Happiness
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SPOILER ALERT: Contains spoilers for the Angel episode 'Prodigal'.
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, and/or the WB Television Network own these characters. I've just borrowed them for this story. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
SETTING: 18th Century Galway.
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The best way to make children good is to make them happy.
-- Oscar Wilde
"Liam!"
His mother's voice brought him to a halt half-way down the hall. He spun round, and saw her silhouetted against the light streaming in through the parlour door.
"Come here and let me have a look at you." She held him at arm's length, eyeing him critically. He endured her inspection, staring over her shoulder at the dull plaster of the wall.
"Will I do?" he burst out, beginning to fidget.
"You'll do." She smiled warmly. "Your hair is neat for once. Mind it stays that way."
Liam flung open the front door and rushed out into the morning sunshine. He startled a cry from the dainty figure in blue that he narrowly avoided on the doorstep.
"Morning, Mrs. McCabe," Liam called out as he dashed off.
"Are your all right, Mary?" his mother asked, ushering her friend inside.
"No harm done."
"He's too big to be rushing about like that."
"He's a big lad now," Mary McCabe agreed. She paused to admire the vase of flowers on the side table. "He'll pass his father in a year or two, you see if he doesn't."
"Don't stand in this draught, Mary. Come into the parlour."
"Where was Liam off to in such a hurry?" Mrs. McCabe asked when they were settled in more cheerful surroundings. "Is he learning the trade from his father now?"
"It's his first day."
"He'll be a credit to you both. You must be proud."
The clerk turned the page of his ledger, and began to write in a steady, methodical hand. Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, and a shadow fell across his desk. He laid aside his pen.
"Young Master Liam," he acknowledged, raising his craggy face from his work. "Your father's in the warehouse."
Liam walked through into the building where the cloth was stored, drawing himself up to his full height as he went. He heard his name called, his father's voice echoing in the cavernous space.
"Don't just stand there," his father blustered, but a quiver of emotion in his tone betrayed him. "Come on, there's work to do."
Liam hurried over to where his father was busy inspecting his latest acquisitions. As he pulled open a bale of silk, Liam drew in a deep breath. He savoured the familiar, exotic smells carried from some distant place he could only dream of. He paused and took another breath before he spoke. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't."
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Liam walked side by side with his father in expectant silence. The rest of their little party had outpaced them, mother and child carefully attended by the godparents. The baby was scarcely visible beneath the shelter of her blankets.
"It's cold for the time of year. 'Twill be a hard winter."
"Father?" prompted Liam.
His father paused, then turned aside onto the damp grass. Liam watched as the others were swallowed into the darkness of the church. Then he threaded his way between the headstones, following his father.
"It's not good to dwell on the past; not now," he said as he caught up. His father slowed but carried on towards the old tree. They stopped under the shade of its spreading branches, looking down in solemn silence. A scattering of yellow leaves had fallen on the graves, and the older man brushed them away with his hand.
"Kathleen will be different." Liam ventured a hand onto his father's shoulder for a moment. "She'll grow up strong."
His father turned to look at him with a rare smile. "Aye, it's to the future we should be looking - your future, lad. You've got a firm grasp of the business now; it's time you were given some responsibility." Liam glanced briefly at his father's animated features, then looked away. "What do you say, eh?"
"Are things not fine as they are?" Liam asked tentatively. "Am I not doing well?"
"You are; but you must want more of a free hand. When I was your age, I couldn't wait --"
"Father, I don't...." Liam tried to interrupt, but his father wasn't listening.
"Look at them," he said, nodding in the direction of the path. Liam followed his gaze, and saw the people visible through the trees as they drifted to church. "Some of them wouldn't have given me the time of day, once. Now I have the business; a position in the community. Think of how much more we'll be able to do together."
Liam shifted uncomfortably. A cold breeze stirred the canopy above them, and made his father shiver. "Well, there's time enough for that. Come on, son, we'd best be getting in." He strode off across the churchyard, leaving Liam trailing in his wake.
