MAES 54: Two Parents part 2
Part 2:
Stephen hadn’t been awake half an hour the next morning before he was briefly reduced to a state of blind panic. He had gone into the nursery intending to wake Brigid for breakfast only to discover she was gone. Wearing only his nightshirt, slippers and a dressing gown, he had gone tearing down the hall to Jack’s room, intending to enlist his help in a property-wide search, only to discover his daughter sleeping peacefully in Jack’s bed. Jack himself was sitting up, calmly reading a book. He looked up as Stephen entered.
“I wondered if you’d think to look for her here. She had a nightmare last night. I don’t know why she didn’t go to you.”
Stephen felt himself flushing. There had been good reason for him to lock the bedroom door last night. “Diana locked the door. She doesn’t like the idea of burglars; all her jewels, you see.” It was a poor excuse, and judging from Jack’s smirk, he knew exactly why the couple might have wanted to ensure privacy. “I hope she didn’t disturb you.”
Jack smiled tenderly at the sleeping child. “No more so than many a call aboard ship. It’s far more agreeable to be woken for something like this than because a storm is brewing. It didn’t take her half an hour to drop off, and I followed right after. I expect she’ll want to see you’re all right - her nightmare was about you being torn apart by wolves. I did explain to her that there are no wolves in England, and you’re not the sort of man to let yourself get eaten by them. Still, this may happen again, and I believe it would do her much more good if she could come to you immediately.”
“Quite so,” Stephen agreed. “I shall speak to Diana, so she knows why our door must remain unlocked.” A strange expression flashed across Jack’s face, so briefly Stephen couldn’t be sure he’d seen it. Stephen crossed to the bed and stroked Brigid’s face until she woke up. The relief that showed in her eyes was plain as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right, papa.”
“Bless you child, I am fine. Come now, thank Jack and we shall all go down for breakfast.”
Brigid turned to look at Jack, smiling shyly. “Thank you for letting me stay here, Cousin Jack.”
“You’re quite welcome, my dear. Anytime you have a nightmare,” Jack said with a particular look whose meaning was lost on Stephen.
0~0
Stephen discussed the matter with Diana, who was put out at what it would mean for them, and even tried to persuade Stephen that if they let Brigid share their bed, there would be no end to it for several years, and was that really what Stephen wanted? Stephen stood firm, however, and he shut their door that night with a slight sense of triumph. He sincerely hoped that Brigid would not have nightmares again, but also knew that if he did, he would welcome the chance to comfort her. He had felt something of a jealous pang, seeing her lying next to Jack so peacefully, and even a few days before, when she had sat on his lap and gripped his hand while Stephen bandaged her knee. He knew it was foolish, and truth be told, in spite of his jealousy, he had also been a little happy at the thought that Jack clearly cared so much for his daughter. Certainly more than Diana…he cut off the thought.
Diana joined him in bed a few minutes later. He lay with his back to her, deliberately unreceptive, reminding her that they may be interrupted at any moment. He heard her huff in irritation and murmur something he couldn’t make out, but was clearly uncomplimentary. Smiling, he closed his eyes.
Almost the next thing he knew, it was morning, and Diana was shaking him awake. “Get up, my dear. I trust you slept well? It seems Brigid did just fine without us.”
They dressed in silence and headed down to breakfast. Stephen was astonished to find Jack sitting at the table in his dressing gown, a quite sleepy Brigid sitting on his lap, still in her nightdress, her eyes puffy and reddened. Jack was murmuring something to her, rubbing her back and kissing her forehead. As soon as she saw Stephen she jumped up and ran to him, tears in her eyes. Stephen lifted her up and held her, looking at Jack in silent query.
“She had another nightmare last night. I asked why she did not go to you as I’d understood that was what she was to do if it happened again, and she said she tried, but you must have forgotten because your door was locked again.” The careful way Jack did not look at Diana drew more attention to her than had he glared. Stephen felt his mouth go dry.
“Or perhaps,” Diana suggested calmly, “the door was simply stuck.” Both men looked at her then. She seemed oblivious both to Jack’s incredulity and Stephen’s anguish. Diana seated herself at the table and piled her plate with toast. She did not look at either of them.
Brigid was so tired she fell asleep in Stephen’s lap while he ate without the least appetite. Jack quietly suggested that Stephen carry her back to bed and let her sleep as long as she liked. Stephen did so, and Jack went with him, with the excuse that it was high time he dressed for the day, but knowing Stephen would wish to speak with him.
Stephen laid Brigid down in her rumpled bed, noting the salty stain on the pillowslip that told of shed tears the night before. Brigid had obviously tried to stay in her own bed, but had not the courage to face whatever nightmare had visited her. He sat in the chair next to her and felt Jack come to stand behind him. He said nothing, only waited.
“Tell me.” Stephen said at last.
Jack explained that when Brigid had awoken him this last night, truly sobbing in terror, he had actually carried her to the Maturin’s bedroom and tried the door himself. Short of kicking it down, there was no gaining entry, as it locked and unlocked only from the inside. “I thought you had most likely forgotten, but I also knew that might not have been the case. I wasn’t sure of that until this morning, however,” Jack concluded stiffly, clearly embarrassed at what he had to say.
He had not told Stephen all of it; had not described how, when Jack had confirmed that the door was locked, Brigid had burst into floods of tears all over again, hurt that her papa had apparently forgotten his promise. Jack had done his best to assure her this could not possibly be the case, saying that the house was old, and sometimes the locks were knocked shut when someone simply closed a door a little too hard. More than once, he had been tempted to knock on Stephen’s door until he or Diana answered, but he knew that Diana would not appreciate it, and there may be good reasons - that he could never explain to a child - why they would not wish to be interrupted. He had more than suspected that it was Diana’s doing however, so his reassurances to the child were half-hearted. He’d taken her downstairs and spent nearly an hour walking up and down the parlor with her, rocking her in his arms and trying to soothe her. In the end he’d ended up sitting with her at the table until morning came. She’d never truly dropped off again, more disturbed by her papa’s apparently forgotten promise than she had been by her nightmares.
