Another Whole Nother Story Page 6

  “No thanks,” said Dizzy.

  “Well, how about a coat?” Nellie tossed the ax handle aside and pulled the jacket from the clothesline. She held it up to Sammy’s chest. “Looks about your size, I’d say.”

  “It’s missing an arm,” said Sammy.

  “Vest. Sorry, I meant to say vest. And, if you act now, I’ll throw in one bonus sleeve free of charge as well as these lovely knickers for the lady.” Nellie snatched the long underwear from the line and thrust them toward Juanita, who responded with a polite but firm, “No, gracias.”

  “Listen,” said Jibby. “All we need is a boat to take us down the river to Boston Harbor.”

  “Well, then you’ve come to the right place,” said Nellie. She walked down to the waterline where the boats awaited, gently thumping up against one another like the sound of drums, muffled and distant. Jibby and the others followed. “I’ve got three and they’re all priced right.”

  “Yes,” said Jibby, sizing up the selection. “But are they seaworthy?”

  “Well, you never said anything about the sea. You said you needed a boat to get you down the river.”

  “Fine,” said Jibby, his patience all but expired. “Are they river worthy?”

  “Absolutely,” said Nellie. “They’re all one hundred percent airtight. If any of them sink, I’ll gladly refund your money … if you survive, of course. Except for the blue one. I make no guarantees on that one. But I’ll gladly throw in this free baler.” She bent forward and pulled a small cast-iron pot from the weeds, its wooden handle missing.

  “How much for the gray one?” asked Jibby. It appeared to be the least patched and the one most likely to take them directly to Boston Harbor without an unscheduled stopover at the bottom of the river.

  Crazy Nellie thought this over. She rubbed her chin and turned her head side to side, her loose, open jaw waggling freely. “Well, let’s see. I can give it to you for one pound fifty or one Spanish dollar.”

  “Fine,” said Jibby, digging into his pocket.

  “Now, will you be needing any extra oars?” asked Nellie.

  “And why would we need more than two oars?” inquired Jibby.

  “Well, this boat only comes with one. But for an additional fee of twenty pence, you get two oars and this free doorknob.” Nellie grabbed a rusted iron doorknob from the junk-laden table.

  “Why in the name of Godfried’s sword would we need a doorknob?” barked Jibby.

  “Good point,” said Nellie. “So just the oar then.”

  She outfitted Jibby and his crew with two oars and, after one last attempt to sell them a broken saw blade for half price, she sent them on their way down the river with a wave and a grin so full of metal that it must have been almost impossible for her to face in any direction other than magnetic north.

  For Mr. Cheeseman and his children, strolling through the tiny town of Shattuckton, with its cobblestone streets and colonial buildings, was like going back in time. Wait a minute. That’s right, they were back in time. Hmm. Well, regardless, just because they actually were back in time doesn’t mean it couldn’t also feel like going back in time. Right?

  Anyway, young Teddy Roosevelt agreed. “Wow,” he said. “Look at all the brand-new old-fashioned buildings.” There were indeed brand-new old-fashioned buildings all around, though, unlike our downtowns of today, there was far more space between the buildings. There was a customs house made of stone, a large town meeting hall, a small inn called an ordinary, a church all in white, and several houses of varying sizes.

  “So this is the main drag,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Quite a bit different than what we’re used to. No fast-food restaurants, no coffee shops.”

  “Hey, Dad,” said Penny. “Why do they call the main street of a town the main drag, anyway?”

  “Good question. I’m not sure.”

  “I know why,” said Teddy. “Before they invented the wheel, they had to drag everything down the street.”

  “You mean all those streets they built in anticipation of the wheel being invented?” said Penny.

  “Exactly,” said Teddy.

  “Interesting theory,” said Mr. Cheeseman with a wink toward Penny. Chip had missed out on the entire conversation. He was somewhere else entirely, lost in thought.

  “Chip?” asked Mr. Cheeseman. “You okay?”

  “Hmm?”

  Mr. Cheeseman smiled and placed his hand on Chip’s shoulder. “She’s a very nice girl.”

  “Yeah,” said Chip, partially snapping out of his love-induced haze.

  “I’ll never forget the day I met your mom,” said Ethan, suddenly lost in thoughts of his own. “It was my junior year at Southwestern North Dakota State. There was a dance at the Student Union. She was sitting all alone. I wondered how someone so incredibly attractive could be sitting by herself.” Mr. Cheeseman’s eyes became increasingly sparkly as he related the story. “So I approached her table and asked her to dance. And, of course, she said no.”

  “She said no?” Teddy gasped.

  “She said she couldn’t dance because she was watching her friend’s purse. So you know what I did?”

  “What?” asked Penny.

  “I grabbed that purse and ran out of the building.”

  The children squealed in disbelief. They could never in a million years have imagined their straightlaced father doing something so lawless and reckless. After all, this was a man who stopped at yellow lights just to be safe—unless, of course, he was being pursued by evil villains.

  “You stole the purse?” said Chip. “What did Mom do?”

