Free Wait For the Dawn by Jess Foley

warming himself over the remains of the fire.
    ‘Well,’ Ryllis said as she wiped her hands, ‘I suppose tomorrow I’ll have to set off back for Barford again.’
    ‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ Lydia said.
    ‘Yes, I too wish that I didn’t have to go, but there’s nothing for it. Now that the funeral’s done I’ve no reason for staying away. Mind you, even though it was for a funeral I’m sure the Lucases resent my absence.’
    Lydia gave a sigh. ‘I wish I were leaving here as well.’
    ‘You mustn’t think about that,’ Ryllis said. ‘You’ll be needed here at home even more now. You won’t be able to think about getting a job in Redbury or anyplace. Not now. Father won’t be able to manage without you.’
    ‘Maybe he’ll have to.’ Lydia lowered her voice with her words and looked towards the door. ‘While you were upstairs changing,’ she said, ‘Mother said something to me.’
    ‘When I was upstairs? What are you talking about?’
    ‘On the night when she was so badly burned. Father went for the doctor and you and I were here with her. You went upstairs to change out of your nightdress –’
    ‘Yes . . . what about it?’
    ‘While you were gone Mother said something.’
    ‘What? Said what?’
    Lydia took a deep breath and looked again towards the door. Then, her voice falling to little more than a whisper, she said, ‘She couldn’t speak very well, but she said to me, “
He didn’t mean it
.” She was talking about Father, of course.’
    ‘But what – what did she mean by that?’
    ‘I don’t know, but it was to do with Father and the lamp.’
    Ryllis put her hands to her cheeks, her blue eyes wide. ‘Oh, Lyddy . . .’
    Lydia stood for a moment or two in silence, then said firmly, ‘But it does no good to guess at things, to conjecture. We have to put it behind us. Whatever happened, it must have been a – it must have been an accident.’
    Ryllis returned to Barford the day after the funeral, and following her departure Lydia felt that she was going around in a daze. Not only was there her grief over her mother, but she also had to face her father, at which times she could not help but wonder what had been behind her mother’s words.
    Nothing, however, was said between them for some days, until one evening when he came into the kitchen to find her sitting silent and alone, her head bowed, the tears damp on her cheeks.
    ‘I know how you’re feeling,’ he said gruffly. Then a long pause went by and he added, ‘We must . . . help one another.’
    She could not bring herself to speak, nor to look at him, and, gazing down at the floor, merely gave a brief nod.
    ‘I came to find you,’ he said after a moment. ‘I wanted to give you this.’
    She looked at him now, opening her eyes and raising her glance to him. He was standing before her, holding something. Lying on his palm she saw her mother’s watch, a little gold half-hunter that she had rarely carried, but had always treasured.
    ‘You must have it,’ he said. ‘She’d want you to have it.’
    ‘Oh, Father . . .’
    As she moved to take it he drew his hand back again and held the watch up before his eyes. For a moment Lydia could see it reflected in the lenses of his spectacles.
    ‘I gave her this,’ he said. ‘The day after she promised to marry me. We went into Redbury together and bought it. She was so thrilled, so excited.’ He carefully opened thewatch, looked closely at the face for a second or two, then held it to his ear, cocking his head slightly as he listened. ‘It has a whispering little tick,’ he said. He held it out again at arm’s length. ‘Yes, take it. She would want you to have it. I too.’
    He laid the watch on the open palm of her hand and then bent her fingers over it. Lydia felt the pressure of his fingers on hers for a moment, then lowered her hand. As she did so he turned away, and she saw the slump of his shoulders, the drooping of his head.
    ‘Father,’ she said, ‘are