The boy stiffened, his brows pinching together, but he nodded as remnant tears slid down his cheeks. No doubt, he didn’t understand the full breadth of Silas’s meaning, but as he told his son just moments ago, this was not the end of things.
“But I will do everything I can to help you with it,” said Silas as he wiped away the boy’s lingering tears. “You are my son, Griffith. You are dear to me, and no matter how many mistakes you make, I will always love you.”
Griffith moved closer, wrapping his arms around Silas’s neck. “I love you, too, Papa.”
Silas closed his eyes, reveling in those sweet words; he wished they’d been uttered in better circumstances, but he was grateful to hear them all the same. Holding his boy close, Silas prayed to know what to do next.
Chapter 26
Shifting the pillow at her back, Judith longed for a proper armchair. Though her bed was cozy enough, it did not provide her with a comfortable place in which to read. There was the chair at her desk, but it was not designed for lounging, and that was precisely what she needed when reading a book. Of course, there were armchairs aplenty scattered throughout the rest of the house, but she had no desire to venture forth from her bedchamber.
Scooting upwards, Judith moved closer to the headboard and snuggled into the pillows cushioning her back. She drew her knees up and balanced the book against her thighs, though it was not especially agreeable or effective. But attempting to read was better than contemplating Martin and his children.
A knock at the door was even better, and Judith rose to greet the visitor. Opening the door, she found Mr. Byrnes and Griffith standing at her threshold.
“Good afternoon,” she said, trying to keep the question from her tone. “Our lessons are done for the evening—”
But Mr. Byrnes’s hand rose to forestall any explanation and looked to the child at his side with raised brows. Judith’s gaze followed his, and Griffith’s chin trembled. He wiped his nose across his forearm and sniffled.
“Griffith, whatever is the matter?” asked Judith, crouching lower to meet his eyes. She sent a questioning look to his father, but Mr. Byrnes kept his gaze on his son.
“You can do it, Griffith,” he whispered, squeezing the boy on his shoulder.
Reaching from behind him, Griffith held out a book, and Judith stared at it, her eyes widening as she took in the state it was in. A flash of cold rushed through her, her skin tingling as the dread settled inside her, freezing her through.
“My father’s sketchbook,” she whispered.
Griffith’s words came out broken, his lungs struggling through shaking breaths as he wiped at his nose and eyes. “You went on a walk after lessons, and I wanted to see the sketchbook, so I took it out into the garden and tripped and—” He sniffled, his breath shuddering. “I tried to save it.”
Judith’s hands shook as Griffith passed it to her, mud wetting her fingertips the moment she touched the leather. Shooting upright, her chin trembled as she flipped through the waterlogged pages. Some sketches were salvageable, but far too many had been ruined. Splatters of mud, water stains, and smears from little fingers touched every page. Quickly, she flipped to the last drawing, and Judith gasped at the sight of her parents’ distorted features.
Pain pierced her chest, slicing through her heart and cleaving it in two. Vaguely, she was aware Griffith had begun crying and that her reaction added to his pain, but all Judith could see was her father’s face slipping away. Her legs shook, and Judith felt herself teetering. With a few quick paces, she backed into the bed, dropping onto it. Her mind swam, thoughts spinning about in a dizzying array. Judith could not lay hold on any one as she clutched the sketchbook to her chest.
Griffith came to stand before her, scrubbing at his face as tears ran down his cheeks, and Judith stared at him. She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, for she did not trust herself to speak. Instinct shouted at her to unleash everything she felt, to lay bare the broken pieces of her heart, for no matter how much he cried, it would never match her agony. Life had snatched her parents away from her, and time was erasing everything else—even her surname. These bits of leather and paper were all that remained of them, and there was no amount of apologies that would make up for that.
Yet buried beneath it was a whisper, warning her of the consequences. However justified, that sliver of truth begged her to hold onto her self-control. If nothing else, lashing out at the child would only add to her pain later.
“Papa says he will help me to mend it.” Griffith wiped at his cheeks, the damped sleeve only pushing the tears around. “That there might be something we can do—”
“There isn’t.” Judith snapped her mouth shut again, taking a deep breath until she trusted herself once more. Placing the sketchbook on her lap, Judith stroked the cover, her fingers fiddling with the cord that bound the book closed. Tears filled her eyes, slipping free. Taking a few jerking breaths, Judith forced herself to meet Griffith’s red eyes. “That is why I asked you not to play with it. This is irreplaceable.”
“I am so very sorry, Miss Delmonte.” The words were hardly coherent as Griffith sobbed and moved closer.
“And I am glad you feel that way,” she said, her own words hitching despite her attempts to keep them even. “And that you have been honest about it and spoke to me directly.”
A faint smile flashed across Griffith’s face at that, but Judith shook her head.
“But it does not erase the pain you’ve caused. This was very dear to me, and you’ve ruined it,” she whispered, her voice hitching. “You’ve hurt me greatly.”
Griffith’s chin trembled, his shoulders shaking before another round of sobs broke loose, and Judith’s shoulders fell. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she gave way to her tears for a moment before fixing a pleading gaze upon his father; she was in no state to manage Griffith’s emotions alongside her own. Mr. Byrnes nodded and picked up his son, who curled around his papa to cry into his shoulder. Simply having him not immediately in front of her helped to ease some of the strain pressing upon her; her own heart was burden enough at present.
“I am so very sorry, Miss Delmonte,” Mr. Byrnes whispered as he rubbed at his son’s back.
Judith nodded but could give no other reply. Tears gathered with more force, coursing down her cheeks, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Mr. Byrnes took a faltering step forward but stopped, his brows knitting together as he held her gaze. Then with a sigh, he left, shutting the door behind him.
Her hands flew to her mouth, but the sob ripped free before she could stop it. Falling onto her bed, Judith curled around the sketchbook as her tears wetted her pillow.
***
