Chapter 2 (Part Six)

The Day of Silence

The Alistair Duchy

Cottage of Henry and Lyra Dorran

3PL POV

~DAY SIX~

Acceptance

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO”

Henry’s morning began in silence.

Jack’s habitual call was conspicuously absent.

There he stood, fully dressed, so early in fact, it felt like the world had yet to wake.

He moved by the single flickering light of a candle in the darkest hour of the morning.

There he stood, outside, crouching down, with a tiny candle to illuminate the area where Jack the rooster once lived.

Henry pressed his lips into a thin line as he focused on the brownish-red stain in the mud.

The undeniable evidence of his loss.

He closed his eyes, turning away.

Henry’s heart plummeted as he heard the wooden door of his home creak open. 

“Henry?” Lyra’s voice cut the silence. 

The sound of her voice…

Had once been like a gentle current caressing a smooth stone in a flowing pond.

But now, all it carried was a tenebrous fog…

Dragging the stench of last night’s meal with it.

He stood up as Lyra emerged from the house, walking straight up to him.

Before she could say anything, Henry simply handed her his burning candle and started walking toward the Alistair estate.

His already shadowy form grew more distant as he moved deeper into the pre-dawn darkness.

---------------

By the time Henry reached the estate, the sun still had not peeked its golden eyes out across the horizon.

Only a few servants could be seen, getting a head start on the day's tasks.

He slowly made his way to the now familiar kitchen of the east wing.

The Murphys had yet to arrive, it was so deathly quiet here. 

Henry sat at the table and laid his heavy head in his hands.

He felt almost as if he would suddenly begin weeping uncontrollably, as he did yesterday at the loss of one of his closest friends.

One might find it silly that he considered a bird a friend, but Jack was closer to that of family.

DISSOLVE TO:

A Young Henry Dorran on his way to visit his family’s farm. Not a care in the world, just a fishing pole at his back. 3PL POV.

Henry, at twenty years old, felt the familiar spring in his step as he walked toward the Dorran family farm.

He’d taken the day off to take his little brother, James, fishing.

A broad grin stretched across his face as he marched along, a fishing pole dangling over his shoulder.

He was only a half-mile out when the sweet smell of hay was abruptly cut by something else: an almost unbearable bitterness in the air.

It was strange, but he tried not to think too deeply into it.

“Henry? Dad, it’s Henry!” A voice called out.

He turned to look, it was one of his childhood friends, Joanne.

She stood on her porch, biting her nails.

Raising his hand, he gave her a wave.

His face fell slightly when she didn’t return it.

He shrugged it off and continued on his way.

“Henry, lad, come here,” Henry turned back to see Joanne’s father rushing over to him with a serious expression.

WIPE TO:

An older Henry Dorran sitting alone in the east wing kitchen of the Alistair countryside estate. Thinking of memories, not so fond. 3PL POV.

This was the day Henry’s life completely changed.

Everything had happened so fast, almost as if a blur by comparison.

That day, young Henry found himself running faster than he had ever run in his life.

That day Henry witnessed the aftermath of a deadly fire that took the lives of his parents and younger brother.

That day, he’d run straight toward the fading heavy black smoke of his family’s hay fields, instantly overwhelming his senses.

That day, he closed in on the distant aroma of ash and fading embers. The sickening stench of burning hair, flesh, and manure clung to the air.

That day, Henry couldn’t breathe, each inhale was a complete assault on the senses, his lungs filling with pungent and unfamiliar odors.

It turned out that the fire that took his family from him had happened the day prior, and not one person bothered to make sure he was informed that he was utterly alone in the world…

Or so he thought.

That day, young Henry came across a small chick struggling to free itself from fallen debris.

Like a phoenix that rose from his family’s ashes, there he was, a majestic little thing called Jack.   

Henry sat at the kitchen table, praying for the memories to leave him in peace, but after everything that had happened he knew there was no such peace to be had.

An hour of complete hell elapsed before the Murphy’s came clamoring through the door.

“Shit boy, you scared the life out of me!” Mr. Murphy shouted, as soon as his eyes adjusted to Henry in the dark room.

