“You can stop right there. I refuse to talk about it anymore.”
“Because you’re wrong?”
“No, because I’m close to strangling you.”
“Hah! Your peevishness with me shows you know the truth but refuse to admit to faulty
female reasoning.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. As a reminder, milady, before we visit the blind store, I need bigger shoes.”
“Yes, milord.”
#
Stephen pressed the button on the side to hear it talk again as he walked to the shop’s
entrance door. You are traveling northeast. “I don’t know where the woman’s voice travels from but I like listening to her.”
He tapped with his cane and turned in a circle as the compass’s lady called out the
directions. He reversed directions and made another circle.
“Stop and let me put this watch on you,” Esme said.
“Finally, a way to tell time.”
She strapped the device to his wrist. He pressed the button, chuckled as the man told him
the hour and seconds, and then pressed the button to hear it again. To break an hour into minutes made sense. He saw the usefulness in such ability. Seconds, as it related to time, he thought both silly and fascinating. Silly because breaking down the minutes into tiny specks of time served no purpose as far as he could tell. But the fact people had achieved the ability to do so fascinated him. Who originally thought to pursue the measuring of time in such detail?
“We’ve got a decent stockpile of aids to start you off. We’ll come back and get more next
week. I’ll make a list.”
“I’m hungry.”
“There’s a pub I like down the road with good food.”
“Pub?”
“It’s another word for tavern.”
“Beer and food, a delightful coupling.”
They hadn’t had to cross any busy streets to go to the shoe store or blind store. The shops
had what Esme called carparks attached. She warned Stephen two large intersections were
between them and the pub.
“Let me help you cross. Traffic is heavy and it’s too easy for you to get hurt if you step
off the curb at the wrong time.”
“No. Thank you for your concern, but allow me the opportunity to succeed or fail on my
own.”
“Stephen, didn’t you listen? If your timing is off, you can get seriously injured or killed.”
“I have my cane and my hearing. I’m not without means to walk without your help.”
He found maneuvering the even surfaces of the streets and sidewalks in the town easier
than walking around the grounds by the trailer and stable.
He stumbled only once, when he entered the pub. A raised strip in the doorway floor
hadn’t been felt when he swept his cane. His foot landed on the unanticipated bump and the toe of his shoe caught. He quickly recovered his balance and tucked his arm before Esme could lend a
hand.
Music with a strong beat played and what sounded like a crush of people talking loud to be
heard over the music drowned out everything else. Voices from all directions, men’s and
women’s were a muddle of indistinct words. Stephen froze as the rush of noise came at him.
“Sorry mate,” a man who jostled him said.
“Over here Stephen,” Esme called out.
“Where?” With all the babble, he couldn’t track where she was in relation to him. Right
and left, his cane banged into objects as he sought a clear path. “Esme?”
He stopped and struggled to slow his shallow breathing and calm down. He thought he
heard Esme call his name and moved in that direction.
He stepped into someone and the awful sound of glass breaking happened close. “Careful
luv,” a woman said. “You knocked my tray and a pint on the floor.”
“Sorry.” He held still again and called out, “Esme?”
When she didn’t answer, he turned to go. She could find him outside. The more he tried to
retrace his steps, the more disoriented he became. Another person bumped into him but didn’t
apologize. The air grew thick with perfume, the smell of food, and body heat. He’d wandered
deeper into the tavern by mistake. Anxious and self-conscious, he shoved his shaking non cane
hand into his jeans pocket.
Out. He just wanted out.
“The door please. Can someone lead me to the door?” he asked, humiliated he had to beg
such help.
“It’s all right. I’m here, Stephen.” It was Esme. “Come, we’ll go somewhere else.” She
placed a light hand on his elbow and leaned close. He understood she was being mindful of his
pride and tried to not let the crowd see she assisted him.
Outside she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t stop to think how noisy and busy the place is during
lunch. There’s an excellent Italian restaurant at the end of the street. The food will be the biggest adventure there rather than wending your way through the crowd.”
Stephen nodded. “Fine.”
At the restaurant, a woman seated them at what she called a comfortable booth with a
padded bench.
“Is there a bathroom here?” he asked Esme.
“Yes, walk straight about five strides, then turn left and walk another six or so and the
men’s room is the second door to your right.”
“Thank you.”
Stephen followed her instructions and entered the men’s room for much needed few
minutes alone. Inside, he stood quiet trying to calm himself from the pub experience. What did
Esme think? What sort of man shows such weakness to a lady? How could he let a foolish thing
like loud noise twist him so?
