“Thank you,” she replied.
Alexander felt like it was not his place to say anything, so he kept to the sides of the main event that seemed like a stage, and he was just the audience. Nothing he would say would have made any difference. The air in the room felt a bit tense for a moment, and he wondered how they would move onto more casual topics such as the weather from this one.
Fortunately, Annie’s arrival with a tray of tea sorted that out for them. They all took a seat, and waited for tea to be served, without any incidents this time. Percival was the one to commence the conversation regarding the orphanage, and Marjorie was more than happy to discuss her ideas with him. Alexander did nothing but listen, as hope grew inside his heart like a wildflower after rain.
Chapter 21
Hope was an elusive thing. One moment, it was there, filling one’s heart to the brim. Then, the next, it was gone. This morning, Joseph had woken up feeling restless. Two whole days had passed since Percival’s offer of marriage, which Marjorie was still considering. Two whole days of not being able to think about anything else other than her.
Alexander gritted his teeth nervously, staring emptily at the breakfast that was served in front of him. He sighed heavily, scrubbing his had over his jaw. His newspaper, always a welcome distraction in the morning, now rested next to his still empty breakfast plate, unable to fulfil its usual role. He glanced disinterestedly at the bacon, eggs and sausage, and a platter of fruit. His cook even managed to find some pineapple, which he was particularly fond of. But not this morning. He felt no desire to eat anything.
Sliding his chair backwards, he got up from the kitchen table, and headed to his father’s study. It was always the place which provided comfort, even as a little boy. There was something about that room which smelled of old leather, tobacco from exotic, far-away lands wrapped up in boxes which his father used to keep in the locked drawer of his writing desk.
Sometimes, he would hide underneath that very same desk, refusing to come out when the servants were calling him to come and eat. Staying there, in that nest of comfort and safety was more important than anything, even food.
Now that he was gone, Alexander realized that he had only entered his father’s study once since his death. He was instructed by the solicitor to gather some papers, and Alexander reluctantly did so, leaving most of the other duties regarding this reverent room for another time. Only that time never came. Days ate one another, disappearing in the blizzard of time, never to return. That was what happened to chances and opportunities in life. Alexander felt like he had squandered many of his, not recognizing what he had in time. Once he finally realized the value of what was once his or could have been his, it was way too late to change anything.
He felt the same way about Marjorie, that sweet girl whom he did not see for who she was the first time she arrived in his home. He immediately saw her as the enemy, the usurper of what was to be rightfully his. This view changed only recently, but he knew it was too late. She was kind to him not because she cared about him, but because she was kind to everyone. It was in her nature to be nurturing and kind-hearted. He initially deceived himself, hoping that perhaps she could see him as something other than the boy who used to make her life a living hell, and then a man who once again saw her initially as an obstacle between himself and his inheritance. The time of proving himself worthy was long gone. He had to come to terms with the fact that she would eventually accept Percival’s offer and become his wife. That was all there was to it.
He entered his father’s study, the familiar scent permeating his nostrils. It brought him back to childhood, back when he himself would forbid Marjorie from entering this room, because he felt like it only belonged to the men in the family, the only real members of the Haddington family, which she was not.
He looked around. Nothing had changed since his father’s death. The servants were diligent enough to clean this room thoroughly, just like the other rooms in the house, but they were also respectful enough not to leave a single thing out of place. Everything was still standing exactly where it had been during his father’s lifetime. If he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he could forget for one blissful moment that his father’s was dead. He could deceive himself into thinking that the earl was still alive. But the time for deception was gone. This was the time of truth.
He walked over to the desk and sat in the chair. Even now, with him as an adult, the chair felt too big somehow, like he was still not man enough to sit in it. He feared he would never be the kind of man his father was. A good man. A much better man than his son could ever be.
Alexander sighed heavily. He remembered so many lost moments, so many wasted chances which would never return to be taken again. They were gone forever.
He extracted the first drawer. Just a bunch of papers which he already skimmed through that day when he came for the rest of the documents. The second drawer contained equally unimportant stuff. The third drawer was the one which was still locked. He tried pulling, tugging at it a little, hoping it might give way, but nothing happened. Alexander knew that he could easily just break it open. No one would hold it against him. There was no one to be mad about it. That writing desk had no owner.
