My Home From Home - Chapter 12: Chapter 12

The old grandfather clock in the small library sounded it's deep chimes as the clock struck eight. By the time Thomas had changed little Alfie's nappy and tucked him in it had already been eight o'clock. Henry stalked about the small library as he glanced about at the random trinkets and books on the bookcases. It was a rather small library that paled in comparison to anything he'd been accustomed to, yet there was something charmingly warm about it. The cosy dim lighting, the dark wood panelling all reminded him of home; and whomever had curated the little personal collection had quite the eye for classic literature.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting." Henry turned as he heard Thomas' silky masculine voice beckons from behind him.
"No need to apologise, I was simply admiring the collection." Henry pointed out as his finger grazed the spine of a particular book that interested him. Wuthering Heights by Charlotte Brontë. "Do you enjoy reading?"
"I did, especially growing up. But as an adult, unfortunately, I reckon other things seemed to take over most of my leisure time." Admitted Thomas . "What about you? I take it you're an avid reader."
"One might say that." Henry chuckled softly. "As a child I'd love to get lost in a book. Allow it to take me away through it's thin parchment pages. It felt like I could go anywhere it took me. Like the world was right inside my head. Make me feel less alone." He glanced up to see Thomas looking at him empathetically, realising he'd cast rather a gloom just then. "This one time, I hid under a table utterly lost in a book. They had everyone upstairs and the downstairs searching the whole village for me!" Henry's let out a naughty giggle of sorts as he tried to lighten the mood.
"Upstairs... and downstairs?" Thomas cocked an eyebrow at Henry who in that moment realised he'd just backed himself into a rather difficult corner.
"Yes." Henry replied as calmly and nonchalantly as he could. "Oh! Sorry, I must've misspoke. By upstairs I meant they searched the attic." He was beginning to think this whole charade of being someone he wasn't was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd originally intended; he'd come up with a story that he was this normal, ordinary, working class lad. But what Henry neglected to figure into the equation was that he'd never actually had a real conversation to a working class person other than the downstairs staff whom he really didn't know on personal levels.
"Ah! I see." Nodded Thomas understandingly, though it would be one of the odd things about Henry he'd notice but stow away in the back of his head. "Have you got any favourite authors or books, even?"
"Oh loads of them! Anything by Charlotte Brontë or Jane Austen, for starters are my absolute favourites; just ordinary stories about common folk like us leading very common lives." Thomas couldn't help but smile he watched Henry explain his favourite books; there was a passion in him that seemed to make his entire aura glow. "It has to be said, the collection in this library is rather good, did you ahve a part in that?"
"Me?! Oh, no! The library was from when this was a private family home. You see, many years ago it belonged to a well-off farmer called Mr Richards. Before Fir Creek was a town this area was a small settlement owned by Mr Richards. He started as a mere grain farmer, but grew his business by celling throughout the valley. He was able to build this house and this great fortune but unfortunately he never had any children of his own. Fifty years ago some surveyors discovered coal in the valley and opened a mine; not long later this area developed into a town. Not long later, Mr Richards passed away and left all his fortune to the city along with his house to use as they saw fit. At the time with the way the town was developing, families coming from all around to work in the mine, opening businesses and what have you; the city decided a constabulary an infirmary were necessary. And now here we are."
"Fascinating. I'll admit when I first got here, I thought it terribly peculiar, but knowing the story behind it all, I can't help but find it admirably resourceful." Henry's rested his fest on his own cheek as he rested his elbow on the sofa armrest; leaning in with intrigue as he hung on to Thomas' every word. "So, I take it you grew up around here?"
"Yep, born and raised right here in Fir Creek. My Dad was a coal miner and my mom, a seamstress. We didn't have much but we had each other. My mom, my older sister, Edith, my dad, and me." Thomas' eyes seemed to glaze over with his memories; a slight melancholic smile creeping over his perfectly symmetrical, dimpled cheeks. "What about your family? Have you got any siblings?"
"Oh erm..." Henry blinked his eyes into focus as he sat up straight in his seat. "Yes, I've got two older brothers, Edward and Matthew. Edward loves me and Matthew absolutely despises me. And I've got a younger sister Georgina."
"What about your parents?" Asked Thomas curiously.
"Oh yes, well. They were... there...." Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "They were often too busy for us children. Leaving us mostly..." He nearly said he was raised by a nanny but quickly realised it wasn't very common to have a governess. "To our own devices..."
"Oh... wow I-I'm sorry if I've intruded..."