  “She yelled, ‘Stop, thief!’ Then she followed me outside, just as I’d hoped she would. I told her I’d give her the purse back if she’d agree to go out with me.”

  “I bet I know what happened next,” said Teddy. “She said yes.”

  “Actually, what happened next was that I was wrestled to the ground by campus security. When they finally took their knees off my chest and let me up, then she said yes. We were married nine months later.”

  “Wow,” said Penny. “What a beautiful story.”

  “Yeah,” Teddy agreed. “Tell us again how they tackled you.”

  Mr. Cheeseman retold the story as they continued down the main drag, where, thanks to the invention of the wheel, nothing had been dragged for years. Teddy decided that this might be a good time to explore the many features of his new cell phone. He tested the ring tone, assuming that Jibby would have it set to “Yo-Ho-Ho and a Bottle of Rum” or “What Can We Do with a Drunken Sailor?” Pressing the appropriate button, he was slightly disappointed when the phone played Jibby’s favorite song, “The Girl from Ipanema.”

  Next he tried the memo feature, hitting the record button and speaking into the phone. “Greetings, people of Earth,” he said in an authoritative, robotic tone. “This is Captain Fabulous. Fear not, for I am here to protect you.” He hit the button again and played back the message, obviously quite pleased with the results.

  “I know it’s fun to play with, Teddy,” said Mr. Cheeseman, “but it’s probably best to keep that thing hidden while we’re here. You’ll have plenty of time to use it tomorrow while I repair the LVR.” He spoke quietly, from the side of his mouth, the way someone is liable to speak when he knows he is being watched.

  Standing beneath the eaves of a large brick house were two plump, red-cheeked women clad in long black dresses and black waistcoats. I must admit their names escape me, so I will refer to them as Appalling and Outrageous, being that those seemed to be their favorite words. Before they caught sight of Mr. Cheeseman and the children they had been deeply immersed in an absolutely riveting conversation about sewing.

  “Just look at that,” sneered Appalling, peering over her glasses at Mr. Cheeseman and his children. “Their style of dress. They’re quite obviously not from around here. Appalling.”

  “Outrageous.”

  As they passed by the women, Teddy chose that very moment to blow a very large pink bubble.
He sucked the flavorless gum back into his mouth with a pop, sending the ladies into a veritable tizzy.

  “Did you see that? Some type of evil spirit lurched forward from that boy’s mouth! Appalling!”

  “Outrageous.”

  “And what manner of beast is that?” said Appalling, having never before seen a hairless fox terrier. “Looks like a jackal direct from the depths of Hades.”

  Mr. Cheeseman turned and waved to the women and offered a pleasant hello. The children smiled and waved and Rat-Face Roy said, “Hola, señoritas.”

  The señoritas were not amused. In fact, as you might have guessed, they were appalled and outraged. “My word,” muttered Appalling, gently petting her hair to see that it remained in place after all the outrage. “That thing on the child’s hand looks like the devil himself. Just look at those bright pink eyes. And he speaks in some strange tongue. No, those people are definitely not from around here.”

  “I think we should send for Mr. Bon Mot immediately,” said Outrageous.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Appalling. “Jacques Bon Mot will take care of this situation quite nicely, I believe.”

  The cold stares from the women did not go unnoticed by Mr. Cheeseman. “Teddy,” he said, when they were beyond earshot. “Let’s keep the bubble blowing to a minimum while we’re here, shall we? And maybe Rat-Face Roy could take a vow of silence … for a couple of days.”

  “But he’s just being friendly,” Teddy protested.

  “Which is more than I can say for some people,” said Chip.

  “I can see now why Big doesn’t care much for towns,” said Penny, “if all of them are this unfriendly.”

  Before they could see the blacksmith’s shop they could hear it, iron clanking against iron in rhythmic strokes. The doors, the size of those found on a barn, were wide open, inviting in the afternoon sun. Standing in the center of the dirt floor in front of a charcoal-burning furnace was a man in a sweat- and dirt-soaked white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His weathered face featured a horrible scowl and a dark brown beard shaped like a hammock, the same as many of the men they had passed along the way. Hammock-shaped beards appeared to be the style of the day.

  Mr. Cheeseman and his children stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching as the man used a small sledgehammer to pound flat a sheet of heated metal against an anvil. In the corner was a wooden bin full of the blacksmith’s raw materials: long rods, about four feet long, made of iron, bronze, and copper, waiting to be heated, pounded, and reshaped into household goods and farming implements or small hooks for saddles and clothing.

  “He doesn’t look very friendly,” said Teddy.

  “Big did say he’s not as mean as he looks,” said Chip.

  “I would hope not,” said Penny.

  Only when the man stopped to wipe the perspiration from his forehead did he notice that he had visitors. He said nothing but nodded, perhaps unsure if they were customers or merely onlookers. It wasn’t uncommon for young children to stand and watch the blacksmith work while their parents visited with friends or tended to business in town.

  “Hello, Mr. Lumley?” said Mr. Cheeseman, walking slowly toward the scowly faced man.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Lumley. “What can I do for you?” He set down the hammer, then took a dirty cloth from a nearby table and wiped his face dry.

