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Securing the Castle
by Bill Watkins The coals still gave off warmth although it had been two hours since his father put the last log on the fire. Garland’s eyelids were heavy, but he fought to stay awake. Summoning his strength, Garland rose from the rocking chair and crossed the den to the front door. The heart-of-pine floors were cool against his bare feet. Garland pulled his bathrobe tighter around him and checked the lock. As he expected, his father had locked the door prior to retiring. Satisfied of the security of the main entrance, Garland walked to the back of the house and into the kitchen. The room was noticeably chillier than the great room. Garland felt just a touch of warmth as he passed the stove. Supper had been over several hours ago and the stove’s fire would not be rekindled until his mother arose the next morning. Garland peered at the back door and saw that it was latched. “Just need to check the windows—just in case,” Garland mumbled. His eyes remained heavy and he longed for sleep. Garland tiptoed through the remaining common rooms and pushed up on each window to ensure it was locked. The windows creaked as he placed his palms on the frames and pushed. The draft from several of the windows was stronger than he expected, but all the windows were shut tight and locked. Ensconced back in the rocker, Garland surveyed the icicles hung on the fur tree. There were about two dozen red and gold balls attached to the branches. Boxes wrapped in colored paper surrounded the tree stand. Garland wanted to see the number of presents augmented, and he realized that his plans could thwart that wish. But this house would be his one day and needed to be secure. A man, Garland once heard some adult say, needs to sacrifice present gains for long-term security. Although the farmhouse bore no resemblance to the castles Garland had seen in his picture books, his five-year old mind understood the similarities. A basic function of a castle, Garland told himself, was to restrict entry and therefore protect the occupants and contents within the walls. Of course, his father was the primary defender of the castle, but Garland saw himself as a crown prince of sorts. And, as an only child, he had no obvious contenders for the throne. Reaching down, Garland picked up the wooden sword his uncle Vernon Abbot had cut from a scrap piece of lumber. The weapon was about 16 inches long with a guard affixed three inches from the base. Garland wished that he had a real sword or even a dagger, but convinced himself that the wooden weapon would suffice. In the dark, an intruder would not be able to immediately discern the weapon’s material. Besides, the wood was a strong substance. He had played with the sword for at least six months and had yet to break it. The hickory switches he mother used on him at times could cause significant damage; Garland figured that the sword could do even more. But if he was asleep, neither a steel nor wooden sword would make a difference. He had to remain alert. Glancing at the clock, Garland saw that it was ten minutes till eleven. It was three hours passed his bedtime. Garland had been surprised that his parents did not dissuade or forbid him from staying up so late. Instead, his father had respected the desire to protect the home place. Garland felt himself jerk and realized that he had nodded off for a second. As he blinked his eyes, Garland heard a stirring to his right. Readying his sword, Garland pivoted to face the tree and the porcine figure removing items from his bag. “Well, my friend, do what you’ve waited to do. I thought I could get by you, but your instincts are obviously heightened. I applaud you for your diligence. Before you act, could you at least explain to me my crime?” Frozen in his tracks, Garland examined the intruder. He was heavier than Garland had expected. Glancing back towards the fireplace, Garland questioned his mode of entry. The intruder’s clothes showed no signs of soot, and his girth was such as to make the chimney seem tiny. Had he missed a window or a door latch? No, Garland knew he had been thorough in his sweep of the house. “How’d you get in here?” Garland asked. “My friend, have you grown up so fast that you no longer believe in magic?” “There’s no such thing as magic,” Garland responded. “Well, then explain my presence. Feel free to walk the house and check all the entry points. You’ll find everything buttoned up.” “Let me see your hands,” Garland barked in an effort to retain control of the situation. “I don’t go around armed, son. I came here to give, not to take. If you so desire, I’ll leave. And this will be the last time that I visit this home.” “Wait,” Garland pled. “Did you bring me anything?” “I did. But I can take them with me as I go.” The intruder began to reach into his bag. The sudden movement startled Garland and he lunged at the intruder with his sword. Imagining the blade penetrating its target, Garland fell backwards and smacked his head against one of the chair’s runners. Garland started to get up, but felt tears well up in his eyes. He suddenly felt a strong grip as he was pulled from the floor. Garland squirmed to get away and let out a shriek. As his eyes opened, he saw his mother standing with a cup of coffee. She was framed in the doorway to the kitchen. He then whiffed the familiar smell of Barbasol and realized that he was in his father’s arms. “It’s ok, baby,” his father assured him. “You just fell asleep in that old rocker and tumbled out of it. I should have taken you to your bedroom when we got up, but you were resting so nice we didn’t want to wake you. That must have been some dream you were having.” Garland clung to his father and peered toward the tree. Under it he saw a toy castle with a wooden drawbridge. Several figures that appeared to be knights peeked out from behind the castle walls. Garland knew that the set had not been under the tree last night. “Come my prince, let’s get some breakfast. You’ll have all day to play with that castle.” |
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