crimson spots from his mouth with my napkin and then stared down at the red stains; so like John’s blood-soiled collar after Mina Harker had bitten him. . . .
Father must have realised the drift of my thoughts, for he reached out and squeezed my hand. “Mary, my dear,” he began, “I understand your fear. I have been aware of it since you returned. Like you, I know that once one has seen the face of evil, it is impossible to drive it completely from one’s mind. We both now share the certainty that it exists, and in a form more dark and cruel than we could ever have imagined.” Hisvoice was quivering and breathless, weakened by infirmity and emotion, but he pressed on. “However, it must not stop us from
living.
Knowing it exists cannot make the evil stronger—it must make
us
stronger.”
His heartfelt words awoke in me an urge to confide the feelings that had plagued me for so long. “But I don’t feel strong, Father!” I cried, placing my hand over his. I bent my head, feeling tears well in my eyes. “I cannot bear knowing that such horror lurks out there.”
“But Mary, my dear, you do have that strength. You have faced that horror and survived—and you must find it within yourself again,” Father urged.
“But how?” I protested. “When the nightmares come, I am powerless to fight them!”
“You are not powerless!” Father’s voice cracked as his eyes burned into mine. Was it anger I detected in his voice? I hadn’t seen this kind of fire in him in years. “You have hidden away from the world since your return and indulged every hideous imagining,” he scolded. “Your evenings are empty because you will not venture out. You shun society. Is it any wonder dark thoughts fill the void you yourself have created?”
His words stung me. “Of course I am reluctant to trust others!” I replied. “I gave my heart to John Shaw—only to find that beneath all his sweetness slumbered the soul of a fiend!” Tears streamed down my face now, but I did not try to hide them.
Father lifted his own napkin and, with no little effort, leaned forward to gently dab them away. “Oh, Mary,” he whispered. “I too loved one who turned to the darkness. You remember, from my notes, Lucy Westernra? I worshiped her even while Dracula drained her blood and turned her into an evil harpy.”
I nodded, feeling a prick of sorrow at the thought of his own loss. It was strange to imagine Father as a handsome young man, with a life before I existed, when now he was so old and fragile.
He went on. “Somehow I found the strength to turn my back on the evils I had witnessed and find your mother.” His rheumy eyes lit up for a moment. “Elizabeth . . . I could not have loved another more than I loved her.” He gave me a tender smile. “And you must do the same, Mary. What good is defeating the darkness if you do not then let yourself revel in the light?” He clutched my hands between his, and for a fleeting moment, I felt his old strength there.
My heart wavered. “You are right, Father. I know you are right,” I replied.
“Then you will try?” he appealed. “You will go out into the world once more?”
I took a deep breath and then nodded. “I will accept the next invitation I receive,” I promised, and resolved to do so, no matter how frightened I felt.
I was rewarded for my bravery by Father’s smile.
“But I cannot leave you alone,” I added. “I must find someone to care for you while I am away.”
“You must not use me as an excuse any longer, Mary,” Father chided. “Mrs. Frobisher can always sit with me.”
“Not of an evening,” I countered. “Her family has need of her then.”
Father looked at me sternly. I think he feared I was still making excuses.
“I will find someone,” I promised him earnestly.
He nodded. “Good,” he said, letting go of my hands and turning back to his plate.
I only pray I shall be strong enough to carry out my pledge. For what if the next invitation
Father must have realised the drift of my thoughts, for he reached out and squeezed my hand. “Mary, my dear,” he began, “I understand your fear. I have been aware of it since you returned. Like you, I know that once one has seen the face of evil, it is impossible to drive it completely from one’s mind. We both now share the certainty that it exists, and in a form more dark and cruel than we could ever have imagined.” Hisvoice was quivering and breathless, weakened by infirmity and emotion, but he pressed on. “However, it must not stop us from
living.
Knowing it exists cannot make the evil stronger—it must make
us
stronger.”
His heartfelt words awoke in me an urge to confide the feelings that had plagued me for so long. “But I don’t feel strong, Father!” I cried, placing my hand over his. I bent my head, feeling tears well in my eyes. “I cannot bear knowing that such horror lurks out there.”
“But Mary, my dear, you do have that strength. You have faced that horror and survived—and you must find it within yourself again,” Father urged.
“But how?” I protested. “When the nightmares come, I am powerless to fight them!”
“You are not powerless!” Father’s voice cracked as his eyes burned into mine. Was it anger I detected in his voice? I hadn’t seen this kind of fire in him in years. “You have hidden away from the world since your return and indulged every hideous imagining,” he scolded. “Your evenings are empty because you will not venture out. You shun society. Is it any wonder dark thoughts fill the void you yourself have created?”
His words stung me. “Of course I am reluctant to trust others!” I replied. “I gave my heart to John Shaw—only to find that beneath all his sweetness slumbered the soul of a fiend!” Tears streamed down my face now, but I did not try to hide them.
Father lifted his own napkin and, with no little effort, leaned forward to gently dab them away. “Oh, Mary,” he whispered. “I too loved one who turned to the darkness. You remember, from my notes, Lucy Westernra? I worshiped her even while Dracula drained her blood and turned her into an evil harpy.”
I nodded, feeling a prick of sorrow at the thought of his own loss. It was strange to imagine Father as a handsome young man, with a life before I existed, when now he was so old and fragile.
He went on. “Somehow I found the strength to turn my back on the evils I had witnessed and find your mother.” His rheumy eyes lit up for a moment. “Elizabeth . . . I could not have loved another more than I loved her.” He gave me a tender smile. “And you must do the same, Mary. What good is defeating the darkness if you do not then let yourself revel in the light?” He clutched my hands between his, and for a fleeting moment, I felt his old strength there.
My heart wavered. “You are right, Father. I know you are right,” I replied.
“Then you will try?” he appealed. “You will go out into the world once more?”
I took a deep breath and then nodded. “I will accept the next invitation I receive,” I promised, and resolved to do so, no matter how frightened I felt.
I was rewarded for my bravery by Father’s smile.
“But I cannot leave you alone,” I added. “I must find someone to care for you while I am away.”
“You must not use me as an excuse any longer, Mary,” Father chided. “Mrs. Frobisher can always sit with me.”
“Not of an evening,” I countered. “Her family has need of her then.”
Father looked at me sternly. I think he feared I was still making excuses.
“I will find someone,” I promised him earnestly.
He nodded. “Good,” he said, letting go of my hands and turning back to his plate.
I only pray I shall be strong enough to carry out my pledge. For what if the next invitation
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