“Goodness, Henry. What's got you in here in the dark?” Mrs. Murphy asked, hurrying to light the room.

"Couldn't sleep." He replied. 

Mr. and Mrs. Murphy looked at one another, Henry's brief reply was all they needed to know that something wasn't right.

They might not have been adept in the art of words, but they both knew what good the comforts of food could provide and quickly set to work. 

After a short while the Murphy’s placed a steaming cup of coffee and a braided piece of sweet smelling bread before him.

Henry clenched his fists, the weight of his emotions and the kindness of the Murphy's were quite heavy to bear in that moment.

He took a deep breath, looking up at them, feeling more pathetic right now than he had ever felt in his life.

He gulped and attempted to speak. 

“Thank you,” He choked out.

His voice had cracked and now he found himself staring at the ceiling, willing tears away with everything he had. 

“Eat up, dear,” Mrs. Murphy said, placing a motherly kiss on the top of his head, before setting off on her daily tasks.

Mr. Murphy stalked over to stare at Henry, hands clenched in his apron pockets.

They stared at each other, Henry's eyes red and dry, his face an open book, while Mr. Murphy's were focused and his face unreadable.

Just as Henry began to grow uncomfortable, the man spoke.

“You big baby,” Mr. Murphy said, slamming his hand on the table and walking off towards his work.

Henry looked down, a single piece of candy lay before him. 

Wrapped in light blue paper.

The Murphy's did not bother Henry again, they simply set off to work as usual, loudly bustling about.

Henry liked that.

He liked being able to process his emotions around other people without having to be bombarded with questions.

He was thankful for their kindness and respect for this unspoken change in him.

Henry reached down and took a sip of the hot coffee, then a bite of the warm chocolate-filled bread.

It was sweet. Inviting.

Just like the Murphy’s, he thought, placing the small piece of candy in his pocket.

---------------

“I'll wring his thin little neck, that Villani scum,” Marcus mumbled under his breath.

Henry sighed, looking down at the tools before him.

They were rusted and most were broken.

Not only had Hartley not sent these tools when he agreed, he also took yesterday off pretending to be sick, just to push back the restoration start.

Henry was in no mood for Hartley’s childish games and he was even more annoyed that he would have to have another unnecessary meeting with the man.

Henry patiently waited for Marcus to review the unusable tools sent by Hartley and provide him with a new corrected list of the needed supplies.

As soon as Marcus had finished scritching the last character down on paper, Henry wasted no time snatching it up and heading to the steward’s office.

He marched right through the open door.

His demeanor demanded attention.

Hartley looked up, shocked at first but then his calculating eyes quickly grew dark.

“To what do I own this pleasure,-” Hartley started with a coy smile.

Henry cut him off, having no patience for pleasantries.

“Please procure and send the correct tools from this list immediately so our high-priority work can begin,” Henry said in a concise and clear manner, holding out the document for Hartley to take.

“I've already sent the tools,” Hartley started.

Henry groaned inwardly, having to talk to a childish man like this on a day like today was beginning to grow exhausting. 

“Mr. Hartley, please stop. Not only did you push the start of construction back a day, you also provided us with tools that were not fit for safe use. If you intend to still refuse to provide the correct equipment, I will simply include this in my progress report for Duke Issac,” Henry stated.

He didn't have to provide a direct report to the Duke, but he was sure somewhere down the line the Duke did read his reports, so it technically wasn't a lie.

Hartley remained quiet, unnerved by Henry's newfound direct competence and lack of usual pleasantries.

He found himself having to comply with the footman's demands.

Henry left the office, the door shutting behind him with a thud.

His small victories as of late…

Had been feeling less and less like victories at all.

Henry slowly made his way over to the greenhouse.

He had to notify Basil that his work would be delayed yet another day, but to focus on what he and his team were able to accomplish. 

“That's fine, Mr. Henry. I understand,” Basil said.

Henry couldn’t help but think the man's all too agreeable nature was slightly annoying.

Basil had asked Henry if he'd join him for a cup of tea, but he politely declined and left the greenhouse as swiftly as he'd come.

It was then, Basil noticed something different about Henry, his quiet competence in managing the schedule and his sudden dark mood.

He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to change him so drastically?