by Rae Craig
“I see I can trust you, girlie.” With that the woman threaded her way back through the garden and the rockers. Pungent fumes escaped through the opened door all the way out to Harriet. Whatever that brew was, it smelled like dirty socks boiled to a homogenous sludge.
Matta’s truck was backed up to the Empire Everything pick-up area and on the far side Ella sat swinging her legs off the dock.
“Harriet! Where’re you going?”
“Giffin’s. I’m doing errands for Mom and anyone else who asks.”
Ella tilted her head and Harriet told her all about the woman she assumed was Tee Tiosh, including the twelve-summer-old part.
Ella laughed. “They sell herbs from a push cart right next to us at Market. Tee Toish and that-old-man push that heavy cart to Market every week. She called me twelve-summer-old girlie too. Mom says that’s how they figure your age here- by how many summers old you are.” She added with a hopeful expression. “I really want to look around their garden, but so far the flag is always out.”
Harriet thought about the overgrown Rose garden. “Dana’s mom says we can clean out the Rose Garden. Do you…..”
Ella threw her arms above her head. “Yes! I’ll have Dad drop me off there on the way home!”
Harriet spoke calmly. “We have to wait till after May Day because of all the work till then.”
Ella slumped and Harriet invited. “Come with me to Giffin’s.”
Ella hopped off the dock and called into the lumber yard. “Going to Giffin’s, Dad.” A muffled “Okay” filtered out from behind stacks of lumber.
Giffin’s door jangled shut behind them. A plump dove of a woman came from the back drying her hands on a towel.
“Hello, you must be Harriet Jameson and Ella Matta. I’m May. Can I get you something?”
Ella had parked herself in front of Toish’s herbal remedy shelves, admiring the herb drawings on each colorful box.
Harriet answered. “Tee Toish says she’ll deliver tomorrow morning. She said that-old-man insisted on a precarious brew today.” She handed over Mom’s list. “And I need some stuff too.”
May Giffin laughed as she pulled a summer sausage from the meat case. “That-old-man is a pain in the butt and there’s no changing his mind once it’s set. Their herbals are so popular that I’ll be glad when they deliver more.”
Ella held up one of the colorful packages. “Look, these have drawings of herbs all over them.” She rolled the container to its other side. “And you can see bits of dried herbs in the paper, so it’s homemade.” She gently lifted the wrapper’s feathery edge to examine the back, then laughed. “I tried to make paper once, but ended up with paper soup.” She asked. “Would they mind if I flatten this out to hang above my nature displays? If I save up my allowance I can buy the biggest one.”
Harriet noticed the ingenious way the heavy paper was folded to incase the bottle, but not damage the drawings.
May said. “Customers collect the wrappers and there’s quite a competition on Market day for the big ones.” She put the cheese back. “Tee makes the paper, draws and paints the herbs, and does most of the selling; that-old-man gardens and makes the herbals.” She shook her head. “Nothing slows them down.”
She wrapped the order in brown paper, tied it up with string, and Harriet put it in her backpack, the summer sausage sticking out the top. May added. “Do you want anything from your locker?”
Harriet was confused. “What locker?”
“Helen rented a freezer locker for you and filled it up.”
“That’s not on the list, so I guess not.”
May’s “bye now” followed them out and they walked across to Empire Everything where displays of wrought iron hinges and latches filled a window. Another jangling door opened into a room filled with hardware, farm supplies, and home goods. Next to the door a beat-up wood counter separated the store from a wall of wood cubby holes. Each compartment was fitted with an engraved name plate and some had envelopes inside. At the bottom right, two empty cubbies made with fresh golden wood had shiny new name plates. They peered around the counter.
Ella said. “Look. We have mail boxes.”
A helpful voice whispered from behind them. “Can I do something for you?”
Harriet and Ella jumped as if they’d been caught at something forbidden. Behind them stood a bulky, serious person with an arm load of axes. He spoke to them in a raspy whisper. “I’m Mel Clark. Call me Mel.” He nodded toward Ella. “I know you’re Ella Matta, so you,” nodding toward Harriet, “must be Harriet Jameson.”