Stephen rose and wearily left the room. Jack followed, shutting the door behind them. They walked to the end of the corridor, and stood looking out the window at the morning light.
“I thought,” Stephen said softly, “that things would be better. That once Diana knew the truth about her, they would grow closer. It is not even that Diana feels guilty for abandoning her. She does not hate Brigid, but she treats her no differently than she does any other child: with a certain amount of concern and politeness, but not at all the self-sacrifice I see in Sophie, and I must say, in you my dear.”
“It is perhaps a hard thing, to become a parent for the first time so relatively late in life,” said Jack vaguely, unwilling to criticize Diana to Stephen, even now. “Looking after oneself for so long, then suddenly having another person so entirely dependent on you? It is a major adjustment. Why, I recall when the twins were born, Sophie and I…”
Stephen raised a hand to silence him. “It is only a great change if the change is made, Jack. Diana goes on much the same as before, as if Brigid were not her child, but simply a child who just happens to live with us. She pays just as much mind to Brigid as to George, and no more. I have never even seen her embrace Brigid.” His gaze lifted to Jack’s. “Yet you have done so, and kissed her as well. You have comforted her as Diana never has, and after last night I think it is clear, never would. I left that door unlocked, Jack.”
Jack looked at him, saying nothing, trying to grasp what Stephen was trying to tell him.
Stephen stepped closer and took his hand, looking at their intertwined fingers. “I think it is best for a child to have two parents, if possible,” he said softly, not meeting Jack’s gaze. “They do not necessarily have to be married, or even be a mother and father; all that is truly needed is for both to care for the same child, as if that child was their own. I - I want that for Brigid, and if Diana will not, then…”
Jack understood. He pulled Stephen into a careful embrace, wary for any sign of rejection. Wrapping his arms around the doctor’s slight body, Jack felt Stephen’s own arms rise to hold him. “If that is what you want, and if Brigid wouldn’t mind, then I would count myself blessed to be as a parent to her, brother. I know what it is to have only one parent. I found a surrogate mother of sorts in Queeney, and I will never forget all she did for me. If Brigid would like it, then I will help you.”
“I truly don’t think she’d mind.”
“Are you certain?”
“Not perfectly. Yet she is already more comfortable with you than she has ever been with Diana. I doubt she would run to Diana for help, even if her arm was broken.”
“We’ll let her decide, then. And you, of course. Just let me know when you’re sure,” Jack stepped back, hands firm on Stephen’s shoulders. “Still, it may not come to that. Things may yet change for the better.”
0~0
Another afternoon, Stephen entered the parlor to find Brigid happily braiding Jack’s hair. Jack explained that Brigid wished to learn so that she could braid her own, and upon asking her mama, Diana had told her that she was a poor teacher and was not very familiar with simple braids. Upon applying to Jack, he had fetched one of the twins’ old dolls with long hair made of brown yarn, and had demonstrated the technique. As soon as Brigid could do so reasonably neatly, she had eagerly asked Jack if she could braid his hair for him, to practice on. He had agreed and she had bade him sit down in a chair, perching on the table behind him and combing his hair so thoroughly a good deal had come out in the comb before she started braiding. Stephen sat watching the process in fascination, wondering how many high-ranking seamen, how many scarred veterans of countless battles would calmly allow a little girl to play hairdresser using them as a living doll. He also wondered how much trouble it really would have been for Diana to teach Brigid such a simple thing.
Although Brigid enjoyed spending time with George and Phillip, and was clearly fascinated by the doings of both older boys, she was equally interested in Jack, though she couldn’t spend as much time with him. The times they were together were always particularly memorable. As Jack’s constant companion, Stephen was there every time his daughter was with Jack. He couldn’t help but continually compare Jack’s reaction to Brigid with Diana’s. Although it caused him no little amount of pain, there was joy to counteract it. Jack was as pleased with Brigid as she was with him, and as loving as Diana was indifferently polite.
Another day, Jack, Stephen, Brigid and George were all walking down to the village butcher to order meat for the evening meal, when Brigid, who had been looking up silently at Jack from under the brim of her bonnet, abruptly asked him what it felt like to be so tall? Jack immediately reached down, picked her up and lifted her over his head, settling her onto his shoulders. “Tell me yourself: how does it feel?” He said teasingly, and Brigid laughed in delight, raising her arms over her head and clapping her hands. “I’m glad you like it so much,” Jack said, laughing himself. “But if I fall down with you your papa will be very cross with me!”
On yet another day, Stephen was heading downstairs to retrieve his spectacles - he thought he had left them on the table - when he heard a ruckus from the library. Upon entering, he saw Jack on all fours on the floor, Brigid seated on his back as though he were a horse, while George, wearing one of Sophie’s old bonnets and speaking in a passable imitation of his Grandma Williams, told Brigid that she was not to ride astride, that sidesaddle was the only proper way for a lady to ride, and what was she thinking, riding like a man?
Jack twisted his head round to look at Brigid. “Shall I give her a kick?” He raised one leg off the carpet meaningfully. She giggled, “No, it’s just George pretending. You won’t let the real old witch get me, would you Jack?”
“Of course not! I’d gallop away with you and she’d never catch us!” He rose up onto his knees, like a horse rearing in preparation to bolt, and she clung to his neck to stay on.
“Brigid, whatever are you doing to your cousin?” Stephen demanded, announcing his presence to the trio.
Jack flushed bright red, but Brigid said cheerfully, “He’s not my cousin, he’s my pony, and he says there’s nothing wrong with me riding astride since I’m still so little and too small for a sidesaddle, and George was saying how shocked Grand-Aunt Williams would be if she heard him say that, and-”
“Mrs. Williams? She is the ‘real witch’ I take it?” Stephen asked, with a knowing glance at Jack.
