Calhoun didn’t care about both the people who were in the alley, and if the older man hadn’t spoken about his mother, he wouldn’t have involved himself. He could hear the man groan, and when he turned to look at the older person, he noticed the person’s mouth was bleeding.
Without sparing another word, he left the alley as if he wasn’t there.
The older man continued to groan, not understanding how a young man’s punch could be this hurtful. He had fought with many people, but he hadn’t expected Calhoun’s punch to hold this much strength. When he spat the blood, a tooth fell on the ground along with the blood, and he cursed Calhoun.
“The bastard! I will fucking kill him!”
The younger man stood up, dusting his trousers before he wore the glass back on his face that had broken because of this shopkeeper who appeared to be in pain now. “Who is he?” asked the younger man.
The shopkeeper glared at the person with glasses for even thinking he could speak to him after he had not only slept with his wife, but he had also gotten beaten by the wretched woman’s son!
“As if you don’t know,” spat the shopkeeper, “He’s the whore’s son, Calhoun. The whore who was kicked out from the castle by King Laurence. If I see you near my wife again, I will slit your throat!” he threatened.
The young man chuckled as if mocking the shopkeeper, “Don’t worry, I don’t get into bed with an unwilling woman,” and when he pushed the cracked glass frame up to the bridge of his nose, it automatically fixed itself, looking brand new again.
Before the shopkeeper could get up and try to beat the young man again, the man who wore glasses had already left the alley.
The next few days, Calhoun continued to make rounds in the nearby villages, searching for jobs that would pay the expenses of the house, take care of the medicines and the physician’s fees. For some strange reason, the physicians had started to charge more, making it difficult to get them to see his mother’s condition.
The pouring of the rain had reduced, and all Calhoun could hope was for his mother to get better like the weather. He made sure to sit next to her and take care of her, and even though he didn’t want to believe it, he knew his mother’s health was deteriorating. It was because she was losing weight, and her body was turning fragile.
“I will be fine,” said his mother, assuring not only him but also herself.
“I know you will. You need to eat,” advised Calhoun holding a bowl of porridge in his hand while sitting next to her bed. He had smashed the vegetables so that his mother wouldn’t have to put too much effort when it came to eating the food, but she had lost her appetite.
When he brought his hand up to feed her, Constance placed her hand on her son’s hand, “I will eat it. Come sit here, Cal,” she patted the space on the small bed by making room for him to sit.
Calhoun obliged by sitting next to her, placing the bowl at the side and taking one of her hands to enclasp it in his hands.
Her complexion had turned paler, and the colour that she had possessed a month ago on her face had reduced. Dark circles had appeared on her skin, and day by day, Calhoun noticed it turn darker and her cheeks hollower.
“Where did you go and catch the fever?” questioned Calhoun, his eyes passive in expression as he rubbed his mother’s hand that had turned slightly cold. “I told you, you should stop working. I have grown up, and you don’t have to do it.”
A smile appeared on his mother’s lips, it was a faint one, and she sighed, “You did.” After a few seconds of silence passed between them, she asked, “Does it bother you, the things I have done…”
“I know you don’t do it because you enjoy it,” came the frank answer from Calhoun, his answer direct, and he continued, “There is no need to do it anymore. We can move to another village. Away from this place, and start afresh. You just have to say the word.”
His mother looked up at him from where she laid, trying to read his expression, “It’s been a while since I last saw you smile.”
On his mother’s words, one side of his lips pulled up, and he then smiled, “I will when you get completely better, and when we move from here.”
His mother lowered her eyes, not to hide her gaze away from him, but because it strained her from looking up for long. “Forgive me for troubling you. It isn’t my intention to make you feel this way, but life has turned in such a way that it’s hard to retrace the steps I took in the past.” Calhoun didn’t interrupt his mother because of the energy that her body took up when it came to speaking now. “I feel like I have come so far that I cannot see things. This is all I know and this is what life has turned into.”
“Did you send the letter to him?” asked Calhoun, and he heard his mother’s heart skip a beat. “I read the letter when it was on the table.” It was a letter that was addressed to the King of Devon, Laurence Hawthrone.
“I sent it some time ago,” whispered Constance. Calhoun could sense her heart break as there had been no reply from the King, her eyes holding sorrow in them. He gritted his teeth, thinking about what the King had done to his mother. “The letter must have got lost.”
Calhoun didn’t respond to this, and he gently patted her head, “Your fever has reduced. All you need is more food in your body, and you will feel better.”
Constance smiled at her son’s words. The world where she had brought him in, it was cruel and unforgiving. She had hoped to give him a better life, but some things of the past were hard to get rid of. Things that she once cherished and had made her happy, the same things had turned painful.
“How is it going with the hunt for work?” she asked, worry coming to settle in her eyes. She was aware that Calhoun was not able to get any work here in the village because of her. Her reputation and her past relationship with the King of Devon, someone she had given her heart to, had cost her heavily. The royal family had not left her or her son alone, by giving the villagers orders to not help them.
“I heard there’s an opening near the port. One of the men who works there said the main person is going to give me the work,” replied Calhoun. He didn’t want to lie to her, but if it was a lie that kept his mother’s worry at bay without troubling her in her sick state, he didn’t mind telling the little white lie.
