Henriad (History Plays, Book 5)

4: hyrda-headed willfulness

Harry

I swear Tom picks the Subaru for the specific reason that my legs don't fit in the allotted space. He acts like it's my fault I'm a foot taller than he is. When it's not clearly, it's not as though I chose to be taller than he is. If I had the choice, up in heaven, and they asked me how tall I wanted to be, I would have most definitely said at least a foot and half taller than my shortest brother. In fact, I am a mere thirteen inches on him, ergo it was not at all my choice.
Rey and Jon are already in the car when we pile in.
"Frogs huh?" Is all I say.
"Do you have any idea how much dissection frogs go for online? These home schoolers are desperate," Jon says.
"It's not like Globe Prep doesn't have the funding to buy it twice over," Rey says.
"Wow, you're all as bad as the other, okay," Thomas says, pulling out.
"He acts like he doesn't do wrong things," Jon sighs.
"He doesn't compared to you, but we'll get him eventually," I say, adjusting my legs though it doesn't really help. The car ride can't be over soon enough for me and I crack my neck the moment we get out in the garage. I shift my backpack from where I crammed it under my knees. This is what I get for giving everyone a little lecture about the environment and carpooling and there being no need for us to take multiple vehicles to the same place. Yes, it would seem this is what I get. Ah well.
Joan is only just pulling in as we arrive. I have somewhat disdainfully accepted her as a member of this household, and she fulfills her duties graciously. In our father's honor, she generally helps out with the younger kids, and is a quiet presence about the house. I don't need a mother, or a parent. But she's not bad to have around, I suppose. She picks the girls and Edmund up most days, and oftentimes Skander as well.
"How was school?" I ask, as the girls rush up to me for a hug. Edmund gets Skander out of his carseat.
"It was good; we stole some dead frogs."
"Oh everyone is doing that, right," Thomas says.
"Good for you," I say, trapping them each under an arm for a hug.
Skander runs up and wraps himself around one of my legs.
"How's trouble? Thanks for getting them, Joan," I say, picking up Skander easily. He clings to my neck happily.
"They're no trouble."
"You sure you got the right kids?" I ask, tickling Pippa to make her giggle.
"They tossed a dead frog in my lap, so yes, these are the children you're looking for," she says, smiling a little.
"Girls!" I say, mock annoyed.
"I didn't do it," Edmund says, quietly.
"We know," Thomas says, taking Skander for a hug. They've all adapted to him really really well. I'm honestly proud. Should I have called a family meeting prior to moving him in? Yeah, in retrospect, probably, but I was busy as well and in mourning and simply saying "that's dad's other child and the au pair I hired to take care of him" was easier. Anyway, despite my arguably flawed introductions they've all adapted beautifully.
"All right, love you people, I've got to get to work now; don't wait on me for dinner," I say, kissing the girl's cheeks.
"Just a moment—Skander do you want to tell Harry what happened at school?" Joan asks, folding her arms.
Skander hides his face in Thomas' shirt.
"Skander," Joan says, almost smiling. Like I said, she took her husband's love child in stride and has become rather attached to the poor scrap.
"I bit someone," Skander says.
"Why?" I ask.
He shrugs.
"Yeah, you can't do that, biting people is wrong—all right I'll come and say goodnight later—Edmund do you want to come and practice your science presentation after dinner?" I ask, picking up my bag as we move inside.
"Sure," Edmund says, quietly.
Thomas hands off Skander to Hilda and the others evaporate to do their evening chores and home work. I attempt to as well, but Joan pointedly follows me to my office.
"Yes?" I ask, as I take off my tie and blazer.
"Skander was fighting with the other children because they were calling you his dad," she says, leaning in the doorway. Her hair is as usual shaven, and she wears a long green skirt and faded orange t-shirt that has flowers and their scientific drawings on it.
"Ah," I say, wincing a little, "I see." I pick up Skander from his preschool a lot. Fairly often. I think it's only right I'm the oldest I ought to be around for him. "Children are always going to be bullies, people are always going to be bullies," I say, shrugging a little.
"Yes and when I talked him about it he asked why he didn't remember his dad," she says, sighing.
"He was too young, when our father passed," I say.
"Yeah and he only knows that; he doesn't know he never met his father," she says.
"If you're suggesting what I think you are then I've more than had my fill of cleaning up my father's messes," I say, venomously.
"And that's the point he's not another mess for you to clean up," she sighs.
"I'm not telling him that he is!" I say, annoyed.
"No, but at some point it's going to occur to him that he's a loose end to you, and nothing at all to your father, and at this point you're the only father he has," she says.