Brigid nodded solemnly. “I think she must be a witch, because she’s the scariest old lady I’ve ever seen, and her voice is harsh and mean, and she threatened to give me a beating once, because I didn’t like to talk to people.”
Stephen bit the inside of his cheek. The incident still made him angry. “Yes, well, you are not to call her a witch in company, my dear. It is very rude, however accurate.”
George scowled. “Grandmamma gave me a beating once, when I tracked mud in the house. Mama wasn’t there, and when she came home and I told her, she didn’t even say anything to Grandmamma. I’m sure cousin Diana would, though. She ain’t afraid of her like mama is.”
“George,” said Jack firmly. “You’re not to speak like that about your mother, or your grandmother. And she’ll beat neither of you while I’m around to prevent it.”
“But how would you stop her?” George inquired. “If we did something to make her angry?”
“Why, I’d tell her that I’d prefer to punish you myself, and make a great show of asking Killick to fetch me a rope, then take you out behind the woodshed. But I wouldn’t actually beat you, however. No, I’d set you extra chores as punishment.”
“Even if we called her a witch to her face, and said she was the most horrible old woman who ever lived and breathed, and that we wish she would go away and never come back?” Brigid asked eagerly.
Jack looked suddenly wistful. “If you did that my dear, I’d likely shake your hand.”
Stephen nodded in perfect understanding.
0~0
Jack and Stephen occasionally found time for their music, with all else that was going on. They were playing some of their favorite pieces when Brigid came in, hot and sweaty from running around with the boys outside. She seated herself on the settee, listening attentively and applauding when they were done.
“What are they?” She asked, pointing to the instruments. Both men told her the names of the instruments, and answered her innumerable questions about each. She then asked if she might play along, if there was an instrument she could play, and Jack, somewhat to Stephen’s surprise, replied that there wasn’t really an instrument that went well with violin and cello that didn’t’ take a lot of practice, but if she didn’t mind coming with them to the room where the old piano was kept, he might find something she could play.
They walked into what Jack jokingly referred to as ‘the music room’ and fishing around in an old box, he brought out a calfskin-head drum and a little mallet. He tapped out a steady beat on the old piano, urging her to strike the drum just so whenever his hand rapped on the piano lid. After a few tries she got it, and Jack began playing a silly tune on the old ivory keys, singing a song about a little drummer who walked up and down the streets banging his drum in the middle of the night and waking everybody up. Brigid giggled so hard at the words she lost the beat a few times, and when Jack reached the end she begged him to play it again so that she could sing, too.
“And what about your papa?” Jack asked, winking at Stephen. “Should we make him sing? Or perhaps he should bring his cello in and see if he can add to the music?”
Stephen did both, making his cello boom deep bass notes along with the drum, much to Brigid’s delight. George and Phillip heard the music and came in, asking if there were not any instruments for them. Phillip found an old wooden flute, and after a few tries, was able to follow along with the melody well enough. George chose a little silver triangle and played the beat along with Brigid. Altogether, they made a quite unharmonious band, but it mattered little to anyone.
The boys left after they had played the song through three times, eager to return to their game though Brigid clearly wanted more music. Jack sat her on his lap at the piano and taught her how to place her fingers and play a few scales. Brigid did so, seriously enough that anyone watching might have thought she was playing a Mozart concerto. Jack exchanged a glance with Stephen. She had clearly inherited her father’s love for music, as well. Jack tilted his chin at the little girl, and gave Stephen an inquiring look. Stephen shook his head.
Not quite yet.
0~0
The night was beautiful and clear, a full moon shining. Brigid felt not at all tired; she watched the moonlit lawn from her window, wondering if papa had seen his bird yet.
A sudden flood of light lit the grass as a door opened and Jack stepped out. He wore his watch coat and carried his telescope. He was clearly going to the stable, which was the best place to make astronomical observations at Woolcombe, if one sat in the hayloft and opened a hatch in the roof Jack had built especially for the purpose. Brigid liked stars.
On impulse, she wrapped her quilt around her shoulders, crept down the hall, and followed Jack out.
By the time she’d climbed the ladder to the loft Jack had settled himself on an old bench and was fiddling with the telescope and other apparatus. She thought she’d been silent, and nearly jumped when Jack said, “And what are you doing out of bed, my little fairy princess?”
Lying was not in Brigid’s habits. Why should she not tell the truth? She felt certain Jack would not be angry. “I wanted to look at the stars, too. I think they’re pretty.”
Jack turned to her then, and she saw delight on his face. “Do you, so? And is there one you like best?”
“I like sparkly ones best.”
He barked a laugh. “Well, give me but a moment, and I’ll find an especially sparkly one for you to see close up.”
Brigid waited patiently, watching his big, scarred hands - almost as badly scarred as papa’s - twisting knobs and adjusting levels, looking through the eyepiece every few seconds.
As it had been before, Brigid felt a sense of calmness, of warmth and safety from him, as she’d felt both times she’d gone to him because of her nightmares. Before, she’d thought it was only because she’d been so scared, and he’d been so big and gentle and kind. She slowly stepped closer to him, and slid her hand from under the blanket to lay it upon his knee. He smiled at her, kindly, and nodded at the loft opening, no railing preventing a fall. “Are you afraid of being up so high?”
“No, sir. When I was sailing on Ringle, old Mould put me on his shoulders and climbed the masts with me. I’m not afraid at all.”
He laughed heartily at that. “To think any child of Stephen’s should have a head for heights! You must get that from your mama. She used to go up in hot air balloons, sitting on horseback.”
Brigid gaped at him. “Did she really?”
“Yes. Has she never told you? Perhaps she was worried you might wish to do the same. You’ll have to ask your papa or mama about it. I never saw her do it, but she made something of a name for herself in Sweden, I gather, astonishing the people with her courage.”
