MAES 26: The Voice
AN: I felt so bad for Jack when he came home and his children didn’t recognize him. The scene with Jack and George at the end takes place before Jack leaves with Stephen later that day.
His heart gave him a most unaccustomed wring and he called out “Hey there.”
It was an entirely one-sided affection, however. Charlotte only glanced round and cried “Come back tomorrow. They are all gone to Pompey,” and continued her pompous, fanatical march, followed by the others, all chanting “Wilkes and liberty.”
-Surgeon’s Mate, pg. 108, Norton press paperback
The Voice
George followed his sisters around the edge of the house, still chanting. Then a sudden sense of familiarity overtook him, and he raced back in time to see the strange man quickly entering the house. He wondered if he should call his sisters, tell them that the stranger had gone inside, but stopped himself. How, he could not say, but he felt the man was no threat to his mother, working upstairs.
George could not say where or when, but he felt he had seen the stranger somewhere before. His voice - deep, strong, and happy - seemed to be not wholly unknown to him, though where he had heard it he also could not say.
He rejoined his sisters and they resumed their march. They were passing under an upstairs window when they all heard their mother shriek in surprise, and quickly begin babbling words that they could not make out through the closed window. George heard a deeper voice answering her, and supposed the strange man must have found his mother. He was not worried: had his mother been frightened by the guest there would doubtless have been more shrieking.
They continued their marching around and around the stable yard, and were approaching the house again when Mama appeared at the door and called, “Children, come in and bid your father welcome home. He is come back from America.” She sounded nervous, and George wondered why.
So, the strange man was his father. George realized why the man had seemed so familiar to him: there was a portrait of his father in the house, and George had often stared at it, while his mother told him stories about the man painted on the canvas.
“He was so happy when you were born, my dear,” Mama had told him, stroking his hair. “And so was I. You look like him, and you have the same smile. With you here I don’t miss him quite so much as I did, though I do hope he will spend enough time at home with us that you will not be strangers to each other. When next he comes home, you will get to know him, and perhaps he will carry you around on his shoulders and take you fishing; he would enjoy that, I know.”
George had not been too excited about the prospect of meeting his father. The man that the other men in the house always referred to as ‘the Captain’ or ‘Captain Jack’ seemed like an ephemeral being to him: more myth than fact. He was also a little jealous of the fond way his mother smiled when she spoke of him.
George entered the kitchen with his sisters and they looked around: In spite of the brief glimpse he had gotten earlier, George was looking for a man like the one in the portrait, but the only man present was not dressed in a naval uniform, and he was sitting down and appeared to be much thinner than he was in the picture. Still, this must be him, for there was no one else present. George stared at him while his sisters made their greeting, and only remembered to make his own when his mother chided him gently.
The man took George’s hand in his own, staring at him with a directness that made the little boy feel uneasy. It was not only his unwavering attention that George found unnerving, it was the man’s hand as well. It felt rough and warm, and was also very large: George sensed that if he wanted to, this man could crush his hand without a thought. He did not do so, however, and the sense of restrained gentleness that George perceived was also strangely familiar, though he could not recall a clear instance where he had felt it before.
Wanting to say something and also seized with a desire to test this man who was his father, he said, “They will be here directly. I heard the cart in the lane. If the news is true, Bonden has promised to bring me an iron hoop. An iron hoop, sir!”
The man smiled. “I dare say you will get it, George.” And the deep rumble of his voice brought on the same sense of familiarity again.
0~0
By the time he went to bed that night, George thought that perhaps his father wasn’t so bad, even if Mama did dote on him so. His story of the victory was quite interesting, and told very well since he had been there at the time. As his father had described his part in the battle, George had felt a sense of pride in the man: clearly, his father was no sort of a coward.
He slipped into bed and fell asleep quickly. His dream was a pleasant one, and he thought he might have had one like it before.
He was very small, and very unhappy with the pain in his mouth. His face felt hot and sticky from the tears the pain brought on. He was lying on his stomach on a soft white surface, completely miserable.
Suddenly, a pair of large hands lifted him under the arms, and he was brought to rest against another surface: this one blue, and smelling much different from the others that his cheek had often rested against while soft hands stroked his head. One of the hands supported him, while the other offered a lump of something up to his mouth. He bit it, thinking it might be food. It wasn’t, but it did help the pain in his mouth, so he kept chewing. A deep rumble sounded in his ears, a soothing tone different from the other, higher ones he heard most often.
The voice was calming, and it made him feel safe. It distracted him from the pain just as much as whatever he was chewing, and, not nearly so miserable anymore, he fell asleep.
0~0
The next morning his father was at breakfast, and George stared at him almost without a pause through the whole meal. Last night’s dream had been strange, and if he had indeed had it before, it seemed to make more sense this second time around, for now he had words to describe his experiences. He had mentioned it to Mother when she had come to help him dress, and she had given him an odd look, before saying slowly, “Yes, your Papa did often hold you to help me when you were teething, but you can’t possibly remember that: you were too young. It must have been your imagination.”
George didn’t think so, however, and when Papa left the room, George hurried to follow him. He ran to his father and grabbed him around the leg, forcing him to stop. Papa looked down in surprise and asked, “Good heavens, boy, what is it?”
George looked up at him, not releasing his hold on his Papa’s leg. “I remember you,” he informed his father bluntly.
Papa smiled a little oddly, and laid a hand on George’s head. “Well, that’s good I suppose. I didn’t expect you to remember me last night, since you were very little when last I saw you, but it’s good to know that the next time I come home, you won’t be so surprised by me. Nor will your sisters.” His smile turned more than a little sad, and George realized that he had been hurt that his sisters had not recognized him when he had come home yesterday.
Wanting to make Papa feel better, he said, “No sir, I don’t mean then. I mean I remember you from before, when you used to hold me when my mouth hurt. I remember your voice.” He looked at Papa a little accusingly, and added “Don’t you remember that?”
Papa’s look turned as odd as Mother’s had this morning, then odder still. His face seemed to crumple a little, and his eyes grew wet. Bending down, Papa lifted George up, higher than George could ever remember being lifted, and hugged him. George hugged him back, and that also felt familiar.
“I remember,” Papa said in a strange tone, as though he were in pain and trying to hide it. “I remember son, and though I’m amazed you do, I’m also glad of it.” He shifted his hold, turning George around and lifting him still higher, until George was looking down on the back of his Papa’s head, before being settled on his shoulders. Papa held his legs firmly and said, “Now, how about you show me around? There have been a few changes since I was last here, and your Mama didn’t get the chance to show them all to me yesterday.”
George pointed him to the stables, and they set off.