Chapter Five: Summer Tedium
Nathaniel heard the news through the intricate web of gossip at school: Samuel had been married. It brought to mind that night, several months ago, when he and Samuel had kissed at the party. It brought to mind the conversation they had had about he and the Duchess using one another as disguises for their true identities. It also brought to mind the fact that his own marriage, so oft-discussed in the Orington house, had not been spoken of for quite some time. In fact, the difficulties of those days had seemed to slip away unnoticed. He had woken the next morning for school with a brutal headache and a bad temper, but thought very little about the previous evening. Beatrice would still scowl at him occasionally in the halls, but that was all right by him. He no longer had to tolerate her impossible personality.
Through a little unpleasant research, Nathaniel confirmed that Rabbit was indeed a sibling of Hare's. Nathaniel was glad Hare had asked for his help in rescuing her, for her injuries were more severe than she had let on. Left alone with Beatrice, she likely would have suffered permanent disfigurement and perhaps even death at the forceful blows dealt out for the slightest infractions. The two were inseparable during the day, Rabbit following her brother around in the kitchens and making herself helpful to him in his daily tasks. The Pets began to make good-natured jokes that Hare had his own assistant.
Nathaniel and Hare had grown closer to one another and had fallen into routines that cemented the predictability of their friendship. Each night before bed they sat down in front of the fireplace and told stories about their days while sipping a deliciously prepared, calming tea. Hare was growing in his culinary abilities by leaps and bounds, and always prepared a small evening snack whose flavors augmented those of the tea. He called this synergy, for each of the flavors together were stronger than they were apart. Nathaniel shared stories of school and taught Hare to read, even though it was strictly forbidden without the queen's express permission. The ability came quickly to him and Nathaniel came to respect his intelligence deeply. Once Hare could read, he began to write his recipes with great detail on tiny cards that Nathaniel stashed in a box in his room. Hare also became a voracious devourer of books, and Nathaniel ensured that he read on many topics from many genres: Wonderland and folklore, fantasy and realism, satire and legality. His favorite, of course, was cooking. He'd often stay in Nathaniel's room by the fireplace long after the Orington son went to bed, reading by the light of the fire and then by the light of the diminishing cinders, until it was far too dark to make words out of the marks of the page.
Life had gone simply by as Nathaniel focused on school. Courses had gotten more rigorous. More and more students had stayed on the lower tracks as he advanced. It left him with only two or three classmates in each period as he reached courses like Advanced International Economic Practices III and Legality: Rights and Limits. Those classmates were all graduating in the spring, though he had a year yet to go. He was yearning for the day he would be alone with a professor and could hold real debates unencumbered by his peers. After a week of staying up until the wee hours of the morning on his typewriter, Nathaniel had handed in his final projects and said goodbye to the school year.
Summer, glorious summer, was upon them. The days had grown hot and the nights muggy, so the Orington son slept with few clothes and his balcony doors wide open. Sometimes fireflies would enter his room, flitting about his head as he dozed off. It was all so lovely, his existence.
He awoke on his first free Saturday morning, a bar of sunlight warming his toes under his blankets. Hare sat dutifully on one of the couches reading in the morning light, his eyes scanning through one of Nathaniel's textbooks on legal policy.
"Morning, Hare," said Nathaniel as he rubbed his eyes.
Hare held up a finger, indicating that he needed a moment to finish his paragraph. To all other masters this infraction would win him a choice punishment, but Nathaniel didn't mind. He lay back in bed, stretching his long limbs and trying to catch pieces of the dream he had been wrapped in before waking. Nathaniel could hear Hare moving about, withdrawing from a paper envelope a cloth-wrapped packet of tea and herbs he had made earlier that day. Hare set it delicately in a porcelain cup and unscrewed the lid of a canister of steaming water. He poured it over the tea bag, watching as the color and flavor seeped outward. When the steeping was finished, he withdrew the small bag and stirred in honey and a tiny bit of cream. The smell of strong black tea and dried apricots—with a hint of ginger—wafted across the room and made Nathaniel's mouth water.
