Lunarcrossed

 For a kid the World they see and the things they are told is the pure unadulterated truth. For many years I believed that every home was like ours, and that it was normal for the servants to only clean and tidy those rooms in use. Hell I thought everyone had servants.

 At Archer manor they would take care of the bed hamper I slept in and the small dining room where I took my meals. They cared for my father’s rooms of course and the library where he sometimes sat behind the big desk and worked on company business.

 Any other room was forbidden places, locked up behind doors and promises of trouble if I ventured there.

 Or they were until that fateful day, almost twenty years ago, when my fathers 2 closest friends and work partners, Harold Ash and Benton Grey, along with their wifes were killed in a plane crash.

 Only days later their young sons, who had no close relatives, and none at all capable of raising them to step into the company, arrived at Archer manor. Along with them a whole new world of knowledge and information arrived, also the sad realisation that my father is batshit crazy.

 As I enter the small dining room I stop in my tracks when I see my father sitting at the head of the table, reading the newspaper like this is a normal occurrence. Normally he has his food brought up to his private rooms.

 But even more surprising is it that his normally rather disheveled white hair has been trimmed and combed into a stylish look. He is also clean shaven and wearing his best suit.

 I can’t remember the last time my father looked this put together. On the rare occasions he even leaves his rooms he mostly resembles a battered scarecrow.

 When the butler sees me arrive he pours coffee into one of the delicate china cups, then leaves to get my plate. As I am normally the only one eating here I keep my meals simple and small. No elaborate buffet, just a plate of whatever the cook had felt like preparing this morning.

 My father has not noticed me yet, but that is no surprise, he spends most of his time in his own little world built up of memories of a happier time.

 “Morning, this is a nice surprise”. I say as I walk over to my usual chair and sit down, trying to shake my concerns about the family business and how I should be more involved on a day to day basis.

 I had awoken before dawn and spent two hours in my in house office making video calls to foreign business partners and customers. And on searching for an answer that seems to keep slipping away.

 So I had decided I needed nourishment to energise my body and mind. “So what has made you suddenly change your routines ?”

 My father turns the page of the paper, rattling it and then he straightens it with a sharp movement of his wrist.

 “I decided it would be best to get up and ready before my darling bride arrives”.

 With my cup halfway to my mouth I close my eyes and breathe in slowly. It seems my fathers world has gotten more and more entwined with his past the last couple of months, but surely he can’t be sitting here waiting for my mother to arrive; he can’t really believe this is his wedding day.

 Opening my eyes I set my cup down and breathe out, looking at the man I love dearly despite his weird habits and the … eccentricity. Right now he looks like any rich businessman beginning his day. Unlike other businessmen he happens to believe the ghost of his dead wife haunts the fields and forest around us. 

 The butler returns with a plate of food. Eggs, ham, fried tomatoes and toasted bread, that he puts in front of me.

 As he is about to return to his spot by the wall I stop him with my question. “Gill, did you help my father get ready this morning ?”

 “Yes sir. It’s been many years since a valet was employed, so I was happy to step in”. He leans down and whispers. “He also bathed, on his own Accord, and it is not even Saturday”. With that he raises a bushy white eyebrow and stands up, straight as an arrow.

 “And do you know why he is dressing up ?”

 “Well, yes sir. Mrs Downey is getting the wedding feast ready as we speak and Mrs Barny has been up with the sun to get the front parlour ready for the ceremony. It is gonna be great to once again have a lady in the house”.

 But here is no woman, only in my fathers twisted and probably demented brain. “And does she have a name”.

 “Oh I am sure she does sir, most people do after all”.

 I have long ago learned that patience in abundance is required when dealing with the few servants who are still employed. We have not hired anyone new in ages, when the old ones have retired or passed away, others have simply been promoted. But it might be time for a New and younger butler after all, even though it is hard imagining this place without Gill in control.

 He had been the assistant of sorts to the old butler and took over when he passed away in his sleep about eighteen years ago. And I am sure very few men are better suited to accepting and working with the reality within these walls. 

 “And might you know what this lady’s name is ?” Madeline Conwoy, is my guess, my mother.

 “Son, if you have questions about my bride then please ask me”. My father snaps, as he slaps his paper down on the table. “After all, I am sitting right here”.

 I do not want pain and sorrow to once again overtake my father when he realises the truth; that his bride has been dead for thirty years. She left this world the night she fought so bravely to bring me, his only child, into this world.

 “So when will she arrive then ?” I play along with his dissolution, while I watch Gill silently move back to his spot, out of the corner of my eye.

 “She should be here around two. Wedding is scheduled for four, all the paperwork has already been made ready". He smiles. “I want to give her a chance to get to know me a little first”.

 This is weird. My parents met each other as kids. They had clicked from the very start, at least if you ask my father. I arch a brow questioningly. “Are you telling me you don’t know me”.

 My father shrugs. “We have written to each other, mails and such”.

 I suddenly realise that this might be so much worse than my father relieving his wedding to my mom. “So please tell me then, what is her name ?”

 “Mrs Skye Sinclair”.

 I am staring, with an open mouthed and probably dumb looking expression. This is worse, so much worse than I had expected. “Mrs … so she is a widow I presume ?”

 “No son, I am marrying a woman who already has a husband. Use that smart brain of yours, of course she is a widow. You think I have time for skittish girls that need patience and velvet gloves. I want someone who knows how a man's body works and her own too”.

 Seriously I can’t believe I am having this conversation with my father. “If you are … needy, I can take you to town, find a … woman. Why go through the trouble of marriage ?”

 “I want an heir”.

 Just when I thought my jaw couldn’t drop further ot does. “Uhm I am your heir”.

 “And you have no plans to marry and produce an heir of your own”.

 “I have never said I won’t marry when time comes”. I have only said I do not want love. Love drove my father insane when he lost it. I have no plans of giving my heart to a woman and risk ending like him.

 “Please tell me, where is this illusive woman you are going to marry ?” My father looks around like he expects her to pop up from under the table or jump out from a corner. “You turned thirty two months ago. I married when I was twenty-six and you came when I was thirty. But you are still playing around and sowing your oats”.

 Well I have calmed down a lot in that area to be honest. And if I take business more seriously I will most definitely go mad. “I will marry, one day”.

 “I can’t take a chance on that. There needs to be an heir after you. I am not letting my cousin Poul and his drunkard son inherit. I built this business and it will stay on Archer hands. This house too. You will inherit first, of course. But when you are gone, with a thirty-something years younger brother, depending on how fast she can pop one out, he can step up if you have no heir. And hopefully he is more open to marriage and kids than you”.

 My fathers breathing has gone laboured, like he was running while he was speaking.

 I stand up quickly. “Are you okay dad ?”

 He waves me off. “Just tired Ben. Just so very tired, but I have to secure the business, and my legacy. I should have re-married earlier and had more kids. But I was lost in my grief”. He slumps back in his chair. “Maybe then you darling mother would have moved on, instead of waiting for me”.

 Statements like that hurts me a lot, and makes dealing with my father much harder. My mother is not out there waiting. My father simply won’t let the memories go.

 “I promise I will marry dad and provide an heir. I won’t let cousin Poul take over anything. I just need to find the right woman”. A woman of a kind that I can never ever love.

 “Maybe Skye is your type. I promise, if you like her when she arrives, I will do the honorable thing and step aside and you can marry her today”.

 Like that is ever gonna happen. Sadly for Mrs Sinclair all she gets when she arrives is a push right back out the door.