Just Another Unambitious Woman

Chapter 5: Apologies

It took long before Diane could think of her father without bursting into tears. Which was strange, really, since she was the least prone to watering the hem of her dress among all the family members, David included. It just shook her to the core, that it came to be so, that their Father's condition had turned into something so miserable.  He, who was always so proud and strong,  hardly ever prevailed upon to rely on somebody if he could help it, so content with his body's strength and the valour of his muscles, to be reduced to this!

The morning after the attack had seen Mr. Simmons open his eyes to the worried and blanched faces of his family and the barely surprised blink of his Doctor, who was seemingly used to this kind of situations. With his hat under one arm, Doctor Caelan probed his left and right arm, his sides, listened to his heartbeat and asked him to move his left leg, all in one breath. Mr. Simmons blinked. Damn the old fiddler, was he not the one who rightly predicted he will not be able to move his legs! And that was more than a year ago, so why make a claim now?! He'd make him eat a fox alive, if he could... But that was, sadly, out of question right now. The doctor repeated his question with seemingly more concern in his eyes, this time proposing that he lifts an arm of his choice. Mr. Simmons blinked again. This caused the doctor to take the bloody hat from under his forearm - he set it gently at the edge of the bed and asked him a very peculiar question. If he could move a limb! Mr. Simmons blinked once. Doctor Caelan examined his pupils, lifted his arms again, his fingers, tickled his jaw, opened his mouth and saw it could not close again and then propped it shut. It took him just a second or so, before he sat down, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, while he glanced at Diane whose face was as white as the sheets and dreading every moment to come. In a slow, clear voice, dr. Caelan finally proposed to his patient to blink once as a yes and twice as a no.

Mr. Simmons did so. Upon being asked, if he could move at all, he blinked twice. Dr. Caelan asked if he could demonstrate it. Mr. Simmons lifted, painstakingly slowly, a pinky on his left hand. And nothing else.

Diane burst into tears, scrambling from the room as if there were furies on her heels and couldn't stop crying until dinner, where she refused to eat. Instead, she went up to her Father's bedchamber. The room was now a dark, dull place, no longer a sanctuary for the weak of body, with closed drapes and a weak light coming from the fireplace. Mr. Simmons was perched on a couple of pillows in a semi-sitting position, his arms resting lifelessly on top of the sheets, his face immobile, safe for an occasional spasm. Diane sat down on one of the old chairs beside him, facing the closed window, barely allowing herself to look him in the eyes. Those dark irises, darker than the night, were the only part of his body where life had left its final traces. Her Father, however, gave no impression of having acknowledged her presence as he stared blankly ahead as if the chest of drawers presented an interesting study.

It was hard to say, but she had to. It wasn't before she cried some more, until there were no more disposable body fluids to verse, and sat there, hiccuping quietly, collecting courage for what she had to say, that she said her apologies. But, oh, for once in her lifetime, he had nothing to add, nothing to interrupt her with, nothing to criticise! If anything, it only made her more depressed.

When she put her hand on that cold, lifeless face, it seemed to her as if she were committing a blasphemy. Her Father had not touched her with parental affection for a long time, not since she and David were breeched, as if it were forbidden to do so - and touching his face now seemed to be something equally forbidden, a sacrilege of sorts, as if she had laid her hand on him to strike. Turning his face towards her a little so that their eyes could meet, Diane removed her hands as if burned and cleared her throat. With his head in an unnatural position he could not feel, Mr. Simmons gave the impression of being mildly annoyed, but did not protest. He could not.

"Forgive me, Father," repeated Diane in a hoarse, weak whisper, her voice full of tears and tired from crying, "If it weren't for me... than all of this would not have happened. But I was so afraid you would succumb - so afraid that we would be without you - left destitute without knowing if David was alive or dead... and I had to. I know you hate me for it."

Mr. Simmons lifted his pinky and Diane did not know what to make of it. Was it a sign of forgiveness or simply a confirmation of her statement? Before she could make up her mind about it, however, someone coughed loudly from behind her and she whirled around as if caught doing something wrong.

"He would give you a piece of mind, if he could, you know," stated David, but he wasn't looking at her, searching instead for a sign that his Father was listening. And even if his expression did not change, David went on: "He would not like being shut in his room all day."

"Well, as if anything can be done about it!" shouted Diane, staring in his face, her own contorted in anger and hopelessness, "And I did apologise for it," she added after a thought, her voice barely a whisper. "It's not like..."

"You really do not think that...," David said at the same time and stopped promptly.

Mr. Simmons lifted his finger.

Diane leaned forward to see what he had to say - completely forgetting the fact that he could no longer say anything, while David said quite nonchalantly: "I think he wants me to speak."

Diane raised her eyebrows, but refrained from responding to that presumptuous claim as her brother went on: "I'll think about what we can do to ease our dear Father's discomfort. Tomorrow, I think, he would like to go on a ride."

"On a ride!" exclaimed Diane, unable to keep the indignation out of her voice, "How so, I beg you! How can you even propose such a thing!"

But Mr. Simmons lifted his pinky again and David translated freely: "See, I told you that he would agree! Fear not, my dear sister, I will make sure that everything will be settled as comfortable as it should be."

Diane snorted, much to her Father's chagrin and folded her arms angrily: "I suppose nothing I say will change your mind? You have already arranged everything with Mr. Beatson? Consulted the doctor?"

"Oh, don't be such a spoil-sport, Diane," grinned David wildly, "I'll speak to Mr. Beatson in a minute and everything will be set. I'm sure Father will love to see Whitby again."

And as if on cue, Mr. Simmons lifted his pinky twice.