Randomly Random

Even as Daisy sat comfortably on the chair, the jittery feeling in her stomach never subsided. It had a mind of its own, an involuntary, uneasy feeling that wrapped itself around her belly as soon as she sat on that chair. It was the butterflies in her stomach, she thought, which had multiplied by the minute. She couldn’t wait any longer. The day has finally arrived, but he still has not. In fact, he was already ten minutes late.

A rapid knock came from the door, followed by the sound of clicking and the door opening. The man was six foot tall when he stepped into the room. His brown leather shoes sparkled apart from the rest of his body. Without it, he must have been only an inch shorter than before. He had a funny mustache and gentlemanly gait. His dark coat, which appeared recently ironed, had a bit of white smudge on the shoulder area. Perhaps he had been met by an unfortunate encounter with bird droppings. And if it were so, it probably was the reason for the brooding expression written over his face, and the reason why he was late. 

With a curt nod at the old, stout woman behind the mahogany desk, the man then seated himself on the empty chair opposite Daisy, not once even glancing in her direction. 

“Mr. Terrence Wallaby Hudson,” the old woman regarded him, her words reverberating a sense of strictness and firmness. Beneath her hands, which lay businesslike on the surface of the desk, was a paper. Daisy tried to read the printed words, but the elder Mrs. Nelson gently bent the paper to her direction, making sure not a word could be read. The irksome woman raised a brow at her, then at Mr. Hudson. You’re late, her face read but she never spoke the words, only gave him a three-second glare before setting her eyes on the paper. “Shall we begin?” Mrs. Nelson asked, adjusting the rim of her rectangular glasses.

“Absolutely,” Mr. Hudson said, looking at Daisy as if she had something stuck in her nose. She managed a nice smile, but the man didn’t return it. She was evidently excited, but he was not.

Mrs. Nelson cleared her throat, “This officially marks the day that you, Sir Terrence Wallaby Hudson, will now be officially declared as a foster parent of Daisy, and that Daisy will no longer be an orphan in this institute, nor will she ever come back except only during the occurrence of a force majeure and death from either or both parties, dated sixth of July, blah, blah, blah, sign here please.” Mrs. Nelson spread the paper flat on the desk and along with her trusty pen, pushed it towards Mr. Hudson. 

Mr. Hudson quickly signed over the paper before passing it along to Daisy who received it from him and voiced out her thanks. The man merely nodded, the small curl over his lips appearing reluctant. His emerald green eyes glittered, yet obscured something important. Once it was done, Mrs. Nelson heaved a tired sigh and glanced at Daisy who still kept the smile lingering over her face. “Congratulations to you, girl,” she said, albeit lacking sincerity in her voice. She turned to Mr. Hudson, “I wish you good luck, Mr. Hudson.” 

Mr. Hudson thanked her and stood up, nodding one more time at Daisy, gesturing for her to accompany him. And she did.

The moment they stepped out of the orphanage, Daisy was skipping and giggling. Mr. Hudson never said anything as they walked towards the apple red convertible parked conspicuously in front of the dilapidated building. The other girls from the orphanage, who most of them Daisy knew because she had actively talked to them when she was once an orphan, popped their heads out of the windows, eyeing with envy at the luxurious ride that Daisy was going to have. Some of them cheered, others mainly gazed in silence, hoping they’d have the same experience in the future. 

A foster parent who was as rich as Mr. Hudson was a rare find. The first time he stepped in that orphanage, every child and teen turned their heads and gave him their most pleasant smiles. Everyone wondered why Daisy, a shy, friendly, little bookworm who always sat on one corner of the foyer to read a book had been immediately chosen. Daisy sat on the front seat next to Mr. Hudson, her mind utterly thinking the same thing.

“Father,” she began with confidence. The word felt gratifying. “May I know why you chose to adopt me? I’m sorry if that’s a rude thing to ask.”

Mr. Hudson started the engine and drove out of the territory at a slow pace. This was when Daisy noticed his smile had gotten wider than before, no hesitations. She was happy. He was happy. They were both happy, and that’s what mattered the most. 

“You know,” he replied, not glancing her way. His eyes were fixated on the road. They passed a couple of colorful houses and shops before curving around a corner. “I like to do a lot of random things. Sometimes, I’d go shop for rare items and sometimes, I’d go to the library and read a biography of someone’s boring life, which is a wonderful thing. You happened to be one of those things.”

Daisy looked up at him, grinning, “You think I’m wonderful?”

Mr. Hudson guffawed, his laughter a disease which Daisy was now suffering from as well. Then Mr. Hudson spoke, slipping a finger across an eyelid to wipe away any tears. “I meant you’re one of those random things. Randomly random.”