Yet, Alexander could not force himself to force it open. It felt like violation of the memory of his father. Everything in this room was sacred, for it belonged to a good man, a kind man, a selfless man. That man did not deserve to have his things treated like garbage after his death.
Alexander got up and walked over to the bookshelf. He remembered seeing his father stand before it often. He also knew what his father’s favorite book was. His index finger caressed the binding of a single row of books, when it finally stopped on the right one. It wasThe Starry Messengerby Galileo Galilei. Even now, Alexander could not help but chuckle at the name. He considered it very silly as a boy, and when he shared that view with his father, they chuckled at his infant imagination together.
Despite Galilei’s rhythmical name, or perhaps because of it, this was his father’s favorite book. It was merely a treatise, but his father’s considered it as important as any other book on his shelf. Even more so. There was something oddly magical about the title to Alexander’s childhood perspective, which was only fortified by his father’s insistence that all their fate’s were written in the stars. No one could escape their destiny.
Alexander pulled out the thin booklet, and the moment he had done that, a small key fell out from between the covers. Alexander knew immediately what that key would open. He grabbed it from the floor and rushed back to the secret of the third drawer, which gave way effortlessly the moment the key turned inside the lock. Alexander’s heart skipped a beat at the clicking sound. His fingers trembled as they took hold of the little knob, pulling out the drawer.
Inside, there was a single white envelope. There was no name on it. Nothing save for his father’s seal in red beeswax, closing it at the front. Alexander wondered who it was for. Also, why was it hidden inside the locked drawer? There was no mention of it during the reading of the will. That must mean that his father left it to him.
Or maybe to Marjorie?It was possible. His father considered both Alexander and Marjorie his children, and treated them equally, which irritated Alexander. Now, all it did was reveal his father for the kind-hearted man he had always been. For it took a special kind of man to love someone else’s child as his very own and never make any difference between them.
Alexander considered putting the envelope back where he found it, but eventually curiosity won. He ripped it open extracting the letter and unfolding it with quivering fingers that almost dropped it. As he started to read the letter inside his mind, he could almost hear the voice of his father.
My dear child,
It does not matter which one of you two finds this letter first, for the message would infallibly be the same. If I tell you that money is the root of all evil, you will think me a hypocrite, for I come from money, and that is what I leave to both of you. Money is also what has allowed me to help so many, beyond the confines of my own home and family. So, no. Money is not the root of all evil. It is the hand that yields it that deals the nature of currency. But I will tell you something else. Do not value money over people. Especially not family. Love each other. Care for each other. Once I am gone, you will only have each other to rely on. Money will not keep you warm. It will not make you smile. The love of another person will do that. The love of a person who has always been there, yet you failed to see them perhaps exactly because they have always been so close. Too close even.
Open your eyes and see what truly matters. I shall love you both always.
Father
Alexander swallowed heavily, feeling an onslaught of tears coming on. He had never been the one to fall an easy prey to his emotions yet reading a letter from his dead father addressed to either of his children about not doing exactly what they had been doing all along broke him.
A tear rolled down his face, and he allowed it. He did not wish to wipe it away. It was there for a reason. It was there to remind him of all the things he had done wrong, of all the things he had destroyed. But perhaps there was hope still. If this letter proved anything, it was that love was never-ending. It lasted forever. It could return from the grave in the form of written words only to remind someone of the fact that they were and continue to be beloved.
Alexander refused to accept that it was his destiny to become the exact opposite of his father. That had been his path up to now, but with Marjorie’s reappearance in his life, he felt that very same path had diverged into two directions, and he had embarked on a new road, a much brighter road that brought him so much pleasure with every step. He smiled at the thought of little Jonathan shaking his hand, at all the children coming to hug him, at the knowledge that baby Henry would not need to sleep on the street any longer. None of them would.
Finally, he knew what he needed to do. And he had to do it immediately, for there was not a single moment to spare.