Brigid thought she would ask her papa rather than her mama. She still didn’t feel very close to her mama; she felt closer to Sophie and Clarissa. Padeen and papa were the two people she felt very closest to, and Jack had become the third, almost without her noticing it. Sophie was more of a caretaker to her than mama was. Clarissa was her friend and teacher. Padeen was her brother and her guardian. Mama was a friend to her papa. Papa was, of course, her own dear papa, who loved her and cared for her and answered all her questions and told her stories. And Jack…what was Jack exactly? What place did he hold? Like mama, he was her papa’s friend. He too cared for her and told her stories and explained things to her. But he couldn’t also be her parent, could he? Her thoughts were interrupted by Jack. “Aha, there we are! The sparkliest star that can be seen tonight.” He patted his knees and she clambered up. He tucked the quilt around her and gestured to the eyepiece. “Take a look, my dear.”
0~0
From his animal hide, Stephen had seen both Jack and Brigid leave the house. He was not worried; if Jack sent her back to bed, he would do so kindly. If Brigid were allowed to stay, then she could hardly be in better company.
Nearly an hour later, he finished his notes, blew out his candle and stood up, hearing his joints crack. He knew Jack and Brigid were still in the loft-observatory: he could hear Jack’s laughter and Brigid’s excited babble of talk. Deciding he wasn’t quite ready to go in just yet he went to the stable and climbed the ladder.
His heart warmed at the sight that met him. His daughter, cheeks flushed and eyes delighted, seated on Jack’s lap, alternately looking through the telescope and up at Jack’s face. He assumed the telescope was pointed at the moon, for Jack was relating a silly tale about a king who ordered a very tall tower to be built, in hopes he might touch the moon.
“How far away is the moon, Jack?” Brigid asked when he finished.
“Oh, several hundred thousand miles, as near as we can tell.”
Brigid put her eye back to the telescope and sighed. “I wish I could touch it. It glows so bright and pretty.”
“It’s not its own light, you know. It’s reflected from the sun, like a mirror.”
Brigid frowned. “But the sun isn’t up. It’s night.”
“Here it is night, perhaps. But on the other side of the world, it is day, and the sun and moon are so far away from the earth, that the earth doesn’t always block the sun’s light from reaching the moon. When it does, we say the moon is waning or waxing. When the earth blocks the light completely, that is when you cannot see the moon at all.”
“Is the moon made of glass, then? You said it was like a mirror.”
“No, I don’t believe so. It’s likely very pretty and shiny white rock. But it only looks that way when the light of the sun hits it. You’ve seen white bed sheets hanging in the sun; aren’t they so bright your eyes hurt to look at them sometimes?”
Brigid nodded sagely. “Maybe the moon is covered all over in bed sheets, even cleaner than Sophie’s.”
Stephen and Jack both laughed; Jack and Brigid turned to Stephen in surprise. “Why, Stephen. Here you are! I didn’t hear you come up.”
Stephen smiled. “I saw the two of you come out here earlier and thought I might join you. I never expected to find you instructing my daughter in the fundamentals of astronomy.”
Jack smiled easily. “She asked questions and I answered. I don’t believe in telling children simplified explanations that give them entirely the wrong idea. I once met a mid who thought the moon was made of cheese, can you believe it?”
Brigid looked through the telescope. “It does have a lot of holes in it…” she said in new doubt.
Jack hastily pulled her away, redirecting the lens back to a star.
They spent far longer a time in the loft than Jack had ever intended that night, for whenever he pointed out a new constellation to Brigid, Stephen would tell her the old myths he knew about how they came to be, and Jack felt obliged to tell his own stories about great astronomers who had solved some of the mysteries of the universe, and made navigation possible for sailors. Brigid did not find anything they told her dull. She took it all in with delight, asking questions and listening seriously to the answers. Upon Jack finishing a tale of their voyage on the Leopard, when astral navigation had saved their lives by leading them to Desolation Island, her face became serious. Both men fell silent, watching her unusually somber blue gaze as she watched the stars. They were alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears, spilling over to roll down her cheeks.
“I think I know why God gave us stars,” she said, taking Jack’s right hand and Stephen’s left hand, clasping them between her own. “He gave us stars to show us how to come home again. I’m so glad. Now I won’t worry so much when you both go away from me.”
“Both of us?” Jack asked mildly. “I would’ve thought you’d be more worried about your papa. He doesn’t know how to navigate.”
“But you do! And I know you’d never leave papa behind. You’ll always look after him, won’t you? And as long as you do, I don’t have to worry about him getting lost.”
Jack and Stephen looked at each other. Jack smiled at Stephen tenderly, but spoke to Brigid. “You have my word on it, dear one. I’ll not let him get lost, even if we were to sail to the moon.”
Stephen, too, spoke to Brigid, though he looked at Jack. “That he won’t, as I know full well. You’ve no need to worry about either of us; if there’s a way home, Jack will always find it. And I know he’d never leave me behind. He’ll find the way for us both to take.”
Jack removed his hand from Brigid’s grasp, then, and put his arm around Stephen’s shoulders. Stephen took Brigid onto his lap and moved closer on the bench, so he was pressed up against Jack’s side. Stephen leaned against Jack, and Brigid, suddenly tired, flopped sideways, so her head rested in Jack’s lap. He stroked her hair, and after a time she murmured sleepily, “I wish you could be my papa, too.”
She did not see the swift glance that passed over her head, did not see the hopeless anguish mingled with resignation in her papa’s gaze, nor his barely perceptible nod at Jack. She did not see the steady tenderness and understanding in Jack’s eyes, or his slight accepting return nod. She did feel him shift, but she did not know he had moved closer to her papa so that he could softly kiss papa’s cheek and murmur a promise in his ear. She did open her eyes when Jack shook her slightly and whispered, “Would you like to touch the moon, my child?”
Brigid nodded and sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Jack told her to close one eye and raise her hand, finger extended, until it appeared as though she were touching the moon. She smiled in sleepy delight, and turned to her papa. To her surprise, she saw that he too had one eye closed, head turned sideways so she could see the tears on his cheek, his arm raised and finger extended, pointing to the moon.