"That's not—," I rub the scars on my face. That's not right that's not true that's not fair. Yes, definitely that last one.
"I'm saying we might want to tell him at some point that he doesn't remember his dad because his dad never even met him before he died, because he didn't want to," she says.
"I'll tell him if he asks, happy?" I ask, tiredly, as I power up my computers, "I won't lie to him. What answer do you want?"
"I don't know. I just—"
"My father's mess, not mine, he's better off here than anywhere else," I say.
"He looks up to you."
"I noticed. I'll speak with him about the fighting—and with the girls—did they really throw a frog at you—?"
"Yes, but it was only a joke they know I'm not squeamish; it's fine," she shakes her head.
"Not your responsibility though."
"Nor yours."
"Yes, clearly, they are. They all are. I'll speak with Skander, I said."
She takes her cue to leave me in peace. I sigh, putting my face down on my desk. She's not wrong, that's the thing. I can't honestly expect to let him go on generally thinking our father liked him as much as the rest when it isn't true and eventually he'll realize it. Our father wrote all of the others letters to read once he was gone. I was not included, which did not surprise me, and Skander was not, which also did not surprise me. I have seriously considered forging one for Skander; however I feel like that's giving our father credit he absolutely does not deserve.
And this is another thing I have to deal with. Good. Just great. Just what I needed right now. Another thing to have to worry about. I'm thrilled people wander through my already busy day just suggesting more things I should get on. Very considerate of them.
I get a few more hours work in; then it's time to bid the others goodnight. I usually go in age order so it's easy to save Skander for last.
Thomas is of course still up, two laptops out on his bed, he barely glances up when I come in.
"You better get in soon, morning skate's gonna come early," I say, leaning in the doorway.
"Do you really think we can win this?" He asks.
"Haven't you ever wanted to believe the impossible could be true?" I ask.
He shrugs, "Miracles don't happen for this family I don't think."
"Perhaps they will make the exception for me," I say, tapping the scarred side of my face.
"Nice powerpoint," he says, mockingly, as I leave. I don't know what he thinks he's making fun of. It is a very nice powerpoint, so I don't refute it. Instead I go on to Jon's room.
"This is gonna be awesome," Jon is lying on his bed watching replays of the Tempest's old games.
"Definitely, try to get some sleep though," I say, fussing with his hair. He swats me away.
"Even if we don't win, let's confuse the hell out of them," he says, rolling over.
"Oh, we're going to win. Now get some sleep, we're all off caffeine starting tomorrow," I remind him.
"Arg, I forgot you like torturing people.'
Next I go to Rey's room. He's punching the boxing bag I let him hang up. right now he has 'Tempest' written on it. Potentially our father had a point and he does not need to be involved in organized sports. Potentially I should care. I currently do not.  Richard used to let him play hockey with us and taught him to skate with the rest it's not like—he did get in fights then too. With us. Any anyone at the rink. We had to clear the rink to go. Yeah. Okay. Maybe our father had something like a point but I don't care.
"Night," he runs up and hugs me, "No coffee, I got it. We're going to slaughter them."
"Yeah that's the plan, call to me if you can't sleep, all right? I'll be up," I say.
"I'll be fine!"
"And keep the music down, you know Edmund has nightmares," I give him one more squeeze before leaving.
Edmund is tucked up in bed with a book. Dodger lays at the foot of the bed, only thumping his tail at my approach.
"Hey, you all set?" I ask, checking a bruise on his face.
"Can we come and watch the games? Joan said we could if you said yes," Edmund says, twisting his fingers.
"Ah," I went from coparenting my siblings with father, to coparenting them with my father's new girlfriend. Sadly this is an improvement; however dare I say it a real improvement would have had me not having to co parent anyone? My father became so at my current age, he was nineteen when I was born and he got to be responsible for one baby and he was married to my mother who did most of the work as I understand. Me? I'm nineteen and I've been responsible for my seven younger siblings for the last eleven years. Joke's on me I would suppose? It always is on the living.
"Yeah um, it's not really worth seeing, you'd be bored the rest of the time—" and I need to deal with my team and not four of my littlest siblings? Like my team and everything will be a bit of a pleasant vacation compared to managing the house and all of them? And that sounds horrible to say but I'm very very tired most of the time and it was honestly going to be a bit of a break to just go and crash in a hotel room with my rowdy team mates and minimally manage all the rest if only for a few days.
"What if you get hurt?" He asks. Oh. Of course.
"That was a one off—Edmund, really, it was I'm not—" going to bleed out on the ice. Again. "Yeah, you can come if that makes you guys feel better to watch but I'm going to be careful. I promise."
"Promise you'll come back?" he asks, quietly. Plenty of people haven't come back for him, I know that.
