A Solemn Promise

XXVIII

"At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it." Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

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XXVIII.

Adam stole Grace away for a walk about the grounds. It was there that their courtship truly began, and continued, as these excursions became a daily habit after she had finished reading to his father each day.

Every day Peregrine grew wearier and wearier, and Adam's time with Grace became is single source of light in an ever-greying existence.

Adam felt the growing weight of what was rapidly approaching. His father's colour, energy, and life drained from him as quickly as they English skies turned dark for the winter. Everywhere he looked seemed a little duller as the prospect of mourning approached.

For what time he did not spend with Grace, Adam sat with his father. Each conversation he tried to make memorable, meaningful, for fear that it could be their last. Adam asked his father questions, too many really, as the reality of not having the answers was truly frightening.

And when Peregrine would sleep, Adam watched his father breathe, in and out, shallow at times, and staggered at others. Every day death drew nearer. It was something Adam had never seen before. He had never witnessed someone's death. He had had the fortune to never know someone suffer as his father suffered.

Adam had of course read of death before, and heard it described as peaceful, as though one was slipping away into a dreamless sleep. He now had first-hand experience in knowing that death was anything but peaceful. Death was painful, and his poor father took more and more laudanum each day to dull the pain. Peregrine felt pain all over. In his chest, in his belly, in his joints and bones. Adam felt entirely helpless.

"How long do you think he has?" Jack asked Adam quietly on Christmas Eve.

Adam knew his own brother was hanging on to his sanity by a single thread. Adam was well aware that Jack often felt as though he was the black sheep of their family, undesirable, troublesome, and hopeless. But Adam also knew that Jack did feel things keenly. He had an enormous heart, which was why he had the capacity to feel as he did.

Jack had been walking on shaking legs for several weeks. He hadn't run, though Adam knew he was getting ready to bolt. But he had spent several days of that time drunk, and it was only at Adam's begging that Jack had managed to pull himself together to spend what little time they did have with their father.

Peregrine was pale, and impossibly gaunt. He could not stomach food, which the doctor said could be attributed to possible tumours in his belly causing him pain. There was no way to nourish him, and Adam feared starvation would take him before the sickness did.

"I don't know," he told Jack honestly. "You can't leave, though, Jack," Adam requested quietly. "You can't leave me, Susanna, home ... Mother."

Jack remained quiet as his eyes were fixed on Peregrine's chest. After a few moments, he uttered, "He was on my side ... not all the time, but between him and Mother, he ... he at least liked me ..."

"He loves you," corrected Adam, "just as we do. And I'm going to need you, Jack. I won't be able to do this alone."

"You aren't alone. You have Grace," murmured Jack. "You are destined to be perfectly alright, Adam. Trust me."

At that moment, there was a quiet tap on the door, and Grace entered the bedroom quietly at her usual time. Her expression was soft with concern as she looked upon Peregrine with deep pity, a crease forming between her brows.