"Good morning, Nathaniel," said Hare gently, offering the cup to his master as he shifted into a sitting position. "Care for some tea?"
"That would be lovely," he replied, taking the cup and sipping appreciatively. The liquid warmed his stomach and his soul.
They sat like that in comfortable silence. Nathaniel offered a sip of his tea to Hare, who politely declined for having already had some himself.
"Do you know what today is?" asked Nathaniel as he stood, setting the empty cup on his bedside table. Hare picked it up and wiped at the wood to protect it from moisture.
"Saturday?" asked Hare as he tucked the cup away in his kitchen bag and handed Nathaniel articles of clothing. Today he had chosen a crisp white dress shirt and an emerald tie with long gray slacks. Nathaniel nodded appreciatively as he donned the garments. It was strange, really, as he typically stayed predominantly nude throughout the hot days if he could.
"You don't know?" asked Nathaniel as he straightened his tie in the mirror. A mischievous grin made his lips twitch upward. "It shall be a surprise. We're going somewhere."
"Somewhere?" asked Hare as he hopped along behind his master.
"Yes," said Nathaniel, giving no other hints. "Somewhere."
It was already half past eleven when they arrived on the first floor of the Orington manor. Elk had the coach waiting for them. He had a bored look on his face, and Hare supposed he had been parked there for quite a while.
"Good morning," said Nathaniel, tugging his gloves on a little more firmly and standing up straight and tall. "Are we ready to depart, Elk?"
"Yes, sir," he said with a small nod. He opened the door to the ornate carriage and bowed low as Nathaniel and his Serviteur entered. They were off just moments later.
The city passed along outside the windows, wide boulevards descending to narrow cobblestone streets and soon to packed dirt paths through the increasingly encroaching forest. Nathaniel began to fidget, his eyes bright with excitement as his foot tapped incessantly. Hare began to worry that they were traveling back to the horrible place in which he was born, but instead of breeding pens and tiny holding houses, the clearing they came upon displayed a bright array of tents and large structures made of wood and metal.
"What...what is this?" asked Hare as they exited the carriage, his eyes shining with wonder. The Wonderland citizens milling about wore brightly-colored patches denoting their house; with them, they carried other objects—plush animals and neon candies and tasty treats. They laughed and yelled to one another across the busy thoroughfares between tents. Nathaniel was smiling brightly, tugging on Hare's arm gently.
"This is the Summer Festival," chimed Nathaniel, his gleaming white teeth displayed more fully than Hare had ever seen. "There are delicious snacks and delightful games and thrilling rides!"
"Rides?" asked Hare, pointing to the biggest metallic structure, which had been fitted with thousands of tiny, flickering lights.
"That," explained Nathaniel, "is the Ferrous wheel, because it is made of iron. It takes you from the bottom all the way to the top in a big circle. See?" Several wonderland citizens boarded an empty capsule at the bottom and laughed in delight as they swung upward.
"It's big," mumbled Hare nervously, awestruck at the size. He couldn't help but think that people surely died if they fell from it.
"It's wonderful," corrected Nathaniel, tugging Hare up to the mustached man taking the green paper admission tickets. The Orington son's pockets were full of them, and he happily doled out two to buy their passage; then, seeing two young children staring at the structure in awe, he waved them over and placed several tickets in their hands. He winked at them, gave them a joyous smile, and proceeded to step into the capsule paused at the bottom. Hare followed along behind, clutching nervously at his master's arm.
The compartment rocked back and forth as the creaking metal beast lifted them slowly upward. Nathaniel sprawled out over the bench, admiring the view as the clouds came closer and the forest diminished below. Hare dared to stand, to look over the side, and he let out a terrified squeak when he did.
"Come here, Hare," said Nathaniel gently, patting the spot on the bench next to him. They had gone a fourth of a rotation and stopped, leaving them nearly fifty meters in the air already. "Sit with me."
