Half an hour later, I walked into John's bedchamber. He appeared worse this day than the last, and guilt made my stomach twist. He was paler, fragile. The sight of his state wore down more of the barrier I was trying to keep between me and this place, to remain focused on what I thought really mattered. It was impossible not to pity him, especially knowing that he'd never see his real daughter again.
"Father?" I ventured and went to the bed, sitting beside him. "Are you awake?" I took his gnarled hand.
His eyes opened, and his features broke into a smile that brightened everything about his sickly appearance. "Hello, daughter," he said softly. Even his voice was weaker this day. If he were angry, he didn't show it. His blue eyes glowed with warmth and happiness, the way they did every time he saw me since I arrived.
Why did I want to cry for a man I didn't know?
I cleared my throat. "Hello, Father. How are you today?"
"I fear I do not have much longer."
"Nonsense," I said and forced a smile. "You're getting stronger by the day."
"I wish it were so, my beautiful Josephine." He was thinking of his late wife, recalling the day his daughter was born and the happy childhood years before his wife died. The memories flowed through my mind as well, and tears stung my eyes.
I'm such a horrible person lying to him. But the more I saw of his mind, combined with the knowledge he was likely senile, the less I wanted him to know the truth. There was a selfish element to it, too. The little girl in me who had never known the love of a father wanted to bask in his adoration for once in her life.
"About last night," I started. "I am so sorry to have worried you." I sought out some sort of excuse that sounded reasonable to someone in this time of history about why an un-chaperoned, unwed woman left her home in the middle of a rainstorm at night.
"Since you returned, all I have thought about is what happened if I lost you again," he admitted. "My heart cannot take such worry."
"I'm here, Father. I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. I fear the doctor is right, though, my Josephine. Your mind is not well."
I looked down at my hand. The flare of surprise his words elicited was quickly replaced by understanding. Whoever the real Josephine was, she was an absolute bitch to leave a father who cared so much for her. She had no idea what she was missing, but I did.