Finally, Jack cleared his throat. Still, his voice was a throaty whisper. “Sir,” he said, “there are some things I’ve wanted to say to you. If this is a good time. I thought it might be as good as any.”
His father smiled at him kindly. “No need to be so formal. I have been retired for a number of years. Just call me Robert.”
Jack looked at her.
She said, “Papa, can I get you some coffee?”
“Not for me, thanks. Our friend might want some.”
After a moment Jack said, “If I could talk to you about something. I wanted to tell you that after considerable reflection, after giving the matter some careful thought—” He looked at Glory and smiled.
His father nodded. “Are you considering the ministry?”
Jack took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “No, sir.”
“There’s quite a return to the ministry these days. Many young men are drawn to it now. It’s wonderful. You might want to think about it.”
Jack said, “Yes, sir.” He toyed with his water glass, reflecting. Then, “I’ve made an effort, for a number of reasons. To believe in something. I’ve read the Bible I don’t know how many times. And I’ve thought about it. Of course I have been in situations where it’s the only book they let you have, where there isn’t much else to think about. That you’d want to think about.” He looked at Glory. “I have tried, though. Maybe that just makes me — obdurate. Isn’t that the word? I don’t know why I am what I am. I’d have been like you if I could.”
His father looked at him, solemnly uncomprehending.
Jack said, “I meant to tell you that I had — after careful thought, I had become persuaded of the truth of Scripture. Teddy said it would be all right to say that. I wanted you to stop worrying about me. But all I can really say is that I’ve tried to understand. And I did try to live a better life. I don’t know what I’ll do now. But I did try.”
The old man looked at him intently. Then he said, “That’s fine, dear. Have we talked before? I don’t believe so. I may be wrong.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He looked at Glory and smiled. He said softly, “Tears!”
Glory said, “Jack wants to talk to you, Papa. He’s trying to tell you something.”
“Yes, you said Jack is here. That would be very surprising. He’s never here.”
After a long breath, “I’m Jack.”
The old man turned stiffly in his chair to scrutinize his son. He said, “I see a resemblance.” He reached out painfully and took hold of the candlestick, to move it closer to Jack, who put his hand to his face and laughed. His father said, “There is a resemblance. I don’t know.” He said, “If you could take your hand away—”
Jack dropped his hand into his lap and suffered his father’s scrutiny, smiling, not raising his eyes.
The old man said, “Well, what did I expect. His life would be hard, I knew that,” and he fell to brooding. “I was afraid of it, and I prayed, and it happened anyway. So here is Jack,” he said. “After all that waiting.”
Jack smiled at her across the table and shook his head. Another bad idea. Nothing to be done about it now.
Glory said, “It’s been hard for him to come here. You should be kinder to him.”
A moment passed, and her father stirred from his reverie. “Kinder to him! I thanked God for him every day of his life, no matter how much grief, how much sorrow — and at the end of it all there is only more grief, more sorrow, and his life will go on that way, no help for it now. You see something beautiful in a child, and you almost live for it, you feel as though you would die for it, but it isn’t yours to keep or to protect. And if the child becomes a man who has no respect for himself, it’s just destroyed till you can hardly remember what it was—” He said, “It’s like watching a child die in your arms.” He looked at Jack. “Which I have done.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. I didn’t—” He put his hands to his face.
Glory said, “No. This is terrible. I won’t let this happen.”
“Let it happen,” Jack said softly. “I don’t have anything to lose.” And he dropped his hands, like a man abandoning all his defenses.
The old man was groping for his napkin, which had slipped to the floor. Jack gave him his. “Thank you, dear,” he said, his voice ragged with tears, and he blotted his face with it.
“That wasn’t Jack’s fault,” Glory said. “You know it wasn’t.”
