It was raining cats and dogs. Thunder was rolling over the English shore, shining bolts threatened the country, making one believe, god himself send his angels down to finally bring the apocalypse.
Haytham had prayed now for at least two hours but the thunder became louder and louder and the bolts were shining brighter and brighter.
He was kneeling, his hands folded on his bed, the eyes clutched together as he prayed again with shaking teeth.
Ave maria, gratia plena,
dominus tecum
Another thunder rolling right above their house as the voice of the Almighty himself. He pressed his lids so hard together it hurt.
Benedicta tu in mulieribus,
et benedictus fructus ventris tuis, Iesus
A bright and shining light appeared in front of his window, grinning like the eye of the devil himself.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,
ora pro nobis peccatoribus
nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.
"Haytham?"
His heart made a jump and a second later he had stood up with the back to the wall. The blue eyes open and wide, he stared at his door.
A lightning hit in, and the poor child had the awful feeling that it just hit into their garden. He recognized the man standing there. It was his father. Edward Kenway.
Strangely the boy did not know if he should be glad about the presence of the goodman or not.
There was a strange silence. Strange because the rain was pouring down their roofs so loud as if stones were rolling down the bricks. Strange because the silence in the room was filled with...anxiety.
It seemed as if the boy was not just frightened by the horrific thunderstorm, but also of the man who had now closed the door behind him and stood next to Haytham's bed.
Their eyes were similar, a dark blue just like the waving sea.
Finally the older one broke the silence.
"What were you muttering there, Haytham?"
The boy did not dare to answer. He still remembered quite clear the beating of his father when he had gone to the eastern mess, three months ago. He did not want to suffer the same again.
A deep sigh left his father's throat and the child expected the worst. Instead the man of fourty sat down on the small bed. Haytham blinked. Did he see right? The man of the house, sitting on his bed? For the boy it was something he had never seen before. And something he could not understand.
And maybe because the older one seemed to be so much younger and not that frightening anymore, or because of the rolling thunder and his urge to hide himself under his sheet he slowly came near to his bed. The older Kenway sat still, even when the boy sat himself on the bed and suddenly Haytham had the crazy idea that maybe his father was also...afraid. And before the child could reconsider the words in his mind: his tongue worked on its own.
"Are you afraid, Sir?"
Edward Kenway turned his head and his blue eyes blinked in the dark. A small smile appeared on the thin lips.
"Am I?," he asked gently and low. The child did not answer. The older Kenway sighed again. A short pause.
"Maybe I am," he said in a soft voice. The boy detected him carefully. Was his father saying the truth? But before he could respond, the blond man went on.
"I hated thunderstorms. I remember me sitting under the sheets when I was of your age listening to the lightnings. But the worst storm I ever went through was on a ship. I had the feeling of God bringing the apocalypse and I was being judged." A moment of silence. When Edward spoke again, the child had to listen closely to understand the softspoken words of the man:
"I feel the taste of that moment still on my lips, especially in moments like this, when the storms are running high these moments - I always remember how my mother murmured something then. Actually...it sounded similar to what you were muttering when I entered the room"
Haytham gulped.
"It is a prayer, Sir," he whispered.
His father chuckled.
"A prayer, hm? Well then, whom do you pray to?"
"Mary."
Edward Kenway stared at him. "Mary?," he repeated. The boy nodded. His father breathed out and the smile on his lips grew wide.
"My mother's name was Mary. But she wasn't praying to Mary, I think the praying started something with shepherd, or so."
Haytham was confused. His father spoke so...strange. Yes, strange because ….the boy did not know how to explain but the man sitting next to him, smelling of pipe, rain and somehow salt, a smell the boy would recognise no matter where he was, this man was not the one he used to know. This man was younger, much more younger and reminded Haytham of his sister Jenny who was sixteen. Maybe it was because of this childish smile, or maybe because of his soft voice and the way of talking, that made him look like an adolescent , and not a grown up man.
Finally he opened his mouth.
"You mean: the lord is my shepherd?"
"What?," Edward Kenway asked and out of nowhere Haytham laughed.
"The Lord is my Shepherd. Was that what your mother was praying?"
The rain dropped against the window but it had softened. And even the thunder sounded now far, far away. The boy waited patiently for an answer.
All of a sudden, the father seemed tired and old. Very old, especially in the eyes of a boy of eight years.
Dropp, dropp, dropp.
The child looked out of the window. And slowly, very slowly he started to speak, sentence for sentence, watching the sky clearing up.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
The rain died down. Haytham closed his eyes.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
A big hand took his fingers, pressed them kindly together. And Edward Kenway's voice filled the room.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
The two men spoke together low into the coming morning.
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.