The Father's Journey Part 1

Elias -

The first drops hit my face like accusations, cold and sharp enough to cut through the fog of self-pity that had become my constant companion. I pulled my collar higher and urged the horse forward, though neither the animal nor I had much enthusiasm for the journey ahead. The sky promised worse weather to come—the kind of autumn storm that could soak a man to his bones and leave him feeling like he'd never be warm again.

Much like everything else in my life these days.

The road to Millbrook stretched ahead like a penance, fifteen miles of rutted dirt and stone that would give me plenty of time to rehearse the conversations waiting for me. Yes, I understand the emerald necklace has sentimental value. No, I don't have any other options. How much can you offer?

Each word would be a small death, another piece of Eleanor's dignity sold to pay for my stupidity. The jewelry had been her grandmother's, passed down through three generations of women who'd never had to question whether their husbands could provide for them. Now it would end up in some merchant's display case, stripped of its history and reduced to its monetary value.

I deserved every mile of this wretched journey.

The horse—one of only two we'd managed to keep—picked his way carefully around the deeper puddles. Chester was getting old, his joints stiff in the cold weather, but he'd served our family faithfully for eight years. After today's business was concluded, I'd probably have to sell him too. The thought made my chest tight with something that felt suspiciously like grief.

Stop, I told myself. Self-pity won't change anything.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Nothing I could do would change what I'd done. The investments had seemed so certain, so foolproof. Maritime shipping, they'd called it—the future of commerce, with profits that could triple a man's fortune in less than two years. All it required was capital and faith.

I'd had plenty of both. Right up until the ships started sinking.

The rain was falling harder now, turning the road into a treacherous mess of mud and standing water. I should have waited another day, let the weather clear before making this trip. But waiting meant another day of watching Catherine try to hold our family together through sheer force of will, another day of seeing the questions in Jamie's eyes that I couldn't bring myself to answer honestly.

Another day of Eleanor looking at me like she was trying to recognize the man she'd married.

The outskirts of Millbrook appeared through the rain like a salvation I didn't deserve—crooked chimneys bleeding smoke into the gray sky, windows glowing with the warm light of homes where people still had reason to hope. I'd been here dozens of times over the years, conducting business with the kind of easy confidence that came from never having to doubt my credit or my reputation.

Today would be different.

Hartwell had recommended three establishments where I might find buyers for Eleanor's jewelry—respectable merchants who dealt in estate sales and wouldn't ask too many uncomfortable questions about sudden necessity. The first two shops were clustered near the market square, their windows displaying the kind of tasteful luxury that attracted wealthy wives and guilty husbands.

I tied Chester outside the first shop and stood for a moment in the rain, trying to gather what remained of my dignity. The weight of Eleanor's jewelry box in my saddlebag felt like lead, each piece a small betrayal wrapped in velvet.

The merchant was a thin man with calculating eyes who examined each piece with the dispassionate efficiency of an undertaker. He offered fair prices—better than I'd hoped, actually—but his clinical assessment of items that had graced my wife's throat and wrists felt like watching a physician dissect a corpse.

"The emerald necklace is particularly fine," he said, holding it up to catch the lamplight. "Georgian period, if I'm not mistaken. The craftsmanship is exquisite."

It was her grandmother's favorite, I wanted to say. She wore it to her wedding, and her daughter's christening, and every important moment of her life. It's not just jewelry—it's history.

Instead, I nodded and took his money.

The second shop yielded similar results—efficient transactions that reduced Eleanor's treasures to pounds and shillings, numbers that would help us survive another few months. By the time I emerged back into the rain, my pockets were heavier but my soul felt emptier than when I'd arrived.

Which was why, when I passed the Crown and Anchor on my way out of town, I didn't ride past as I should have.

The tavern was warm and bright, filled with the kind of laughter that came from men who still had jobs and prospects and wives who looked at them with something other than pity. I told myself I'd stop for just one drink, just enough to take the edge off the cold and the guilt before facing the ride home.

One drink became two. Two became three.