Alice looked up sharply from where she was humming “Working on a Building” while patching a dress to the slam of the door. “Father,” she frowned.
The man was pale as he stomped into the cheerily lit room to sit heavily into a rocking chair. He withdrew a kerchief from his pocket and wiped his pate. “Alice, Oh Alice,” he moaned.
This action was so very much different from how he generally entered that Alice sat up in alarm and set her sewing to the side. With quick movements, she was at his side, her small hand on his shoulder. “Father?” she asked, this time, worry in her tone. “What is it?”
The man was quaking and he set his hand upon hers, clutched it to him and closed his eyes. His cheek was damp with sweat and that might have been usual if only he wasn't pale.
“Are you well?” she smoothed what hair he had back and kissed his brow. “Shall I fetch Dr. Hanson?” He was so very pale looking. His cheek was generally ruddy and smiling, but of late he had been under a cloud of worry. He had worked longer hours and come home a time or two smelling of spirits. She wasn't fully certain why he might be struggling, but she had done her best to not concern herself over it. Rather, she had kept the house clean, bright, and food upon the table that he liked to eat; peach pie and what greens they managed to coax from her small garden watered from their deep well.
“Oh, Alice,” his voice trembled, low and so very unlike himself that the alarm rose in her breast to fear. She went to her knee, clutching his arm. “Oh Alice,” he looked down to her and his eyes were wet. “Daniel is dead. Shot in the street.”
“Daniel?” she gasped. He was a new acquaintance of her father's having come in on the rail but a month prior. Still, to have been killed? Shot? As in a gun?
It was a hard town, she knew this, but in some way, her father had managed to keep much of the darkest shadows in town from touching his daughter. It may not, he thought as he looked down at her earnest face, have been the best choice. She would have been better had he sent her with her brother to the East when he left for school.
He stood, left her there, and went to the roll back desk where he pulled out a letter. He came to her side and pressed it into her hands. “You will go to your Aunt's,” he insisted.
“But, but why? Father?” she cried. “You are frightening me.”
“If only,” he muttered as he returned to his seat, staring at the floor, “if only I hadn't listened to him.”
