abigail at his side, and announced his plans to marry, the response had been quick and ugly. Abigail had left the apartment, alone and in tears.

Not long after it was announced that Stephan was to marry a woman of means. A match his parents had announced to her first during that disastrous meeting. Stephan, to his credit, had seemed as incredulous as she, but he had barely argued. He'd been reminded of his position and duty came first.

Abigail was stunned by the return of all those memories and all those old feelings. It was as if it had all happened just yesterday, not nearly sixty years ago. She took another drink.

She had seen Stephan once since then, about fifteen years ago while she had been shedding herself of her fourth husband. It had been at some Christmas charity function, the organization benefiting from the tax deductible contributions long since forgotten. She had seen him first, still tall, silver haired and as handsome as she remembered. Why, she had wondered inanely, did he remain so well preserved with no effort while she must work and spend thousands to maintain the same degree of preservation? Hard on the heels of that thought had come cold fury and no little bitter satisfaction. It would seem the shoe was now on the other foot, for the recession had not been so kind to him or his family. They still moved in all the right circles and maintained the right image. But rumor had it that they were mere steps from penniless while she, the once common girl, was fairly rolling in dough and respectability. She couldn't resist a civilized confrontation.

In the end, however, the meeting had not gone as expected. Upon seeing her his eyes had softened with recognition, but his smile had faltered when met with her icy disdain. It had been so very civilized. Idle chitchat and all that but the lingering affection in his eyes had given way to pity that had bred shame swiftly eclipsed by anger so intense it had been nearly impossible for her to maintain a calm demeanor. She had fled not long afterward.

Now Stephan was dead and what had she gained in all those years? Oh yes, she had money and she had prestige, and people feared even as they respected her. She had all she had ever wanted.

Or did she?

Taking another drink she turned away from the window and approached the fireplace with its gas fueled flames licking merrily away at the ceramic logs.

Abigail found herself looking inward for the first time since, well, since forever. And she didn't particularly like what she found. Where had that young girl gone? The girl who had embraced life and love with almost wild abandon? Once upon a time, money had not been the center of her existence. The only prestige she enjoyed had been the close relationships she had shared with friends and a few odd family members. Where had that girl gone?

"Miss Abigail?"

Jules soft voice drew her attention away from the fire.

"Yes, Jules?"

"I am retiring for the night. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, Jules, thank you."

It was hard to say who was more surprised by those last two words. A long, awkward moment passed before Jules bid her good night and disappeared out the door, on her way to the efficiency apartment Abigail kept in another part of the condominium for her. Not out of affection, but for practical reasons.

Minutes passed. Pressure built inside Abigail like a steam boiler until she carefully set the glass, now empty, on the mantle. She had the most insane urge to throw it into the fireplace and that would never do. Even in private Abigail kept up appearances.

She turned away from the fireplace but the purposeful demeanor was gone. Her gait became staggered, her breath hitched then labored, as she fell to her knees. Sobs, decades old, emerged in a primal cry before she dissolved in grief. Jules, hearing that awful sound, hurried back into the room, her favorite, ratty looking robe wrapped around her. After a moment of shock she hurried to her aunt's side and sank down beside her. Without thought she enveloped the older woman in her arms and began to rock, Abigail's face buried against her shoulder while her body quaked with emotion.

Jules didn't know how long they kept that position. She was seriously worried about Abigail now. What had happened back there at the theater? What had brought the formidable woman literally to her knees?

Finally, Abigail quieted and pulled away. Wiping at her face with a lined hand she struggled for composure.

"Thank you, Jules. I'm alright now."

Still weak from the storm she struggled to her feet with Jules' help then sat exhausted on the pristine white sofa. Another long moment passed before Jules took a step away, uncertain what else to do but return to her room.

"I'll be returning to my..."

"No!" It wasn't a command so much as a plea. "Please, stay."

Still uncertain, Jules took a seat in the matching wing back chair and waited. Finally, Abigail took a long breath. Watching the fire she began to speak quietly, almost as if to herself.

"I met him when I wasn't much younger than you," she began.

"Met who?"

Abigail smiled sadly, "Stephan. My first and only love."

Now Jules really was shocked. "Love?"

Abigail nodded slightly, "Yes. I suppose that must be hard to believe, that someone like me could love. But I did. Oh, but I did!"

Rising she began once again to pace around the room, her mind going back, and she began to tell the story to the thunderstruck young woman in the comfortable robe staring at the nearly unrecognizable woman telling it. Eventually Jules' expression softened compassionately and began to reflect the affection she had so carefully kept hidden from her aunt.

When she finished, Abigail glanced at her niece then stared with surprise. How long had it been since anyone had looked upon her so warmly?

"I'm so sorry, Miss Abigail," Jules murmured, "It must have been unbearable to have carried that all these years."

Abigail shook her head, "No, or at least I don't think so. I was so angry, so set in my ways I never realized the cost of my actions. Not until tonight. I never knew that I carried a hope that one day we might be together again." Her voice softened, shaky again, "Now its too late."

"Oh, Miss Abigail." Jules didn't know what else to say. She continued to watch as her aunt roamed the room, uncertain what to do next. Then Abigail stopped and turned with something akin to desperation.

"I can't stay in this house," she declared, "I need to go somewhere."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know. Just, out!"

Jules nodded then rose.

"I'll get dressed and bring the car around."

Minutes later the Caddy was again making itself through traffic, still remarkably heavy for this time of night. Jules waited for Abigail to tell her where to drive but the order never came and she began to assume some control over the situation. She knew where to take her aunt.

Eventually she parked the car in the lot beside the cathedral. Looking in the rear view mirror she met her aunt's questioning eyes.

"This is where I come when I need comforting," she explained and reached for the door's handle.

"I'm not one for religious ceremony," was the curt reply.

"Neither am I. Come, let me show you."

Reluctantly Abigail allowed Jules to help her from the car and, pulling the red wool coat closer about her, she walked alongside her niece up the sidewalk to the cathedral entrance.

Inside, the hustle and bustle of the outside world fell away. The sanctuary was nearly empty, the lighting soft, the air redolent with the scents of the earlier mass. Half way down the aisle the two women chose a pew and sat. Moments, then minutes, passed and slowly Abigail began to relax.

"It's been years since I was in a church," she confided softly and took a deep breath. "I've never really had a religion but Stephan was Catholic. I always assumed we would marry in a Catholic ceremony."

Jules watched the cathedral work its magic on Abigail. Slowly humanity began to seep into her countenance and the beauty she had worked so hard to maintain took on a life of its own. Jules began to see the woman her aunt used to be.

"It's hard going back," Abigail commented sadly, "Hard going back and reclaiming what you left behind. I've wasted so much time building my fortune and walking over people. How will I ever make up for it?"

"You can't," Jules replied, "There is no making up. I've learned that. But there's always now, and the future, when things can be different."

"You're right, of course."

Suddenly Abigail chuckled mischievously, "Won't this be a shock for people to see the new me?"

Jules smiled, "You mean the old you."

Her aunt frowned, "Don't say old."

"Yes, Miss Abigail."

"And don't Miss Abigail me. Not anymore. I'm just Abigail."

Jules nodded, her heart quietly taking flight, "Yes, Abigail."

People continued to come and go, kneeling before the crucifix and crossing themselves, before taking their own seats to pray or lighting a candle. Through it all the two women sat, and they continued to sit long into the night, letting the cathedral do its magic.