Stephen hadn’t been awake half an hour the next morning before he was briefly reduced to a state of blind panic. He had gone into the nursery intending to wake Brigid for breakfast only to discover she was gone. Wearing only his nightshirt, slippers and a dressing gown, he had gone tearing down the hall to Jack’s room, intending to enlist his help in a property-wide search, only to discover his daughter sleeping peacefully in Jack’s bed. Jack himself was sitting up, calmly reading a book. He looked up as Stephen entered.
“I wondered if you’d think to look for her here. She had a nightmare last night. I don’t know why she didn’t go to you.”
Stephen felt himself flushing. There had been good reason for him to lock the bedroom door last night. “Diana locked the door. She doesn’t like the idea of burglars; all her jewels, you see.” It was a poor excuse, and judging from Jack’s smirk, he knew exactly why the couple might have wanted to ensure privacy. “I hope she didn’t disturb you.”
Jack smiled tenderly at the sleeping child. “No more so than many a call aboard ship. It’s far more agreeable to be woken for something like this than because a storm is brewing. It didn’t take her half an hour to drop off, and I followed right after. I expect she’ll want to see you’re all right - her nightmare was about you being torn apart by wolves. I did explain to her that there are no wolves in England, and you’re not the sort of man to let yourself get eaten by them. Still, this may happen again, and I believe it would do her much more good if she could come to you immediately.”
“Quite so,” Stephen agreed. “I shall speak to Diana, so she knows why our door must remain unlocked.” A strange expression flashed across Jack’s face, so briefly Stephen couldn’t be sure he’d seen it. Stephen crossed to the bed and stroked Brigid’s face until she woke up. The relief that showed in her eyes was plain as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right, papa.”
“Bless you child, I am fine. Come now, thank Jack and we shall all go down for breakfast.”
Brigid turned to look at Jack, smiling shyly. “Thank you for letting me stay here, Cousin Jack.”
“You’re quite welcome, my dear. Anytime you have a nightmare,” Jack said with a particular look whose meaning was lost on Stephen.
0~0
Stephen discussed the matter with Diana, who was put out at what it would mean for them, and even tried to persuade Stephen that if they let Brigid share their bed, there would be no end to it for several years, and was that really what Stephen wanted? Stephen stood firm, however, and he shut their door that night with a slight sense of triumph. He sincerely hoped that Brigid would not have nightmares again, but also knew that if he did, he would welcome the chance to comfort her. He had felt something of a jealous pang, seeing her lying next to Jack so peacefully, and even a few days before, when she had sat on his lap and gripped his hand while Stephen bandaged her knee. He knew it was foolish, and truth be told, in spite of his jealousy, he had also been a little happy at the thought that Jack clearly cared so much for his daughter. Certainly more than Diana…he cut off the thought.
Diana joined him in bed a few minutes later. He lay with his back to her, deliberately unreceptive, reminding her that they may be interrupted at any moment. He heard her huff in irritation and murmur something he couldn’t make out, but was clearly uncomplimentary. Smiling, he closed his eyes.
Almost the next thing he knew, it was morning, and Diana was shaking him awake. “Get up, my dear. I trust you slept well? It seems Brigid did just fine without us.”
They dressed in silence and headed down to breakfast. Stephen was astonished to find Jack sitting at the table in his dressing gown, a quite sleepy Brigid sitting on his lap, still in her nightdress, her eyes puffy and reddened. Jack was murmuring something to her, rubbing her back and kissing her forehead. As soon as she saw Stephen she jumped up and ran to him, tears in her eyes. Stephen lifted her up and held her, looking at Jack in silent query.
“She had another nightmare last night. I asked why she did not go to you as I’d understood that was what she was to do if it happened again, and she said she tried, but you must have forgotten because your door was locked again.” The careful way Jack did not look at Diana drew more attention to her than had he glared. Stephen felt his mouth go dry.
“Or perhaps,” Diana suggested calmly, “the door was simply stuck.” Both men looked at her then. She seemed oblivious both to Jack’s incredulity and Stephen’s anguish. Diana seated herself at the table and piled her plate with toast. She did not look at either of them.
Brigid was so tired she fell asleep in Stephen’s lap while he ate without the least appetite. Jack quietly suggested that Stephen carry her back to bed and let her sleep as long as she liked. Stephen did so, and Jack went with him, with the excuse that it was high time he dressed for the day, but knowing Stephen would wish to speak with him.
Stephen laid Brigid down in her rumpled bed, noting the salty stain on the pillowslip that told of shed tears the night before. Brigid had obviously tried to stay in her own bed, but had not the courage to face whatever nightmare had visited her. He sat in the chair next to her and felt Jack come to stand behind him. He said nothing, only waited.
“Tell me.” Stephen said at last.
Jack explained that when Brigid had awoken him this last night, truly sobbing in terror, he had actually carried her to the Maturin’s bedroom and tried the door himself. Short of kicking it down, there was no gaining entry, as it locked and unlocked only from the inside. “I thought you had most likely forgotten, but I also knew that might not have been the case. I wasn’t sure of that until this morning, however,” Jack concluded stiffly, clearly embarrassed at what he had to say.
He had not told Stephen all of it; had not described how, when Jack had confirmed that the door was locked, Brigid had burst into floods of tears all over again, hurt that her papa had apparently forgotten his promise. Jack had done his best to assure her this could not possibly be the case, saying that the house was old, and sometimes the locks were knocked shut when someone simply closed a door a little too hard. More than once, he had been tempted to knock on Stephen’s door until he or Diana answered, but he knew that Diana would not appreciate it, and there may be good reasons - that he could never explain to a child - why they would not wish to be interrupted. He had more than suspected that it was Diana’s doing however, so his reassurances to the child were half-hearted. He’d taken her downstairs and spent nearly an hour walking up and down the parlor with her, rocking her in his arms and trying to soothe her. In the end he’d ended up sitting with her at the table until morning came. She’d never truly dropped off again, more disturbed by her papa’s apparently forgotten promise than she had been by her nightmares.