Herm called into the store. “Blue, we’re ready to go.” She smiled goodbye and skipped out.
Harriet flattened her wadded-up list and read. “A roll of copper wire, a package of screws and an eighth inch drill bit.”
“You show me the sizes and I’ll bag them up.”
They meandered through the store picking out what she wanted. A sturdy woman in overalls and heavy work boots stomped in from the dock, speaking a mile a minute. “Mel. Herm Matta’s order put me behind. Can you move those fence posts for me?” She noticed Harriet and kicked the door shut behind her. “I’m Del Clark and you are Harriet Jameson. Today’s my organizing day and I’m running behind, but those basement steps of the Mattas should be plenty strong and he’ll be ordering more supplies for their remodeling this summer. He knows exactly what he wants and expects us to have it.” She was proud rather than annoyed, pulling up her overall straps with rough, calloused hands.
Mel Clark presented Harriet with a string tied package which she stuffed into her pack and hurried outside. Ominous clouds had piled up, along with gusty wind and spitting rain. She would go to the blacksmith tomorrow morning. Thunder and lightning, sideways rain and straight wind hit as she ran up her porch steps. Behind her ran Mom and Dad, holding jackets over their heads.
Clattering up the steps, Mom said. “What a storm! I was hoping the creek would go down soon.”
Dad shook the water from his curls like a dog, his dark face wet with rain. “The spring flood comes from outside Shi-octon, so a good rain here shouldn’t make it worse.”
Slicing Grandma’s brown speckled bread, they made summer sausage/butter sandwiches and sliced radish/salad dressing sandwiches for supper. They watched the storm from the porch until bedtime.
Chapter Eleven
Blacksmith
Harriet packed sandwiches into her bag. She would stop at the Rose garden before going to the blacksmith. Maybe they couldn’t clear the garden yet, but she could explore today.
The garden’s overgrowth snagged her hair and she had to stop to untangle it from a bush. As she neared the folly, the thicket disappeared, replaced by waist high brush. Pausing, she got her first good look.
Last night’s storm had left a blustery morning with clouds flying across a blue sky. Spotlighted by a beam of sunlight, the folly was taller and wider than the Mac’s, the top a solid chunk of rock instead of a standing stone crown. Crystals poked out of the stones, bringing back memories of the healed cut on her palm.
Sounds and smells from the rushing creek filtered through the thicket and she threaded her way over to the cliff edge. The water swept through the narrow canyon and when she looked straight down she could see a rocky shelf just under the surface. This summer they could climb into the canyon and explore.
The folly drew her back. A flat rock near the base made a comfortable seat and one behind her provided a back rest. Coolness from the stone soaked through her jeans. She bit into her radish sandwich and set it on her lap. With her eyes closed, she relaxed, her body heat warming the stone. Through her eyelids she sensed a burst of sunlight surround her. Her hands curled softly upward next to the sandwich and her mind quieted.
Buzzing numbness sweeps inward from her fingers, toes and face- filling her body. She reaches forward to grasp a large flat stone she has carefully chosen from a pile nearby. She hoists the granite slab with strength she does not have, fits it between two rectangular st
ones and stands back to admire the effect, proud of what a comfortable seat it will make once she lays the backrest. She reaches forward to brush dirt off the stone with large, muscular hands nicked with many healing scrapes.
They are not her hands.
They are a man’s hands!
Harriet erupted up and away from the folly, her sandwich flying off into the weeds.
She didn’t want any more of this: first floating on the stairs in dark currents, then cuts healing instantly, and now living somebody else’s life. Such a vivid life too; she had heard people rolling heavy carts full of stones and smelled meat cooking over a fire.
Grabbing her pack, she fled wildly through the thicket, emerging scratched and confused onto the road. Midway across the bridge she hung over the side to stare at the arched openings below. Sounds soothed her: the waterwheel groaned, Hetric Rethic’s saw whined and the mill stones grated.
