by Laura Locke
With a sickening crunch, the wagon finally gave way, its wheels rolling off to lie in the grass at its side. Like a huge beached whale that drew its last breath, the wagon surrendered to the mud that lay beneath. Richard was helpless to do anything other than stand and stare. Thus, he stood when the rain stopped and still when the sun began to shine upon the wreckage of his only home and wherewithal with which to take care of himself.
Richard was fortunate in that the major components he needed to work were themselves impervious to the flames, being constructed from iron. He walked about the disaster in his bare feet, mindful of the shards of burning refuse that still lay smoking in the mud. As far as he could factor, most likely he’d rolled in his exhausted sleep, causing the tarp to get too close to the heated furnace. The tarp’s fabric was well oiled against the rain and likely even attracted the fire. In an ironic symbol, the forge stood whole and unharmed, its belly still filled with burning coals. The anvil was likewise unharmed, as were his mallet heads, however their handles had been made of wood. He knew he could fashion new ones, for he had helped his father do so many times when money was scarce but handles needed.
His food, clothing, and of course the wagon, were a total loss. He picked up boards that were half burnt and laid the remainder inside the forge to keep the fire going, the steam from their dampness hissing at him in anger. Now that the sun had risen, and the storm had passed, his need for warmth was far more critical than a dry place to lie down.
Having not slept the entire night, Richard checked on the horses and then using the metal coal shovel he carried with him, he dug down into the sand at the side of the creek until he had a hole that was dry and large enough for him to curl into. Finally, he closed his eyes and finally he slept. It was the sleep of the guilty.
Chapter 7
Once again it was the agitation of his horses that awakened him. It took some moments for him to gather his wits about him and when he did, the first thing that filled his view was that of the giant, black-haired Rufus astride the massive horse.
“What hell has found you now?” Rufus roared. There was no sympathy upon his face. In fact, if anything, he smirked.
“My wagon caught fire and burned. I’ve lost everything but that which was made from metal,” Richard told him, nodding toward the misshapen pile of ashes nearby.
“Well, I can see that, you fool. How did it come to catch fire?”
Richard shrugged. “I can only guess that when I shifted position in my sleep, the tarp came too close to the firebox. It doesn’t matter now; I have little left to my name.”
“This is no time to cry, young Wellchester. From where I sit, I see two sturdy horses with harness, nearly the makings of a blacksmithy and one well-trained, but unfathomable man with a knack for shoeing horses who would not turn witness against the very man who had robbed him. Pray tell me, why did you not point the finger at me?”
“I really do not know, but if I had, I would be whole, my horses and myself well-fed and dry, my pocket filled with my own gold coins again and my fortunes looking up as I shod an army’s worth of forces. Obviously, I am a fool.”
Rufus climbed down from his giant horse, its nostrils steaming as it looked so filled with energy as to take flight at any moment. The other men did the same as Rufus said, “Well, ye may be stupid, and ye may not. Like as not, I would have found a way to break free unharmed and I can sure you that either my men or all of us would have come after you as the only living witness to tie us to the deeds. So, young Wellchester, it would seem you are not so stupid after all. That said, my men and I are in your debt.”
“A strange choice of words from a thief to his victim, wouldn’t you say?” Richard joked weakly.
“Perhaps. I am a believer in the fates, young Richard, and I believe that she has smiled upon ye, even if ye do not yet see it.”
“Is that so? Perhaps you might explain it to me, then?” Although he’d slept a good many hours, Richard could feel exhaustion from his loss beginning to seep through his body. He literally had nowhere to sit or lie down except for the ground.
“Ye gods, but you are a whiner,” Rufus swore and there was a chuckle from among his men. “Did you not hear me? We are in your debt. Had you but identified me and your purse that I carried, I would be swinging from some tree at this moment. Instead, I find it is you who has found misfortune and therefore it is up to me to see you through it. Never let it be said that a McCarthy denied his responsibility.”
“McCarthy is your clan?” Richard wanted to know.
“Aye, and there are many who would fill your pockets with gold if they knew I was the laird.”
Richard attempted to look appropriately impressed, however his own loss was, at that moment, the only thing he could think of.
“Men, it would seem that young Wellchester here, is still a bit wet behind the ears, pardon the pun. I believe it is incumbent upon us to help him out. Tie up the horses, Ian, prepare us a meal and the rest of you salvage what tools you may from that pile of ashes and let us get started.”
Richard’s mouth dropped open as he watched the men jump to their laird’s orders. He stood, confounded.
Rufus spoke up. “I cannot help notice, young Wellchester, that ye are not a small lad and a strong back would be quite handy right about now. I also cannot help but notice that ye have a way with tools and it would seem that yer fortune lies in the cooperation we are willing to offer. It would not be unseemly for ye to chip in and give us a hand.”
“Oh, of course. I just found it difficult to believe what you are preparing to do.”
“We are not preparing to do anything until we’ve a plan. Come, let us sit down and share a meal and form our plan.”