Stephen rose and wearily left the room. Jack followed, shutting the door behind them. They walked to the end of the corridor, and stood looking out the window at the morning light.
“I thought,” Stephen said softly, “that things would be better. That once Diana knew the truth about her, they would grow closer. It is not even that Diana feels guilty for abandoning her. She does not hate Brigid, but she treats her no differently than she does any other child: with a certain amount of concern and politeness, but not at all the self-sacrifice I see in Sophie, and I must say, in you my dear.”
“It is perhaps a hard thing, to become a parent for the first time so relatively late in life,” said Jack vaguely, unwilling to criticize Diana to Stephen, even now. “Looking after oneself for so long, then suddenly having another person so entirely dependent on you? It is a major adjustment. Why, I recall when the twins were born, Sophie and I…”
Stephen raised a hand to silence him. “It is only a great change if the change is made, Jack. Diana goes on much the same as before, as if Brigid were not her child, but simply a child who just happens to live with us. She pays just as much mind to Brigid as to George, and no more. I have never even seen her embrace Brigid.” His gaze lifted to Jack’s. “Yet you have done so, and kissed her as well. You have comforted her as Diana never has, and after last night I think it is clear, never would. I left that door unlocked, Jack.”
Jack looked at him, saying nothing, trying to grasp what Stephen was trying to tell him.
Stephen stepped closer and took his hand, looking at their intertwined fingers. “I think it is best for a child to have two parents, if possible,” he said softly, not meeting Jack’s gaze. “They do not necessarily have to be married, or even be a mother and father; all that is truly needed is for both to care for the same child, as if that child was their own. I - I want that for Brigid, and if Diana will not, then…”
Jack understood. He pulled Stephen into a careful embrace, wary for any sign of rejection. Wrapping his arms around the doctor’s slight body, Jack felt Stephen’s own arms rise to hold him. “If that is what you want, and if Brigid wouldn’t mind, then I would count myself blessed to be as a parent to her, brother. I know what it is to have only one parent. I found a surrogate mother of sorts in Queeney, and I will never forget all she did for me. If Brigid would like it, then I will help you.”
“I truly don’t think she’d mind.”
“Are you certain?”
“Not perfectly. Yet she is already more comfortable with you than she has ever been with Diana. I doubt she would run to Diana for help, even if her arm was broken.”
“We’ll let her decide, then. And you, of course. Just let me know when you’re sure,” Jack stepped back, hands firm on Stephen’s shoulders. “Still, it may not come to that. Things may yet change for the better.”
0~0
Another afternoon, Stephen entered the parlor to find Brigid happily braiding Jack’s hair. Jack explained that Brigid wished to learn so that she could braid her own, and upon asking her mama, Diana had told her that she was a poor teacher and was not very familiar with simple braids. Upon applying to Jack, he had fetched one of the twins’ old dolls with long hair made of brown yarn, and had demonstrated the technique. As soon as Brigid could do so reasonably neatly, she had eagerly asked Jack if she could braid his hair for him, to practice on. He had agreed and she had bade him sit down in a chair, perching on the table behind him and combing his hair so thoroughly a good deal had come out in the comb before she started braiding. Stephen sat watching the process in fascination, wondering how many high-ranking seamen, how many scarred veterans of countless battles would calmly allow a little girl to play hairdresser using them as a living doll. He also wondered how much trouble it really would have been for Diana to teach Brigid such a simple thing.
Although Brigid enjoyed spending time with George and Phillip, and was clearly fascinated by the doings of both older boys, she was equally interested in Jack, though she couldn’t spend as much time with him. The times they were together were always particularly memorable. As Jack’s constant companion, Stephen was there every time his daughter was with Jack. He couldn’t help but continually compare Jack’s reaction to Brigid with Diana’s. Although it caused him no little amount of pain, there was joy to counteract it. Jack was as pleased with Brigid as she was with him, and as loving as Diana was indifferently polite.
Another day, Jack, Stephen, Brigid and George were all walking down to the village butcher to order meat for the evening meal, when Brigid, who had been looking up silently at Jack from under the brim of her bonnet, abruptly asked him what it felt like to be so tall? Jack immediately reached down, picked her up and lifted her over his head, settling her onto his shoulders. “Tell me yourself: how does it feel?” He said teasingly, and Brigid laughed in delight, raising her arms over her head and clapping her hands. “I’m glad you like it so much,” Jack said, laughing himself. “But if I fall down with you your papa will be very cross with me!”
On yet another day, Stephen was heading downstairs to retrieve his spectacles - he thought he had left them on the table - when he heard a ruckus from the library. Upon entering, he saw Jack on all fours on the floor, Brigid seated on his back as though he were a horse, while George, wearing one of Sophie’s old bonnets and speaking in a passable imitation of his Grandma Williams, told Brigid that she was not to ride astride, that sidesaddle was the only proper way for a lady to ride, and what was she thinking, riding like a man?
Jack twisted his head round to look at Brigid. “Shall I give her a kick?” He raised one leg off the carpet meaningfully. She giggled, “No, it’s just George pretending. You won’t let the real old witch get me, would you Jack?”
“Of course not! I’d gallop away with you and she’d never catch us!” He rose up onto his knees, like a horse rearing in preparation to bolt, and she clung to his neck to stay on.
“Brigid, whatever are you doing to your cousin?” Stephen demanded, announcing his presence to the trio.
Jack flushed bright red, but Brigid said cheerfully, “He’s not my cousin, he’s my pony, and he says there’s nothing wrong with me riding astride since I’m still so little and too small for a sidesaddle, and George was saying how shocked Grand-Aunt Williams would be if she heard him say that, and-”
“Mrs. Williams? She is the ‘real witch’ I take it?” Stephen asked, with a knowing glance at Jack.