All questions and no answers! Science and logic did nothing to explain her strange experiences and there was no Clarence to share them with. She hung on her belly listening and watching the creek. Her empty stomach growled its own question and her answer was the other sandwich in her pack. She sat on the bridge wall where it curved away from the road. Dad was right; the creek was lower this morning despite the thunderstorm last night. Soon they could explore the path to the grotto behind her house, then she could get all the way to Ella’s and Dana’s houses without using the road or getting close to the mill.
Next to Empire Everything stood a stone building with three arched double doors, all open to the wind. “Ping, ping, ping, PONG. Ping, ping, ping, PONG. Ping, ping, ping, PONG.” Metal on metal hammered out into the breezy day, but why did every fourth beat go PONG? Inside, flickering orange light reflected off the walls. Standing at an anvil, a slim person hammered a black metal strap into a spiral, then stopped to bury it in the glowing coals of the forge till it was red-hot again. Back to the anvil, the smith struck three times on the spiral followed by one time on the anvil, repeating the rhythm until the spiral cooled to black. “Ping, ping, ping, PONG. Ping, ping, ping, PONG.” With narrow nosed tongs the smith guided the developing spiral and used a long handled clamp to move it from anvil to forge.
Harriet watched from a bench inside the doors, not wanting to interrupt the smith’s concentration. Again, the smith buried the cooling spiral in the fire, pumping a foot controlled bellows to make the flames blaze red and orange. Back to the anvil for the final shaping. “Ping, ping, ping, PONG. Ping, ping, ping, PONG.” With those eight strikes, the smith stepped back to judge the work, then plunged the red hot spiral into a water filled stone trough. Steam exploded out, shooting droplets as far as Harriet’s feet.
The smith pulled off leather gloves and a head covering visor, revealing delicate flushed features and a cap of springy blond curls. The woman saw Harriet and took two steps closer.
Harriet stood. “Sorry to bother you. Mom needs supplies.”
The smith smiled. “You must be Harriet. I heard your family was rejoining the valley.” She ran fingers through her curls, making her look even less like a blacksmith. “I’m Bryn Tower and I love your new front porch, that’ll be my next project.”
Harriet said. “You’ve got that cute house across from Threda Mac’s orchard.”
Bryn held her hands out about a foot apart. “But it’s small and boxy and Threda’s orchard would be a nice view when I sit on the porch.”
Harriet pulled the wrinkled list out of her pocket. “Mrs. Tower, Mom needs nails, hooks and spirals, but I’m not sure how many or what size.”
The smith grabbed a display board with various examples of hardware attached. Harriet pointed to the ones Mom used and Mrs. Tower pulled generous amounts from wood bins along the wall.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tower.”
The smith put her hands on her hips. “You have to call me Bryn.” She frowned. “I’ve never met anyone I liked well enough to be my lifemate.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Sharing a life requires compromise and acting pleasant when you’re not. I’m not good at either.”
“How did you become a blacksmith?”
“You mean I don’t look like one?” Bryn hitched up her shirt sleeve to show impressive muscles.
Harriet said. “Blacksmiths I’ve seen are large bulky men.”
“It’s not so much what body you’re born with as it is what you do with it. Dad was the blacksmith before me and he was large and bulky, as you so nicely put it.” She smiled. “He encouraged me to consider other work, but after I tried out other jobs in the valley, I knew this was the one for me. Dad agreed to apprentice me after much convincing. He thought I’d quit after a few days, but I came up with ideas to give me more strength, like ceiling pulleys and vices and clamps built into the forge. Dad was extra proud because he thought the family blacksmith tradition was over when I was born.”
Harriet thought about Bryn’s story. “What did you mean about trying out jobs in the valley?”
“That’s how we do it here. When childhood it over, and you look about that age, you work as a learner at different jobs. Most of us will take on two worklearners at a time.”
“You said your family had a tradition of blacksmithing. Can you choose your own career or is it decided for you?”
“By your age your likes and dislikes are kind of set, so some careers just won’t fit your personality. A lot of times a person stays in the family work, but it isn’t required.”
