Belgrieve was delighted by it. When he had returned home less one leg than he’d started with, he had been filled with despair. Though he’d tried to carry himself as cheerfully and optimistically as possible, a part of him had still had no hope for the future. That was precisely why he did his best to contribute to the village and recklessly devoted his being to the pursuit of growth. But such deeds were always accompanied by a sense of futility. Certainly, Belgrieve’s work benefited the village, and it was thanks to his work that he had improved his image in the eyes of those who had mocked and scorned him when he had first returned. But even so, when he thought of how he would continue to age, he would be assailed by a sort of vague anxiety that was curiously potent to him—the anxiety that, no matter how hard he worked, he would eventually die and be forgotten. After the painful failure of his experience in the big city, Belgrieve had a very low evaluation of himself. He had come to believe that his work for the village was merely what he owed to his neighbors, and it did not feel that he had accomplished anything worthwhile or that he would leave anything behind.
But now, he had a daughter. This child had a future—he had a keen sense now of what it meant to raise up the future generation. And so, even if he was sleep-deprived and there was always much work to be done, to Belgrieve, his days had been far more precious and filled with joy ever since Angeline had arrived. It made him wonder if it had been the same for his own parents, and if so, if that meant he was sharing in the same feelings they had once had. By now, the faces of his parents had grown faint in his memory, but perhaps in this sense, they were still living on within him.
Angeline murmured in her sleep, making senseless sounds and words and clenching and unclenching her small hands. Belgrieve was smiling when he got up and shouldered his rake again. He heard the shrill cry of a skylark off in the distance as he headed out into the field.
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When was it that Angeline said she would become an adventurer? Belgrieve couldn’t remember when she’d first said it. Before he knew it, she was saying it all the time. That was why he had fashioned for her a small wooden sword and was teaching her to swing it.
Once the tea making and sheepshearing of early summer reached a good stopping point, the villagers of Turnera would be blessed with the best time of year. The short summer would liven up the dinner table with fresh vegetables and fruit, and this was the only time of year when they could swim in the river, to the delight of children and adults alike.
While Belgrieve washed vegetables by the well, Angeline came up to him with a bag and a fishing rod.
“Dad, I’m heading out...”
“Okay, be careful. I’m counting on you for dinner, you know.”
“Leave it to me...” The seven-year-old girl was grinning as she raced out of the house. From morning ’til noon, she had helped out around the field, and in the afternoon, she apparently planned to play with her friends by the river. In summer, swimming in the river served as an opportunity to bathe as well. It felt heavenly to swim in the cool water after working up a sweat.
Until she had turned three, Angeline had had a remarkably obstinate streak to her, but before Belgrieve knew it, she had begun acting out less and less. In fact, she had started to proactively help him with his work and had picked up various chores for herself. Naturally, Belgrieve wasn’t opposed to this development. She had begun doing everything from working in the field, to tending to the sheep, to picking apples and making lent-leaf tea. She had also learned how to do some cooking, cleaning, and laundry, and would often work alongside him. Meanwhile, Belgrieve taught her how to use a sword and navigate the mountain, and he would read books to her aloud.
By the time she had learned how to read at the church, she no longer wanted to stay by Belgrieve’s side every waking hour of the day. Now and then, she would go out to play with the children who were her age. But rather than playing house and knitting with the other girls, Angeline preferred to race around the fields and play-fight with the boys. She liked her hair to be cut short and chose to wear garments that didn’t flap about and that wouldn’t restrict her movements. She wanted to be an adventurer, so perhaps these choices came naturally to her. However, Belgrieve had to wonder if this was really all right. If she had grown up like this because she happened to have been raised by a single father who was constantly swinging around a sword, then he felt a bit sorry for what he had done.
But Angeline seemed to be having the time of her life whenever she was swinging a sword or racing to and fro. It would have felt stranger at this point to try to get her to act more girly. The more navel-gazing he did over it, the more foolish it seemed to him to dwell over what was or wasn’t “girly” in the first place.
“Ange is Ange,” he would tell himself.
Even so, he still felt a desire to dress her up in fashionable clothes now and then—not that he had any sense of fashion himself. In the end, nothing came of such passing fancies except for the thought that he was indeed a hopeless father. He scratched his head and got back to washing the vegetables before putting them up in a draining basket and going back in the house.
When evening came around, Angeline returned with three fish. She had already gutted them, cleaned off the scales, and washed them well. Was she just swimming a moment ago? Belgrieve wondered, noticing her wet hair and damp clothes that stuck to her body here and there.
“I’m home!”
“Welcome back. You didn’t dry off properly, did you?”
“Tee hee,” Angeline giggled, trying to play it off. It was a safe bet she had been having so much fun swimming that she had failed to notice when the sun started setting, and when she had realized the time, she had thrown on her clothes without drying first.
Good grief... Belgrieve chuckled as he brought her a towel and patted her down. “You’ve got a good haul.”
“Yes. So, you see? I took a knife, and I took care of it...”
“I see. You prepared them nicely. Good work.”
“Hee hee...”
In Turnera, everyone needed to know how to use a knife. Angeline had mastered the use of the knife he’d gifted her a while back.
Dinner was composed of the fish and summer vegetables, and not a bite of it went to waste. When the meal was consumed, the two of them sat by the fireplace and brewed some lent tea. In Turnera, the nights were still chilly even in the summer months, and a small flame was invariably crackling in the fireplace year-round.
“I want to hear the rest of the story...”
“Sure. How far did we get last time?”
“The grassland outside Orphen. A fiend came out when you were gathering medicinal herbs...”
“Oh, that’s right. So daddy’s friend was startled and let out a big yelp. The fiend was startled too, and...”
Each night, Belgrieve would tell her tales from his days as an active adventurer or would read books to her. Some of his stories from his adventurer days still prickled his heart. When it came to his party members, he still hadn’t gotten his thoughts in order enough to tell those tales. Whenever they came up, they were just “friends”—indistinct friends that he would never describe.
Even so, Angeline would listen with enthusiasm, and every night she would look reluctant to go to sleep when he was done. Still, the drowsiness would slowly take her, and before he knew it, she would oftentimes be snoring on his lap, as was the case tonight. Belgrieve gently lifted Angeline up and carried her to bed.
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