Chapter 5
“I don’t know where my family is.” Briefly, he retold for them the story he had told their father.
“What was your father’s trade?” Matthew asked him. Richard didn’t answer immediately.
“He was a blacksmith,” he said at last.
“Daddy’s a hunter!” Dominic said proudly.
“Really?” Richard turned towards their father.
“Yes, I am. But things are getting harder.” Michael said shrugging his shoulders, then added sincerely: “But it is God’s Providence. May His Holy Will be done.”
It was quiet for awhile and the sound of wooden spoons on bowls filled in for the lack of speech.
Teresa finally thought of something to say. “Catherine’s birthday is tomorrow.”
“Is it?” Richard looked across at her.
“I’ll be nine.” She said shyly.
“It is tomorrow!” Anna cried out, more than compensating for her sister’s shyness.
“That’s right,” her father said, “I was going to take you to see Mrs. Mill’s rabbits after Mass tomorrow morning. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please!” Catherine quickly nodded her head.
“Can we come too!” Bridget and Anna cried out together.
“I think it’ll just be Catherine, for her birthday,” their father said. Then turning to Peter, he said, “Tomorrow, I’m going to need you to pick up that old bench from the Damino’s.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Peter asked. His father nodded.
“But, I was going to go fishing with Matthew,” the young boy reminded him. “You said we could.”
“I am sorry, Peter, but I’ve changed my mind,” The hunter said simply. “I need you to pick up that bench tomorrow before it rains.” Peter’s eyes fell.
“Don’t worry,” the father said, “Teresa can go fishing with Matthew.”
Peter bit his lip and slowly scraped the bowl with his spoon. The tall man cleared his throat and his son looked up into his eyes.
“Yes, sir.” Peter said quickly, but with little zeal. Richard watched him and then looked back at the father.
“You know, of course, to stay on this side of the forest and no side trips.” Michael added, raising his brows. “I want you back before noon.”
“Yes, sir.” Peter spoke a little more strongly, having recovered from his initial disappointment. Richard looked again at Peter, waiting. But the boy was finished; he had nothing more to say. The stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in thought.
The conversation changed from there and went on to other subjects. Bridget offered to show Richard their chickens, but it was pointed out to her that the sun had already set.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” suggested her mother.
“After I get back with Peter,” Richard added. Several of the older eyes gave him a quizzical look.
“What?” Peter asked.
“I thought I’d ride with you to the Damino's tomorrow. That is,” he added, somewhat hastily but not sincerely. “If you don’t mind, Mister Hawkson,” he asked the father. Michael didn’t answer right away.
“Alright,” he said at last, “if you’d like to.”
“Thanks,” Peter said with a big smile.
“You’re welcome,” Michael and Richard spoke at once. Then Richard realized that he was not the one who’d been spoken to. He lowered his head and bit a piece of bread.
The conversation changed again, but this time to finish up the meal and gather for their prayers. The girls helped clean up, while Peter and Matthew lit the candles beside Our Lady’s statue. Richard got up from the table, but kind of backed away, watching everybody work.
It was a small house. They were all in one room which seemed to serve as their kitchen, dining room, and living room. Towards the back, Richard could see a rugged door, which he assumed led to where they slept.
“There couldn’t be enough room for them all to sleep in here,” he thought, kicking his foot on the ground. Then he noticed that the floor consisted of dirt. What a tiny, dirty home! He looked around at all the people. They didn’t even notice what kind of house they lived in. And if you asked them, they probably wouldn’t care. Suddenly a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Where’s Richard sleeping, Papa?” Anna asked.
“I thought we would put him with Matthew.” The young brother grinned.
“Where’s Peter going to sleep?” asked Bridget.
“Out here,” her father said. “Teresa, would you please get an extra blanket for your brother.” The young girl nodded and got up off the floor.
“Come along, girls,” Greta patted her daughter on the back, “Say ‘goodnight’.”
“Goodnight, Papa,” Anna stood on her toes to kiss her father, but had to be picked up before she could reach.
“Can I have a nighttime blessing,” Catherine asked, kneeling down.
“Me too!” Anna chimed in, dropping to her knees. Michael placed his large hand on each one. While her children received their blessing, Greta busied herself around their humble kitchen. Richard made his way to Catherine.
“Here,” he handed back her rosary, “Thank you again.”
“Oh,” the girl took it with a smile. “You're welcome.” The boy made a slight nod with his head and then turned to the mother.
“Goodnight, Ma’am,” Richard bowed. The peasant woman hesitated. Then returning his greeting with a smile, Greta patted the thin lad's shoulder.
“And goodnight to you, young man. But you'd better be off to bed. Matthew!” the mother called out, “Don't think you can delay your bedtime! Come now and show Richard his room. Make sure he is warm enough!”
The eyes of the young mother followed her new guest as he followed her sons to their bedroom. She seemed to be searching for something that the simple, dim candlelight could not reveal.
“Would you like to borrow my beads for tonight?” Catherine asked him.
“What?” Richard looked down at the coarse string of knots.
“For when we pray to Mary tonight,” the little girl explained. “Do you have yours with you?”
“No. I lost it,” he said slowly.
“Here,” she smiled. “Use mine. I can count on my fingers.”
“Alright. Thank you, miss.” He bowed slightly. Most everyone had already gathered together and Catherine and Richard joined them quickly. Then, everyone faced the fireplace where, up on the mantle, stood a little statue of the Blessed Mother, with her hand extended towards her children. Two candles flickered in the dark, lighting up the statue they framed and the flowers beside them.
Out of the silence came a deep masculine voice, leading his family in the Sign of the Cross. Then he began praying the Most Holy Rosary. Most of the children knelt, like him, before Our Lady’s image. Little Dominic usually would fall back on his legs when his knees got tired and Bernard would lie on his mother’s lap. Richard wasn’t used to kneeling without support. Greta smiled when she saw him tip once, almost loosing his balance. But he went on manfully and prayed along with the rest.
Every now and then, he’d just listen to the harmony of young voices finish their father’s prayers. Richard watched them. Sometimes you could see them get distracted, but they always turned themselves back, as soon as they noticed what they were doing. A tranquillity came over Richard, seeing all those faces filled with such a love and peace. There was something real in them. Something different. Something he had never seen before. He was glad to see so many children, himself of course, coming from a smaller family. Then Richard would catch himself being distracted by all these thoughts and struggle to get back to his own Rosary.
When the family finished praying, it was time to go to bed.
