The Baker's Tale

by Thomas Hauser

  “The legislation is misguided,” Murd offered. “All it accomplishes is to deprive families of the money that they need to survive.”

  “The miners are like rats that burrow in and out of holes that they have dug into the ground,” Isabella said scornfully. “We only hear of them when there is trouble. It would be better if the coal came out of the ground without them.”

  “They are God’s children,” Edwin told her.

  “They have yet to learn that human beings should live differently from cattle,” Isabella pressed.

  “Perhaps if they were educated.”

  “I am not friendly to what is called general education,” Murd interjected. “I believe it is necessary that the labouring classes be taught to know their position and to conduct themselves accordingly.”

  “And I believe, respectfully, sir, that all men and women are of common origin and deserving of the opportunity for happiness and respect.”

  “If I wish for a lecture on morality,” Frederick Haight interjected, directing his remark to Edwin, “I shall go to church. You are a nice young man, but you are hopelessly naive.”

  “I am teaching him the ways of business,” Murd assured his guest.

  “If everyone were warm and well fed,” Maurice Allard offered, “we should lose the satisfaction of admiring the fortitude with which a certain class of men and women bear cold and hunger. And if we were no better off than anybody else, what would become of our sense of gratitude?”

  Dinner concluded with cake, cheese, and sliced oranges steeped in sugar, followed by a port wine that had been bottled a half-century before.

  “I meant no harm by my comments,” Edwin said to his host at evening’s end.

  “And you have done none. I would simply urge you to keep in mind that a man may have the softest heart in the world, but he and his family cannot live upon it.”

  The day after dining at Murd’s, Edwin sent a note of thanks to his host:

  Dear Mr. Murd,

  Thank you for welcoming me into your home and sharing your family and friends so graciously with me. I am most appreciative.

  Sincerest wishes,

  Edwin

  But in truth, the evening and particularly the conversation at dinner troubled Edwin.

  Murd took pride in the notion that his business was essential to building the engines of society. He often assured Edwin that the young man had a promising career ahead of him. But Edwin was beginning to question whether he belonged in Murd’s world.

  He was not fond of Murd. Time and again, he saw his employer summon a look of easy charm when business required it. But as soon as the mask was no longer needed, it was gone from his face. Edwin wondered if there had ever been a time when a child’s heart beat in his breast.

  And he had a visceral dislike for Murd’s daughter.

  Isabella had a smile that reeked of insincerity. Her view of life had been formed in the mirror of the highly polished walnut and rosewood furnishings of her parents’ home. She was unduly impressed with what she believed was her own superior breeding, a sentiment that she exhibited freely and with obvious condescension toward others. Her character was marked by numerous manifestations of having been spoiled by her father’s wealth. When dining, she ate only the prime parts of meat, leaving the rest on her plate and asking for more prime parts if still hungry.

  Looking in the mirror, Isabella saw not her real self but the reflection of some pleasant image that existed in her brain. After meeting Edwin at her parents’ home, she came to the office fairly often, which he regarded as an unpleasant intrusion upon his working day. She was always flirtatious, touching his arm in a predatory manner. Edwin was guided in these encounters by politeness. But he would have preferred the embrace of a bear that smelled badly to her touch.

  Miss Murd reasoned that she was beautiful and charming, and that her father was Edwin’s master and had a great deal of money, all of which seemed to constitute a conclusive argument as to why Edwin should feel honoured by her attentions.

  Murd’s wife had given him only one daughter and no sons to follow in his footsteps. He was not concerned about a husband for his daughter so much as he wanted a son-in-law to help run his business.

  Some young men less scrupulous than Edwin might have encouraged Isabella’s delusions. By virtue of whatever influence she had upon her father, she could render Edwin’s future at work more promising if she were his friend. Edwin had no way of knowing the depth of her infatuation with him. Nor did he know that Isabella had asked her father if she could keep the note of thanks that Edwin had written after being in their home for dinner.

  Another winter passed. Edwin continued to work diligently in the office. Owing to the long hours he kept, his social opportunities were limited. He read often in his spare time.

  There was a loneliness in his life, an emptiness inside of him.

  Then came a day in March. Winter had not yet turned to spring. But the sun was full up and there was activity in the streets. People hurried back and forth. Shop windows and doors were open. Labourers were at work, some hauling and delivering wares, others digging and building.

  There was a sharp wind.

  The wind was important to what followed.

  Edwin was walking along a busy street when he saw a gust of wind blow a man’s hat off his head.

  There are very few moments in a man’s life when he feels as silly as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. The best way to catch it is to keep up with it, get gradually before it, bend down, seize it, and stick it firmly on your head, smiling pleasantly all the time as though you thought it was as good a joke as everyone who was watching. But that was difficult here inasmuch as the man was on the stout side and a trifle clumsy. He puffed, the wind puffed, and the hat rolled on as merrily as a porpoise in a strong tide.

  Eventually, the man lost sight of his hat and was staring about in all directions but the right one. He was on the verge of accepting his loss when Edwin, with a few lively steps, accomplished what the man could not. Then, hat in hand, he walked toward the hat’s rightful owner.

