T. Novan - Words Heard In Silence / Xena Uber

Albert hefted the child in his arms. He had shed his coat in the warm weather and stood in just his shirtsleeves, holding the little girl who was holding onto his neck tightly. "Then let us go see a ‘‘orsey."

--*--

Charlie lay in his cot, watching the scene play out before him. His wife, his children, his friends, and this strange, handsome man in the place where he wanted to be with all his heart and knew he could never be again. Charlie’s heart lay shattered in the remains of his mangled flesh, rotting on the field at Appomattox Station. The man was tall, dark haired, well built, with a flashing smile and an easy grace. Em clearly trusted and loved him. He could make Rebecca smile. Maybe this was the man that Rebecca should have been with. Charlie wished with all his heart that Jocko had left him at least his sword.

He watched as the man lifted Em in his arms and walked toward the stables. They entered, and a few minutes later, emerged with Jack on a lunge lead. The three of them entered the small paddock, with Jack following the man like a well-trained nag. Where was Charlie’s fierce warhorse? With Em perched on his shoulders, the man put Jack through his ground paces. One of the grooms brought Jack’s saddle and bridle, taking Em from the man’s arms for a few moments while the man tacked Jack up. Then, with Jack standing quietly for him, the man swung up into the saddle, took Em from the groom and set her in front of him, and trotted Jack out of the paddock.

Charlie could not stand it any more. He struggled to pull himself up from the bed and worked his way around the room, looking for something, anything that he could use to end his life. There was nothing left for him. He cleared the old desk, searching in the drawers for a knife, a rope, anything. Finally, in his weakened state, he fell into the old leather chair by the fireplace. There he sat and sobbed out his rage, his frustration and all the pain in his soul.

--*--

Seeing Jack just made Em more determined. She thought very carefully in her two-year-old mind about what must be going on to make her Papa not want to see her. That afternoon, when she should have been taking her nap, the little girl thought long and hard. Finally, it occurred to her that the only reason why Papa would not see her was because she had been a bad girl. She knew she had not been the brave girl she promised she would be when Papa was gone, and that she had tried Mama Becca’s nerves more than once. And she had wailed and cried when they had put Mama in the box and taken her to the church and put her into the ground. She had not been the brave, good girl Papa wanted her to be. Maybe Papa would stop punishing her if she promised to be good again.

Very quietly, Em got out of her bed and calling Puppy Papa to her side, crept down the stairs to the hall. She looked around, wanting to be very sure that none of the grownups caught her out of bed when she was supposed to be napping. When the hall was empty, she slipped to the back stairs and down them. There she and Puppy Papa turned toward the door to Papa’s office and she gathered all of her two-year-old courage. She just had to get her Papa to see her. She missed him so much and she was so sorry she had been bad.

She moved down the hall, stumbling once on her sleeping gown and stubbing her hand. She looked at it and she wanted to cry, but if she cried she would be bad and Papa would not see her. She shook her hand and went to the door, giving it a tap with her hand. "Papa, Em good. Pwease, Papa."

She waited and when there was no answer she tried again, even though the tears were starting. "Papa, Em be good."

Charlie sat in his chair, lost in his own pain and bleak, hopeless rage. He heard his daughter’s voice, but thought it was a delusion, brought to him by his own mind to torment him. After all, he had seen her laughing and playing with the big, dark haired man just a few hours before.

"Papa, I be good. Pwomise. Pwease!" She leaned against the door, her body shuddering with the tears she was so desperate to hold in so she would not be bad for her Papa. "Papa! Em love Papa!"

Charlie was in hell. Oh, Em. I love you. That is why I have to let you go. I am broken, little one, and no good for you any more. Please, you and your mama need someone who is not like me. You need a real father, not a broken old woman whose whole life is a lie. Please, baby, forget me. Please. But he could not make himself go to the door, because he knew if he saw her, his resolve would break. He knew if he saw his little daughter in so much pain, he would break, and take her in his good arm and try to make her feel better. And he just could not do that to her –– or to himself.

Emily slumped against the door, then slowly slid down it, sobbing, but trying not to make any noise. Her puppy tried to ease her pain by licking her tears away but she lashed out and slapped her away, causing the pup to yelp and stagger back, her tail tucked between her legs. Em had never hit her before. But Puppy Papa would not leave her little girl. "Stop! Papa mad at Em. Em bad girl. Papa not love Em."

Charlie could not stand it. He tried to rise from the chair, but the combination of his injuries and the lack of food conspired to make it impossible. He collapsed back into his chair. Reaching for the door again, trying again, he passed out.

Jocko came down the stairs. It was time to try to get the General to eat something again. There he found the little girl, slumped on the floor sobbing. The puppy was hiding under the stairs, whimpering. Jocko rushed to the child and picked her up. "Ah, little lass, come here. Tell Uncle Jocko."

"Em bad. Papa not love Em. Pwease." She grabbed his shirt and looked directly into his eyes. "Tell Papa Em good."

"Oh, lass, Em is very good." Your papa is being a total ass and I am about ready to tell him so. "Papa is sick, honey. And he does not want you to get what he has." A terminal case of stupidity, I would say. "Let me take you upstairs. It is time to get ready for supper."

"Papa sick? Papa die? No pwease, Papa not die. Em love Papa. Pwease." She broke down and sobbed now, all her little two-year-old reserve was gone with the thoughts that Papa would die. They would put him in a box, too.

"No, little one, your Papa is not going to die. I promise." Not unless I kill him personally. "You let Uncle Jocko take you upstairs to Tess and I promise, you will see your Papa within the next few days."

Em sniffed and laid her head on Jocko's shoulder. Her little body was still shaking and she just let him carry her away from Papa's door.

Jocko walked up the stairs, carrying the exhausted child gently. As he got to the top of the first flight of stairs and was starting up the stairs to the second floor, he heard a crash coming from the back parlor. He turned back down the stairs to check. "Hush, little one," he admonished as Em stirred on his shoulder, curiosity almost overcoming her sorrow. "We need to check on your Mama for a minute."

Rebecca stood in the middle of the parlor looking at her bleeding hand and the broken glass in the window. Before she knew it the door was opening, Richard, followed by Elizabeth and Jocko, carrying Em, entered the room. "What!" She yelled, still shaking from her own anger and frustration. "I am at the end! I cannot take anymore! I have done all I can!"

Elizabeth looked at the bleeding hand. "Rebecca, what have you done?"

Richard reached for his handkerchief and immediately moved toward Rebecca to staunch the blood.

Em looked at her Mama, standing there bleeding and yelling and immediately started to wail.

Jocko just stood there holding the wailing child, stock still, his face slowly turning a fascinating shade of red.