The Silent Love (34 page)

Clay ran across the yard, his face streaked with tears, his Strongbow mouth pouting. Behind him, the earl walked slowly, a casual air about him, swinging a walking stick in rhythm with his stride. He ignored the boy as he shouted imperiously over his shoulder for the man to be gone.

It had been six weeks since Carlton had come to the manor and during that time he had alternately praised and scolded the boy. He had begun to teach him is letters, though his mother had started him out, and he was quick, and eager to learn.

Carlton knew that the child was acting out his confusion and loss. Loss of his Papa and all that he had taught him, confusion over his new father, teaching him a different behavior, and his place in the boys life. Being not emotionally involved with the child—at least to the degree that his parents were—Carlton was able to present a façade of indifference to the boy when he misbehaved.

He would  chide  the boy in a mater-of-fact way and give him his punishment, showing no anger or frustration, the things the boy fed his ego upon. Now the child was running from him because he had caught him bedeviling the new tutor that had been engaged to take over for Carlton, who was at last going to Crossham to take up his life there.

Clay ran until he could run no more and fell upon a particularly large tree root, panting and heaving, his tears streaking the dirt down his face. He sat upon the log and waited for his torturer to arrive, for the lad had no doubt that Carlton was not far behind. He never was. He would be seven years old soon and he was as confused as Carlton suspected him of being.

"Well, young master, what have you to say for yourself?" Carlton stood above him, his posture casual and his face blank.

"Nothing... and be gone with you." The child mumbled, and shifted his gaze, looking at his feet.

"Look at me now." Carlton was stern, but his voice was soft. The boy looked up reluctantly. "You will go back and wash your dirty little face, then go to Master Connor and make your amends. When you have done that you will go to the schoolroom and pick up every book you threw, every pen and pencil as well. All of it, do you understand?"

"I did not throw the books... they fell."

"You lie. Your grandfather did not teach you that, I vow."

"He was my Papa."

"Yes, you called him that, I know. But he was your grandfather and you must understand that though he was a good man in some ways, he taught you things that were wrong. Come along now and get you back to the house. I will follow more slowly and when I arrive, I expect to see the room neat and tidy."

Carlton gave the boy a look that showed his disappointment in him.

Hanging his dark head, Clay went shuffling and kicking dirt along the path. Following him at a steady pace, Carlton decided it was time to talk with the tutor and David, and Hannah as well, for the boy was at a stage where he could go either way, and it appeared he was bent on going the wrong way.

He knew that David and his lady had not ceased quarreling over their child. Hannah was still wont to coddle him and David was wont to do the opposite. Their fear for their son was tearing them asunder. Carlton liked them both very much, and his great affection for them kept him here, for he could have gone to Crossham long ago.

.

* * * * *

.

Hannah stood at her chamber window, her eyes fixed on the child coming sullenly across the lawn. She wanted to go to him and comfort him, wipe his tears, perhaps give him a treat, but she knew better. Her husband had turned into a monster, and each time she showed her son affection, it seemed David would become angry and growl at her.

She only wanted back the peacefulness they had shared in those first days together as husband and wife.

Especially when it came to her love. The silent love that had come to her in the darkness had fled, it would seem.

.

* * * * *

.

David guided Challenger to the hilltop and looked down upon the manor house, seeing the wide expanse of lawn, the beautifully manicured gardens and the small pond nearby. He could even make out the faint trail that wound into the woods, the trail to the cottage.

That is where I should be, where I truly belong
, he thought sadly, his mind's eye picturing the cottage. He had kept his distance from his young wife for a while now, not because he no longer desired her, for he had a burning need to hold Hannah close and love her. He did not wish to quarrel with her though, and it seemed each time he came near, she chided him or berated him for not taking the child under his wing.

Or for being too harsh with him, or some other petty grievance.

He had tried. Oh how he had tried.

She could not see that the boy truly resented him for taking the place of his Papa and would not warm to him, though he had appeared to in the beginning. David had hoped at first that he and the boy would have a good relationship, but as David showed his authority over the boy, he withdrew more and more, and had even told David that he was not his father... saying he hated him.

It had stunned David to hear it, and he had gone away, leaving the child to the ministrations of Carlton. That had been almost two weeks ago, and he had quarreled hotly with his wife over it, for she had accused him then, in no uncertain terms, of turning his back on the boy and her as well.

And so, in fit of pique and deep pain, he had done so.

He saw Clay making his way to the manor, kicking at the flowers along the path, his small body rigid with anger. Not far behind, Clayton strolled along, seemingly unconcerned, and followed the boy to the house.

David watched a few minutes more, then as the stallion showed his restiveness, he gave the great animal his head, and galloped wildly down the hill, away from his home.

But as before, no matter how fast or far he rode, he could not outrun his flagging, injured spirit and he finally slowed the animal, turning back to the village to seek an audience with his grandfather.

