The Legacy (4 page)

Four

My hand is tucked in Ingo's as we enjoy a carriage ride
through downtown Salt Lake. I've always watched couples
riding by when walking through town on my way from work
and thought how fun it must be, but I never imagined I would
actually have the chance to ride in one of the lovely carriages,
much less have a man sitting next to me in one. I smile
contentedly, relishing the feel of my hand nestled in his, silently
musing that my life is starting to be filled with surprises. This
one was definitely unexpected.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Ingo asks.
“I am, very much. Thank for bringing me.”
“You’re very welcome. And thank
you
for coming out

with me today. When I first asked you, I was terribly afraid you
would say no. I don’t think I’ve ever been as grateful to my
aunt as I was at that moment.”

His words fill me with an unexpected emotion that I can't
explain. Just the thought of a man actually wanting to spend
time with me and nothing else is something I will have to get
used to.

“I was grateful for her, too,” I say softly, meeting his eyes.

He squeezes my hand gently, holding it between his.
Then he presses his arm against mine and I watch him studying
the contrast of our skin tones.

“Your skin is very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I smile. “My father is dark and my mother
is very light. I came out somewhere in between, I guess.”
“Well, I think you’re perfect.”
I look into his eyes, not liking the direction my thoughts
are traveling but unable to stop them. “You don’t know me
well enough to say that.” Judging from the seriousness of his
expression, he knows I am not referring to the tone of my skin.
Why do I do this?
“I know. But I would like to know you well enough.” His
tone is fervent and unyielding.
Looking away, I fix my gaze on a homeless man standing
in front of Main Street Plaza, holding a sign asking for help. A
few people stop and give him money while others pass him by.
I try
to
focus
on
something
else,
anything
to
divert
my
attention and keep from looking at Ingo.
I don't know if I can do this. I've never formed an
attachment in my life, except for Jessica, but that is different.
Emotionally, I don't think I am strong enough to handle
this
kind of attachment. This is unfamiliar territory for me, and I
don't know how to let anyone get close.
But I desperately want to.
Ingo must sense my guard going up again. He places a
gentle hand on my cheek, urging me to look at him. “Please,
Cisely. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”
Closing my eyes at his touch and struggling to fight the
burning beneath my eyelids, one tear manages to escape and
roll down my cheek. “I want to,” I confess, my voice a whisper.
“But . . .”
“But what?” he presses, caressing my cheek with his
thumb. When I don’t answer, he finishes the sentence for me.
“You are afraid.” Sighing, I try to turn away, but he gently
catches my chin. “Please tell me what you’re feeling.”
Returning my eyes to his, I cover the hand he holds to my
cheek. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, and I don’t want to
hurt you.”
“You won't, love. I’m going to be living with Aunt Jessica
for a long while, so we will have plenty of time to get to know
each other more. I promise to take things slow and try not to
push you. Just open up to me a little. Let me be part of your
life. Okay?”
“But . . . this is . . .”
“This is what?” I hesitate and he presses. “It's what?”
“This is just too easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean
this
.
Us
.”
Ingo's brow furrows. “I don't understand, love.”
I sigh, frustrated that my thoughts aren't coming out as
clearly as I want them to. They never seems to pass my lips. “I
know you don't understand,” I say softly. “It's just that nothing
has ever been easy for me, and this seems so . . . well, effortless.
I just don't know if it can work.”
He smiles and I glimpse understanding is in his eyes. “I
am not going to give up, Cisely.” He caresses my cheek softly.
“It will be all right. Just keep your heart open. Try to stay open
to me. Can you do that?”
Exhaling
deeply,
I slowly
smile.
“I’ll try,”
I answer,
marveling at how open he is with his own feelings. I am fast
discovering that he is a person who seizes every moment and
makes the most of them, and I really like that about him. I also
come to the conclusion that trying to fight my growing feelings
for him is useless.
As
he
draws
me
closer,
I rest
my
head against
his
shoulder. It is the first time I've ever felt completely safe with a
man–the first time I have ever experienced such innocence.
And for this moment, I am happy.

Five

We pick a quiet spot at Liberty Park and share a pizza
for lunch. Handing me a can of pop, Ingo laughs as I try to
shoo away a group of seagulls slowly closing in around us.

