Page 26 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“It’s not really about the dress—if you can even call it that. It’s about me not being allowed to pick it, about not being able to chooseanythingfor myself.”
Understanding though he looked, Daddy shook his head. “You’ve not lost all your battles, Amy. You won the most important one.”
I gasped, about to argue.
“Are you not currently a student at the college of your choice?”
“Well—yes.”
“Well—” He tossed up a hand.
“But you just said the key word, Daddy—battle. That’s all I seem to do with Aunt Aylie and Uncle Neel. They’ve made my whole life a series of battles.”
And I only win them when you step in.
I swallowed hard, willing myself to take in the rawness, the reality, of his pitiful state. Even with the window cracked and a fragrant candle burning on the dresser, the odor of sweet, putrid sickness wafted through his room. What would happen with my battles when my father’s illness finally got the best of him? My protector and champion, the one person who, without doubt, loved me unconditionally.
I immediately routed the thought.
“Why can’t they just accept that I can make my own decisions? That I don’t want to live by their design.” I slouched. “Why do they have to make everything so damnhard?”
“Who told you life was meant to be easy?” Daddy frowned. “There are millions the world over with lives much harder than yours. Be grateful for all you have.”
“I am, Daddy.” I pouted. More at myself than his scolding. Wardrobe debates were trivial compared to poverty, famine, and war. Shameful, that even in my enlightened, bleeding-heart liberalism, those concepts were still abstract in my middle class shelter.
“Okay, maybe I’m being ignorant, but my personal freedom is always under fire. I have no control over my own life!”
“Yes, you do. You just have to fight harder than most to maintain it.”
This remark recalled the dressing room thief from weeks ago.Learn to fight harder, Amaranthine, he’d advised.For all our sakes.
Daddy’s mouth tightened, his gaze growing pointed. “You’re not a passive person, Amy. Don’t act like one.”
I finished another chapter before Daddy was halfway asleep. After making sure he was warm enough, I blew out his candle, switched off his bedside lamp, and padded out into the upstairs hallway, his condition foremost in my thoughts.
I pondered several family portraits decking the papered walls, my favorite always the one of Daddy and me swinging at a park when I was five. He’d already sickened by then; I could tell from his cane. Yet, he still looked virile, his shoulders broad, his hair dark and wavy. I cheesed hard at the camera, my copper hair a ridiculous mess about my dirty face. Daddy smiled down at me with such pride, such devotion—
Tears welled in my eyes. Who would look at me that way when he was gone?
Wiping my cheeks, I moved onto other photos. There were none of my mother. We’d never had any of her.
I’d just opened my bedroom door when an embittered rumpus broke me from my melancholy. I spun toward the shadowy staircase.
As Daddy was too weak that night to stay up past ten, I’d assumed that night’s secret meeting canceled. But no! Uncle Neel and the others had locked themselves in the dining room, discussing important matters—whatever they were—without him!
Maybe Ace was wrong, and they weren’t hashing out what would happen after Daddy’s—I couldn’t even think it. But if they were, then we Larkspur children would damn well have a say!
Gritting my teeth, I stomped down the stairs, too incensed for stealth. Not like the men could hear me, anyway, as obnoxious as they were being.
Ace was right about one thing. Though I had no problem hearing them, my ears better than most Dananns’, actual words were indecipherable—a spoken cryptogram. Puzzling, I strode through the dark foyer to the dining room. I pressed my ear to its beveled door. Even that close, the gist of their argument eluded me. I clenched my eyes shut to concentrate, touching the panel.
A shattering tumbler heralded the pocket door banging open.
All the men, including Briar, jumped in their seats around the table, flummoxed by my intrusion. I gulped as all eyes darted to me.
His pajamas rumpled, his face lined and weary, Uncle Neel shot up from his dining chair and barreled toward me. “Amy, you should be in bed.”
When he grabbed my elbow, I wrenched free, squared my jaw.