"No, no. I-it's quite alright." Henry let out an unsettled chuckle, he hated making himself out as the victim; not when he grew up in perhaps one of the most privileged  situations he'd encountered outside of the Royal Family, who ironically enough were his cousins. "I should think there are plenty of poor souls who had it worse than me..."
"Um... Would you like something to drink? There's whisky and... Well whisky's all I've got." Thomas chuckled awkwardly, knowing it was high time he intervened to change the subject.
"Whisky would be lovely, thank you." Huffed Henry, knowing he could use something to take the edge off. He could practically feel his heart beating through his chest as he watched the handsome blond walk briskly towards the liquor cabinet and pour two glasses about a third full of whiskey.
"Here ya go." Thomas drawled with a half smile as he handed one glass to Henry.
"Cheers, thanks." Henry said breathily, taking the glass out of the man's hand and downing it all in one go. A perplexed smile crept across Thomas' face, clearly taken aback by how fast Henry finished his whiskey.
"Cheers." Thomas furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his whiskey as he sat back down on the sofa across from Henry.
"Blimey, that's strong." Henry's face contorted as he glanced down at the remnants of dark liquid in bottom of the glass. "Hang on, isn't Alberta a dry province?"
"Yeah." Thomas chuckled to himself, with an eye-roll. "The Legislative assembly enacted the ban on sale within the Province a few years back, but not production for export."
"God in heaven, how do you people survive the winter?!" Henry's sapphire blue eyes widened in shock. "If they ever tried to ban alcohol in England, I should think the entire country would take to the streets."
"Well, Unfortunately for the government, but very fortunate for the rest of us, the sale of alcohol is banned, but not production with the intent of export. So naturally underground brewing and trade are pretty widespread. Legally it's my duty to crack down on it, but I find myself turning the other cheek."
"Can't say I blame you." Henry mumbled audibly, partially to himself as both men nodded to mutual consensus. An awkward silence then ensued between them, almost painfully so and prolonged to boot; the sound of the grandfather clock ticking across the room as the pendulum offering a cringeworthy testament to the devastatingly slow passage of time.
"Your boys are lovely." Henry broke the chilling silence, earning him a warm smile from Thomas as the man mindlessly stared at the empty glass in his hand. "They must mean the world to you..."
"They do..." Thomas's gaze shifted up to lock with Henry's sapphire blue eyes. "But... They're not mine.... Not really..."
Henry furrowed his brows as he blinked awkwardly, watching as a slurry of different emotions shone through Thomas' warm amber brown eyes. There was a look of hesitation about him that he couldn't quite understand; as though contemplating whether or not to bear a side of his soul.
"They're my nephews technically; my sister's children" Thomas' manly voice let an out-of-character crack slip as he stared off into the distance. "Her husband was sent home in 1917 when he took a bullet to the leg during the Great War. That's around the time they conceived little Danny. I wasn't there for his birth; I was still serving in France... When I was sent home I had a family but as the Spanish Flu raged across the Prairies I lost my mum and my dad. My sister died during childbirth and her husband couldn't handle it; he had severe shell shock from the start and losing his love was too much for him to bear..."
"Oh I'm erm... I-I'm terribly sorry for you loss.." Henry cleared his throat, stammering uncomfortably as he shifted in his seat.
"Thank you, I appreciate it..." Thomas' voice sounded empty as a look of eery hopelessness lingered in his deep mysterious brown eyes. "Sorry, I reckon I've cast a gloom on the evening..."
"No! No, you've done no such thing." Henry assured him, shaking his head vehemently. "Just...Know that you're really good with them..." Thomas' glance shifted towards Henry's as the  young Englishman realised how presumptuous his prior statement may have sounded. "I only mean, from what I've seen you seem to be very good with them."
"Thank you, that means a lot. They mean the world to me" Thomas said softly. "When I took them in Danny was only three; he barely knew what was happening in life and he started calling me Daddy. I don't know how to explain to a three year old that his real daddy was gone... So I decided to be their Daddy, at least until they're old enough to understand the truth... But let's talk about something else, please. Lighten the mood a bit."
"O-Of course." Henry nodded feeling a slight tinge of pain in his chest as he finally understood that strange omnipresent look of melancholy in Thomas' eyes. He'd seen it before in others, but he never felt it himself. Henry never knew true pain. Not truly.
"Say erm. Where could I send a telegram in town?" Henry changed the subject.