Brigid nodded solemnly. “I think she must be a witch, because she’s the scariest old lady I’ve ever seen, and her voice is harsh and mean, and she threatened to give me a beating once, because I didn’t like to talk to people.”
Stephen bit the inside of his cheek. The incident still made him angry. “Yes, well, you are not to call her a witch in company, my dear. It is very rude, however accurate.”
George scowled. “Grandmamma gave me a beating once, when I tracked mud in the house. Mama wasn’t there, and when she came home and I told her, she didn’t even say anything to Grandmamma. I’m sure cousin Diana would, though. She ain’t afraid of her like mama is.”
“George,” said Jack firmly. “You’re not to speak like that about your mother, or your grandmother. And she’ll beat neither of you while I’m around to prevent it.”
“But how would you stop her?” George inquired. “If we did something to make her angry?”
“Why, I’d tell her that I’d prefer to punish you myself, and make a great show of asking Killick to fetch me a rope, then take you out behind the woodshed. But I wouldn’t actually beat you, however. No, I’d set you extra chores as punishment.”
“Even if we called her a witch to her face, and said she was the most horrible old woman who ever lived and breathed, and that we wish she would go away and never come back?” Brigid asked eagerly.
Jack looked suddenly wistful. “If you did that my dear, I’d likely shake your hand.”
Stephen nodded in perfect understanding.
0~0
Jack and Stephen occasionally found time for their music, with all else that was going on. They were playing some of their favorite pieces when Brigid came in, hot and sweaty from running around with the boys outside. She seated herself on the settee, listening attentively and applauding when they were done.
“What are they?” She asked, pointing to the instruments. Both men told her the names of the instruments, and answered her innumerable questions about each. She then asked if she might play along, if there was an instrument she could play, and Jack, somewhat to Stephen’s surprise, replied that there wasn’t really an instrument that went well with violin and cello that didn’t’ take a lot of practice, but if she didn’t mind coming with them to the room where the old piano was kept, he might find something she could play.
They walked into what Jack jokingly referred to as ‘the music room’ and fishing around in an old box, he brought out a calfskin-head drum and a little mallet. He tapped out a steady beat on the old piano, urging her to strike the drum just so whenever his hand rapped on the piano lid. After a few tries she got it, and Jack began playing a silly tune on the old ivory keys, singing a song about a little drummer who walked up and down the streets banging his drum in the middle of the night and waking everybody up. Brigid giggled so hard at the words she lost the beat a few times, and when Jack reached the end she begged him to play it again so that she could sing, too.
“And what about your papa?” Jack asked, winking at Stephen. “Should we make him sing? Or perhaps he should bring his cello in and see if he can add to the music?”
Stephen did both, making his cello boom deep bass notes along with the drum, much to Brigid’s delight. George and Phillip heard the music and came in, asking if there were not any instruments for them. Phillip found an old wooden flute, and after a few tries, was able to follow along with the melody well enough. George chose a little silver triangle and played the beat along with Brigid. Altogether, they made a quite unharmonious band, but it mattered little to anyone.
The boys left after they had played the song through three times, eager to return to their game though Brigid clearly wanted more music. Jack sat her on his lap at the piano and taught her how to place her fingers and play a few scales. Brigid did so, seriously enough that anyone watching might have thought she was playing a Mozart concerto. Jack exchanged a glance with Stephen. She had clearly inherited her father’s love for music, as well. Jack tilted his chin at the little girl, and gave Stephen an inquiring look. Stephen shook his head.
Not quite yet.
0~0
The night was beautiful and clear, a full moon shining. Brigid felt not at all tired; she watched the moonlit lawn from her window, wondering if papa had seen his bird yet.
A sudden flood of light lit the grass as a door opened and Jack stepped out. He wore his watch coat and carried his telescope. He was clearly going to the stable, which was the best place to make astronomical observations at Woolcombe, if one sat in the hayloft and opened a hatch in the roof Jack had built especially for the purpose. Brigid liked stars.
On impulse, she wrapped her quilt around her shoulders, crept down the hall, and followed Jack out.
By the time she’d climbed the ladder to the loft Jack had settled himself on an old bench and was fiddling with the telescope and other apparatus. She thought she’d been silent, and nearly jumped when Jack said, “And what are you doing out of bed, my little fairy princess?”
Lying was not in Brigid’s habits. Why should she not tell the truth? She felt certain Jack would not be angry. “I wanted to look at the stars, too. I think they’re pretty.”
Jack turned to her then, and she saw delight on his face. “Do you, so? And is there one you like best?”
“I like sparkly ones best.”
He barked a laugh. “Well, give me but a moment, and I’ll find an especially sparkly one for you to see close up.”
Brigid waited patiently, watching his big, scarred hands - almost as badly scarred as papa’s - twisting knobs and adjusting levels, looking through the eyepiece every few seconds.
As it had been before, Brigid felt a sense of calmness, of warmth and safety from him, as she’d felt both times she’d gone to him because of her nightmares. Before, she’d thought it was only because she’d been so scared, and he’d been so big and gentle and kind. She slowly stepped closer to him, and slid her hand from under the blanket to lay it upon his knee. He smiled at her, kindly, and nodded at the loft opening, no railing preventing a fall. “Are you afraid of being up so high?”
“No, sir. When I was sailing on Ringle, old Mould put me on his shoulders and climbed the masts with me. I’m not afraid at all.”
He laughed heartily at that. “To think any child of Stephen’s should have a head for heights! You must get that from your mama. She used to go up in hot air balloons, sitting on horseback.”
Brigid gaped at him. “Did she really?”
“Yes. Has she never told you? Perhaps she was worried you might wish to do the same. You’ll have to ask your papa or mama about it. I never saw her do it, but she made something of a name for herself in Sweden, I gather, astonishing the people with her courage.”
