Remembrance

“I am your father,” John shouted.

“Oh, yes sir,” Talis said. “I did not mean…”

“Go on with your training,” Will said. “I will wait.”

“No,” Talis said firmly, “a knight must take care of those he loves. You will excuse me, sir,” he said to John, “while I take my fa—While I see to my visitor.” With that Talis had walked away with his arm protectively, lovingly, around the broad, stooped shoulders of the old man.

John had watched them go, his body so full of anger that Hugh had feared for his life. When Talis did not return that afternoon, John went in search of him and found him ensconced in the garden with the old man, their heads together, talking as Talis had never talked with John.

“I am his father,” John was now raging to Hugh. “Does the boy not know that? Does he not understand that he is to come to me with his problems?”

Hugh peeled an apple with a silver-handled knife. John Hadley was the last man anyone would want to tell an intimate problem to. John had the heavy-handed approach to life that a butcher had with a carcass of beef. “The boy misses the girl,” he said at last.

“What girl?” John asked. “Why does everyone talk of Talis and a girl? Perhaps you and my wife see something that no one else does.”

At the mention of Lady Alida, Hugh nicked his thumb. He did not like the woman; he found her cold and heartless. Perhaps she had not always been so, but she was now. And he had no doubt that if there was any trouble brewing, she was the cause of it. Also, Hugh could see that John was lying. There was more going on here than people were telling. In fact, lately, the whole house seemed to be full of secrets. Lady Alida riding off at breakneck speed to heaven-only-knows-where; that little nothing, Edith, suddenly acting as though she had a secret that was going to change the world.

And that poor girl Callie sent off to tend a garden of poisonous plants and tolerate that vain rooster, Allen Frobisher.

But the worst of it all was Talis. Hugh thought back to a few months ago when he had first seen Talis, on that day when the boy had saved John’s life. On that day when Talis had thrown that girl into the air and caught her, Hugh knew he had never seen anything as perfectly instinctive and genuine as the united movement of those two. The two of them had moved as one person.

On that day Talis had been glorious. Hugh had never seen any young man who stood straighter, had carried himself with as much pride as Talis had. When John had declared the boy as his son, Hugh had wanted to fight him for that honor. Talis was a son any man would want to have.

But now, mere months later, Talis had lost weight, his eyes were dark and hollow from lack of sleep and his energy seemed to have disappeared. He ate little and, according to Philip, he slept less.

Had he been another lad, Hugh would have thought Talis was lovesick, but what was ailing Talis was more than love.

This morning, in a jealous rage, John had sent from his house the old farmer who’d raised Talis. John couldn’t bear to see anyone receive the affection of Talis, couldn’t bear anyone receiving what he did not. Talis was always respectful of John, but he did not throw his arms around him and repeatedly kiss his cheeks.

It had taken Hugh three hours on horseback to find the old man, driving a heavy farm wagon loaded with bags of grain. Even after finding him, it had taken Hugh quite a while to persuade him that he meant only good for Talis.

The old man, Will Watkins, had said that Talis was very unhappy, that he was unhappy because he could not be with Callie. But Talis would not tell Will why he could not be with Callie. “Something to do with ‘vows to God,’ was what he said.” Then Will lowered his voice and his face changed to anger. “More like vows to her, if you ask me.?

?

Although Will did not say who “she” was, Hugh knew.

On his way back to Hadley Hall, Hugh wondered why Lady Alida had interfered between young love. What did it matter to her if two sweet children like Talis and Callie got together? Was she so bitter over her own loveless life that she could not bear for others to be happy?

So now Hugh was faced with John’s shouting and jealousy that the boy loved the man who’d raised him more than he loved John, who Talis had known for mere weeks.

“I believe,” Hugh said nonchalantly, “that the boy is in love. Perhaps you should give him permission to marry the girl.” Hugh acted as though he weren’t watching John’s face, but he was. He had many suspicions about the birth of Callie and Talis.

“I, ah, I cannot…I mean, I think he is too young to marry. And that girl is not right for him.”

Or, Hugh thought, you are afraid the boy’s true father will come to claim him and you fear to have to pay him to keep the boy. No wonder Talis gave kisses to that old farmer and not to John, who couldn’t quite decide whether he loved money or a person more.

But Hugh knew one thing he had in common with John: They both hated clever, manipulative women. Hugh had no idea what Lady Alida was up to, or what she was after, but he was sure she was doing something she should not be doing.

“I think someone has told Talis it is dishonorable to so much as speak to this girl Callie. I think he believes he will forfeit his place in your life if he talks to her.”

“How could he think that? I do not care if he impregnates the girl. What matter is it to me if he is…If he is…”

“Happy?” Hugh asked, knowing that John hated sentimentality and he’d never before concerned himself with the happiness or unhappiness of anyone except himself. But life in this big house seemed to go better when Talis was happy.

“I shall order the girl to sit near him, watch him all day if he wants,” John said. All he wanted was his son near him and not to lose any money.

“I think that an angry, sullen girl hissing at him from the sidelines is not the answer.”