Bring Me To Your Stars

Out of Maddening Silence

It was the longest silence in the history of father-and-son silences.

James hadn't been in a mood to say much of anything, barely touching a morsel of his supper after their vexing meeting with the Crawleys. 

And John seemed to be wrestling with his own personal demons, hardly looking at James as he absently sipped at his wineglass. 

It went on for half an hour like this, and James began to wonder if it would hold over their entire dinner. 

He had only just dipped his spoon into his lamb steak and parsnip, before his father abruptly gave in.

 "I think you should marry, James," John Moody murmured suddenly. "And soon."

James's soup spoon froze in mid-air, swearing he heard him wrong, but his father's stony gaze was unrelenting across the long dark Mahogony.

Where on earth had that daffy idea come from?

It had to be the Bordeaux sitting between them. John Moody hadn't turned it down once, every 3rd-4th-7th time it was offered. 

James cleared his throat. 

"Excuse me," he pardoned himself, as he leaned forward to slide the bottle of red out of his father's reach, and safely toward his side of the table. "I reckon that's enough for one night." 

"But you will hear me, son," John Moody went on resolutely, the fatherly warmth in his storm-gray gaze a paradox to his austere tone. "I've allowed you leisure to the Australian seas for this long, because I know it is good for building a young man's character. But you are no longer a boy, and it is time you considered your life more seriously."

James sat his soup spoon down on his service plate.

The clink of his silverware against the china bowl noticeably vocal, but only just tamed enough.

"Have I disappointed you again, papa?" James asked quietly. "It was your idea that I go to sea with the Boa. John became a doctor, and Christopher, a solicitor. Is it your opinion that I'll still never live up to my brothers?"

"A career at sea is far more suitable a profession for a younger son. Certainly more respectable than a writer, and I am relieved you came to your senses, on that note," John said. "However-"

"I've worked my hardest, papa," James insisted. "Earned the highest marks on all my drills onboard. Managed to keep on deck all my watches above, and was the first of 3 to get better. Doctor and solicitor, I am not, but I have never failed your expectations once at sea."

John Moody sat down his wineglass with a regretful sigh. 

He knew he'd be getting a fight.

After all, wasn't his son not the resilient young man he'd sent him to sea to become?

But John was prepared to keep nothing back, if it meant keeping James out of harm's way. 

"You disagree with marriage?"

"I only ask that you let me do it my own way," James said. "I've done all else you've asked of me. What must I do now before I've proven to you all is enough?"

"Mind how you talk to me, boy," John Moody checked him. "You might keep company with a gang of low-born sailors, but I won't have you speaking to me like one of those swabbies, and certainly not at supper."

"I'm nearly ready to sit for my Second Mate's examination," James pursued the argument. "Is that still not enough?"

"This navy apprenticeship was not a permanent solution," John Moody reminded him. "You know it was only a means to help you become a man and find your way. We both knew it was only a matter of time before you returned to Scarborough and studied law."