Gossips and Grapevines

UNFINISHED WORK IN PROGRESS

“Hello. Where is the giant?”

Herman glanced up from the folding table he was wrestling with. The last leg finally snapped into place, pinching his pinky finger. He bit back a word that was best not said in front of the little girl looking up at him.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“The giant. Where is he? Does he work for you?” The child asked again, between bites of a caramel apple. The sticky brown liquid dripped down the stick and onto the front of her frilly, blue dress.

Herman was glad he hadn’t finished setting up his display yet. He’d only been a traveling peddler for a few months now, but he had already seen first hand the dangers children posed to the value of his goods. Their sticky fingers, sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively, were always troublesome.

“No, sorry. It’s just me and Mary over there.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the old mare who was tied to a tree. Her brown muzzle slowly pulling mouthfuls of hay from a net hanging on a nearby branch. The horse’s tail swatted lazily at the summer flies buzzing around her harness.

The little girl glared up at him. “Oh. Well I don’t see what all the fuss was about. You’re not any taller than my Papa.”

The child turned and stomped off, leaving Herman staring after her, totally confused. He shook his head. What a strange child.

It was mid morning and the small town square of Riverside was just starting to fill with villagers going about their day. Herman was setting up on the edge of town just as his predecessor had taught him to do. He had traveled for a few months with Ernest, before purchasing the horse and cart from the retiring merchant, and had learned his route and the tricks of the trade.

The larger cities had proper markets with room for carts to park and permanent stalls and enough business to warrant staying a few days at a time. These smaller places though, it was best to just set up out of the way and only remain for a day. Word spread quickly in a town this size and a visitor was a novelty. If someone was planning to be a customer then they would show up before the day’s end.

Herman unhooked and lowered the hinged side of his cart. Items were already neatly hung from little pegs screwed into the wood divider that separated his small living space from the storage area. He hopped inside and started unloading boxes and placing them on the table.

He’d decided to continue in Ernest’s footsteps, since the old man had done so well for himself, and didn’t specialize in any one thing. Instead he carried with him a variety of goods. Everything from vegetable seeds, to hand blown glass bottles, to bee’s wax candles and a variety of remedies could be found in his display. He even had some pricier items like books and jewelry, which he hung a neatly printed notice about, but kept tucked under his bed inside his living space for safety.

The morning went well. Several villagers stopped by. He sold out completely of his iron nails and made a note to pick up more when he found them at a discount. One pocket was already heavy with coin when a man with a mule in tow stopped in front of his table. The mule was limping badly and favoring its right front leg.

“Hello! I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“Of course! I have a wide variety of goods for sale, as you can see.” Herman gestured at the table with his hand. “And, if you happen to need something I don’t have at the moment, I can always source what you are looking for and bring it back around in about two months time.”

“Oh no, no. I’m not looking to buy anything for myself.” The man shook his head. “I was wondering if you could help me with my mule. You see, he’s been lame for a week now, but the blacksmith can’t seem to find anything wrong with him.”

“Oh, poor creature.” Herman frowned at the mule, dropping his salesman act, genuine concern wrinkling his features. He’d never been allowed to keep a pet as a child, but he’d always loved animals and hated to see them suffer.

“I wish I could help you out, but my understanding of animal medicine is largely limited to grooming and feeding Mary over there. I do have a few ointments you might try, but they are all made for humans, so I can’t guarantee they will have any positive effect.”

“Can’t you just ask him what’s wrong? I’m willing to pay.”

“Ask who?” Herman questioned.

“My mule.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, sir, but I uh…I can’t help you with that.” Herman stuttered, caught off guard by the strange request.

The man sighed heavily. “Figures. I guess you can only talk to things with wings then?” He shrugged. “Make sense, I suppose. Never heard a mule make a sound anything like a bird singing.”

The man sighed again and patted the mule’s neck. “Well thank you for your time. Safe travels.”

“Uh, no problem. Have a good day.”

The man turned and left, the mule limping after him. Herman watched him go. Why in the world would a grown man believe he could talk to animals?

Several more villagers stopped by to make purchases and before Herman knew it, the sun was high in the sky above him and his stomach was telling him it was time for lunch. He’d noticed a bakery not too far off from where he was parked. Herman figured he could buy something to eat there and keep his cart in sight until he got back with his meal.

