Henry found himself alone in the house, with Sarah and Daisy running errands. Though Sarah had instructed him to take it easy, he still yearned to be useful.
Perhaps, by surveying the old house for necessary repairs, he might serendipitously uncover trinkets to mend his broken radio.
He scrutinized the living room and discovered that the screws on the cabinet doors were loose. Retrieving a trusty screwdriver, he diligently tightened them. The books on the shelf were also in disarray, arranged haphazardly, and though it wasn’t strictly necessary, it was unsatisfying to gaze upon. Henry couldn’t ignore it, so he took the time to rearrange them neatly.
Beneath the sink, he unearthed a collection of broken appliances and, with determination, transported them to the living room to commence his repairs. Turning on the radio, he sought to dispel the pervasive silence that enveloped the house.
While mending a broken mixer, the soothing melodies emanating from the radio abruptly shifted to a more somber tune, signaling a transition to a news channel.
Henry halted his work, turning the volume up to grasp the unfolding report more clearly. The announcer relayed that the storm had finally subsided beyond Colsary, and fair weather was anticipated in the coming days.
However, the subsequent news delved into the passage of new laws and the political machinations of Colsarian monarchs, sparking a disdainful reaction from Henry. He contemplated changing the channel back to the comforting classical tunes but was arrested by the next piece of news.
“The Consehannon military defector remains at large, and Colsarian authorities are vigorously pursuing the apprehension of this fugitive. Today, Colsary’s military forces were deployed to the border to fortify security and prevent any further defectors from the Northern country entering the territory.”
Henry clicked his tongue. The news completely thwarted his plan to return through the border fence. Fortunately, his name had never been acquired, and no one could identify him as the defector. The only viable escape option now was to follow Sarah’s plan of boarding a ship to a third country. If he could find a way to contact the Consehannon army, they might expedite this plan.
With the limited tools at his disposal, all he could do was wait, and waiting was excruciating.
Henry continued repairing a broken chair he had discovered in Daisy’s bedroom. It would still be useful if it weren’t for a missing leg. Sarah seemed lacking in carpentry skills, evident from the numerous broken pieces of furniture throughout the house upon closer inspection. Perhaps she was either not adept in carpentry or too occupied due to her demanding work schedule. Were seamstresses truly that occupied?
Henry realized he had run out of nails, so he headed to the shed to find more, experiencing that familiar sensation again—someone was watching him. Despite this, he maintained a nonchalant demeanor. He appeared non-threatening, as if the watcher had no intention of harming him; otherwise, they would have acted already. It seemed more like an observer, perhaps someone familiar with this place.
Sarah had mentioned he was a regular customer. Could he be seeking her out? But why did she pale upon hearing about him? Did something transpire between them? Henry couldn’t help but be curious. Nevertheless, he cautioned himself against delving too deeply into Sarah’s relationships with acquaintances. His stay was temporary, and prying wouldn’t aid his departure from this place.
“He’s here again?”
Henry recounted the presence of the aforementioned gentleman to Sarah, and she reacted with evident annoyance and restlessness.
“Do you have any idea why he frequents this place?” he inquired, mindful not to delve into overly personal questions.
“No,” Sarah shook her head. “But I’ll talk to him. What he’s doing is a little uncomfortable. I’ll ask him about his frequent visits and what business he has here.”
More than a little, Henry thought to himself, but refrained from vocalizing it. Just picture someone watching you inside your house without your knowledge. It’s rather unsettling if one were to dwell on it.
“How are your injuries, by the way?” Sarah changed the topic, a subtle shift in her tone as she delicately broached a subject she wished to keep veiled from Henry. She harbored reservations about him discovering her connection to her suitor, Mr. St. Claire, fearing he might discern her concealed motives through the charade they were about to embark upon. “Do they still trouble you?”
“No,” Henry responded, a reassuring smile gracing his face. “I’m not feeling a thing, actually.”
The two found themselves standing at the kitchen counter, engaged in domestic tasks. Sarah deftly wielded a knife, chopping vegetables with practiced precision, while Henry endeavored to craft biscuits. Strangely, they slipped into a routine that suggested a familiarity beyond the ordinary, as though their actions were part of the fabric of an everyday existence. The atmosphere within the confines of the house seemed to envelop them in a comforting embrace, akin to the routine warmth of a typical Friday evening. It was an odd sensation, yet one that brought solace to both Sarah and Henry.
Amid this domesticity, they continued their work in the kitchen, a companionable silence reigning between them. In the living room, Daisy played with her toys, blissfully unaware of the impending tidying that awaited.
After the dinner, Sarah handed him a glass of orange juice. It seemed she had noticed his attempts to conceal his coughs and sneezes throughout the night. Henry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of suspicion at her unwavering kindness. Could someone truly be this caring, especially towards an adversary? Although she had explicitly stated that she didn’t perceive him as an enemy in the first place.
He redirected his thoughts to figuring out a way to communicate with Consehannon, seeking his insights on crucial matters. However, his radio still required a few components to function optimally, leaving him frustrated about what steps to take next.
His mind drifted back to Consehannon. This residence differed significantly from the home he once shared with his corporal father in his homeland. As he pondered his adoptive father, Henry wondered if there were any updates on his disappearance during the storm. Currently, no one knows his whereabouts. Henry yearned to understand Corporal Isenberg’s current sentiments. Was he worried about him? Reflecting on how he had been treated since his adoption from the orphanage, Henry admitted he was uncertain. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware that he was never considered family. The corporal would likely only be concerned due to his value as an asset.
The truth was, Henry felt a profound sense of uselessness as the war came to an end. His purpose had been clear – to fight for his fallen loved ones, his compatriots, and the freedom of their nation. Yet, as the dust settled and peace finally graced the streets of their country, a hollow feeling lingered within his chest. The victory was secured, but it failed to bring the satisfaction he had anticipated.
Perhaps it was because the Colsarians hadn’t suffered enough? Henry questioned the Consehannon army’s decision to not eradicate these perceived monsters completely. Who could fathom the nefarious plots they might be scheming? Maybe they were merely regrouping, biding their time to strike Consehannon once again.
Thus, even with peace reigning in their country, Henry couldn’t find solace. He couldn’t abandon his duty, not until a genuine sense of satisfaction enveloped him. The war, in his eyes, was far from over. True peace remained elusive when there lingered a constant undercurrent of fear and threat.
A heavy sigh escaped Henry as he closed his eyes, attempting to calm the turmoil clouding his mind once again.
The soft strains of a melody emanated from a radio, prompting Henry to open his eyes and listen intently. Sarah was once again singing along with the song, showcasing her penchant for romantic tunes.
While cleaning the shelf earlier, Henry had observed that it was brimming with romantic fictional books. Romance wasn’t Henry’s cup of tea; he found the idea of falling in love to be an improbable scenario for himself.
As Sarah’s voice filled the room with the lyrics, Henry reflected on his lack of understanding about love. Perhaps he had been taught by his birth parents, but the memories of them were so blurred that he couldn’t recall their faces. All he had ever learned and known was how to fight. Corporal Isenberg had declared him designed for war from the moment he first laid eyes on him at the orphanage. The smartest, strongest, healthiest, and seemingly devoid of emotions, as if all human sentiment had been drained from him. His heart was an empty shell, a blank canvas.
Henry acknowledged his purpose – to be a soldier, and a soldier he would remain.
Henry’s eyelids eased shut as Sarah’s tender singing voice enveloped him, lulling him into a peaceful slumber.