His mother, taking Hannah's side, would hardly speak to him.

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* * * * *

.

He sat in the shade of the porch, somewhat soothed by the motion as he watched his grandfather's hands shaping a doll's face from the wood, the knife biting into the soft pine, the sun glinting off the blade. The gnarled old hands were strong yet, and deft in their movements, and David was fascinated, as usual, with the elder man's skill.

They did not speak for a while, but each man gave the other space to think his own thoughts. David looked down at his own poor effort to whittle a figure, but he could not concentrate on his task and so laid the partial shape of a bird back in the box, along with the knife.

Gillian knew of his grandson's troubles, and was sad for the boy, but could not interfere, for he knew that he must be asked for advice before he gave it. Keeping his council, he continued to whittle away, waiting for David to begin, as he knew he would in his own good time. He had not long to wait, for his grandson's worried voice soon intruded on the silence.

"Grandfather, how does a man raise his son in a righteous manner?"

Gillian, not given to over stating his opinions, said only, "It would depend on the man and his son as well, for we are all different as God meant us to be."         

"What then, should I do? You know Clay and you know me. What would you say I am doing wrong?"

"Ye are doing just as I would, it would seem." The old man glanced at him with shrewd eyes, then finished his thought. "Or you were in the beginning. Not so now, though, eh?"

"I cannot get through to him. He has actually told me he hates me."

Gillian, knowing the pain of having your child say such a thing, only grunted in response, for there was no answer to that one. He continued to whittle, gouging out the place where the eyes would go with careful strokes of the knife. He did not look up, for David had not done, and the old man knew it well.

David sat awhile longer, and waited for his grandfather to give him something—anything—in the way of advice that he might use to remedy his situation.

When the elder man remained silent, he went on, speaking his thoughts aloud. "I have punished him, though never would I hit the boy. I have refused to allow his mother to coddle him, and now she is angry with me for it. I have tried teaching him to fish at the pond, but he only wanted to spear the poor little frogs and kill them, so that he might sneak them into Elspeth's bed and frighten the woman."

He looked at Gillian and snorted in derision. "He finds cruelty to the servants a common enough practice and it amuses him to spite them. Just the other day he told Darwin that he was too old to be a butler and would be put out to pasture if he angered him again."

"What did old Darwin do to overset the boy?"

"I think he tried to stop Clay from tossing a ball in the house, for he has already broken several cherished pieces that his mother brought from her home. They are not expensive, just plaster figurines, but they mean much to Hannah, for they were her mothers.

I had them sent to the potter for repair and they look as well as new, but still, the child showed no remorse when his mother cried."

"I think David, you must take your son away by yourself. Remove him from servants and such and give him a taste of life as it really is for most of us."

"Take him where? I am not sure of your meaning."

"You have a cousin in Salisbury. He lives near the great standing stones, in a remote cottage not unlike the one where you were born. He is a humble man and his trade is weaving, but he is a wise old fellow and I remember him well from when my father took me there as a boy. Took you there once, I did. Don't suppose you remember it?"

David laughed in a teasing manner and smiled at his grandsire. "I do not, but he must be quite ancient, for you to have seen him as a child."

"Not so. He is but a year older than I and I would have you know that I am less than ancient." Gillian glowered at the younger man, but there was no bite to it, for he was not upset. "'Twas
his
father we visited. He too, was a wise man, and my father set great store by his words and advice."

"But how do you know
this cousin
is wise?"

"He is a Strongbow and he is my cousin."

"On the strength of that, you would send me to him?"

"Not just that. The man is a healer and he sees things we do not. He can look into the child's soul and yours as well, if you let him. He will heal the boy from his devilish ways, given time. 'Tis worth the try, is it not?"

"Yes, I suppose so." David set his head at an angle, thinking about the idea. "But Hannah will not allow us to go off like that. I am already in deep Dutch with her, for she accuses me of negligence toward our son. She would never agree to me taking him off, and would likely want to come along if she did."

"If you take him on a trip... just the two of you, I would not call that a negligent act." Again his eyes cut to David, glimmering with a shrewd knowledge wrought of many years living.

"I could broach the subject at dinner... feel her out and see how she reacts... "

"Aye, you can coddle her as well, no different than she does the boy. Don't ask her man.
Tell
her. A woman needs a strong hand upon occasion that is why our Lord made men stronger and less apt to cry at every turn. Women are soft and need coddling, I vow.

"But times like these, they need a firm hand, just like a child would. Give her the news, but if you ask her permission, you are giving her sway to deny you what is rightfully your decision. He is
your
child, too."

"I guess things could be no worse between us if I overset her in this matter." David slumped against the step, resting his elbow on the uneven boards of the porch, his eyes turning inward as he delved into his memories of Hannah, trying to find a truth to his grandfather's words that would apply to her.