---------------------------------------------------
"But, Mistress...." Anna fell silent as the voices grew louder, echoing through into the kitchen.
"You run along, and do as you're bid." The lady of the house watched Anna gather up her shawl and leave, before rushing into the next room. "Whatever is going on?" she demanded, taking in the scene in front of her. Liam and his father glared unflinchingly at each other, neither sparing her a glance.
"You're of age now, Liam," his father thundered. "Is it too much to ask that you apply yourself?"
His wife hurried to his side and tried to take his arm. "Come now," she coaxed, "don't argue."
"No." He shrugged her off. "This needs saying. It should have been said a long time ago." He tried to pin Liam with his stare again, but Liam was watching his mother retreat.
"What's wrong with you, son?" The man's voice softened for a moment. "Why don't you care about the business?"
"You can't think that."
"What else am I to think? I know you're not daft - you've had your fancy tutoring. You tell me what's lacking."
Liam looked at his mother in mute appeal. Her expression was hard to read in the failing light, and she remained silent.
"I do try, father."
"Not hard enough. Where do you think we'd be now if I hadn't tried? Do you think we'd have what we have now?"
"We can't all be as wonderful --" Liam had to break off, suppressing a cough. He met his father's scornful gaze.
"Where's your mettle boy?" his father sneered. "You'll never achieve anything if you don't show a little spirit."
"Whatever you say, father." Liam turned away.
"Don't turn your back on me, lad."
Liam froze, then slowly turned around. By the time he faced his father again, an insolent smirk was firmly in place.
"Well, here I am," he said, folding his arms. "What is it you wish to say?"
"Och, there's no talking to you." The older man stalked towards the door. His wife moved to intercept him, but he stopped her with an angry gesture. She winced as the door slammed shut behind him. The fire suddenly hissed and flared in the grate, and she adjusted the screen around it.
"You're both as stubborn as each other."
"You could talk to him," Liam replied, but she shook her head sadly. He watched as she took a taper and used it to light a candle. Shadows flickered across her face as she walked over to him.
"Can you not try a little harder for him?"
"I wish I could," he sighed. "I'm doing my best. I'm just not the man he is."
"Oh Liam, why must you argue with him?"
"I don't mean to." He gestured vaguely in the direction in which his father had departed. "But why should I have to listen when he speaks to me like that?"
"Why?" his mother echoed. "He's your father."
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Kitty O'Connell sighed in contentment as she lowered her feet into the stream and felt the water soothe her heated skin. Somewhere above her a familiar voice shouted her name, and she called out a reply. "Liam! I'm down here."
Liam loomed over her for a moment, then threw himself down on the bank. She gave him a curious look, but he was staring up at the cloudless sky.
"Well?" she finally asked.
"Well what?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Talking to you," he teased, rolling onto his side to grin at her.
"I can see that." She couldn't repress a smile, but refused to be distracted. "Are you not working? Does your father not need you?" Liam's grin slipped. "You've been arguing with him again."
Liam looked away, stared at the ground. He picked a small purple flower and toyed with it absently.
"Aye." She barely heard him over the drone of insects and the splashing of the stream.
"What was it this time?"
"The same. It's always the same. It was bad this time." His voice took on a tone of grim amusement. "I thought he was going to have an apoplexy."
"Liam, it's not funny," she snapped. He simply stared down at the flower in his hand. "You've been drinking." She winced at the words as soon as they left her mouth.
"I wondered when you were going to bring that up."
"Liam, I'm just worried --"
"Oh, it's all right," he broke in, shooting to his feet. "Don't spare my feelings. You can tell me how disappointed you are." He hurled the flower into the stream and stood gazing after it.
"I'm not disappointed in you. I don't think your father is, either."
"Then why is he never happy?" He sat back down with a sigh. "I try to please him, but it's never enough. I don't know why I bother."
Liam turned mournful eyes on her, and brushed aside her chestnut ringlets. She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.
"There now," he said with quiet self-reproach. "I've gone and upset you."
