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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 45
CHAPTER IV
The Thorns of Love
"Adam, my daughter will be staying with us now,” Ivar explained
to me come morning. I nodded my head in understanding,
trying to dispel that irrational anger bubbling up inside of me
once again.
“So you will sleep downstairs in the shop, I will sleep in my
usual bed, and Ingrid shall sleep in the attic,” Ivar continued. He
paused to stare thoughtfully into my face then went on after
taking a deep breath. “It’s improper for a girl her age to sleep in
the same room with a young man, and I won’t have her sleeping
in my shop with tools lying about,” he said in firm tones. I
nodded my understanding. His words made absolute sense: his
house was fairly small, a girl should not sleep near a man, and
the shop was the last remaining spot in the house where one
could sleep. Yet somehow, despite all common-sense, I felt I
was being robbed of my bed, being driven away, even banished
from my domain. I know it doesn’t make sense, but this is how