Daisy thought about this in silence, her lips returning back to a straight line. From time to time, Mr. Hudson would utter insensitive words, sometimes about those curious children and how unlucky they were and sometimes about Mrs. Nelson’s leering stares. At one point, Daisy almost covered her ears if not for their arrival in front of a grandiose Victorian mansion which stood forlorn and far away from the populated town, safely trapped beyond a square steel fence and a gate. Behind the residence was an immense crowd of cedar trees that stretched all the way to the unknown.

Mr. Hudson got out and opened Daisy’s door for her. She smiled at him weakly, still unable to get the insensitive words out of her brain. Perhaps Mr. Hudson was bad at words which was why during his time at the orphanage he spoke so little, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Daisy has a family now. And that is Mr. Terrence Wallaby Hudson.

“Don’t I have a mother?” she asked the moment her stepfather plunged the key through the double doors and opened it. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, owning a house as big as this and not having anyone at all to accompany him. Sunlight eagerly filled the large room beyond the doors and it felt like the whole house welcomed back their master and his new accomplice.

“Oh, you do,” he chirped and Daisy felt relieved, but that relief was struck by pang when he continued, “If she was still alive.”

Daisy left her things on one of the couches, ashamed of herself that she had asked such a question. She remembered Mrs. Nelson and her posse of matrons and their harsh reminder that it was rude to ask foster parents about missing family members. It made orphans sound… desperate. And here she was sitting on the couch, moping on account of her desperation.

“Come, child,” the man beckoned. “Follow me. I’ll show you your room.” 

Daisy’s room was simple, a bland room with white-painted walls, a wooden bed, a desk and chair, and a sturdy wardrobe. Amidst the simplicity, there was one object that didn’t quite fit. A decoration. A medium-sized portrait of a small, dark-haired girl, with arms that curved over her head, feet on tiptoes, profound shadows and blue-white colors casting the sad look on the girl’s face. A lonely ballerina who danced in the middle of the night.

“Who is she?” she asked Mr. Hudson who gave her a wan smile. 

“One of my prized paintings,” he replied. “You look just like her.” 

The atmosphere in the room stirred. The silence hung in the air for a while before Mr. Hudson added, “Except you’re a bit plump.” 

An insult and yet a compliment. Daisy had always been told that she was thinner than most girls at the orphanage, and now she was unsure how to feel about it. The beauty of that ballerina could not possibly be upon her. She had a toothy grin, lots of freckles, short, dark, curly hair that constantly went through a lot of tangles, and she was short. Not as tall and outstretched as that ballerina trapped in the frame. But the real concern was that Mr. Hudson didn’t answer her initial question. In fact, he merely gave a vague answer, and even as Mr. Hudson turned around and asked her to follow him, Daisy was still left wondering.

For minutes, he had toured her around the mansion, mainly the first and second floors. He never mentioned about a third, but Daisy saw a staircase leading to one. Whenever Daisy would ask about a particular room, why it had a bed but not an occupant, Mr. Hudson usually changed the topic or sometimes gave a humorous remark. Mr. Hudson led her downstairs and into the dining hall. There was a long table with multiple chairs, empty plates, and unused napkins and utensils. Spick and span everything was, except it was lonely.

“I’ve prepared us a meal,” Mr. Hudson said as he entered the connecting kitchen. After a few minutes, he brought out a platter of roasted chicken, a glass pitcher filled with a brown liquid and freshly cut lemons, and a bowl of salad. “Eat up,” he said as he seated himself at one end of the table. Daisy hesitantly sat on a chair closest to him. She didn’t want to sit on the opposite side. It was normal etiquette that wives sat there. When she didn’t move, Mr. Hudson helped her wear her napkin. “Don’t be shy. Now, eat up and tell me how my cooking is like.” 

Initially, Daisy didn’t want to eat because the day had been awfully tiring despite the roller coaster of emotions, but she forced herself to eat and the meal tasted quite pleasing to her tongue. She kept on eating and eating until there were no leftovers. “Iced tea?” Mr. Hudson said as he grabbed the pitcher. Daisy nodded at the same time he poured some over her empty glass.

“Father, we’ve talked a lot about me,” she finally voiced out. “And I want to know more about you. This place is lonely and I was told that rich people led the happiest lives. Everyone was envious of me when you chose me, and I was quite happy. But now, it feels different.”

Mr. Hudson stared at the empty seats before him, then back at his plate, then at her. His green eyes held the same lonely gaze as before, a never-ending mystery. He broke the silence, his voice becoming soft and gentle, the brazen words no longer there, “In all honesty, I used to be the happiest. I had a loving wife, six beautiful children. I had loyal maids and servants. Even if we lived far away from people, my family was secure and happy. Until came one disdainful evening when a robbery took place in this very home. It wasn’t the kind of robbery you read on books or the kind of robbery that you commonly see from the world around you. It was an inside job. It had been planned that while I was away on work, a few of my servants would go steal my artworks which I kept in my private studio and they would flee and sell it at a high price. But that was just a plan. I got home that night and caught them murdering my family, slitting their throats and stabbing their lifeless bodies over and over again.”