So Hare sat, leaning against his master, clinging tightly to his shirt in fright. Nathaniel smiled, for Hare's nervousness was impossibly adorable, and he held the shaking rabbit in close to him.
"It's safe; I promise," he assured his friend as they began to ascend once more. "No one has ever been hurt."
The top was nearing. Nathaniel stood, gently easing Hare to his feet and walking to the edge. The rabbit clung tight to the railing around the inside of the capsule, his lips parted in an O of surprise. The clearing looked tiny clustered around the base of the giant wheel. It seemed to Hare that he could see everything in the world from there, for he could certainly see the mountains to the south and the high towers of the queen's heart-shaped castle to the North. The manor of each House was visible on a tall hill in each district. He found the House of Diamonds first, then looked west to find the House of Spades. There was the Orington Manor, even.
"Our house!" exclaimed Hare, smiling and pointing. He had nearly forgotten his fear of heights; that is, until the wheel started to move with a low shudder, causing their capsule to rock slightly. Nathaniel wrapped a sturdy arm around his Pet and smiled as they began their descent.
The two burst from the capsule when it reached the bottom, laughing jovially as Nathaniel held the wobbling Hare up. He didn't see them, but several classmates from the Academy sneered as they saw the friendship between master and Pet. It was deeply frowned upon—disgusting to some, uncomfortable to others, and downright unforgivable to several of the boys standing in line. But Nathaniel didn't care what others thought; he only cared about what was right. In his mind, there was nothing more right than being dear friends with Hare.
"Now, let me introduce you to cotton candy," said the Orington son, steering Hare toward a booth where an old man was spinning the fluffy cotton onto sticks. "You will not believe your tongue."
oooooooooo
Evening fell quickly after that, even though summer days stretched long. Nathaniel had spent the day introducing Hare to the decadent flavors of festival delicacies and to the stomach-swirling excitement of rides that spun them and shook them and flung them into the air. They tried everything once, and several things twice. The Ferrous Wheel was still Hare's favorite, and Nathaniel's outlandish will to please others meant that he took all the gold coins in his pockets and bought all the capsules on the wheel for an entire hour. The two of them watched from the top of the tall structure as the sun fell in the sky, dipping below the tall Wonderland buildings and drenching the sky in bright pinks and purples that slowly faded their way to the blue of night.
Nathaniel loosened his tie, leaning back on the bench and gazing into the sky as the stars started to peek out at them. Hare was shivering in the sudden chill of night, and Nathaniel gently wrapped an arm around him to keep him warm. Their eyes were growing heavy. All the delicious food and the excitement of the day had tired them, and they had very nearly fallen asleep atop that brilliant wheel when a sudden whiz and bang startled them awake again. At once, the sky was on fire with a rain of bright colors and stunning designs.
"Fireworks," whispered Nathaniel to a bewildered Hare.
"Sky pictures of fire," whispered Hare back.
A shower of silver stars, a bright red barrage of circles, flowers of pink and blue, purple-hued raindrops, and a finale culminated with a dazzling golden dragon brought the night sky to life. It nearly put the stars to shame. Hare was aghast with delight, as was Nathaniel with seeing the happiness painted on his features.
Just as soon as it had come, it was over. The silence was overpowering, the night sky so peaceful with nothing to light it but the moon and stars. The Ferrous Wheel dipped them down back to the earth, and they descended from their capsule with tired eyes, leaning on one another as they searched for Elk. He was there with the rest of the driving Serviteurs, waiting. The quiet darkness of the carriage was a welcome break from the excitement of the day. Both Nathaniel and his hare were dozing peacefully before the gilded carriage left the clearing.
oooooooooo
The dozing Spade boy was jolted awake as the carriage came to a halt outside Orington Manor. The March Hare was still fast asleep on the opposite bench, his feet twitching in unison. In Dreamland, he was chasing his siblings around a wide grassy meadow. They were falling over one another, tripping and shoving playfully, hopping about with glee. Nathaniel could tell he was dreaming and felt bad as he reached over to shake him gently awake, but Hare returned to reality with a soft sigh and a blinking of his beady eyes.