"No, you haven't."
"We should marry, you know." He almost managed to keep his tone light.
"You know that's not possible. My father --"
"Hang your father. We could go away."
"Where would we go?"
"Anywhere; far away. We could find a ship, sail somewhere new."
"Will you listen to yourself," she laughed. The laugh fell flat and tainted the pause that followed. "I'm to be married."
"Married?"
"Aye, to James McBride"
"McBride? That fat old --"
"He's not so old, and ... well, I'm not getting any younger myself."
"You can't mean it," he protested, but he could see the determination in her face. "And you'll not even ask --"
"Liam, it's done!" She snatched up her boots and scrambled to her feet.
"Wait!" he pleaded, catching her hand. "Stay." He gently pulled her back onto to the ground.
"Just stay with me for a little while." His voice was a silken murmur, and he caressed her hand, drawing her closer. "Ssh," he soothed as he felt her tremble against him. He lowered his head, meeting her downcast gaze, then lifted her chin.
"Liam," she sighed as he stroked her cheek.
He kissed her then, slipping an arm round her waist. She surrendered to him as he drew her down into the grass.
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"If you go courting trouble," he shouted at Liam's retreating back, "you're sure to find it!" He slammed the door shut, hard enough to rattle the horseshoe that hung on the wall above.
"Go on, then!" He seemed to stare through the closed door as though watching his son walk away. "We'll see how long you last on your own."
"Father?" He turned absently in the direction of Kathy's voice.
"Where will he go, eh?" he asked of no one present. "How will he live? Well, he needn't bother running back here."
He heard a quiet sob, and saw that Kathleen was crying. Her mother was
doing her best to comfort her, while holding back tears of her own.
"Come now, don't cry," he said in a soft voice.
"Did Liam do something bad again?" Kathleen gasped. "Is that why he's gone?"
Any reply that her father might have made was lost as the door opened again. Three startled faces whipped round, then fell as they saw the stout figure in the doorway.
"Mistress," Mrs. Brennan acknowledged; "Master. Was there something you wanted?"
She studiously ignored the sobs that punctuated the silence as she waited for his answer.
"No, nothing, Mrs. Brennan. We'll not keep you from your work."
She went about her duties with no change in her dour expression. The family began to file out, and she closed the door behind her and placed her basket on the table. Kathy cast a final glance behind her as her father ushered her out of the room.
"When's Liam coming back?" she asked.
Mrs. Brennan bustled about the kitchen, baking the day's bread. She placed the loaves in the oven - enough for the whole family, should it be needed. Upstairs, Kathleen was dreaming of her brother's return. She awoke with a lighter heart and rose to greet the day with new optimism. Across the landing, her father lingered in the bedchamber where he'd spent a restless night. He heard a rustle of clothing and a soft footstep behind him. He continued to stare, unseeing, out of the window.
"Are things to stay like this forever?" his wife asked cautiously.
He turned to face her. His skin was ashen in the cold pre-dawn light, but anger still smouldered in his eyes.
"That's up to him now," he snapped. "If he asks for my forgiveness...." He trailed off, the momentum of his indignation failing. "My expectations of him were reasonable; just a son's duty to his father."
"I know; but things weren't always like this. Maybe if you --"
"Whatever I did was for his own sake." He looked away, and took a step towards the window. His shoulders sagged. "What if he never comes home?" he asked in a cracked voice.
"He will, if you let him," she told him gently. "This is where he belongs." The pause that followed seemed to go on forever, but she didn't dare to draw breath.
"I'll look around, see if I can find him."
"He'll not have gone far."
"No further than one of those taverns he's so fond of." Old habits died hard, but he softened again at his wife's reproachful look. He held her gaze for a moment, then moved over to the bed where he had laid his coat.
"If he comes home, things will have to change," she warned him as he put it on.
He looked at her with a resolute, hopeful face.
"Aye, I know. When we get him back things will be different; you'll see."
The Scarlet Lady
http://members.tripod.com/scarlet.lady/