  The man was wearing a dark-blue coat. His chin rested in the folds of an old-fashioned white neckcloth, not a stiff starched cravat. He was older than Edwin had thought at first. A good seventy years of age. But there was something so engaging about his appearance that it was a pleasure to look at him. A merry smile and kindhearted expression lit up his face. His eyes were twinkling and honest.

  “I believe that this is yours, sir,” Edwin said, handing the man his hat.

  The older man looked at Edwin approvingly.

  “I am much obliged for your kindness. Perhaps I could buy you tea to thank you for your effort.”

  Edwin was a bit hungry. And he liked the older man’s manner.

  “I would like that, sir. Thank you.”

  “Very well then. There is a café on the next block.” The man extended his hand in greeting. “My name is Octavius Joy.”

  “And I am Edwin Chatfield.”

  Soon, they were seated opposite one another. Octavius Joy ordered tea, cakes, rolls, butter, and jam for two. Then their conversation began in earnest. He at once showed an interest in Edwin, asking his age and the circumstances of his being in London.

  “And your parents?”

  “My mother died giving life to me. My father is a teacher.”

  “A noble profession. Education is a great thing, a very great thing.”

  “I think often that teaching might be a better path for me than the one I have chosen.”

  “You are young. There is time for you to find your calling.”

  As they talked, Octavius Joy studied Edwin’s face. He prided himself on being able to discern a man’s character by listening to his words and studying his eyes. He liked the way this young man carried himself. There was an aura of integrity about him. His eyes were those of one who trusted others and was worthy of trust.

  “This is an uncommon young man,” Octavius Joy told himself.
“A good one, I am sure. It is a pity that his mother could not see him as he is now. It would have made her happy and proud.”

  They talked a bit more about education.

  “The future of England is dependent upon a better educated population,” Octavius Joy said. “From the beginning of time, only a tiny portion of all the people who ever lived have been able to read. There was a time when that did not matter. But it matters now. I believe very strongly that all people should be taught to read and write. It is a passion of mine.”

  Then he told Edwin about the learning center.

  “I think that you would approve of its mission and how it works. Would you like to accompany me there?”

  He paused, weighing his next words.

  “And there is a young lady there that you might like to meet.”

  Five months had passed since Christopher’s death. Ruby gave thanks for the years that she had been blessed to have her uncle in her life. Still, she missed him.

  Christopher lay buried beneath a tree in a quiet churchyard corner. In late afternoon, the church spire cast a long shadow on his grave. It was comforting for Ruby to think of him as being in Heaven. But in his worldly form, he rested here, separated from the living by a few boards and a little earth.

  Winter came and brought with it more than the usual share of cold heavy rain. Ruby visited the churchyard often, reading the names upon the stones, wondering who those at rest might have been and whom they had left behind. When the church bell struck on the hour, she fancied that Christopher was speaking to her.

  She wished that she had asked him more about her mother. It was a subject that he had been reluctant to talk about. Now she and Christopher were parted, never to meet again on this side of eternity. Perhaps someday she would see him and her mother in Heaven.

  It was a bright windy March afternoon. The walls of the learning center were ornamented with illustrations from Mother Goose, fairy tales from the Brothers Grimm, and popular classics.

  A small dark-haired boy came straggling in and, after him, a red-headed lad and, after him, a girl with flaxen hair. Soon, a dozen chairs were occupied by boys and girls with heads of every colour but grey.

  There was a lesson. The children hung on Ruby’s every word, their bright faces coming alive. Then writing time began, and the children concentrated on their letters. Ruby walked about, looking over each child’s shoulder, praising an up-stroke here, a down-stroke there. Where correction was necessary, she suggested that the child look at how a particular letter was formed on the wall and take it for a model.

  “Can you read Dickens?” one of the boys asked.

  “I can,” Ruby told him. “And you will too someday.”

  Then Ruby saw Octavius Joy standing in the entrance to the learning center. A young man, perhaps two years older than she, was with him.

  The young man was handsome with an earnest face. His hair was dark with a slight inclination to wave. His eyes fired up as though their depths were stirred by something wonderful.

  A sensation that Ruby had never known before swept through her. And she felt that her life was about to change.

  CHAPTER 5

  Octavius Joy made the introduction between them.

  “I have known Miss Spriggs since she was three years old. I have known Mr. Chatfield since shortly before eleven o’clock this morning.”

  “Are you a scholar?” Ruby asked, for Edwin had the look of one.

  “I am tolerably educated.”

  Octavius Joy explained to Ruby the circumstances of the wind, his hat, and meeting Edwin.

  “I suggested that Mr. Chatfield come to the learning center. He tells me that he has an interest in teaching people to read.”

  “There is no greater good than teaching one’s fellow man to read,” Edwin offered.

  “And women,” Ruby corrected.

  “And women. Forgive me for not expressing myself with greater precision.”

  Ruby had never seen a face as handsome as Edwin’s. Not even in pictures.