Elk opened the door, holding it steady as Pet and Master climbed laboriously down the stairs from the carriage, limbs stretching and joints popping in protest. Nathaniel stifled a deep yawn, stumbling forward. The cool night air greeted them kindly. It was a welcome break from the stuffy interior of the carriage, and they drank it in gladly.
"What a lovely day," sighed Nathaniel, slipping his tie from around his neck as they climbed the long set of steps to the manor's main doors. Hare trudged along after him sleepily.
But as they stepped inside, the sense of peaceful relaxation quickly dissipated. Not only was Gazelle waiting in the entryway; Dormouse was there too, her kind eyes deepened with sadness.
"Nathaniel," she said kindly, reaching for his white-gloved hands, "I have bad news. Your grandfather, your father's father, has passed away. Your grandmother is upstairs speaking to the family. Your presence is required in the fourth floor drawing room."
Nathaniel felt confused, numb with the sudden realization that such an amazing man had been taken from the world. His eyebrows hardened into a confused stare as he absorbed the impact of the news. Monsieur Orington's death had been expected for a long while. In fact, many joked that as soon as a wealthy, powerful gentleman received the noteworthy title of Monsieur, he would be dead within five years. However, none of that softened the blow of despair that hit the young Orington son. It reverberated in his chest like the loud gong at the Queen's castle.
He could scarcely remember being led up the stairs and down the hall to the drawing room, but he suddenly stood at the large double doors flanked by Gazelle, Dormouse, and Hare. He nodded sharply and Gazelle opened the door, allowing the entourage to step inside.
The room was quiet, the lamps turned down low to create a mournful, intimate atmosphere. His father was standing near the lamp, investigating a long roll of parchment with tiny spectacles perched on his nose. His mother sat on the plush couch in the middle of the room, precisely where she sat when she had scolded Nathaniel for his behavior with young women. Her face was composed, patient. Across the room stood William; next to him sat Elizabeth, red-faced and large with child.
His eyes landed upon his grandmother last. She was seated in a plush chair across from the couch, dressed in plain black garments, her figure stooped only slightly more than normal. Her face was a mask of calm, but her eyes showed the true emotion plaguing her—something akin to torment mixed with disbelief. Nathaniel went to her immediately and she stood to receive him. He wrapped the small, aging woman in his arms and held her lightly to his chest. It was apparent, from the way she clung to him, that she was deeply upset and had not received much comfort from her family. They sat together, hands still clasped firmly. He caressed her wrinkled skin with his glove-covered thumb as he turned his eyes to his father.
He didn't know what he expected from Monsieur Orington's firstborn son as his eyes scanned through the long document in his hand, but it certainly wasn't a face made of strong, well-composed stone. This, Nathaniel assumed, was the Last Will and Testament of Archibald Fillion Macalester Orington.
"The agreed-upon provisions are in order," he said curtly in his deep rumble, rolling up the parchment. "The estate, the company...both are solely in our name."
His wife clasped her hands over her heart in a prayer-like gesture, eyes rolled up to the heavens in thanks. Nathaniel felt sickened by this display. Did anyone even care about the suffering of the elderly Madame Orington? Sure, she would be well cared for monetarily, enough to spend her remaining years in the comfort of the beautiful cottage she and her husband had built together in the forest. But would she be cared for socially? Emotionally? Nathaniel squeezed her hand gently, showing his solidarity. She closed her eyes in pain for a moment before opening them again, gazing at him as if thanking him for his presence. The elderly woman gathered her strength, then stood.
"As is customary, I come to you humbly with such bad news bearing gifts. I have a letter written shortly before my husband's death," she said quietly. The room was dead silent. "It outlines the possessions that have been left to each of you."
This was a deep-seated Wonderland tradition. Shortly before death, if all went according to plan, the dying party left one of his or her possessions to those that would remain living. This encouraged them to remember the deceased positively, to call to mind happy memories instead of being trapped in the grayness of mourning. Madame Orington stood up as straight as her age allowed, braced herself on Nathaniel's strong shoulder, and signaled to her maidservant to bring in the carts waiting in the hallway.