Just as he was leaving though, he saw an elderly woman come out of the bakery and hurry up the road towards him. She carried a small pie covered in a linen cloth in one hand and waved at him with the other. He nodded his head, acknowledging her, and returned to stand behind his table.

“Hello!” The old woman was a bit breathless from rushing over.

“Good day! What can I get for you?”

“You’re Ernest’s replacement right?”

“Yes, mam.”

“Did he tell you about the mail?”

“Oh! Yes! I’ve got an entire box full of letters bound for different towns.”

“I’m Mrs. Fuller. I’m expecting a letter from my daughter, Sarah Tenny.”

“Just a moment.” Herman hopped up into his living compartments and pulled a box out from under the bed. He rifled through it looking for one baring the names she had given him.

Ernest had a habit of collecting mail and delivering it as he made his rounds. He didn’t charge for the service. Herman had told him he thought he should, but Ernest said it created goodwill with the customers, and they often gave him small gifts in return anyway.

Herman wasn’t overjoyed by this extra inherited task, but it was proving impossible to drop. Every time he delivered one letter, the recipient always had another one to give him, and he was just too polite to not take it. He found the letter marked for Mrs. Fuller. He jumped back out of the cart and handed it over to her. Sure enough she pulled another envelope from her apron pocket.

“This is for my son. He lives in Lakeshore. Could you please see that he gets it?”

Herman took the envelope and forced a smile. How could he tell an old woman no? “Of course, mam.”

The woman grinned. “I am so glad you replaced Ernest. When he told me he was retiring I was so worried he’d sell the cart to some grouch who’d refuse the mail and then I’d have no way to keep in touch with my kids!”

She held out the pie to him. “Here, take this. I baked it just for you.”

Herman smiled, for real this time, and took the pie. It was still warm from the oven. “Thank you! I was just coming to get some lunch.”

The old woman grinned again. “I think you’ll find it has all your favorite things in it.” She winked at him and then rushed back off down the road towards the bakery.

Herman sat down behind his table, his stomach rumbling loudly. He pulled the cloth off the pie and was immediately assaulted by the strong stench of garlic, onions, and…blueberries?”

Cutting into the pie confirmed the contents were exactly what his nose thought they were. He loved blueberries, but with garlic and onions? Was this some sort of weird local cuisine? Whatever it was, he found that his appetite was now long gone.

That night as Herman lay in his little bed in the back of his cart, listening to Mary fidgeting outside, he wondered about the odd villagers he had encountered that day. Two others had shown up expecting to see a giant, as the little girl had. And a couple had brought their cow by wanting to know why she was no longer giving milk.

Then someone tried to pay him with a bag full of pottery shards! The man had become angry when Herman wouldn’t accept the broken pieces in lieu of coins. He’d stormed off ranting about how city folk thought their broken pots were worth more then simple farming folk.

Herman had been to Riverside once before while he was still working with Ernest. No one had struck him as particularly odd or memorable back then. Maybe his father had been right. Maybe he should have just stayed in the city and became a doctor like him, but Herman dreamed of traveling. Seeing new places and meeting new people, but all this weirdness was just a little too much for him.

He was glad he would be leaving in the morning.

*****

5 days earlier…

Herman stood behind his table greeting potential customers as they walked past. He’d rented a space for several days in the large outdoor market of the city of Northpass. The space was just wide enough for him to park his cart and place his table out in front. He’d had to put Mary up at a local stables.

The space to his left had been unoccupied, until today. An elderly man spread a threadbare quilt out across the cobblestones and began to unpack baskets from a much larger basket he had lugged in on his back. Herman watched in fascination as the man produced more and more baskets from the larger one. He must have very carefully and skillfully packed them all in there. It was like watching a child with nesting dolls.

The old man noticed Herman staring at him and laughed. “Name’s Alfred. These are my wife’s work. She makes ‘em in the evenings. Covers the house in ‘em. When there gets to be too many of ‘em she sends me out to sell ‘em.”

“I’m Herman. Those are some very nice baskets, sir. Tightly woven and beautiful designs. Your wife is very skilled.”

Alfred huffed. He shook out what appeared to be a bundle of sticks. The sticks slid apart, stretching a piece of canvas between them to make a seat. “I’m a carpenter by trade. Make plenty of money. But the wife insists, so here I am for the day.”

The old man shambled over to Herman and stuck out a wrinkled hand. Herman took it and gave it a firm shake.