“Papa,” Henry turned his head towards Daisy, who called for him at the dinner table where they partook in their midday repast.
He had prepared Sarah’s reheated breakfast and concocted a modest stew to provide them with warm liquid sustenance for the chilly weather. Thankfully, Daisy took a liking to it. It marked the inaugural occasion Henry had ever cooked for someone. The enthusiasm she displayed when he revealed the stool he had crafted for her was heartening. The way she clung to his legs at that moment, tenderly whispering, “Thank you, Papa,” stirred something within his seemingly unyielding heart, a sensation he believed had long departed. Nonetheless, Henry dismissed it, assuring himself that it was an isolated incident; it wouldn’t happen again.
Surprisingly, he swiftly grew accustomed to Daisy addressing him as her ‘Papa.’ She earnestly believed him to be her father. Yet, Henry couldn’t shake the guilt for deceiving this innocent child. Rationalizing that it was a necessity of the moment, he convinced himself that to survive, he must play this role. Once he departs, Sarah is capable of managing everything. Their household had evidently thrived without the presence of a paternal figure.
“What?” he inquired of the child as he savored a spoonful of his meal.
“Why are you away for so long? Mama said you went somewhere far away. Is that true?” she queried, curiosity shining in her bright green eyes.
Henry nodded, confirming what Sarah had told her. “Yes, work detained me longer than expected, so I had to stay there for a few years.”
“What work?”
“Business of sorts. Selling things, like necessities,” Henry attempted to explain in terms suitable for the child’s understanding.
“Really? What do you sell, Papa?”
“Just some things that people need,” he replied, struggling to think of a specific item that he could later substantiate with plausible information. He also wanted Sarah to be informed of the same story to prevent any conflicting statements when questioned.
However, Henry discerned a shift in Daisy’s expression. The radiance in her bright eyes dimmed as she idly toyed with a piece of beef on her plate.
“Don’t play with your food, Daisy,” he admonished, causing her to cease her playful antics and abstain from continuing her meal.
“What’s wrong?” Henry queried, a tone of concern permeating his voice. “You should not waste any food, Daisy.”
Yet, the little girl remained unresponsive, her gaze fixed downward, concealing the emotions written on her face.
Was she distressed about something? Perhaps the food didn’t suit her palate? Could it have caused her discomfort? But I meticulously followed the recipe.
Henry’s mind spiraled into a maelstrom of conjectures about what might have unsettled the child. Just as his thoughts threatened to veer into chaos, Daisy spoke again.
“Daisy wants to know if Papa would leave Daisy and Mama again,” she uttered quietly, biting her lip and lifting her head slightly, as if determined to hold back tears.
Henry grappled for an answer, a soothing falsehood to avert her tears. Yet, guilt surged in his throat at the prospect of offering the child false hope.
“I don’t know,” he responded, “But I need to go back for work someday. For now, I’ll stay with you and your Mama.” Henry glanced at her partially untouched plate, contemplating a way to encourage her to finish the meal. “I might consider getting you a toy from the country I worked once I return if you promise to be a good girl who doesn’t waste any food.”
A wave of relief washed over Henry as Daisy’s downcast countenance transformed into one of brightness, and her appetite rekindled.
Toys proved remarkably effective in motivating children. Do parents study such manipulation techniques? Bribing children into compliance seems to be a pragmatic approach. Whatever works, then.
They partook in their meal as the rain resumed its descent outside. This time, it held a more tranquil cadence compared to the previous night, although there were moments when it seemed burdened with an unseen weight.
Midway through their meal, Henry noticed a portion of the roof succumbing to leaks. Daisy nonchalantly remarked that it always happened when it rained, prompting her mother to fetch a basin from the bathroom to collect the intruding droplets. Acting on instinct, the little girl hurried to the bathroom, returning moments later with the basin cradled in her arms. She strategically positioned it to intercept the rainwater infiltrating their humble abode.
Observing this makeshift solution, Henry opted to address the underlying issue. Fetching a chair, he positioned himself beneath the leak, assessing the damage.
Instructing Daisy to remain indoors, he took the initiative to mend the leak at its source. Fortunately, a ladder was at hand, enabling him to ascend to the roof. There, he diligently repaired all the vulnerabilities that could lead to further leaks.
In the midst of this impromptu repair work, Henry momentarily forgot about his own injuries, driven by an aversion to idleness. The notion of sitting idle in a corner was unfamiliar and unappealing to him; he preferred to engage in activities imbued with purpose and significance.
As the afternoon unfolded, Daisy remained engrossed in her doll play, while Henry occupied himself within his room, tinkering with his portable radio. When he ventured into the kitchen to fetch some water, he noticed the tendrils of the child’s hair impeding her play, cascading over her face. Offering his assistance, he volunteered to secure her unruly locks, to which she eagerly consented.
However, Henry soon discovered the intricacies of crafting a simple braid. It proved to be a task far removed from the straightforward act of tying ropes. Settling for a modest ponytail, he managed to corral the strands into place, though the outcome remained somewhat untidy. The artistry required to neatly bind such thick hair eluded him entirely.
After several attempts at styling Daisy’s hair, he eventually achieved a satisfactory result – a clean and well-kept appearance. Upon receiving Daisy’s gratitude, he retreated to his room to resume his radio repair project.
Delving into the recesses of the old radio, he scavenged for parts and gathered batteries to discern which would prove functional. Hours slipped away as he concentrated on his task. His focus was abruptly disrupted when the door swung open, and a voice declared their return, “I’m home.”