Several old but able Serviteurs entered pushing wheeled carts covered by sheets. Each stood in front of his cart, waiting to unveil the object hiding beneath.
"To Mr. William James Orington Sr., my firstborn son, I leave the antique globe of the world from my very first office. So much of your time as a boy was spent tracing your fingers over the surface, taking imaginative trips from country to country. May you look upon it now, remembering the wanderlust that captured your heart as a young boy and provided the spark for our many business ventures together."
Monsieur Orington's personal manservant slid the sheet from the glimmering globe, exposing the surface to the dim light of the drawing room. Nathaniel could see that each country had been formed by a special cut of a precious gem: Wonderland in deep red ruby, Fantasyland in sparkling bright emerald. Mr. Orington pressed his lips firmly together into a flat, hard line. Perhaps he could fool others with his expression, but the lines in his forehead showed the stress of his loss, and for once Nathaniel saw a flood of emotion in his father's eyes.
"To Mrs. Gabrielle Dominique Orington, I leave a set of jade hair combs and jewelry, the very first fine stones to return from the exploratory expedition to Indoninja. I remember your father and I building a deep and meaningful friendship on this journey. I have always been proud of the woman my son chose to marry, whose presence strengthened and molded him into the leader he was meant to be. Your father would have been just as proud as I am."
Mrs. Orington's eyes sparkled as the jade was unveiled. Very rare and expensive, it would add a layer of wealth and prestige to her already stunning collection. It also called her own father to mind. This was precious, because he had passed when she was only just starting her married life. In many ways, he had not known her at all, not as she was now; Mr. Orington had become her father after that, always caring for her as he would for his own daughter.
"To my eldest grandson, Mr. William James Orington, Jr. and his expecting wife, I leave the antique mahogany bassinet that has been in our family for generations. It has cradled many a great Orington in her infancy. It will suit the beautiful girl I know your daughter will be. My only regret is that I did not get to lay my eyes on her before my passing."
William made the same expression that his father did, tight-lipped with eyes fighting to rid themselves of feeling. He held Elizabeth close to him, his hands caressing her stomach and, thereby, his growing daughter. His wife set a soft kiss on his cheek and placed her hands over his supportively.
And then it was Nathaniel's turn. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying to hold his emotions in check.
"To my youngest grandson, Nathaniel Jouille-Robert Orington: It is clear that we shared a special bond. It seems like only yesterday you were toddling about the manor making a name for yourself as the resident nuisance. The years had mellowed me when you were born. I felt free to play with you, to explore the world through your eyes, through your mind. You are a free spirit. Never let go of your optimism, of your love for the world and all its creatures. May you be a successful lawyer and, above all else, may you be happy. To you, Nathaniel, I leave..." Madame Orington paused for a moment, her own eyes widening in surprise, for she had neither read the list nor prepared the items and therefore had no idea the depth of her husband's gift to Nathaniel. "To you, I leave my hat."
A stony silence filled the room, as if no one were breathing or blinking or thinking at all. Nathaniel could feel all eyes on him, human and Pet alike, as Monsieur Orington's aging manservant placed an exquisite mahogany hatbox in his arms. He dared not breathe or blink or think himself, let alone open the brass latches and peek inside, for tears were already flowing down his cheeks, and he felt embarrassed.
It was his grandmother's turn to hug him in tightly, to cradle him through the tears much as she had when he was young.
"It's very late," said Mr. Orington suddenly, standing and folding the will into his coat pocket. "Doberman, place the globe in the center of my study."
And with a swish of coat tails, he was gone. Mrs. Orington tenderly folded the jade into its velvet wrappings and decorative Indoninjan box and carried it off, following her husband's example.
William showed more appreciation, coming forward to clasp his grandmother's hands and thank her properly.