“We’re not even half done and here they are, ready and
waiting for a feast,” he says.
“Well, I know these guys eat scraps for a living, but they
will just have to wait.”
As if they understand my words, the seagulls do indeed
back up and wait, drawing a chuckle from Ingo. “Well, I guess
they know who's in charge of this party.”
“I guess so,” I agree, laughing with him.
The weather is amazing today, or maybe it is just me
feeling unusually giddy. I won't analyze it, I'm just happy to be
outdoors. Having finished eating, I lean back on my hands and
close my eyes, soaking in the sun's warmth. I smile slightly,
sensing Ingo's gaze on me. He seems to enjoy watching me. My
face warms even more because of it.
“You're beautiful,” he says softly.
Opening my eyes, I search his face for sincerity and find
it immediately. Needless to say, I am not used to this kind of
attention, but he seems determined to
get
me used to it.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
He moves the pizza box from between us, then scoots
closer to me and folds his legs Indian style and I do the same,
our knees touching. “Okay. Tell me more about your life. I
want to know everything about you.”
“No,” I mumble, “you don't want to know everything.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He isn't letting me off that easily. Heaving a resigned sigh,
I decide to just get it over with.
Ingo listens as I tell him about the job I left in North
Carolina and the people there. I also tell him a little about my
dysfunctional family. Going a little deeper, I share with him
what it was like being an only child and growing up in a home
where my mother was never sober. I tell him of the beatings
my mother suffered at the hands of my father and how I
witnessed most of them. When I share how I prayed endlessly
that God would take us away from all of it, emotion fills his
expression. Tears rise in his eyes, causing my own to burn. I
blink the moisture away.
“I’m sorry your childhood was so hard,” he says.
The
snort
that
escapes
me
is
devoid of
humor
or
amusement. “Watching my mother be abused was hard, but
there were other things . . . there were other things that were
just as hard.”
Ingo keeps my hand between his. “What other things?”
he presses gently.
Releasing a slow breath, I allow my gaze to drift away
from his. “My father molested me from the age of six until I
turned twelve.” Glancing back at him, there is so much pain
and anger in his eyes on my behalf, tears again sting mine as
well. He squeezes my hand and my heart accepts his offering of
comfort.
“You know,” I continue, “about a week after my twelfth
birthday, my mother finally took me and moved back to our
hometown.”
“Too little, too late,” Ingo says, his voice hard.
“My thoughts exactly,” I mumble.
I know he is waiting for me to say more, but I don't. For
a few moments we sit in contemplative silence. He continues to
hold my hand, silently absorbing the things I have shared with
him. As we watch one another, I marvel that we are together
like this. I timidly reach up and touch the soft lock of hair
resting against his forehead and smooth it back. Ingo closes his
eyes, leaning into my touch.
“Thank you,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “Thank
you for sharing such a painful part of your life with me.”
Reading his expression, it is obvious he knows there is
more that I don't say, but he will not ask. Instead he says, “You
know you can tell me anything, Cisely.”
I nod, grateful for his kindness. “Thanks for listening to
me.”
“You're welcome.” Raising my hand to his lips, he kisses
it softly.

We spend the rest of the afternoon just talking and
enjoying our time together. Later on, Ingo takes me out to
dinner and we go dancing, which has always been one of my
favorite things to do.

I have never enjoyed dancing so much. Going to a place
where there is no alcohol or cigarette smoke permeating the air
is a new experience for me. I actually come away feeling clean.
Ingo promises to take me dancing whenever I want and I
assure him I will hold him to it.

By the time we arrive home, Jessica has already gone to
bed, much to Ingo’s dismay. He'd wanted me to play the piano
for him, but he doesn't want to wake Jessica, so we agree to
wait. I'd told him earlier about learning to play when I was
younger, and how I sometimes used playing as a means of
escaping
the
emotional pain
I went
through.
Jessica
had
mentioned to him how much she enjoyed my singing and he
was looking forward to hearing me. Seeing his disappointment,
I promise I will play for him tomorrow when I have some time.

We stay up and talk for a while longer. The day has gone
so fast. It feels amazing being with Ingo, to know that he wants
to just
be
with me and isn’t expecting anything immoral in
return. In the past, that was the only thing I knew. Of course, I
was different then. I am living a new life now–a clean life–the
kind of life I was meant to live all along.

By midnight, I reluctantly decide to go to bed or I won’t
be able to function at work. The night is ending, and though I
love my job, I can’t help wishing I didn’t have to go in
tomorrow.

Ingo walks me to the foot of the stairs. “I've had a
wonderful time today, Cisely.”
“So have I. Thank you for everything.”
“You're welcome.” He squeezes my hand. “How long do
you have to work . . .” he pauses, looking at his watch, “today?”
I laugh softly. “I work until five.”
He groans. “I don’t know if I can wait that long to see
you.”
Pressing my hand against his cheek, I smile, warmed by
his growing affections. “I’m sure you will be able to find
something to do to occupy your time.”
“Besides visiting with Aunt Jessica, I can’t think of a
thing, except . . . maybe swinging by the boutique to see you.”
“I would like that.”
“Good. It’s a date.”
He pulls me into his arms and I go willingly, practically
melting in his embrace. Drawing back slightly, he slowly lowers
his head and timidly presses his lips to mine.
My head is swimming from the warmth of his kiss, my
arms automatically moving around his waist as the intensity
increases.
Tightening his embrace, he holds me so close, I can feel
his heart pounding. I have never experienced anything so
wonderful.
Parting his lips from mine and pressing them to my brow,
he says, “Cisely, I’m so into you I can’t think straight.” His
voice is husky.
I gaze up into his handsome face. “I feel the same about
you.” And I truly do. His kiss is the most wondrous and
innocent I have ever known. That I am even with someone like
him is amazing. I can’t deny it. I have fallen and fallen hard.
“So, I’ll see you later,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to
my temple.
“Definitely.”
He lingeringly brushes another kiss across my lips before
drawing back. “Goodnight, love. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight,” I say, not wanting to leave the warmth of
his arms. As I turn to go, Ingo's hand tightens around mine.
Pulling me back to him, we stand a few moments longer,
simply holding each other.
“I never thought this day would come,” he whispers. “I
never thought this would ever happen to me.”
We finally part and I slowly climb the stairs, leaving him
staring longingly after me.