He found the sink, washed his hands and splashed water on his face. After drying off
using his shirttail, he took a deep breath and said, “Never again will I let fear beat me.” He spoke the words aloud. Whatever spirits that touched the lives of men, whether good and evil, from now on they’d see only this new strength.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stephen arranged for Mr. Utley to come by on Saturday, one of Esme’s days off. “Thank
you for coming,” Stephen said.
“Please call me Andrew. May I call you Stephen?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m curious. Why did you want to work with me alone, without Ms. Crippen present?”
“We went to Cheltenham yesterday and she fretted over my safety with the heavier
traffic. Next week, we plan to return. I thought I’d surprise her and show her how I’ve mastered the problem.”
“Good. Let’s go there now and practice.”
Stephen learned to listen to the low rumble of traffic as it approached. They worked on
perfecting his sense of the crowd around him moving forward, which was especially important.
Difficult to determine unseen, Andrew warned of turning cars.
“Use the people as indicators whether vehicles are turning and when it’s safe to cross,” he
instructed. “The busiest streets are lined with shops. The noise level is greater. You must listen harder.”
“I notice when the cars travel with me it stirs the air more.”
Andrew had him practice crossing smaller streets where Stephen couldn’t rely on the flow
of the people close. Then they worked on neighborhood streets where no signals controlled traffic.
He practiced stepping off and onto low curbs and high ones. All the exercises given him, he
performed without trouble.
“Your skill level this soon is impressive,” Andrew said as they walked to his car for the
ride home.
“I have another request.”
“Yes.”
“Teach me to fight. I don’t want anyone to think me a defenseless cripple.”
“I’m not able to teach those tactics. I know a blind Braille instructor who’s taken judo for
a longtime. He can introduce you to his judo masters.”
“Judo, I don’t know what it is, but you say a blind man can learn it.”
“It’s a form of martial art. Sight isn’t required. He says its leverage and developing a
certain mindset, a philosophy of strength and belief in one’s abilities.”
“Please bring him by at your earliest convenience. I want to learn this judo as soon as
possible.”
“Stephen, did someone threaten you?”
“No...just the opposite.”
“Care to explain?”
“No. When can your friend meet me?”
“John, wouldn’t come by your place. You’d go to the studio where he works out. The
lessons aren’t too expensive but they do cost. Should my friend make arrangements with Alex?”
“No, I have money.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Utley said and left.
After he’d gone, Stephen went into the bedroom and pulled the small satchel he stored his
newly acquired funds in from the dresser drawer. He rubbed the stack of paper between his
fingers, still curious how the bills possessed as much value as gold or silver.
At the bank, Alex said the museum offered ten-thousand pounds. He’d also said the
amount would get Stephen many of the things he wanted.
“I will pay Esme from the pounds,” Stephen told Alex, who said that wasn’t necessary.
He and Shakira were happy to pay her but Stephen insisted.
“How much does this amount equal in our time? I have no basis of comparison,” Stephen
had asked.
“Neither do I really. I’m clueless. Maybe, and this is a wild guess, maybe between wars,
King Edward had that in his treasury.”
Stephen laughed at the thought he was rich as the king.
#
Stephen was singing, not along with the Righteous Brothers or other group but along with
himself. Esme doubted he’d hear her knock and just came in.
“Oh, I love that song,” she said and set her laptop, purse, and store bag onto the dining
table.
“Unchained Melody is one of the songs Lady Shakira taught me,” Stephen told her. “She
also taught me, The Way You Look Tonight. You know about Tusk. ”
“Begin again.”
“Which one? Unchained Melody? ”
“All of them.”
He clicked back to the first cut on a CD in the player.
She sat at the table as he began with The Way You Look Tonight. If she didn’t know he
was blind, she’d never think that from the way he moved and gestured. A step here and there, the slight sway, the beckoning with his hands, he acted so comfortable with the words and music. He exuded a confidence in his performance she hadn’t expected. After he finished the three songs
Shakira taught him, he sang the songs from Phantom of the Opera. What talent. Esme could listen to his rich tenor voice all day.
“Those are what I learned so far.”
“Where did you record this?”
“Alex and Shakira converted their second bedroom into a small music studio.”
Esme stood and went over to him. “When will you make the CD for me?”
“I must learn a few more songs to fill up the leftover time on the disc.”
“I can’t wait. Speaking of time, we’d better get started on your lessons. I don’t want to
get into trouble.”
“You won’t. I pay you now.”
The new situation put her in an awkward position. The time they spent together away
from her tutoring lessons was precious. She looked forward to their rides. Except for the sensory overload problem in the pub, both enjoyed the trip to Cheltenham. He might be daffy, but his old world craziness had a charming element. But if he’s the one employing her, it seemed rather
tawdry to let herself be too charmed.
