The salty sea air stung her eyes she stepped out of the car and onto the pavement.
“I will be back in half an hour, Miss Charles.”
Nodding dismissively, she slung an empty bag into the crook of her arm. “I’ll be at the bakery.” The chauffeur drove off without another word, shutting the door after her.
Grinning broadly, Ingrid turned to face the docks. Fishermen were hauling in their loads in large, wriggling black nets. The air smelled thickly of salt and fish with the slightest hint of pastries from the nearby bakery. The sea breeze was mild today but occasionally swept and tangled itself into her long brown strands of hair.
Ingrid fished out a shopping list from her dress pocket, eyeing the items carefully. “Salmon, snapper, bread, eggs . . . let’s add cake.” A slight tingle fluttered across her fingertips and tousled the piece of paper. At the bottom of the list, ink scrawled across the blank line without a pen: CAKE. She grinned and scurried off to the nearest fisherman’s stall.
“I’ll take half a kilo of salmon and double that of snapper please.” Ingrid smiled brightly at the bearded man. He let out a grunt, weighing the fish on a scale then wrapping it in newspaper for her.
“Seven silver pieces, three copper.”
Ingrid handed him the set amount and stuffed the fish to the bottom of her bag. She could hear it squelch in the folds of paper. “Thank you.”
The man gave another grunt and turned away, scouting for other customers. She didn’t let his attitude dampen her mood. After all, she rarely got out into town. The very prospect made her being there all the more worthwhile! Ingrid loved her parents dearly but sometimes it was almost suffocating, having her confined to the manor for most of her life. Didn’t they see that she could take care of herself?
Ingrid sighed and walked towards the town square. She smiled at the townspeople strolling about and inhaled the nearby scents of cafes which ignited a slight rumble at the pit of her belly. Oh, Ingrid would never grow tired of the place; she wished she could live in such a cosy location all the time, not on the vacant plot of land her parents owned. It was much too lonely, even with the staff about.
She shook her head. There was no need to dwell on such thoughts. She was here now, wasn’t she?
A sudden stir of noise erupted across the square, dragging her from her thoughts. Ingrid blinked in surprise. A crowd had gathered across the courtyard, yelling and crying out in horror. It took a moment to realise they were all pointing at something, focused on whatever it was. Part of the attention was directed to a man fighting his way through the mob and there was no doubt why; he stuck out like a sore thumb.
The royal crest embroidered on his left breast in gold thread was like a tiny beacon, surrounded by a background of rich red fabric that coated the rest of his body. Despite the impassive expression on his face, his eyes appeared tired and desperate. Perhaps he had gone through this before.
“Take it back!” someone near Ingrid yelled, causing her to jump in surprise.
“Tell the King we said no!”
The uniformed man ignored all the cries and protests. He adjusted himself and his wrinkled slacks before marching off towards an awaiting blue car. Its engine puffed out small clouds of smoke from the rear pipe.
“Sir!” Ingrid called out before she could help herself. She started jogging off towards the man. “Sir!”
It was when she got to see him up close did she find that he wasn’t a man but rather a boy – merely several years older than herself. The fatigue lining his features made him appear much older but Ingrid could still trace hints of youth along his unblemished skin.
“Why is everybody so upset?” she asked politely, mustering as much honey into her voice as possible.
“In case you haven’t heard, Miss,” he started in a snappy tone, clearly irritated. Ingrid stared in disbelief at his hostility. “Our country is in the middle of a war and His Majesty requires the services of the country’s men.”
Immediately she felt her eyes bulge and the colour drain from her cheeks. “W-What? Father never mentioned –”
“I’m terribly sorry but I have other towns to visit,” he interrupted sharply. When he spun on his heel to leave, Ingrid heard him grumble further. “And be mauled by.”
The car left with one large puff of black smog. Ingrid stared after it, unable to believe what she’d heard. When common sense flooded back into her, she spun sharply on her heel and sprinted for the crowd of townspeople, all still in an uproar.
“Excuse me!” Ingrid used her bony elbows to worm her way through. “Pardon me.”