"Promise," I squeeze his hand, "I'll be fine. It's just a game."
"Okay," he nods a little.
"Get some good sleep now, Dodger's here, and I'll come a bit before the alarms go off, all right," I ask, gently.
He nods.
"Okay, I'll be in my room if you wake up just come and get me," I say, going to the door.
"Kay," he slips deeper under the blankets.
Blanche is awake, also engrossed in a book but she's also making notes in a notepad.
"Night!" She hops up to come and hug me, "When do you guys leave for the game?"
"Friday morning, our first game is Friday night so we're gonna leave from school," I say, as she continues to squeeze me, "What? It's only ten days." We play Friday and Saturday nights, then we have Sunday off because that's the Lord's day and the Bard's clever captain refused to play, and then we play Monday and Tuesday back to back, and then Wednesday off, then Thursday and Friday and Saturday again. We will fly back home the following Monday because if we fucking pull this off my entire team is going to church with me to thank god whether they like it or not.
"I know, but I'll miss you," she says, squeezing me.
"I'm going to miss you guys too, it won't be long," I say, "Now, you've got school in the morning you need to go to sleep soon, all right?"
"Yeah," she hugs me around the waist once more. That makes her sound really short and that's because she is. Also, she's thirteen now so based off of what puberty isn't doing to poor Thomas this might be as tall as she's going to get.
"I love you," I kiss the top of her head.
"Love you too!"
Pippa is also still up but she's still up and dressed, two laptops out on her bed and three notebooks.
"The forty five to one odds are really fucking accurate," Pippa says, not looking up as I come in. It's an understatement to say that Pippa is my father's and my worst personality traits combined. I love her to death the world absolutely deserves her to be inflicted upon it. My goal may be ridiculous wealth, hers is just world domination.
"I noticed, mathematics will obey me," I say, sitting down on the floor, "Hey, look at me, I've got a plan."
"I know you do, but it's shaky at best," she says, looking obediently.
"We are the dream makers, we control our fates," I say, taking her hand, "The world doesn't get a say in that."
"I wish I had your blind confidence," she says.
I smile, "Go to bed sometime, all right?"
"I will," she looks back at her work.
"And I want to know how your stocks are doing, full report on my desk when we get off of school," I say, getting up. I gave her a set of stocks to play with for her last birthday. She's doing really well. Like, really well. Our grandfather would have thought she was so cool, he's the one who taught me about stocks and the like.
"Okay, love you," she hugs me, burying her face in my chest. Yeah. She's already taller than Thomas. It pleases me daily that our littlest sister is taller than half my brothers. Blanche is like really short too, but at least Pippa looks like she's related to me.
"Love you too button," I kiss the top of her head, then she bounces on back to her projects and I go. Skander is last, of course. I go in order of age, but also tonight I was stalling.
Skander's room is coming together, Joan tries to spoil him a bit which works I suppose. He likes fighting and running places so he's shaping up to be a good little Lancaster boy. By now, Hilda has tucked him up in bed though he's clutching a toy sword and is not at all asleep. He sits right up at my entrance, grinning.
"Wipe that smile off your face, you are in trouble you know," I say, sitting down at the foot of the bed and pinching his cheek.
He hangs his head a little and looks intentionally pathetic.
"What were you fighting with those boys about anyway?" I ask.
"They were saying rotten things about dad," he mumbles, rubbing his face with the back of one hand.
"Yeah you know—you could let them do that," and I thought I was good at talking to children by now. Possibly I should have planned this out before hand instead of avoiding thinking about it. Ah well.
"Why?" He frowns.
"Because I mean—he's gone. And he was rotten some of the time, I mean we all are. So it doesn't really matter does it? People will tell whatever tales they like of the dead," I say, shrugging.
"But he's still our dad."
"And he's still gone, so he's not anymore. Half the time he was alive he didn't like me anyway," I say, shrugging a little.
"But you're awesome," he says, suspiciously.
"I think so, however," I shrug.
"Do you think he'd like me?"
"I don't know, and it doesn't matter, does it? We've got each other, right?" I ask, holding up a fist. He fist bumps me. "Now get some sleep, it's late. And try not to get into trouble while I'm gone?"
"Okay," he says, sinking down beneath the covers.
"And for the record, I think you're awesome too."
I return to my room, that's that done. Done well? Who's to say? I don't know how to make this right that's a given. It would probably help if I knew where or how we went wrong but I don't. It would definitely help if I could get past the fact that it so isn't my fault any of it went wrong. Blame does me no good, but it is indulgent. Ah well. Reminiscing is a waste of time, so are feelings as it happens.