Brigid thought she would ask her papa rather than her mama. She still didn’t feel very close to her mama; she felt closer to Sophie and Clarissa. Padeen and papa were the two people she felt very closest to, and Jack had become the third, almost without her noticing it. Sophie was more of a caretaker to her than mama was. Clarissa was her friend and teacher. Padeen was her brother and her guardian. Mama was a friend to her papa. Papa was, of course, her own dear papa, who loved her and cared for her and answered all her questions and told her stories. And Jack…what was Jack exactly? What place did he hold? Like mama, he was her papa’s friend. He too cared for her and told her stories and explained things to her. But he couldn’t also be her parent, could he? Her thoughts were interrupted by Jack. “Aha, there we are! The sparkliest star that can be seen tonight.” He patted his knees and she clambered up. He tucked the quilt around her and gestured to the eyepiece. “Take a look, my dear.”
0~0
From his animal hide, Stephen had seen both Jack and Brigid leave the house. He was not worried; if Jack sent her back to bed, he would do so kindly. If Brigid were allowed to stay, then she could hardly be in better company.
Nearly an hour later, he finished his notes, blew out his candle and stood up, hearing his joints crack. He knew Jack and Brigid were still in the loft-observatory: he could hear Jack’s laughter and Brigid’s excited babble of talk. Deciding he wasn’t quite ready to go in just yet he went to the stable and climbed the ladder.
His heart warmed at the sight that met him. His daughter, cheeks flushed and eyes delighted, seated on Jack’s lap, alternately looking through the telescope and up at Jack’s face. He assumed the telescope was pointed at the moon, for Jack was relating a silly tale about a king who ordered a very tall tower to be built, in hopes he might touch the moon.
“How far away is the moon, Jack?” Brigid asked when he finished.
“Oh, several hundred thousand miles, as near as we can tell.”
Brigid put her eye back to the telescope and sighed. “I wish I could touch it. It glows so bright and pretty.”
“It’s not its own light, you know. It’s reflected from the sun, like a mirror.”
Brigid frowned. “But the sun isn’t up. It’s night.”
“Here it is night, perhaps. But on the other side of the world, it is day, and the sun and moon are so far away from the earth, that the earth doesn’t always block the sun’s light from reaching the moon. When it does, we say the moon is waning or waxing. When the earth blocks the light completely, that is when you cannot see the moon at all.”
“Is the moon made of glass, then? You said it was like a mirror.”
“No, I don’t believe so. It’s likely very pretty and shiny white rock. But it only looks that way when the light of the sun hits it. You’ve seen white bed sheets hanging in the sun; aren’t they so bright your eyes hurt to look at them sometimes?”
Brigid nodded sagely. “Maybe the moon is covered all over in bed sheets, even cleaner than Sophie’s.”
Stephen and Jack both laughed; Jack and Brigid turned to Stephen in surprise. “Why, Stephen. Here you are! I didn’t hear you come up.”
Stephen smiled. “I saw the two of you come out here earlier and thought I might join you. I never expected to find you instructing my daughter in the fundamentals of astronomy.”
Jack smiled easily. “She asked questions and I answered. I don’t believe in telling children simplified explanations that give them entirely the wrong idea. I once met a mid who thought the moon was made of cheese, can you believe it?”
Brigid looked through the telescope. “It does have a lot of holes in it…” she said in new doubt.
Jack hastily pulled her away, redirecting the lens back to a star.
They spent far longer a time in the loft than Jack had ever intended that night, for whenever he pointed out a new constellation to Brigid, Stephen would tell her the old myths he knew about how they came to be, and Jack felt obliged to tell his own stories about great astronomers who had solved some of the mysteries of the universe, and made navigation possible for sailors. Brigid did not find anything they told her dull. She took it all in with delight, asking questions and listening seriously to the answers. Upon Jack finishing a tale of their voyage on the Leopard, when astral navigation had saved their lives by leading them to Desolation Island, her face became serious. Both men fell silent, watching her unusually somber blue gaze as she watched the stars. They were alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears, spilling over to roll down her cheeks.
“I think I know why God gave us stars,” she said, taking Jack’s right hand and Stephen’s left hand, clasping them between her own. “He gave us stars to show us how to come home again. I’m so glad. Now I won’t worry so much when you both go away from me.”
“Both of us?” Jack asked mildly. “I would’ve thought you’d be more worried about your papa. He doesn’t know how to navigate.”
“But you do! And I know you’d never leave papa behind. You’ll always look after him, won’t you? And as long as you do, I don’t have to worry about him getting lost.”
Jack and Stephen looked at each other. Jack smiled at Stephen tenderly, but spoke to Brigid. “You have my word on it, dear one. I’ll not let him get lost, even if we were to sail to the moon.”
Stephen, too, spoke to Brigid, though he looked at Jack. “That he won’t, as I know full well. You’ve no need to worry about either of us; if there’s a way home, Jack will always find it. And I know he’d never leave me behind. He’ll find the way for us both to take.”
Jack removed his hand from Brigid’s grasp, then, and put his arm around Stephen’s shoulders. Stephen took Brigid onto his lap and moved closer on the bench, so he was pressed up against Jack’s side. Stephen leaned against Jack, and Brigid, suddenly tired, flopped sideways, so her head rested in Jack’s lap. He stroked her hair, and after a time she murmured sleepily, “I wish you could be my papa, too.”
She did not see the swift glance that passed over her head, did not see the hopeless anguish mingled with resignation in her papa’s gaze, nor his barely perceptible nod at Jack. She did not see the steady tenderness and understanding in Jack’s eyes, or his slight accepting return nod. She did feel him shift, but she did not know he had moved closer to her papa so that he could softly kiss papa’s cheek and murmur a promise in his ear. She did open her eyes when Jack shook her slightly and whispered, “Would you like to touch the moon, my child?”
Brigid nodded and sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Jack told her to close one eye and raise her hand, finger extended, until it appeared as though she were touching the moon. She smiled in sleepy delight, and turned to her papa. To her surprise, she saw that he too had one eye closed, head turned sideways so she could see the tears on his cheek, his arm raised and finger extended, pointing to the moon.