“I think you are wrong.”
His father turned his frustrated gaze towards him. “Did your mother ever eat pudding for breakfast?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Roswell replied. “But I don’t see why it would make any difference, especially now.”
“Precisely!” his mother shouted with a victorious look on her face.
His father did not look pleased that he was encouraging her. “Thank you for your help, Roswell,” he said dryly.
Roswell wasn’t going to apologize for his behavior. It felt good to conspire with his mother, even for a moment. “I do believe my work here is done,” he joked, rising. “I should be going.”
“Before you go, have you had a chance to review the documents I placed out for you?” his father asked.
“I did, but I do not see why I am required to do so,” Roswell said.
“If Fredrick doesn’t return from the war, you will be my heir and will need to be acquainted with our investments.”
“Fredrick will return,” Roswell asserted.
“You don’t know that for certain,” his father said. “He has been fighting for a long time now and war is no respecter of persons.”
“He is an officer.”
“They still bleed, just as any man,” his father stated.
Roswell didn’t want to have this conversation with his father. He had no desire to assume his brother’s title. He was perfectly content being a second son and doing as he pleased. If he became his father’s heir, his future would be planned out.
As he walked over to the door, his father said, “I do not mean to be a naysayer, but we must plan for the worst.”
“I prefer hoping for the best,” Roswell admonished.
His mother spoke up. “Fredrick will return. He must,” she said, her words slightly panicked.
Turning back towards his wife, a smile came to his face. “You are right, my dear,” he responded, his words lacking conviction.
His father’s words managed to appease his mother and she leaned her head back against the wall. “I am tired. I am just going to close my eyes for a moment,” she said.
Roswell opened the door.
“A word, Son,” his father said.
Drats. So close.
His father approached him and gestured towards the corridor. “I would like to speak to you in private.”
Roswell stepped into the corridor and turned back to give his father an expectant look. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”
“Your mother isn’t doing well,” his father informed him.
“She appeared lucid today,” he responded. “She even remembered me.”
“I know, but the doctor says that she is growing weaker by the day and we need to prepare ourselves for her taking a turn for the worse.”
“I understand.”
His father placed a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to be strong, for Octavia’s sake,” he said. “We both know that she shares a special bond with her mother.”
“I can do that.”