"Our daughter will look so peaceful sleeping in the bassinet," he whispered, bringing the wrinkled hands upward for a kiss. "I will think of you both every time we lay her down to sleep."
"You're a good boy," said Madame Orington softly, patting his cheek. "You've made both of us very proud."
He bowed gently to her, then took Elizabeth's hand and led her out of the room, toward rest.
This left them alone in the large fourth floor drawing room, just he and his grandmother and their two Serviteurs. Hare stepped forward and laid a hand carefully on Nathaniel's shoulder.
"Would you care for some tea?" he asked gently. The concern he felt was deeply evident in his expressive magenta eyes.
Nathaniel wiped his tears with the back of his gloved hand and straightened up, gazing at his grandmother as she sank into one of the big chairs in the corner with a dejected sigh.
"Grandmother," he said softly. She looked up at him with hazel eyes swimming with tears. "I'll have Hare bring us some tea. Do you have a preference for flavor?"
She cleared her throat, slowly sliding a hand across her eyes.
"Chamomile," she managed, her voice still shaking with sadness.
"And candies," requested Nathaniel. "Whatever sort matches the flavor properly. You're the expert."
Hare bowed low with his ears brushing the floor, not because he was told to but because it felt right to do so. And then he was off, rushing to the kitchen to prepare a soothing beverage for his ailing master.
Nathaniel sank into the adjacent chair, delicately setting the hatbox beside him.
"I know that in Wonderland, death is not a time to be sad," he said carefully. "But...if you want to mourn tonight, I will certainly be here to do it with you."
His grandmother looked up with a sad, appreciative smile before the tears began to flow again. Nathaniel clasped her hands in his own and let his emotions flow freely as well. The crying lasted several minutes, but both were comforted by the presence of the other, and tears slowly transformed into smiles and laughter. By the time Hare arrived with the tea, the two were telling teary, heartfelt stories of their favorite memories of the late grandfather. They sipped lightly at the hearty, flavorful tea—Madame Orington even said it was the best chamomile brew she had ever had—and nibbled at the delicious honey lemon candies stacked mountain-tall on a silver serving tray beside them.
"You've always been a peculiar boy," said Madame Orington at the end of one of Nathaniel's many stories about his boyhood adventures with his grandfather. He would have been offended, but the statement was carried by such a kind, caring tone that it felt much more like a compliment than a criticism.
"How so?" he enquired, laughing gently.
"I see the Orington ambition in you, Nathaniel. You know what you want and you have no fear of doing what it takes to get it. But, you have such little regard for our social world. You see deep into the heart of Wonderland. You see what makes it tick. You see what prevents it from ticking, too, and you see how to fix it. You care not for the way things are done, only for how they should be done if the world were perfect. For example, you've stayed here with me all night instead of leaving when you saw that I was suffering from a spell of unhappiness. And your Pet there—Hare. You treat him not as a servant that you bought and paid for, but as an equal, as a friend. You've made it painfully clear that you have no interest in taking a wife and starting a family. You disregard the system that created our wealth and high standing. But you live, Nathaniel. All this lets you live in the moment and experience the world openly, as it is, with your heart instead of with a cold, closed mind. Everyone else is closed off from so much that you have decided to let in. I see so much potential in you, so much future success. I am so proud to call you my grandson, to call you an Orington," she said, her voice radiating her pride as she stood. "Remember that, no matter what anyone says."
Her old, wrinkled hands caressed his hair softly for a moment. Nathaniel closed his eyes, still processing what she had said to him. After a moment, her hands dropped back to her sides and she crossed the room. She paused, though, just before slipping out the door.
"And remember," she added, gazing back at her grandson as he lifted the hatbox once more. "You are more deserving of that hat than anyone else."
oooooooooo
Hare jolted sharply awake, the little bell flicking here and there, back and forth above his head. The tinkling was loud, obnoxious, and he instantly reached up and took hold of it, quiet spreading across the room. Doberman looked over at him and let out a soft growl.
"Took you long enough," he muttered, his lip curling in disgust as he rolled over in his bed.