“What if I need to leave Shi-octon to do what I choose?”
“Young people do that. Some rejoin the valley later and some don’t.”
Harriet stood still, thinking. Many questions formed, but she didn’t know what to ask. She thanked Bryn and walked toward Mom’s workshop.
Stopping off at Grandma’s new porch swing, she kicked off smartly, swinging back and forth. Voices filtered out through the door and Mom and Grandma walked out.
Mom said. “Well, hello. I see you have a full bag for me.”
Harriet scooped the pack from the floor and swung it to Mom.
“Thanks. I need the spirals to finish a project.” Mom waved goodbye and let herself out the front gate.
Grandma joined Harriet on the swing and Morgan settled onto her lap. Harriet thought about her visit to the Rose garden this morning. “I went to see the Rose folly. It’s coated with dirt and there’s a terrible thicket around it.” And I was sucked into someone else’s life- but she didn’t say that out loud. “Rosa said we could clean out the garden, but we’ll have to wait until after May Day when we’re not so busy.”
Grandma said. “I can’t wait to see what you three accomplish.” They swung in silence, enjoying each others company,
Grandma transferred Morgan to Harriet’s lap. “Tomorrow’s Mid-week, isn’t that your bard training? It’s quite a walk to the ferry house.” She stood. “Give yourself plenty of time.” She patted her granddaughter’s shoulder and went in the house.
Harriet’s mind ran in circles thinking about tomorrow: Grandma said Theo Laird had good intentions, and Mom is pleased, and what is this gift I’m supposed to have, and what are magnificent connections?
Chapter Twelve
Bard Training
“Harriet, take these nails to the blacksmith right away.” Mom clinked a bag onto the kitchen table. “I need them straightened out so I can finish a stool.”
As she left Mom adviced her daughter. “It’s a long walk to the ferry house. Don’t be late.”
Harriet finished her early lunch, all the while worrying.
What was Mom thinking? This was not a day to give her an errand, especially an errand she could have done herself. Now Harriet would have to rush to the blacksmith’s and still leave enough time to allow for the long walk. She sat on the porch steps, tied her shoes and stomped down the street. Where was Dad anyway? Couldn’t he do this? Behind Bryn’s house, she saved a minute by using the shortcut that wound through a grove of feathery pin
es.
Rhythmic hammering came from the forge. Harriet thought it would be polite and probably safer to go around to the front entrance. Bryn pushed back her visor just as Harriet walked in.
The smith nodded at her and glanced over to include Dana and Ella who waited on the bench. “You all have errands? There certainly are a lot of people out getting things done today.” She removed her heavy apron and hung it on its hook. “Now who goes first? Is anyone in a big hurry?”
Dana and Ella looked at Harriet.
Bryn took Harriet’s bag of nails. “I made hooks for your dad, so wait till after Dana and Ella are done and I’ll get them.”
Harriet shifted from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for the others to finish. Their errands were not important at all. What a waste of time.
“Since you three are here, come help me move some heavy stuff out of the storage barn.” Bryn led two willing helpers and one irritated helper out the back door. “Stay here; I’ll open the doors.” She not only opened up the barn, but went inside. Her muffled voice came from deep within. “Stand by the door and be ready to grab your end.”
The end that poked out looked like a bicycle tire, followed by the rest of a freshly painted red bike. Two more bikes followed, one bright yellow and one true blue. Bryn stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “What do you think?”
They were confused and didn’t answer. Each balanced a bike at their hip; yellow for Dana, red for Harriet and blue for Ella.
Bryn explained impatiently. “I fix up old bikes.”
They just stared at her. She held her hands out. “They’re yours! Go have fun.”
Dana considered. “How will I pay you?” He patted the seat. “Can I work in trade?” The girls nodded in agreement. Harriet had even forgotten to be irritated.
“No. No. No. Don’t you like them?” Bryn’s eyebrows bunched together and her lips pinched into a knot “Get out of here----Harriet, don’t you have bard training today?” She herded them out the front of the forge. “Go on!”