Extra: When Dad Caught a Cold

His head was a haze, and he was sweating terribly despite all the chills he felt. Something was clogging the back of his nostrils, making it a bit harder to breathe.

His unfocused eyes fell upon Angeline. She was now ten years old, and looked concerned. The moist hand towel on his forehead was faintly warm from his body heat. Angeline dunked it in water from the washbasin, wrung it out, and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Are you okay, dad...?”

“Yeah... Thank you, Ange... Is it already noon...? I need to cook...”

As he tried to get up, Angeline frantically pushed him back down.

“No, you need to sleep well.”

“Hmm...but...”

“It’s okay. You won’t get better if you don’t sleep...and the day’s almost over already.”

“It’s already that late...?”

With Angeline glaring at him, Belgrieve gave up and returned to lying supine in his bed. He had caught a cold—there was no doubt about that. I haven’t caught one in ages.

He felt pathetic and shut his eyes. Angeline stood and added wood to the fire. The fire snapped as it burned, but besides that, he could hear the sound of the pot opening, and a wooden spoon stirring the mix.

It was the beginning of winter, and it grew colder by the day. The sky was covered by an ever-present veil of gray clouds, while the snowy days outnumbered the clear ones.

I didn’t think I would fall into the river, he lamented. He’d mistaken a bit of snow piled up over the frozen river for solid ground on his usual patrol. As it was close to shore, it wasn’t deep nor was he at any risk of drowning. However, he had toppled over, soaking his entire body in cold water that seeped into his clothes; the cold winds made him even worse for wear. He was already feeling chills as he rushed home, and even though he had taken medicine and ate warm soup before he slept, he had a fever the next morning. Still, he had pushed himself to cook breakfast, and once he had something in his stomach and returned to bed, it was already evening.

He let out a deep breath, correcting the placement of the towel on his forehead. He hadn’t the energy to offer a wry smile. He had been in the middle of spinning yarn and had barely made any progress sorting beans.

He knew there was no use in rushing, but when he was hazy with a fever, his mind would wander all sorts of places. He was beginning to worry if any of the vegetables stored in the yard had gone rotten.

Angeline retrieved the towel again and rinsed it out. She wiped his sweat and said, “Dad... I warmed up the soup...”

“Mmm...”

Belgrieve sluggishly lifted himself up. He held his spinning head with one hand.

“I’ll have some...and...the medicine I boiled yesterday...”

“Got it... Stay where you are.”

Angeline poured soup from the pot. As he watched her, Belgrieve felt both happy and pathetic for letting himself be nursed. He scratched his cheek, mulling over his conflicted emotions. A serving of the warm bean and dried-meat soup and the herbal concoction calmed him a bit, and soon he was sleeping peacefully once more.

Relieved, Angeline wiped his face again and added more wood to the fire. She had some soup herself, then stared long and hard at Belgrieve’s sleeping face.

“Dad, how cute...”

I guess everyone makes a childlike face when asleep, she thought. On closer inspection, there was a faint mustache growing between his mouth and nose. While he maintained his beard, he usually shaved the mustache, but perhaps his illness had prevented him today.

“What will happen if he grows it even more...?”

She grimaced as she imagined her father with a full mustache. She had pictured him looking like a completely different person. This much is enough, she thought, stroking his stubble. Belgrieve muttered something in his sleep, and she laughed.

It was always the other way. Angeline was always the first to fall asleep. Her father would also be the first to wake. But today, I got up earlier than dad, and I stayed up because you never know what can happen. She grinned from ear to ear.

“Don’t worry dad... You have me with you...” she proudly monologued, wringing out the warm hand towel again. She took one of her bedcovers—she usually slept under two layers—and draped it over Belgrieve.

And thus, once the night had passed and morning had come, Belgrieve awoke feeling completely refreshed. The haze in his head had cleared. His body was a little stiff, but that would resolve itself if he moved around a bit. One day of rest was enough.

He stretched, lifting himself to find Ange sprawled out beside him. She only had one blanket wrapped around herself, and her face was a bit red. He had a terrible feeling about this.

“Ange...?”

“Morning, dad...”

Her eyes were bleary, her voice a bit nasally. Belgrieve placed a hand on her head—it was hot.

He sighed. “You caught it... I’m sorry...”

“Urgh...”

Angeline wormed her hand out to grab his, putting it against her cheek and closing her eyes.

With a wry smile on his face, Belgrieve placed his own blanket over her, wrung out a hand towel, and put it on her forehead.

“Thanks for yesterday... Now it’s dad’s turn.”

“Mmm.”

Despite her cold, Angeline seemed strangely delighted as she buried her face in the covers.