The night lights are dimly lit, providing a clear path up the eighty-nine stairs that I’ve counted thousands of times over the years. Sometimes racing home from school. Other times, dragging my feet after a long day.
Stefan has no trouble keeping up with my speed as I spindle around each curve. I unlock the door to the clock-tower room, finding Papa sitting at his desk, staring through a magnifying glass at a rusty gear.
He startles when I step in, the legs of his chair scraping against the wood floor. He removes his glasses, letting them dangle against his chest, and runs toward me as if he hasn’t seen me in a month. It’s been a week since Philip Silberg escorted me home for a visit.
“My darling girl, you’ve come home to see your old papa. I’ve missed you so,” he says, gathering me into his burly arms.
My arms don’t fit all the way around him, but I squeeze, nonetheless. “I’ve missed you too, Papa.”
His arms loosen when I feel Stefan’s presence behind me. “Sir, I’m Stefan Silberg, Philip’s son. He was a bit tied up tonight, so I offered to bring your daughter home.”
No, he didn’t. He was told to.
“Ah yes, he mentioned you might bring her home if he was busy. Thank you for doing so. She would have walked in the dark, alone, without a worry in the world, had you not.”
“I’ve come to see that for myself, sir.”
They’re ganging up on me. I should have seen this coming. But no, I thought my father would treat him the way he’s treated any boy I’ve ever been friendly enough with to bring home. Insignificant and unimportant.
“I hope my girl hasn’t been too much of a burden on you and your family,” Papa says, laughter following.
Stefan relents with an exhausted sigh. “We’re managing, sir.”
Papa laughs again. “I like you. Come on in. I’ve been saving a pie.”
“Pie?” I ask, wondering where he would have gotten a pie. He buys the necessities with ration cards and doesn’t go looking for more than what’s available. Pie is certainly not readily available.
“The cobbler’s wife has been bringing me pies. She knows you’ve moved out. It’s a kind gesture I won’t complain about.”
Papa leads us toward the back living space where we have a small wood stove, a water basin, an ice box, and a standalone cupboard.
I open the cupboard to retrieve three plates, but Stefan reaches to my side and takes them first. He spots the tins of silverware and pulls out three forks.
“How’s Miriam feeling?” Papa asks, pulling the pie off the shelf above the ice box. “Is the swelling better?”
“She’s restless, but yes, there is less swelling. She’s doing well,” I tell Papa.
“She’s happy,” Stefan adds. “Your daughter brings her joy and laughter. It’s quite nice.”
Papa’s lips sink at the corners before lifting into a small smile. “That’s my girl.”
He takes the pie to the dark corner of the room and pulls the light chain to illuminate the quaint wooden table with two too many chairs, or one, tonight. It’s only ever been the two of us eating up here. Stefan takes a seat just after I do, and passes around the plates and forks. Papa places the pie in the center of the table and removes the paper covering.
“Any catastrophes this week?” I ask Papa. Catastrophes as in gears lodging, chains weighed down by too much grease.
“A chink link broke on one of the pendulums. I was able to replace it before anything was offset, but it was a close call.”
Stefan is smiling at Papa, and I don’t know why. He can’t possibly find the topic of clocks as fascinating as he does, or me for that matter.
“What made you want to become a clock engineer?” Stefan asks.
Papa glances at me just as he takes a fork to a corner of the pie. “I wasn’t always an engineer. When Rosalie was young, I was just the man guarding the clock. But, then one day, the clock stopped running for a few minutes. I didn’t notice, and it cost mehalf of my heart. I decided right then and there that I needed to know how to fix time and keep it running as God intended.”
Half his heart.
Half my heart.
Stefan holds his fork above the pie, his hand trembling slightly as he stares past me.