Daisy watched him in silence, her lips becoming pale. Mr. Hudson noticed this and stopped telling the story. “I’m sorry to tell this to you. But you were insistent.”

He stood up and marched out of the room without another word as if he had poured out all his energy in re-telling the story that he probably had never told anyone else but Daisy, who had concluded to herself the reason why Mr. Hudson lived alone. She wanted to know more about what happened after that, but the man was already gone.

#

Sunlight spilled through her window and the birds chirped from outside, waking her up from her slumber. She waded across the room, feeling empty. There was a tight knot in her stomach as fear washed over her. She crossed the hallways and lazily walked downstairs. The moment she had set foot on the ground floor, she was amazed to hear voices. These voices were thin, joyful, and childish. Her heart was beating so fast that it felt like it was going to pop off her chest. Ghosts. That had been the first thing that swept through her mind. Ghosts in the dining hall in broad daylight. 

Slowly, Daisy peered into the room, amazed to find six other children laughing and talking with one another. When they sensed her presence, all their heads turned towards her direction, their faces blanketed with curiosity. Mr. Hudson was sitting on the same seat the night before and the only empty chair left was the one at the very end of the long table. Daisy cleared her throat.

“Ah, finally, you’re awake,” Mr. Hudson greeted her. “Have a seat, little Daisy.” 

Daisy hesitated but obeyed. She displayed a shy smile before sitting down. Mr. Hudson continued, “Everyone, this is Daisy, the first child I’ve ever adopted.” His green eyes later fixed on Daisy’s brown one. “Daisy,” he began again, gesturing at the little kids, three boys and three girls sitting on the rest of the seats. “These are your new brothers and sisters. I’ve adopted them for you.” 

Daisy’s jaw dropped and silence hung over the air. Mr. Hudson didn’t have to do this. It was too much, but she never said a word. One by one, Mr. Hudson introduced the kids as Emily, Lisa, Isabelle, Leonard, Alex, and Henry. With difficulty, Daisy tried to memorize their names, but because the kids began to loosen up and openly talk to her, it became easy to remember them all. As soon as they finished eating, Mr. Hudson asked the kids, who Daisy realized were younger than her either by a year or more, the youngest being Anna, to excuse themselves. Soon, Daisy and Mr. Hudson were left at the dinner table, and Daisy’s silence meant that she needed answers. Willfully, Mr. Hudson gave her what she wanted. 

“You’re right,” he began. “This is a lonely house and I realized it would be even more lonely if you and I are the only ones who occupied it. I wanted kids and was afraid to adopt one, but I’m proud to say I’ve passed that challenge when I adopted you. But it was hard for me to just have one. If I wasn’t given the chance to be with my own children, then at least I was given the chance to be a father again, because being a father is endless. Every man can be a father. This is how I will start over. You, and the others.”

Daisy heaved a sigh of relief. It was the first time she had heard him speak from the depths of his heart. She was starting to know him more. 

“By the way,” she asked him, tilting her head. “Who is that ballerina in my room? Is she your child?” 

He replied with a small smile, the memory illuminating his eyes with life. He spoke, his words filled with vibrancy, “No. She’s my wife. That was how she looked like when we first met. We were both thirteen at that time. I remembered painting the portrait two years later when we went our separate ways. Then one day, she learned my address and sent me a letter which rekindled our interest in one another and became good friends, and then lovers. You can see now how lonely I lived when she had to die along with the rest of my children.”

There was a sad silence, and Mr. Hudson shook his head, feeling conscious of himself. “But, I decided that I’m going to move on and live life with my new children who bore names with initials that spelled out one name that I truly will treasure forever. My wife’s name.”

Later that evening, Daisy sat on her bed, the whole house now in silence. Her stepbrothers and stepsisters have already fallen asleep. She studied the portrait in her room one last time. The sad smile of the woman dancing made her feel light and peaceful. She had learned from Mr. Hudson that he had kept the portrait there so he could avoid staring at it in his own room.

“He’s a really great father,” Daisy whispered to the portrait. “Delilah. That’s a beautiful name. No wonder he chose us to be his children. The beauty was hidden all along in our names.” 

From where she sat, she could almost picture out the young girl’s lips stretch from the frame. And Daisy knew that even the ghosts at the Hudson residence have been put to rest. Daisy laid down and closed her eyes. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she was struck with one lingering thought in her conscious mind and her eyes opened wide. What did her stepfather do to his servants? The answer lies on the third floor.