After a while of struggle, she found herself pushed against a glass pane which protected a bulletin board inside. In big bold letters on a large piece of white parchment was the announcement that had gotten everybody so riled up:
BY ROYAL DECREE,
HIS MAJESTY
REQUIRES ALL MEN OVER THE AGE OF 16
TO BE CONSCRIPTED FOR THE WAR
She inhaled sharply, feeling tears prickle the backs of her eyes. Royal decree? By the King himself? The monarch’s royal seal inked at the bottom of the parchment confirmed her dread.
Her father was to be taken from her to participate in a war. He was being sent to die.
Pulling away from the mass, she stumbled along the nearest brick wall and closed her eyes, nostrils flaring furiously. This can’t be happening. It just can’t.
Dinner was silent and solemn. Tabitha sat across from Ingrid who stared down at her steak which was gradually beginning to cool.
“You haven’t touched your dinner, Ingrid.” The girl did not respond to her father’s comment.
Ingrid’s long fingers wrapped tightly around the knife. She ground her teeth and burned holes into the steak. “I’ve lost my appetite.” And just like that, the steak shrivelled up and lost its previous appeal, turning into a piece of dried, unseasoned meat. It now appeared as appetising as she felt.
“Ingrid.” Tabitha set her utensils down and stared at her daughter, concern in her eyes. She’d seen Ingrid’s imagination affect the meal. “Manners.”
“He knew.” Ingrid looked up to stare at her mother. “He’s part of the Royal Artillery Division. He would have known!”
“Ingrid, calm yourself.” Leonard Charles finished his plate just then and set down his knife and fork too. “I did know. But men like me who make artillery for war aren’t required to conscribe.”
The girl froze, gaze darting to her father. “What?”
“That’s why I didn’t want to mention it,” Leonard explained with a sigh. He lifted the glass to his lips and Ingrid watched water trickle into his mouth. His eyes never left her. “It’s optional for me to participate.”
Almost immediately, a wave of shame washed over her followed by relief. She placed her hands in her lap and exhaled slowly. The steak in her plate returned to normal, glistening with olive oil and peppered on top with herbs. “I’m sorry then.”
“Don’t be.” The grim tone had not yet faded, causing her to look up from her hands. “I’m still going.”
“What?” It was Tabitha who spoke out this time. A look of incredulity took over. “You said you weren’t going!”
“I said I had an option; I never picked which,” Leonard replied calmly and pushed his chair back as he stood. “I want to serve our country, to personally make sure that no harm comes to my family. We must win this war.”
“Father!” Ingrid leapt to her feet, outraged. She only called Leonard that when she was downright serious. “You alone cannot finish the war. You are just one man.”
“They need more men like me out there in the field, seeing with my own eyes which weapons are going to win this. At the same time, I’m expected to fight and I will. I would appreciate it if you’d respect my choices. Everything I do, I have my family’s best interests in mind.”
She was no doubt against it all; the fire was ablaze in her eyes. And yet the sincerity in her father’s words, the genuine truth she knew he spoke of was what broke her heart. Her father loved Ingrid and Tabitha dearly and he truly believed his own words. He genuinely thought that his contribution to the war, no matter how minute, would keep his daughter and wife safe.
“I respect your decision,” Ingrid muttered and stepped out from around the chair. She tilted her chin and stared Leonard square in the eyes. “But I do not have to like it.” She paused, rebellion and anger burning in her round brown eyes. “I hate it, Papa. I think you’re sentencing yourself to death for foolish hope and nobility.”
Hurt flickered through his eyes but before he could utter another word, Ingrid ran out of the room, unable to look at her father’s face any longer. Fresh tears welled in her eyes before falling heavily down her cheeks.
How could her father think such things? How could he even consider leaving them behind while he fought in a war that would no doubt kill him? He wasn’t in his youth anymore. He was no longer built for war!
Ingrid burst into tears, slamming the bedroom door behind her. She leapt onto the plush bed and felt the mattress jiggle from her weight, enveloping her into a warm hug as she cried to her heart’s content. Just the very thought of her father leaving was enough to send bursts of hysterical cries from her lips. What was to become of her when he truly left?
Another horrific thought struck Ingrid like a ton of bricks. “Michael, Jeffrey, Marcus.” Her beloved cousins, the ones who helped manage the land in summer would all be drafted without a choice. Little Jeffrey had only turned sixteen last month and he was hardly a man at all. “No. Please. I beg of you, please don’t let them do this.”
