Chapter Text
~ Simon ~
Simon had always done what his father told him. The General was a stern, cold man. Simon quickly learned to obey his word for fear of punishment. He criticized Simon frequently when Simon was young.
“Head up, boy, stand straight. You can do better than that. Stay quiet. Don't mutter.”
He’d always pushed Simon into how he believed a boy, later a man, should act. He pushed Simon into the life he thought a man should lead.
“She is a fine young woman; you would do good to wed her.”
It all made Simon ill; he didn't love Mary, but it was the way of the world. He was a man now, and his father had taught him that God called a man to join with a woman as to multiply. It was meant to be a holy, sacred thing, but it all just made Simon ill.
Simon was mildly thankful that, as the General's son, he had his duty to the army and was not often at home. Simon did his best from afar to ensure Mary was well looked after in his absence, however. They wrote each other occasionally, but nothing sentimental really, just updates. When Simon read that Mary was with his child, his stomach turned over. He was almost thankful that a new war, and that his father and his duty to his country, demanded his attention.
~ Rosie ~
Rosie had a wonderful life. She lived in a grand house under her mother's care, with just enough servants to help around the home. Rosie’s mother was loving. She filled their home with warmth and laughter.
Rosie had never known her father, either then a portrait hung on a wall in their home. He looked like a very stern, serious man, dressed in his military uniform. He was away at war, serving as a soldier. Rosie was very proud to have a brave soldier as a father. When the war was over, he’d return home, and she’d get to meet him for the first time. The idea held both excitement and fear for Rosie, who had never met the man or known anything about him.
When winter hit that year, an illness took Rosie’s mother like never before and did not wane even as winter turned to spring. Doctors came and went. The Parson sat at her bedside, read from the Bible to her, and said prayers with her and over her. But Rosie’s mother remained in her bed coughing, frail and paler than ever.
One day she took her last breath, and Rosie cried sorrowfully over her alongside the servants.
In the following days, arrangements were made. They made sure word would be sent to Rosie’s father. Rosie had never imagined meeting him like this. Instead of being excited for the reunion, the thought filled Rosie with dread. What a worse, frightful thing to meet her father for the first time without her loving mother to offer her comfort as a buffer. To be left in the care of a stranger, a man she’d never spoken to.
~ Simon ~
It was a cold day when Simon received the letter of Mary’s demise. A heaviness of dread and sorrow settled in his chest as he let the letter fall solemnly onto his writing desk. He gave a heavy sigh, looking up into the distance.
It struck Simon as strange how easily the General released him from his duty to his men, God, and country, to his duty as father and Lord of his home. His father hadn’t even released Simon after all his wounds and afflictions suffered under the cold, harsh, cruel, unforgiving war.
But Simon went, despite not knowing whether he could father a child he didn't know or feel like he was the father of at all.
~ Rosie ~
Rosie’s home had not felt like home at all after the death of her mother; it felt… dreary. The curtains had been drawn, the mirrors covered. Everyone wore black, and the house had grown strangely quiet.
“Rosie, dear,” the housekeeper came into her room where she was idly playing. “Your father has arrived and is waiting to meet you in the parlour.”
Rosie schooled her bristling fears and slowly rose, smoothing out her skirts as she did so.
“I should warn you, dear, he is a little scary-looking. He has scars across his face. But no need to be afraid, dear, he’s just a man like any other.”
Rosie nodded timidly and swallowed her fear as the housekeeper led her down. The thing was, Rosie had seen very few men in her life while living under her mother. The only men she really knew were the servants and the Parson.
Rosie was led into the main room to meet her father, who stood waiting. He stood stiffly near the fireplace, dressed in dark clothes. But his face was nothing like the smooth portrait Rosie had grown up with. The left side of his face was horridly scarred, the eye there white and cloudy.
Rosie half-hid behind the housekeeper in fear.
“Rosalie?” The man asked, his voice deep and gravelly, which made him even scarier.
She nodded shyly.
“My name’s Simon. Your… father…” He cleared his throat awkwardly, brushing loose hair out of his good eye.
Rosie blinked up at the strange, scary man, fear gripping her heart.
Unfortunately for her, the housekeeper announced, “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
Rosie wanted to grip the housekeeper tightly, to keep her there, but she was too old for such things. She schooled herself, standing strong to be brave in front of her father.
~ Simon ~
Rosalie was exactly as described: no older than ten, with blue-green eyes and brown curly hair.
Looking at the small, frightened girl who’d hidden at the sight of him behind the housekeeper, Simon felt something twist painfully in his chest. He couldn’t blame her for being frightened of him; Lord knew he looked terrifying now. The scars across his face had never been particularly easy to look at, and the ruined eye beneath his dark hair only made him appear more severe. He had become accustomed to being shuddered at.
But Simon’s gut was raked with nerves at being alone with her. He had faced cannon fire with less apprehension than he felt standing before his own daughter. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. No one had ever taught him how to do this. How did one greet their child after they had just lost their mother? How was he supposed to comfort her?
Simon cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your mother.” He offered awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. “She was… a good woman.”
Rosalie sniffled down at the carpet, digging her foot into it.
“I understand you have been...well cared for.”
Rosie nodded up at him, drying her eyes. “Mother took good care of me.”
Simon nodded back. “Yes. That is good to hear.” He shuffled where he stood. “I’m sorry I have been away from your life. But… I am here now.” The words felt awkward even as he said them.
Rosalie said nothing. She merely sniffled again.
“I’ll see to it that Mary, your mother, has a proper funeral.”
“Thanks.” Rosie sniffled some more. “Thank you.”
Simon nodded curtly. “Yes, well… that will be all.” He waved awkwardly, and Rosie practically scurried out of the room.
Simon’s stomach clenched as flashes of memories from his own past came to the forefront of his mind. Him being terrified in his own father’s presence, of his father shoving him out of their sight. Simon didn’t want Rosalie to feel that same fear, but… he wasn’t sure how to be a soft, caring man. It was something he still had to work towards.
For now, however, there was much to be done. Mary's funeral arrangements needed to be seen to. Her affairs would have to be settled.
~ Rosie ~
One of the maids helped dress Rosie in dreary black morning clothes for her mother’s funeral. Even though it hurt, she was grateful to see her mother’s body, her face, before they closed the casket and lowered it into the ground.
The Parson said a few words: “We must take some comfort in knowing she is with God now.”
A maid stayed close to Rosie as she sniffled and wiped her tears. Her father stood firm, eyes looking off into the distance.
Simon was a man of few words and had interacted very little with Rosie so far. Eating together was awkward.
Rosie asked if they would go to church together, and Simon shuddered.
“You can go with the servants if you like,” he said. “But… I’d rather not go.”
That was curious to Rosie, who’d been taught that missing church was next to a sin. She thought she’d pray for her father when she went with the servants, and surely, they would too.
Her father seemed to put the whole house staff at ill ease with his looks and cold demeanour. He woke up the whole house in the middle of the night with howling. The maids said that he must be a tortured soul. Rosie thought she might talk to the Parson about her father’s tortured soul; maybe he could help.
Simon did ask what Rosie liked and about her schooling so far. He asked if she'd like a ladies' maid or a governess, figuring she was too old for a nanny. Rosie figured she'd be happy with either a governess or a ladies' maid, but what she really wanted above all else was to continue her studies. She was a curious and active child. She couldn't imagine being happy, bored, alone in the dreary house with Simon, who so far had not played with her nor read to her. Simon thankfully agreed to her request.