THREE
Not a word was saidfor at least two full minutes as Clarissa and her father walked through the small park outside of the hospital. The weather was warmer than it had been in the morning, and she wished she hadn’t draped her cloak over her shoulders before leaving with her father for theirlittle chat.
Although she already knew what he wanted to talk about, she wrung her hands against her middle, anxious for him to say something. Anything. But since he’d invited her outside, his expression had been grim, and he’d not spoken a word.
Silence made her more impatient.
It was difficult to see her father appear so forlorn. Many people feared her father: he was a strict man who wanted things done perfectly and always maintained control. But Clarissa knew that even though he was rough around the edges, he was a kind and generous man. Clarissa adored him and appreciated that he always disciplined her with love instead of anger.
He was a tall man—over six foot—and his hair was as blond as hers, but since returning from her trip, she’d noticed streaks of silver in his wavy strands. The wrinkles on his face appeared deeper than she recalled, worry clearly etched on his face.
She cleared her throat. “Father?”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Yes?”
“Mother already told me why you wanted to talk to me.”
His wide shoulders relaxed slightly. “What did she tell you?”
“Well,” she took a deep breath and released it slowly, “she said you’re disappointed that I didn’t find a man to marry while I was visiting Fiona and her family.”
He nodded. “It was disheartening to hear, because I feel you need to find a husband soon. You are getting older and becoming quite a mature woman, and it’s only natural...”
“I am not an old maid, Father.”
“This I know, my daughter, but you aren’t a spring chicken any longer, either.” He sighed loudly. “And I’m getting older, too. Is it wrong of me to want grandchildren before I die?”
Lightly, she touched his arm. “But Father, you are going to live forever, don’t you know? Brave warriors like you never die.” Though she made light of her father’s words, deep within, they stabbed at her heart.
He frowned and shook his head. “How I wish that were true. But I can’t help thinking my time will soon come to an end. My father died when he was in his fiftieth year, and so did my grandfather. I’m almost fifty years old, and I’m worried that I won’t live long enough to see my daughter marry and have children.”
Inwardly, she groaned. Why did he have to talk about dying? “I understand, Father,” she mumbled.
He stopped and faced her, taking hold of her shoulders. “Do you really? Do you realize how important this is to me?”
Slowly, she nodded. She did understand, but she still didn’t like it. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to push you into marrying someone you don’t love, but I want you to at least look for him—seriously look for your future husband.”