She lay on her bed, tears constantly flowing and her throat closing up. No matter how hard she prayed or begged, she knew it wouldn’t change the fact that the men of her family would soon die in war. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Ingrid felt empty, hollow like her heart had been scooped out and emptied of all its contents before its lifeless shell was shoved back into her chest. She had suffered like this for three days until it had come to the dreaded day of her father’s departure.
Her mother on the other hand, had grieved every day as if Leonard had already died. Ingrid exhaled deeply as the rest of the household gathered in the foyer to farewell the men. She too joined them, creeping out from the corridor. Her father was as good as dead. He’d signed his death warrant and there was no turning back.
Some of the female staff were sniffling, others bawling shamelessly, manners forgotten out of sorrow. Ingrid, no matter how hard she may have tried, could not muster any more tears. She’d cried them all out three days ago. All she felt was emptiness.
“Leonard, you can still change your mind,” Tabitha begged, grasping onto his collar. From behind, Ingrid could see her mother’s fingers trembling. “Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us.”
“You all act as if we’re going to die!” Leonard boomed, sweeping his wife into a side embrace. He addressed the rest of the household and the solemn men beside him. “No! We are serving our country and we will be faced with unbelievable violence and death –” He stopped short to give Ingrid an encouraging smile. “But I can assure you, we will return.” Leonard smiled broadly, encouragingly but everybody was aware of his feeble attempts to ease the mood. “Don’t grieve, ladies. We will return shortly. The war will be over soon and your jobs –” Leonard turned to face the men, some that appeared to Ingrid like tall weeds. “Will be awaiting for you when we come back, if that is what you desire.”
Farewells were soon exchanged but Ingrid stayed back, unable to spare a glance at her father. A car honked several times from outside, notifying them that the King’s officials had arrived to personally ensure their departure. It was a cruel and polite gesture at the same time. And it was then that Leonard pulled his family into a bone-crushing hug. Though his youth was slowly sapping away from his life, he still held the strength of a lion which Ingrid hated to admit.
She remained motionless but before she could respond, he let go and slowly trudged toward the front door.
All too soon, they’d left the threshold, some women scrambling after their brothers or husbands with tears glistening on their cheeks.
“Papa,” Ingrid croaked, her throat constricting. He hadn’t heard her. “Papa!”
Ingrid raced out the door and stumbled down the stairs. Her foot caught on the edge of her blasted long skirts and she was thrown forward, sailing through the air –
“Oof!”
Her father’s safe and strong arms caught her before she could fall flat on her face. “Now I hope you won’t be this helpless when I leave.”
“Papa, no!” Ingrid cried, feeling the emptiness in her chest suddenly flood with sorrow. “Please.”
“Lord Charles, we must leave promptly,” urged the King’s official. “My sincerest apologies, Miss.”
Leonard only seemed to hold Ingrid tighter. “I’ll be back, sweet, don’t you worry.” He stroked her hair affectionately before pulling away.
Ingrid could sense his reluctance. She wanted to hold onto her father, to never let him go. She imagined an invisible wall separating him from reaching the long blue car and thought become reality. When he tried moving forward, he was met with an invisible resistance.
He glanced back, shaking his head. “Let go, sweet. I’ll be back.”
“Papa . . .”
“Ingrid.”
She almost wouldn’t, couldn’t. But she had to. Painfully, she withdrew her focus and the weight lifted from her chest. “Soon. Come back soon.”
He nodded and smiled tightly. “I promise.”
Almost too eagerly, the official shut the door behind Leonard, creating a tangible barrier between father and daughter. Ingrid wanted nothing more than to punch his face but she knew he was only doing his job by the King’s orders. Nobody dared to disobey royal decree.
The cars were gone much too fast for Ingrid’s liking. They became the size of beetles in the distance and soon, mere specks on the road, surrounded by the vast plot of land her family owned.
And then they were gone.
Ingrid fell to the ground, tears rolling down her cheeks each time she blinked. Her throat was tight and uncomfortable, unsuccessfully holding back tears as she sniffled continuously. There was no emptiness in her chest but rather a painful longing that was much, much worse. Ingrid wanted to imagine her pain away but as hard as she tried, it wouldn’t fade.
All she was left with was a tight ache in her heart. Her broken, shattered heart.