Richard was dumbfounded at the amiable, and yet impressive attitude of the laird. The day before, he had thought the man to be a terror and now the man sat at his side, willing to help him regain his way of life. Richard was struck anew with the realization that the Scots were not necessarily a bad people. They simply did not wish to be under the reign of King George. In all sincerity, Richard could not fault them for that. Not that he would admit it, for it could mean his life. For that matter, sharing a meal with a thief who narrowly escaped his hanging could also prove hazardous.
Once their meal was consumed, Richard felt much better and was enthusiastic in the planning. It was decided, after looking over the remnants of the original wagon, that they could, for the most part, replace it and build a new one.
Richard still owned two handsaws, a hatchet, files and punches with nails, in addition to his hammers and a variety of other tools. The first person was assigned dragging out the remaining pieces that had survived from the fire. Richard was tasked with refitting the tools with new wooden handles – a task that was easy for him. Rufus and the others set off on horseback to surrounding farms to buy the things they lacked. They returned later with some hewn boards, four wheels and the mechanics needed to harness the horses. One farmer’s wife had contributed two warm quilts and another a small store of food. People were generous when the harvest was good.
Rufus tossed the leather bag of coins back at Richard. “It’s all there,” he said, “except for what we had to spend for what we couldn’t steal.”
Richard looked up with a look of horrified chagrin. “You don’t mean you stole some of this?”
Rufus roared with laughter. “Rest easy, young lad. Yer conscience is clean. Everything was properly paid for,” he said. “One way or another,” he muttered beneath his breath and while Richard heard him, he didn’t question it. Some things were better left unknown.
The group spent the rest of that day and a good part of the next putting together a new wagon. Richard had helped to repair many wagon fittings through his father’s business, but he’d never built one from scratch. Surprisingly, Malik was a carpenter and knew what he was doing. He naturally was put in charge of the design and gave general orders, always being respectful whenever he asked the laird to work. It became o
bvious to Richard that Rufus commanded respect more due to his status, than his size, and he found that admirable.
By the morning of the third day, Richard was back in business. A brand new, handsome wagon stood in the stream of sunlight through the trees. This one was even improved—Malik had built a bunk that could be raised or removed and stored on the floor. This was to be Richard’s home, after all.
“Now all ye need is to go into town and buy another tarp, although I might suggest that ye pull the wagon a bit further away from the forge next time,” he teased.
Richard was very moved at the efforts of his new friends, and that was truly how he felt about them. He didn’t care about their politics, nor did they care about his—they found the secret to becoming close and that was to have the other man’s back.
“You have no idea how much I appreciate all of you,” Richard said, trying to express his appreciation. His arms and back pained him tremendously and the additional work hadn’t helped the pain. He longed for a cool place to lie until he healed.
“Now, do not go on getting all teary-eyed like a lass,” Rufus pushed him by the shoulder. “Ye got yer wagon, some of yer money back and while I’m guessing His Majesty’s men in red will no longer prove to be yer best customers, ye should be doing something else, anyway. There are no lassies out here waitin’ to fall into yer arms. Get ye into a town and find one, have some bairns and get a wee house. That’s what makes life worth livin’, young Wellchester. Hope ye never have to fight for what a man is rightfully due, as we have.”
“You’re a wise and fair man, Rufus. I am glad to call you my friend.”
“Aye, we feel the same way. Off ye go now, Richard.”
Richard climbed up onto the new wagon’s seat, the basket of eggs once again at his feet and took the reins. “I won’t forget you,” he said in Rufus’ direction and then shook the reins and looked straight ahead without looking back.
He had made fine friends and learned never to judge a man by his looks. What Rufus had suggested didn’t sound like such a bad idea. With that in mind, Richard headed south, the quilts draped over his shoulders until he could acquire a new coat. The winter winds were on their way.
Chapter 8
After several hours on the road, Richard was ready to find somewhere he could rest a day or two. His burns pained him terribly and needed looking after. He still hadn’t purchased a new tarp. He approached the village of Leister and as soon as the road curved to reveal the tree-lined main street, he recognized that his luck had turned. He drove through the village and noted a wonderful mix of new and old construction, which told him the village was growing. There was a newly-built mercantile, inn with tavern, church, a dressmaker/tailor, schoolhouse and not one sign of a farrier. He knew he’d found his new home.
He discovered a place at the far end of the village where he could tie up his wagon and leapt to the street, straightening his clothes and tucking in his shirt. It was cold and his shirt was in tatters. He headed straightaway for the mercantile, hoping to find some ready-made clothing.
A melodic jingle of the bell over the door announced his entrance. It was a beautiful shop—something new and interesting everywhere he looked. The sign over the entrance identified he was in Barrington’s. He liked the atmosphere; it was far nicer than anything he’d seen in Tymington. He noticed on one wall there was a doorway cut out and another sign over that noting it was Burroughs Apothecary and Dr. Burroughs’ office. That was another good sign as physicians tended to choose healthy, prospering communities in which to build their practices.
“Might I help you, sir?” came a soft woman’s voice from the corner of the shop.
Richard walked toward the voice and as he rounded one of the displays, he saw before him a diminutive young woman with coal black hair and sparkling blue eyes. What struck him most was that she had the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. It fit perfectly on her lovely face and the lower lip was full and pouty. He felt a stirring and was struck by the sudden realization that there was an entire side of life about which he’d forgotten.
