10. The Sound of Home
The Sound of Home
Triona
I watch from my perch in the library as the sun begins its slow descent, casting delicate golden hues over the estate. The sight should bring comfort, but the world outside feels distant, muted by the weight of that argument.
When I hear footsteps approaching, I don’t look up right away
“Mo chaitinn bheag… fancy a walk through the garden with yer auld Da?” My father’s voice breaks through my thoughts, soft yet steady, carrying a tone that promises understanding.
I glance up, meeting his familiar warm smile. There’s something in his eyes—a quiet knowing that tells me he senses my turmoil. With a nod, I rise, wrapping my shawl around my shoulders. The fabric is a slight comfort against the cool evening air.
The garden greets us with the earthy scent of damp soil and blooming flowers. It’s vibrant and alive, but the beauty feels overshadowed by the storm in my heart. We walk in silence at first, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath our feet filling the space between us.
Finally, my father breaks the silence. “I ken things aren’t always easy for you, lass. This world, this life… it’s heavy.”
“It’s not just that, Da. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this… ugh, as if Ma is so focused on the most mundane things. It all seems so small compared to everything happening around us.”
He nods slowly, thoughtful. “Aye, lass, I hear what ye’re sayin’.
I truly do. But consider this for a moment—companionship disnae hold ye back.
It pushes ye ahead. Ye’ve got a heart as big as they come, but even the strongest heart can tire.
Yer mother disnae want to rid this house of ye.
She wants to surround ye with support. An abundance of it. ”
His words cut through the fog in my mind, but frustration lingers. “I know I sound like a petulant child, Da, but I feel as if I’m not meant to waste away under the thumb of a husband.”
He guffaws, loud and sudden, and it startles a laugh from me. “As if ye’d ever let a man keep ye under his thumb. Ye’re Ellen Sinclair’s daughter.”
“There’s a strength inside ye that’ll never be silenced,” he continues, his voice softer now. “It’ll only grow. But strength disnae mean ye have to bear everything alone. There’s a difference between resilience and isolation.”
He pauses, thinking. “I’d like to tell ye about a friend o’ mine… someone who meant a great deal to me, not jus for the man he was, but for the friend he was as well.”
“He was a passionate revolutionary, full of fire and ideas. He believed he could change the world on his own without askin’ for help. And in the end, that pride cost him dearly. He didnae just lose his cause, lass. He lost his life, and it broke those who loved him.”
His voice softens as he continues. “He had a fire that burned so bright, it drew everyone to him. He was a man who inspired, who challenged the world to be better. But couldnae always see that leanin’ on those who cared for him would have strengthened him.
That’s what I’ve tried to teach ye, Triona.
It’s not a weakness to let others in; it’s strength. ”
I reach out, placing my hand over his. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the weight of his grief lingers in the air between us. “I’m sorry for yer loss, Da,” I whisper. Something in my words makes his eyes glisten..
He clears his throat, his voice quieter now.
“I appreciate that, lass. Ye ken, I’ve always had little reminders of him around me.
Small things that keep his spirit close.
” His eyes linger on me, the hint of a smile softening his features.
“And sometimes, those reminders grow up to be fiery and stubborn… jus like him.”
He peers at me, his expression a mix of pride and something deeper, almost sorrowful.
“Ye have that same passion, that belief in something greater. But ye’ve got a chance he never took—the chance to share that fire with those who love ye.
To let it grow without burnin’ out. That’s why I’ve always pushed ye to lean on others, to build those strong connections. ”
“Ye’ve got a strength that’s all yer own, and it disnae have to come at the cost of everything else. Trust in those around ye, and trust in yerself.”
“I’ll talk to yer mother, but promise me ye’ll think about what I’ve said.”
His eyes soften with memory. “Ye ken, yer mother didn’t want me right away. And look at us now.”
I roll my eyes, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite myself. He always brings my mother into these conversations, as though their story alone answers every question. And I guess, in some strange way, it does.
“I ken ye want the freedom to find what yer mother and I have on yer own,” he continues, his tone thoughtful.
“And I understand that, lass. I want that for ye, too. Real love, the kind ye’re wishin’ for, disnae demand ye give up freedom.
It’s something that feels so natural. Ye’ll hardly notice its pull until ye’re already there.
When ye truly find it, freedom willnae be the first thing on yer mind—it’ll be the last. Ye’ll want to be wholly theirs.
Not trapped, but enveloped. Loved so deeply, ye feel it deep in yer very bones.
Love’s no easy thing, lass. It’s a battlefield of its own, but if ye’ve found someone worth the fight, ye fight like hell and hold tight. ”
Before I can respond, he pulls me into a warm embrace. The tension in my chest eases slightly as the steady beat of his heart presses against me. His arms are a haven, and for a moment, the strain of my fears feels just a little lighter.
“Ye dinnae have to ken what tomorrow brings,” he murmurs, his voice soft in my ear. “None of us do. What matters is that ye face it head-on, surrounded by those who love ye. Ye’re never alone, even when it feels like you are.”
I pull back, wiping at my eyes. “Okay… you might be right. I might push back unnecessarily.”
“Without a doubt.” His words come without hesitation, but it’s the quiet pride in his gaze that hits the deepest. “Ye’ve worked hard to prove yerself, and ye’ve grown stronger with every challenge.
Trust in that strength. Trust in yerself.
And trust that, even when ye feel different or out of place, ye’re more equipped to handle this life than most. Maybe even more than yer brothers. ”
That earns a laugh from me, light and genuine.
We resume our walk; the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows that dance along the path.
“Thanks, Da,” I whisper, my heart swelling with gratitude. “For always being here, even when it’s hard to be.”
He smiles, joy shining in his eyes. “Ye’re no hard thing to love. Nae matter how dark the night is, the dawn will always come. And when it does, I’ll be right by yer side.”
As we walk, his words linger, settling deep within me, a steady reminder that no matter the trials ahead, I have those in my corner that wish me well.
The wind sweeps across my face, fierce and relentless, as I stand at the cliff’s edge, staring into the vast, unbroken expanse of the sea stretching out before me.
The waves below crash in a timeless rhythm, each one carrying with it the echo of my father’s words—words that have seeped deep into my soul, shifting something unnameable within.
His tales of resilience, of love that binds tighter than iron, of strength forged in the quiet moments of trust and truth, have cracked me open, baring raw places I didn’t know existed.
The weight of his wisdom settles like a stone in my heart, a reminder, a promise, a question—a call I can feel in my bones but can’t yet answer.
Lost in the currents of thought, my mind drifts with each rise and fall of the waves, and the quiet footsteps behind me slip past my notice.
Then, large hands—warm, grounding—slip over my eyes.
My breath catches, followed by a soft, startled laugh, the tension unravelling.
There is something achingly familiar in the touch, something that reaches down to ease the ache in my chest .
“Cal,” I murmur, lifting my fingers to trace one of the roughened hands, “or Casey? Three seconds and I’ll know, so enjoy the mystery while you can.” I try for levity, teasing, but my voice is softer, the edges fraying with anticipation.
But the voice that answers isn’t theirs—it’s softer, each word threaded with affection.
My heart stills, caught between breaths as his words wrap around me, a gentle steadiness grounding me against the wild cliffs and endless sea.
His voice holds the warmth of something known, yet something that feels like a new beginning.
The first hint of dawn breaking through the longest night. Sunshine in human form.
“Miss me, Little Doe?”