Drops of Gold(21)

“Please let me finish.”

He nodded his consent but turned his eyes away.

“At about the time the young son realized his beloved pet would not awaken, he heard his father’s voice calling to him. For a moment, he froze, uncertain of what he ought to do. You see, he was terribly overset at the events that had transpired, grieved at the loss of his pet, overwrought with feelings of guilt and confusion. But he was also afraid. His father had told him not to shoot his rocks at animals. He had made his disapproval of such actions quite plain.

“So in fear of his father’s condemnation, the son ran away. He ran from his father’s continued calls and hid in the woods not far from the tree whose leaves dropped into the river every year. The son did not reply when his father called his name. He did not reveal his hiding spot, so entirely convinced was he that his father would want nothing to do with him if he knew what he’d done. On some level, the boy believed his father already knew and despised him for it.”

Mr. Jonquil had grown very quiet and still, but Marion was certain he yet listened. She felt compelled to continue.

“The boy’s sobs eventually led his father to him. ‘I’ve killed him, Papa,’ the boy said through his tears. ‘I’ve killed him.’ But his father didn’t rail against him or punish or berate him. He pulled the boy into his arms and held him, letting the lad’s tears fall. Together they buried the dog. Together they spoke at length of regrets and mistakes and forgiveness.

“‘No matter what you may do, my son,’ the father said, ‘I will love you always.’ And he did. He loved him through all of his mistakes and regrets.”

Mr. Jonquil didn’t reply or look at her. Only the sound of wind and flowing water broke the silence between them. She wondered if she’d gone too far, if she’d said more than she ought. Marion hoped she’d helped, at least given him something to think about.

“Please do not share that particular story with Caroline,” Mr. Jonquil eventually repeated quietly. “I fear she would be quite shaken by it.”

“I have plenty of others, sir.”

“And where, Miss Wood, do you get your stories?” Mr. Jonquil slowly rose to his feet.

“My mother told me that one.”

“And the other also, I seem to remember.”

Marion nodded.

“Did she know any happy stories?” He stepped a little farther away from her.

“The Drops of Gold story was happy, sir.”

He didn’t reply. “Good day, Miss Wood,” he said and slowly walked away.





Chapter Nine



They’d reached Twelfth Night, Caroline’s favorite holiday of the year, preferred even to Christmas. She’d mentioned last January’s festivities at least a dozen times over the year.

Layton, however, didn’t particularly feel like making merry. As much as he’d tried to dismiss it, Miss Wood’s story haunted him. I’ve killed him, Papa. Layton could almost hear the little boy’s voice, feel the pain there. He knew what Miss Wood had been trying to do, to say. She was attempting to convince him through her little tale that the Almighty forgave mistakes. The boy with the slingshot hadn’t intended to do what he’d done.

That was the real difference. Of course the boy’s father had been forgiving and understanding. The boy’s misdeed had been an accident. What Miss Wood didn’t understand, what she’d missed in her story, was that Layton’s guilt stemmed as much from what he’d done as from the fact that he’d committed his crime on purpose. And given the option, would do it again.

God, of course, knew that. What was the point in traipsing off to church on Sundays and kneeling in a pose of humble obedience when both he and the Almighty knew he was nothing of the sort? Or petitioning the heavens with his concerns, perhaps promising to be a dutiful Christian if only he were granted some request or another, when he’d given up any claim to being dutiful four years earlier?

No. God didn’t like hypocrites.

“Oh, Papa!”

Caroline’s cry of sheer glee startled Layton out of his contemplation. He turned away from the window he’d been blindly staring out of. Caroline stood in the doorway of the drawing room, her face framed by perfect golden curls, her tiny hand tightly clasping Miss Wood’s. A smile spread across Layton’s face, and he held out his arms to his daughter. She ran directly to him, hugging him tightly around the neck.

“It’s tonight, Papa! It’s tonight!”

“Yes, my dear. I know.” Layton chuckled, checking himself lest he squeeze her too tightly.

“Should I wait up for Miss Caroline, or would you prefer to put her to bed yourself?” Miss Wood asked from the doorway.