HENRIETTA WATCHED DAN AS HE PICKED DISTRACTEDLY WITH HIS FORK at the mutton they were eating. He never complained of tiredness, for he was blessed with a vigour and energy few men possessed. However, of late, she could not help but worry, for her husband looked careworn, with dark shadows under his eyes. He was rarely home any more, gone from early morning to late at night, seemingly at the beck and call of every beggar and sick person in the district. When he did appear, he usually excused himself to attend some committee meeting or other.
The children missed their father and his attention, just as she missed their chats and walks together, or the hours they used to spend sitting reading a book, sharing a story or discussing an item in the newspaper, for Dan was not just her husband but her dearest friend.
Ellen, Fanny and Harriet vied for his attention, waving to see if he noticed they had had their hair cut. Dan remained lost in a world of his own as he ate slowly.
‘Dada, you must notice something different about me today,’ demanded Fanny, coming over to sit on his lap, waggling her pretty head.
Henrietta laughed to herself and gave Dan a warning kick under the table to attend to Fanny’s antics.
‘Fanny, you have grown taller!’ he ventured, which drew cries of ‘no’ from his daughter. ‘Fanny, you have got heavier since yesterday!’
‘No,’ she protested.
‘You learned to speak French!’
She pouted. ‘Dada, you know I can’t speak French.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘You have cut and curled your pretty hair just like your beautiful sisters!’
Fanny jumped up and did a few twirls to show off her new hairstyle. Ellen and Harriet joined in, while young Daniel laughed and their older brother Jerrie threw his eyes to heaven at the antics of his sisters.
‘Certain little girls had developed a bit of an aversion to my bristle brush,’ Henrietta confided, ‘so losing a few inches of hair will make it a lot easier.’
‘Of course, my dear,’ he said, putting down his napkin and standing up from the table. His eyes showed he had little interest in her simple tittle-tattle about the children.
‘Dada, play with us!’ pleaded Fanny.
‘I’m sorry, children, but I have to work,’ Dan said, excusing himself and disappearing to the confines of his small study.
It was late and Dan was still working, no doubt writing his diary again. Passing his study door, Henrietta decided to wish him goodnight as she was about to retire. She found her husband sitting at his desk as usual, but he was not working. Instead, he held his head in his hands, deeply upset over something.
Henrietta flew to him.
‘Oh, my dear, what is it?’ she asked, fearful that he might be unwell. ‘What has upset you so?’
Dan let out a shuddering, heavy sigh.
‘Today I lost a patient. A small boy only a year younger than our Daniel, a workhouse boy,’ he said, trying to control his emotions. ‘He died from dysentery.’
Henrietta had never seen her husband so upset. Every day he saw the most awful sights and endured huge distress dealing with the dead and dying. Often he would discover putrid, rotting corpses and foul-smelling bodies, things she knew well he kept and protected her from.
‘But Dan, all the sick you attend,’ she ventured gently.
‘It is ridiculous of me, but the boy, Will, was a fine little fellow. I helped to deliver him, the day the Liberator came. His young mother abandoned him to the Union’s care. Yet the boy had such spirit. Every time he caught sight of me doing my rounds, he just wanted to play or talk to me, even if it was only for a few minutes. He was a bright child and I’m sure he would have made his way in the world when he was older. We were his guardians, responsible for his care, such as it was, and we let him down. I let him down.’
His eyes welled with unshed tears as he slumped in misery.
‘You looked after that boy, Dan, and cared for him as best you could,’ she assured him, running her hands along his shoulder. ‘I know that, for I see it every day – the dedicated way you look after all those who need your help.’
‘Instead of any hope of a good life, young Will has ended up buried in the workhouse graveyard.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
Henrietta held her husband as he gave in to the onslaught of emotion, stroking his hair like a child’s. She kissed the top of his head and soothed him until all the hurt and pain that had built up in him was released.
‘What must you think of me for being so foolish?’ he apologized.
‘I do not think it foolish to mourn,’ Henrietta said gently. ‘Especially when there are so many to mourn and grieve for.’
She took his hand and kissed it, knowing that she loved him more deeply than any other human in the world, and that though Dan may not say he needed her, she would always be there for him …