"Well there's a post office down the road." Thomas' eyes brightened as he cocked his head to the side away form Henry, as though envisioning how to give him the directions to get there. "If you go out the front entrance of the clinic then you take a right and continue straight. The post office isn't far down."
"Splendid..." Henry smiled warmly as Thomas' eyes glazed over looking at the radiant glow of his alabaster skin. For most of the rest of the night their conversations went on, punctuated by these strange silence and sexual tension that neither man knew how to cope with nor understand. They said little to one another, but in a way there was a strange comfort that they felt; as though they knew each other. It was hard to explain, they were strangers and that was clear from the awkward pauses; but it was also evident that both men wanted to know more about one another.
As they parted ways for the night Henry crept back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning his back against the cold wood as he found himself alone once again. He felt this torn feeling deep within his heart; he felt this dread of not being able to be himself, of lying to someone whom he for some reason really wanted to be honest to. He neither knew why nor wished to question it; but in the less than twenty-four hours he'd known Thomas he felt himself growing more and more intrigued by him; his smile, his body, his kind gentle demeanour, the way he was with his children.
But perhaps what hurt him most was how much more alone he felt; how much everything Thomas said made him realise how far he was from his family. How lost he felt without them; for all his life, Henry Aldringham's surname and lineage got him everything he needed. And here without it all he felt terribly, terribly... empty; And in that moment he yearned for only one thing; one thing he knew were terribly far away from him; his family...
Dearest Georgie,
I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I would like to start by apologising for not writing you sooner. Things have been quite complicated during my first few weeks here in Canada, and though I realise that is hardly a valid excuse, I hope that now with things settled as they are you'll be able. Canada has been strange to say the least; there are things that are the same as home, whilst other things feel jolly different.
I shall send a telegram home to Mama and Papa when I go to post this letter so by the time this reaches you you'll likely already know that I've moved to a small town in the province of Alberta. There isn't much here other than a mine, a post office, a few shops, a church and a house where I'm living converted into a hospital and constabulary. Yes, I'm quite aware of what you're likely thinking ; It is rather strange, isn't it? But there's something oddly charming about it here and one can't help but feel thankful for that.
One misses you all terribly here; I miss the way Papa would read the freshly ironed newspaper every morning, the way Granny always had something to say about everything, the way Mama seemed to hate doing everything. I miss Edward, Emily, and dearest little Anna. I even find myself missing Matthew and his constant need to make me feel absolutely miserable.
But most of all my I miss you, dear sister. I miss your smile, your quick wit, your ability to understand what I'm thinking simply by reading my demeanour. At this point all I can hold on to are these memories that I have of you all as I embark on this chapter in my life. I pray that you are blessed with happiness and good health, and I hope to one day see you all again. Sending you all the love in the world.
Love,Henry
Henry went on to write two more letters as he felt sleepiness slowly creeping over his body; one for his parents and one for Edward and his immediate family. Sealing the third and final envelop he let out a huff as he pushed himself up to standing. His gaze caught the three crumpled up sheets of paper haphazardly thrown in the dustbin next to his bureau; he'd tried three times to write a letter for his brother Matthew but every time he felt he couldn't do it. Matthew had always been cruel to him since hew as a child, and though he wished to write something to his estranged older brother, he didn't know what to even say. He didn't even expect a response which he hypothesised would only make him feel more foolish for writing Matthew in the first place.
Shaking off any thoughts that he knew would keep him awake, Henry slipped out of his evening wear and into a clean pair of pyjamas out of his wardrobe. He walked up to his new bed and drew the covers back, climbing in and leaning towards the bedside table to switch off the lamp that dimly illuminated his room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the bleak darkness that surrounded him as he sunk down into bed; He always hated darkness as a child but here he was years later feeling the lonely bleakness of the dark once again.
It wasn't the first time that Henry was away from home; he went off to boarding school when he was only five, later going to Oxford for university and went off to war in France. In school he'd have a nightmare of miss home he'd sometimes sneak down to Edward and Matthew's dormitory and slip into his older brother, Edward's bed who was always a fraternal comforting for his baby brother. One time he slipped into Matthew's bed by accident, and though he grudgingly agreed to let him sleep there, he grumbled about the inconvenience disgruntledly until he fell asleep. By the time he'd gone off to university young Henry had grown quite used to the idea of being away from home; and during the war he had far other pressing matters on his mind that took over the idea of crippling loneliness. But here he was alone again, but for the first time barring the war when he wasn't a mere train ride away from his home; for now he was clear on the other side of the world fighting a battle completely and utterly alone.