He was outside. Sitting where Clara had just sat, crying the same as Clara just cried, thinking the same thing Clara had just thought, wondering how much better life would be without suffering, praying quietly to God, being the exact thing he had told Clara never to be. A beggar. I beggar for life and love. He never wanted Clara to do that stuff. But that didn't stop him now.
Reynold Darlen stayed where he was, rocking back and forth as he sat and starred up at the stars through his watery eyes. For the background, he heard the servants all come to the one that called his name. After a while of staying there without a word and without a motion besides the rocking back and forth, voices called "Nah, it's not him," and they all scurried away.
More tears came as he heard Clara's voice quietly ask, "Is that him, Charles?" Clara's father was sure that she could her his sobs by now, but she still seemed like he was another dishboy that had been looking and gotten bored like the rest of them. Charles voice was strong, mighty, frustrated,loud. It over-powered everything from the quiet rush of the waves against Clara's sweet voice, to the loud thunder of a servant clashes pots together in the kitchen. "No!" He sighed then ran off. The sound of the muddy dirt squishing in with his boots filled the castle grounds.
Clara's footsteps were small as she slowly walked off. Capt. Darlen let out a loud sob as the tears flowed across his neck and inched into the creases on his lips. Clara for sure heard this one. But she continued to walk away. Another sob, Clara still acted as if nothing had happened. Reynold was beginning to think that he was invisible.
Clara stopped. But he hadn't made a sound this time. What was happening? He listened in more. No servant was talking. No one was even there, except Clara and Master Darlen.
From behind him, Clara looked everywhere, unaware of the fact that her father knew: no one was there. The footsteps started again and she tiptoed her way to the spot where her father was sitting. She didn't want anyone to know they were there. She cradled he4r legs into her chest as she sat down next to her father.
Reynold stayed silent.
"I know it's you."
"Hey, Pumpkin." Tears came down again as he spoke.
"Why are you crying?"
His voice broke. "Life."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Life," he said, regaining the clear tone. "It's cruel. Sometimes I think we just live it to learn a lesson."
"But life isn't all bad."
"What's in it that's good?"
"Love is horrible. It breaks your heart."
"Death. If you love someone, they will grow old and die. And that breaks your heart. Just like your mother did mine."
"Then why do we love? Because it makes us happy to love some one."
"But what about the love run?"
"Don't think about it."
Clara couldn't answer that question. She bit her lip as she thought.
"There is no way," said her father.
"Maybe you're right, but all I know is that your life is a whole lot happier when you're not pessimistic."
"Uh, huh? What does pessimistic mean?" They both laughed at this one.
"I don't know. I heard it from Anise."
"Ahh...Anise. Foolish thing, isn't she? I haven't heard her out her yet. What's up with her?"
"She went mad. Mumbles a lot."
"Foolish," he repeated.
Clara got enraged and stomped off into the mud, but her father grabbed hold off her too quickly. "No, stay. I'm sorry."
She stayed, but there was still a sense of unwillingness. Almost as if she wanted comeuppance. They just sat there for the next hour, without a word, Clara's head resting on his shoulder.
So much silence, Clara had to say something. Then words were not meant to mean anything, but they touched Reynold's heart in a place he never knew he had.
"This is love."