James Cogsworth's wife died when their son was only nine. Now he was the only person who would care for little Henry, raise him, protect him. And he knew all too well that he was not prepared for this role.
Harriet had been a wonderful mother. Almost all of her time she spent with her child, teaching him everything she knew, showing him the world around him.
She was Henry's only friend.
But Cogsworth didn't have much time for his son. He loved him, of course, above all, just as he loved his wife, but the truth was that he barely knew him. He needed his family desperately, but his work was his whole life.
As far as he could remember, he had always been a servant. Since his childhood his father had prepared and his two older brothers for this role. His father was the head of the household in a great lord's court. So was his grandfather, his great-grandfather and all of his ancestors. The name of Cogsworth was well known as a guarantee of good service and loyalty. There were even times when having a Cogsworth in your household was very fashionable.
Now he was torn. How could he compromise HIS duties for his master and raising his son? It sounded impossible to do. Both of them required all of his time, both needed all of him.
His first thought was to send Henry to his brother's family. He and his wife had probably more time and space to raise a child. And since they had three children of their own, it wouldn't be A big difference for them to have one more. And of course he would send them any money they might need for Henry's care. But after all the arrangements wre made to deliver Henry to his new family, his father changed his mind. AS his brother waited for the arrival of a new member of his family, when all Henry's bags were packed, James Cogsworth once more looked on his son's face. He saw his own eyes, his own expression, and above all he saw the only thing left to remind him of his wife. If he couldn't do this for himself, he would do it for her. He would take care of his son. He would do it just as Harriet had done it. He would teach him everything he knew.
His idea was simple. Henry would help him in his everyday work. He would have his son beside him all the time, and he would prepare him for his future life. After all, what better way was there to learn than practice? James Cogsworth was very proud of his plan.
But nothing was as perfect as he wished it to be. Henry's first attempts at his new occupation were nothing but disastrous. When his father watched him he couldn't believe that his own son could be so clumsy and completely incapable of doing the easiest tasks. Where was all of that cleverness that Harriet had so often talked about? The boy was the most incapable creature James Cogsworth had ever seen. Everything slipped out of his hands; everything he touched he lost immediately. He couldn't remember the simplest requests.
But the worst was when somebody tried to shout at him or forced him to make up what he had done. In those moments he always started to cry desperately as only a child can do.
As time went on, the situation grew even worse. Everyone in the house knew that Henry was a lonely child who had lost his beloved mother too early, so they learned to treat him with all the delicacy they could. But it didn't help. Henry's loud sobs were heard even more often than before.
James Cogsworth was breaking down. What would he do with Henry now that his brilliant plan had failed? He knew very well that his son's despair wasn't anything wrong or odd. It was normal when a child lost his mother... Everything would be all right if he only knew how to talk to him. The lost of Harriet hurt him very much as well, but he didn't know how to share those feelings with his child. He just didn't know how to say it. There were moments when he really tried. He would sit Henry on his lap, looking deeply into his big blue eyes, and would always begin with the same words.
"Listen Henry, my son... I need to talk to you." Here he would always stop, not knowing what to say next. And Henry, guessing what his father wanted to say, would sometimes say encouragingly, "Yes, Papa, I'm listening."
"You're a big boy now, so we can talk like grownups together." But in this very moment James would hange the subject to something trivial and unimportant, scared by Henry's expression. The words just wouldn't come. Every time after this kind of conversation, he cursed himself at what a coward he had proved to be. The sad truth was that he didn't know how to speak about his feelings and emotions. He have never learned that.
And because of this, he couldn't know that Henry had quite the same problem. Just like his father, he could not find the words to express how big his pain was. So, unable to speak, they both lost the chance for their bleeding hearts to heal. And both would probably have lived in this despair for the rest of their days, if not for one little person.