“Why the change?” she asked.
“I don’t want you to worry anymore about losing your job.”
“But where did you—“
“I made a profitable trade.”
“What did—”
He put his hand up. “No more talk of money.”
It took a moment for the penny to drop. When it did, it landed in a flurry of mixed
emotions. The only time she mentioned losing her job was after he tried to kiss her. Did he intend to come on to her and this was his way of removing a major stumbling block? Or, did he and Alex have a previously agreed to arrangement for him to take over the financial details when possible all along?
Never good at sussing out the hidden meaning behind people’s actions, the last option
meant he had limited interest in her, which kind of bummed her out. Part of her liked the idea he went to this trouble to pave the way for another kiss. On the other hand, if he was interested in her, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The ‘be a better person’ part of her knew his
disability shouldn’t matter. In truth, another part of her, maybe even a bigger part, questioned if his blindness was something she wanted to handle on a more personal level and daily. The idea of
someone being that dependent on her...
She refused to worry about it and let the thought fall away. She didn’t have to decide right
now. Wait and see what transpired.
“Do you want to know some other songs I like?” she asked, wanting to think about
something less mentally taxing.
“For another CD, yes. For this first one, I prefer to surprise you.”
“I trust I’ll love them all. While we are on the subject of trust, do you trust me?”
His chest rose as he sucked in a gulp of air, which she didn’t see him let out. “It’s never
good when a woman asks this.”
“What?”
He exhaled. “I’ll speak slower. It’s—”
“You don’t need to speak slower. You need to explain the comment.”
“I’ve been asked this a handful of times in my life. Whenever it was asked by a woman,
things did not work out well for me. Women either do not recognize trouble on sight or pretend
they don’t. Whichever, the result rarely comes in the form of good fortune.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re such a chauvinist and you complain about Tony honking for
me.”
“Cows and sheep, milady.”
“What the deuce do cows and sheep have to do with this conversation?”
“It’s an expression we have. Although they are both livestock, they are not comparable.
My observations about the judgment of women and that Tony person aren’t comparable either.”
She tried to piece together his logic and gave up. “Back to my question. Do you trust me?”
“What do you plan?”
“You have great hair, very lustrous.” She ran her hand down the side of his head. “How
silky it is and I like the smell of the tea tree oil shampoo.” She lifted a large lock. “But the ends are tattered and you’re looking a bit shaggy. I’d like to trim it.”
His shoulders relaxed noticeably and he smiled a smile, not of pleasure but one of relief.
“You may. I’ll sit at the table.”
“Let me get a towel.” She returned and wrapped the towel around his neck, dug the
scissors from her bag and began snipping.
“Do you normally wear your hair to your shoulders because I’d like to shorten it at least an
inch or two.”
After a moment of he
sitation, he said, “All right.”
As she combed his hair, she had second thoughts about whether or not she should ask the
questions that arose from her research.
The day Stephen talked about his friend, Simon Harrow, she decided not to wait for the
weekend to go to the British Museum Library. She’d researched the library online and found one
book that listed Baron Guy Guiscard in relation to the Battle of Poitiers. Like Stephen had told her, Baron Guiscard was killed in the battle. The book stated he’d gone on the campaign with a large company of knights who served him. Unfortunately, the book didn’t list the men by name. It did
reference the fact the baron fought at Crecy ten years earlier. Stephen said he fought alongside Simon and was himself made a knight following that battle. After an exhaustive search, Esme
found a book which listed all the men the Black Prince raised up to knighthood at Crecy. A
Stephen Palmer was listed. Research was one of her strengths and the obscure reference took
her forever to find. How had Stephen managed to not only discover the entry but know what it
said? He didn’t read.
Too curious not to hear his answer, she broached the subject of the past he believed he
came from. “Stephen, did you know that in addition to the chronicles of the Black Prince’s 1356
campaign, events of the 1346 campaign were chronicled too?”
“No,” he said with a shrug.
“Don’t move your head. You’re mentioned by name in the first chronicle as having
received your knighthood.”
“Makes sense. Although I’m a landless knight, the title does grant me a few privileges. A
record of those entitled is required.”
In her head, she planned to go slow and lead up to the question she really wanted to hear
him answer. Patience—that particular virtue skipped over her and she blurted, “How is it, Guy’s death is listed, Simon is buried in what was the family cemetery but you are here?”
He turned toward her just as she slid the scissors around a sizeable chunk of hair. Before
she could stop, four inches of hair fell onto the floor.
“Oops.”
“Oops? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I told you to sit still.”
Stephen ran a quick palm down the back of his head. “Trust me, you said. Do you
Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time Page 19