His eyes were weary, underneath overbearing eyebrows. For a moment I could see fear in those eyes; my father never showed his emotions. His fingers nervously grasped the iron stoker, poking about in the glittering coals.
“Father!” I cried, running to his side as he wrapped his arms around me.
He tried to smile, but I could see the side of his grin twitch.
“I’ve missed you.”
That, at least was true. He had missed me. I knew because he wouldn’t let go of me. He held me as if I wasn’t real, as if somehow, I’d vanish in thin air. I tried to gently push my way out of his arms, without hurting his feelings; he was so very sensitive.
“How was your journey?” I asked.
My father suddenly turned cold, his hand in mine turned to ice. I could see his face turn white, and feel his pulse shortening.
“What’s wrong? Father, what happened?”
He didn’t answer, somehow I didn’t think he would. He just looked at the fire.
I heard Cynthia come in and gave her a worried look.
“Is something the matter sire?”
That seemed to break his trance, he let go of my hand, now bathed in sweat.
“No, not at all, we will have supper in an hour.”
Cynthia looked surprised at his request, he usually like his supper in the evenings, late when the sun had almost set. There seemed to be a manner of hastiness with him. His movements became fast, as if each motion was a premeditated action upon which he had overthought.
After he had sat on his great chair by the fire, I let him alone. I had never seen him like that; I had never seen my father go white with fear.
The next day was quiet. I spent it sitting with my father in the library, pretending to read as I watched him
pace the already worn carpet in front of the door.
“…old fool can’t take…dirty tricks…only way to…the tree…not the same…part of me…”
The mumblings worried me more than anything else. What he was saying, I could barely hear, and what I did
hear I didn’t understand.
Then suddenly, Conrad burst into the room with a frazzled look on his face.
“Merrick, we have a visitor.”
My father’s face went even paler than before, and his hands formed fists at his sides. I had never heard
Conrad say my father’s first name, and I was troubled at how close their relationship got before my eyes in that instant. I never knew before how many years Conrad must have been a dear friend and ally to my father.
“I understand, thank you Conrad. I will be down.”
The manservant left, leaving us alone in the quiet of the library.
My father came towards me and knelt down at my lap. Looking up at me, his eyes were wide with fear, and longing. They were a deep cerulean shade, tempestuous, as if storms were raging within them. A lock of my hair was brushed behind my ear, as he spoke these words.
“Taika,” He said, “It’s so clear now,” He laughed slightly, “that you are all that I have.”
My brow furrowed in confusion as I realized he was trying to tell me that we were in trouble.
“I want you to go, leave with Conrad on your horse –”
I almost screamed, “—No! What’s going on! Why, why are you saying this!”
My father’s head bowed in my lap, and when he brought it up again tears were licking his slender cheeks.
I was shocked; I had never seen my father cry. Now the water came, the hurricane had broken from the pool of his eyes and was surging down his strong proud nose.
“What,” I started, “What are you afraid of?” And I knew that he might never tell me. I realized many things simultaneously at that moment. I learned that my father had secrets. He became less my father when I saw him cry and heard him tell me that I had to leave my home. I had to leave my garden's, my wanderings by the sea, my place by his side. I looked at his face, all red and distraught over something terrible, such a heavy burden for one man. But even as I beheld him, I didn't see my father, I saw a stranger in my father's clothes. I realized then, that I had no idea what kind of man Merrick of Naman was at all.