  “She has a pretty face,” Edwin thought to himself. “A very pretty face. An unusually pretty face.”

  He could no more have removed his eyes from Ruby’s face than he could have flown to the moon.

  “What you see in this room,” Octavius Joy said, addressing Edwin, “is England’s future. Knowledge is becoming more widespread. There is a move toward more education. Every person in this room feels an attraction to the dignity and utility of learning.”

  All of this occurred on a Wednesday. Given Edwin’s schedule at work, it was agreed that he would return to the learning center on Saturday, a day on which the great majority of those in attendance would be grown men and women. Once he understood the methods of instruction, he would assist in teaching.

  It was apparent soon after Edwin began that he was a natural teacher. He had a gift for explaining clearly and also a caring quality about him. In less than a month, every person at the learning center was his friend.

  In the past, Ruby had taught each week from Monday through Friday. It did not go unnoticed that, after Edwin’s arrival, she began to appear at the learning center on Saturdays as well. Mr. Chatfield and Miss Spriggs seemed to have an affinity for one another, exchanging glances and dancing with their eyes.

  Edwin remained conflicted regarding his employment. All the while, his education in the coal business continued. He attended meetings in which Murd negotiated purchase orders from buyers, and he became familiar with the ways and cost of shipping coal throughout England. He read geologists’ reports as to where the richest veins might be found, and was a pleasant presence when called upon by Murd to sit at lunch with business associates.

  “The other men in the company are in positions that are right for them and shall rise no higher,” Murd told Edwin. “You have a more promising future.”

  Those words, however well intended they might have been, were not reassuring. Edwin’s dislike for his employer was growing. He sensed a dark spirit within him. Some men live with the primary, if not sole, object of enriching and then further enriching themselves. Avarice is their vice. Murd was one of them.

  The secrets of Murd’s domain were in the books and papers locked in a cabinet in his private room at the office. From time to time, Edwin saw him take a small key from his pocket, unlock a drawer in his desk in which there was another key, and use the second key to open the cabinet. At times, Edwin wondered what secrets were in the cabinet. Other times, he did not want to know.

  One thing, he did know. A dependence on Alexander Murd would likely embitter his life. “How strange it is,” Edwin thought, “to be never satisfied, never at rest, always reaching for an infinite number of coins.”

  And there was another thing that Edwin was certain of. The least pleasant part of his employment was the appearance in the office from time to time of Isabella Murd.

  Isabella took unseemly pride in her family background and considered her lineage superior to that of virtually everyone else in England. She talked often about money, which she said was better than anything, and had a perpetually sullen look upon her face. One afternoon, she spent a full thirty minutes telling Edwin about her maid, who, according to the recitation, prepared Isabella’s clothes for dressing, arranged her hair, assisted in dressing her, sat up for her when she went out at night, assisted in undressing her, put away her jewels, kept her wardrobe in repair, washed her lace and linens, and was up early each morning to prepare Isabella’s breakfast tray.

  Given Edwin’s feelings, he regarded it as a particularly unfortunate turn of events when Murd summoned him to his office one afternoon and, with Isabella present, informed Edwin that he was to take Isabella to the opera the following evening.

  “Mrs. Murd and I have decided to give you our tickets. Our coachman will be at your disposal.”

  “I must be honest with you,” Edwin protested. “Your kind offer is very much appreciated, but there are others who would enjoy the opera more than I. The spoken wo
rd appeals to me. The same words, sung in a language that I do not understand, do not.”

  Murd was insistent.

  It was an unpleasant night. Edwin disliked opera, though not so much as he disliked Isabella. On the evening of the performance, her gown was too bright an orange and the ribbons in her hair too intensely green. She began the conversation in the carriage on the way to the opera by talking about various men who had pursued her.

  “Perhaps you could keep a register of these attachments with notations regarding the dates of each,” Edwin suggested. “You could list them as though they were reigns of the kings and queens of England.”

  Ignoring the comment, Isabella began to discourse on her family’s wealth.

  “My father’s fortune is large. I have been brought up with the expectation that I shall always be rich. From early childhood, I have travelled in the most polite and best circles of society.”

  When they left the carriage to enter the opera hall, Isabella took Edwin’s arm. He did not like the feel of it. Nor did he like the opera, although he found it less disagreeable than the sound of Isabella’s voice.

  “Do you think that I particularly like you?” Isabella asked during the carriage ride home.

  “I have not asked myself that question.”

  “Ask yourself the question now.”

  “You act at times as though you do.”

  “And is my fondness returned?”

  Ask no questions, and you will be told no lies, Edwin thought but did not say.

  “I think that you are a very nice woman. And I admire your father greatly.”

  “My father speaks quite well of you. He says that you have a unique ability to draw others over to your side. That is a great asset in business.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if my life would not be better spent as a teacher, helping others who would not otherwise learn to read and write.”

  “Someday, perhaps, you will make your fortune in business and use the money to pay for others to go to school. Think of all the laughing little children you could make happy.”

  There was sarcasm in her voice.