The Butcher's Daughter

Chapter 24

An instant, a second, a single swing of the pendulum and it would all be over at last. The brashness of his father that soon moved to neglect, the ridicule that he received during his schooling and as a young soldier in the Americas and that ruthless, misguided flirtation with glory would soon be wiped clean from William Tavington's conscience. The bullet's journey, he believed, should be just as calculated as every trek and field mission that he charted out for his dragoons. He knew where to aim to end his life in an instant, but William did not resolve to this. His wicked eyes had strayed across the room when Solomon was binding Annabelle's breast. He worked down his ribcage, the entry wound would be identical to hers, the pistol would stay locked in his hands, even after he washed ashore and that white ribbon would wave above his shattered heart in surrender. It was a pretty enough death, he wagered, poetic enough to satisfy his Annabelle and declare a message to his daughter should his dragoons be the ones to find him.

Annabelle's ribbon kissed the rough framework of his hand as William drew in a final breath. This gesture was not great enough to keep him from cocking the weapon. It would take playfulness, surprisingly enough, from the clever spirit of Annabelle Casey to save him. In the palm her hand, which would appear to you and I as nothing but a small, arced breeze, she captured a tiny wave and splashed the water onto the pistol, dampening its gunpowder. As the shot was fired, the ammunition remained in its place. The weapon coughed, releasing a spark of weak and dying embers that soon fluttered into the water. Once William decided to kill another man, that poor soul was as good as dead. He had never lost a battle, never missed a single shot and his blade always struck true. The only man The Butcher had ever failed to defeat was himself.

There were other options in his saddlebag and the misfire was much too quiet to signal the handsome warhorse of his rider's demise and send him running down the forest path and towards Fort Carolina. As William's foot pivoted, it locked onto a branch in the riverbed and he received a sharp reminder of the injury in his thigh. If the river wanted him, he was broken enough to allow it to claim him. Sinking was easy, drawing the black water into his lungs as if it was nothing more than air was a beautiful and calming act before his body alerted his placid mind with panic. In that single moment of peace, he felt a pair of arms. They were not pulling him to the surface, nor were they bearing down on him in a desperate embrace. They were small arms, tanned by constant exposure to the sun with rough, but tiny hands. Although he was submerged in water, he could smell Marigold's stash of incense, feel one of her many soft, canary yellow blankets against the back of his neck and the warm, damp trickling of tears from the child's cheek as the touched they side of his face.

"I forgive you, Fa," little Mabel whispered, "for not loving me my whole life and for blaming me after Ma left. I know that your life was very complicated and very sad... and that I was just a small part of it. But you... you were my whole life, you were my only friend—my best friend. You were my hero. You are right where you belong and have always wanted to be right now. You are with Ma. But... "William could feel her small fingers sink into the fabric of his shirt and her tearful face burn like a furnace as all of the grief, all of the pain that her body could hold, combusted into a heart-wrenching sob. It was a secret sound, a sound that Mabel Tavington had only ever shared with her beloved, departed father. "But I would give anything, my happiness, my comfort, my life. I would give anything and everything if I could tell you how much I love you and hear you say that you love me, too. Just one more time. If I could feel you hug me again and have my heart fill up with such gratitude, just like it always has and always will, to know that God chose me out of all the little girls in the world to have you as her Fa. Sometimes, late at night, I heard you whisper to Ma that you would find her again. That you would always find one another no matter what."

From downstairs, the side door opened and closed with a harmless clatter. A casual tapping of feet could be heard. Whoever was down there had a key to get in and not so much as a suspicion that William was gone. Mabel stifled her tears and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Find me, too, Fa. Or let me find you. Let me be a part of the forever that you share with Ma, just for a little while and I will never ask for anything again." She seemed to recognize the incoming footfalls and held tight to her father, kissing his cheek as the last of those secret tears evaporated into strength, "I'm not ready to say goodbye to you..." William did not catch a glance of who was at the door, he was too entranced by the strength of little Mabel Tavington, who wasn't even ten years of age. "He fell asleep," Mabel explained without turning, "he fell asleep and didn't wake up."