She was small, but perfectly proportioned. The dark blue gown, trimmed in lace that she wore echoed the blue of her merry eyes. Although her manner suggested nothing condescending, there was a flicker of sympathy on her countenance.
“Good day,” he said, although his face was flushed with embarrassment at the state of his clothing. “Yes, I would appreciate your guidance. I’m afraid I’ve had a mishap while traveling here. I had a fire at camp and sustained some burns, as well as losing my coat and obviously a good portion of my shirt. I apologize for my appearance.”
“I see nothing wrong with your appearance that a new set of clothes would not resolve.” She smiled sweetly, and he wondered if she understood the full power of her words. She came closer, carrying a measuring tape. She stepped behind him, and the delicate scent of her perfume filled the air. She was as innocent and tenderly beautiful as a young doe sprinting through the forest. “Oh dear, you have been injured,” she said, noting the singed holes on the back of his shirt and the flesh beneath them. “I think it best if we see to your wounds first. Where are you staying?”
“In my wagon, at the moment, although I also need to purchase a sizeable tarp from you for its cover. I’ve only just arrived in the village. I am a farrier by trade.”
“I see. Are you planning to stay in Leister?” She had stepped around and faced him now. Her face was flushed with the embarrassment of having been so forward.
He nodded. “I believe I will. I’ve been looking for a healthy, prosperous community in which to settle. It seems I may have found it. Is there somewhere here in town that I might find temporary lodging?” He knew it would be unseemly to sleep in his wagon’s bed while tied up in full view of the villagers.
“Yes, indeed there is. You may have noticed the inn as you came into town. There is a lovely widowed lady who runs it. Her name is Sarah Newman and if you will tell her that I sent you, I’m sure she can find suitable accommodations for you.”
“And who shall I say referred me?” He looked down at her, his topaz eyes glinting with the inviting warmth that the Tymington ladies had found so magnetic.
“My name is Eliza Barrington. My father owns this shop, as well as the inn that I mentioned. Sarah is caretaker of the inn for my father,” she explained.
“It is indeed my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Barrington. My name is Richard Wellchester and as I mentioned I’m a farrier. I was apprenticed to my father, Ira Wellchester in Tymington, which if you do not know, lies to the north of here. The time had come for me to seek my own fortune. Thus, here I am.”
“I see, Mr. Wellchester. It is also a pleasure to make your acquaintance. But before we continue, I fear you should step next door and consult with Dr. Burroughs. Your wounds trouble me and appear in need of professional attention. After which, I suggest that you seek out Sarah and I will have a new set of clothing sent over for you. I’m sure you would appreciate a hot bath in a comfortable room while you recuperate?”
He loved the melodic tone of her voice. It made him feel as though he wanted to please her, no matter what it took. However, his funds were limited so it would be necessary to set himself up in his business almost immediately. He had to agree that her plan made sense and sounded very inviting, so he nodded. “Thank you, Miss Barrington. I shall do as you suggest, and I hope to find you here when I return.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps not. My father owns this and several other enterprises. As it happened, the shopkeeper who worked here for him took ill and passed away last week. I’ve stepped in temporarily until my father can find a replacement for him. At that time, you will see me here only rarely, when I come in to shop myself.”
“I see. Well, again, I think you for your time and generous information. I do hope to see you again soon.” Richard nodded and turned away, heading for the doorway that led to the doctors examining room.
As Eliza had feared, the doctor confirm
ed that the wounds on his back were far more serious than those on his arms. Richard explained the nature of what happened. He suspected that the fire had burned through the tarp as he lay beneath, causing the skin of his back to receive the more serious damage. “Will they heal?”
“I believe so, but it is imperative that these wounds remain clean and that a salve be applied on a regular basis. Where are your accommodations?”
“Ms. Barrington was kind enough to direct me to the inn in town. I hope to stay there until I can locate a more permanent situation. I am a farrier and have my wagon filled with my equipment. I simply lack a location in which to open my own establishment.”
Dr. Burroughs nodded. He was a handsome man, perhaps four or five years older than Richard himself. He carried himself well, with the dignity that spoke of having been descended from a prosperous family. “I’ll clean and dress your wounds now, Mr. Wellchester. I suggest that you bathe once you’re settled at the inn as cleanliness is imperative when one has open wounds such as these. If you will stop by my office daily, I will monitor your wounds and reapply salve. I believe with that appropriate care, they may heal, not only safely but without scarring.”
“That is, indeed, good news.”
The doctor ministered to Richard’s burns and then Richard took his leave. He stopped in the mercantile again long enough to purchase the tarp from Eliza. She smiled generously at him, but said little more than was necessary to conclude the transaction.
Richard left then to seek out Sarah Newman at the inn. He mentioned Eliza’s name as she requested, at which time Sarah showed him to a small, but comfortably appointed room toward the back of the building. He could tell she realized he had limited funds by his appearance, but she also sought to take utilizes recommendations seriously. She quoted Richard a rate which was half of the norm and he agreed without delay.