Hare didn't have time to care about the disdain of the large black dog, however. He was worried. Nathaniel never rang him, especially at an hour when they were both commonly asleep. The sun had not yet risen, and Hare guessed that it was a very early hour of the morning, if it was morning at all. He took the stairs by twos as he dashed to the large fourth-floor bedroom that Nathaniel inhabited.
"Come in," said Nathaniel, even before Hare had time to knock. He slipped into the room instantly. The two wall sconces dimly lit the area closest to the bed. The light revealed a troubled-looking Nathaniel sitting up against his extravagant headboard, the sheer curtains around his bed drawn and casting him in shadows.
Hare didn't hesitate. He firmly closed the door behind him and scurried over to the bed, nearly tripping, and he pulled back the curtain slightly to peek inside.
"Nathaniel, are you alright?" he murmured, sticking his concerned rabbit face inside. The teen shifted slightly away and then patted the wide space next to him in the large bed. Hare clamored in and sat next to his master, patiently awaiting an answer.
"I don't know," said Nathaniel, lifting the mahogany box sitting next to him. He stroked its smooth, perfect surface and sighed. "We're not supposed to show our sadness at death, but I miss my grandfather. He was one of the only members of my family that I could stand being around."
Hare leaned back into the plush pillows and gazed over at Nathaniel, thinking of how best to help him.
"Tell me about him," he said finally. "I didn't get the chance to meet him. Tell me what made him so special to you."
This brought a sad smile to Nathaniel's lips, but he laid back and obliged.
"My first memory of him, I couldn't have been more than three or four. I was in the care of Dormouse and some other pets. They had made me some natural paints from berries and spices in the kitchen, and I was rubbing my sticky hands all over a huge white canvas. I was supposed to be with them all day. I just remember turning, looking up from the paints to see him silhouetted in the doorway. It was such a surprise! I ran to him, got him all sticky with berry paint, and he didn't even care. He just spun me around and ruffled my hair, and we spent the day running around the gardens, exploring. That's the kind of man he was. He was at the Manor for a business meeting, but he completely disregarded it to spend the day with me."
Nathaniel was smiling, his fingers working at the latches on the shined mahogany box.
"This was his hat," he said, gently lifting the box's lid to reveal a perfectly kept top hat, price tag tucked under the band of fabric around it. "It was iconic; he was known for it. He used to let me wear it when I was running around the Manor as a small child. He would chase me; I'd hide, he'd find me. We would play this game where I would sit on his lap and he would try to read the paper, only the hat got in his way. He would lean one way; I would lean and try to block his view again. It was always so silly, and no reading ever got done. I just remember him as a pillar of love and support. He was so different from my cold, insensitive father."
Hare leaned against his master's arm, peeking into the box. The hat rested there, pristine as the day it was made. Nathaniel eased his gloves off, reaching in and touching the brim with his bare fingers.
"I was a rather wild young boy," he said, tenderly lifting the hat from the box. He inspected it delicately, feeling its familiar weight. "He used to call me his mad little hatter."
But suddenly, all that happiness fell from Nathaniel's face. His shoulders slumped, and he set the hat back in its box as delicately as he had lifted it out.
"I don't know if I can live up to what he thought of me, Hare."
The rabbit Serviteur paused for a moment, then set his paw in Nathaniel's bare palm. The human's fingers twitched, and his eyes fluttered closed. He had spent so many years with his hands covered by soft cotton gloves that he hadn't anticipated how sensitive his skin would be to touch. A human hand would have sent a shiver up his spine, but Hare's soft fur? He trembled with the sensation of the tiny hairs drifting feather-light over his palm.
"I see it in you. You are a free spirit. You do what is right regardless of whether it's socially standard or not. From my reading, that is the definition of strong character. You can't help but be successful, Nathaniel. You're...you. You just need to embrace it. Be your grandfather's mad hatter. Be the person who made him proud."
Nathaniel stared straight ahead, a burning intensity in his eyes as he lifted the hat from its resting place once more and set it atop his head.