  “I’m looking to buy some bronze,” said Mr. Cheeseman, figuring it would be the metal best suited for reattaching the roof of the LVR.

  Mr. Lumley’s ordinary scowl became a confused scowl. Normally people came to him with items to repair or with requests for specific objects like a new garden hoe, a set of horseshoes, or an iron skillet. No one ever came in looking for raw materials. “Some bronze what?” he asked.

  Ethan realized his request must seem odd to Mr. Lumley. Torch welding had not yet been invented and the need for solder would not be something familiar to a seventeenth-century blacksmith. Still, he hoped Mr. Lumley was not necessarily the suspicious or inquisitive type. “Just the rods,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “About four of them should do the trick.”

  Mr. Lumley nodded slowly, then looked at the bin and seemed to be counting the rods. “I can sell you some, but you’ll have to wait a fortnight until the ship from England arrives with more. Right now all I have is spoken for. The governor is building a big fancy house and I’ve been charged with making the hinges and the knobs for all the doors.”

  This was not what Mr. Cheeseman and his children wanted to hear. The thought of having to hang out in this town for two weeks or more while they waited for repair parts for the LVR was in no way appealing. Their second option would be to journey to Boston and hope to find a blacksmith with a larger cache of metals, but Mr. Cheeseman did not want to leave so much distance between themselves and their only means of getting home. Mr. Lumley grabbed his hammer and prepared to resume his pounding when he noticed that Mr. Cheeseman and the children had not moved. “Was there something else?” he asked.

  “No,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Well, yes, actually. You see, we were hoping … what I mean is, we really need those rods. We’d be happy to pay you more than they’re worth. Double, let’s say.” Mr. Cheeseman removed a handful of coins from his pocket.

  “Double?” said Mr. Lumley, eyeing the money.

  “It’s just that it’s rather urgent. A matter of life and death, you might say.”

  Mr. Lumley sized up his customers. He couldn’t imagine how a few bronze rods might figure into a life and death situation, but Mr. Cheeseman seemed an honest man. “You know,” he said, “it just occurred to me that it might do the governor some good to have to wait for something for a change. I’ll sell you the rods, but on one condition.”

  “Sure,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “What’s that?”

  “You pay me what they’re worth and not one penny more.”

  Mr. Cheeseman smiled. The children smiled. Even Rat-Face Roy smiled and successfully fought off the urge to chime in with an enthusiastic “Muchas gracias.”

  “Big was right,” said Teddy. “You’re not nearly as mean as you look.” Penny was quick but Teddy was quicker and deftly stepped aside, narrowly avoiding a backhand to the chest. He could not, however, escape her look of disgust.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lumley,” said Chip. “You’ll have to excuse our little brother. He tends to speak without thinking.”

  “No harm done,” said the blacksmith, though it was clear by the slight change in the scowl on his face that at least a little harm had been done. “Big said I looked mean, did she?”

  “Well,” said Penny, choosing her words carefully. “You do tend to—how should I put this?—frown a lot.” Mr. Lumley considered this for a moment.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose that’s true. I just can’t help it, though. It’s this blasted headache.” He gave his forehead a good squeeze as if hoping to force out the pain. “I’ve had it so long now I can’t remember what it’s like not to have it. If only I knew what the problem was.”

  “Have you been to a doctor?” asked Ethan.

  “Nearest doctor’s in Boston,” said Mr. Lumley. “Doctor Dignan. Went to see him once and he suggested drilling holes in my skull.”

  “He wanted to drill holes in your skull?” gasped Penny.

  “To ease the pressure. Anyway I told him I needed holes in my skull like I need a hole in the head.”

  Mr. Cheeseman and the children laughed. This turned Mr. Lumley’s ordinary scowl into a slightly smiley one. Chip leaned close to his father. “Dad,” he whispered. “What about the Empathizer?”

  Though Mr. Cheeseman was no doctor, he was a brilliant twenty-first-century scientist and probably knew a great deal more about medicine than most doctors of the seventeenth century. The Empathizer might allow him to diagnose Mr. Lumley’s condition. At the same time, however, he wondered what a simple blacksmith from 1668 might think of his battery-operated device. He decided the risk of raising suspicion was overshadowed by the possibility
of curing Mr. Lumley’s chronic discomfort. He pulled the Empathizer from his pocket.

  “I’m not a doctor,” began Mr. Cheeseman. “But I have this … tool … that might help us find out what’s wrong with your head.”

  Mr. Lumley looked at the Empathizer and, as you might expect from a blacksmith, said, “Strange. What kind of metal is that?”

  “It’s plastic,” said Teddy, this time unable to avoid a backhanded smack to the chest.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Cheeseman quickly. “It’s a rare type of metal … called plastic. Comes from up north.” He first placed the suction cup on his own head to assure Mr. Lumley that the device was perfectly safe; much safer than, let’s say, having holes drilled in your skull. “Now,” he said, “show me exactly where it hurts.”

  “Right here,” said Mr. Lumley, indicating pretty much his entire forehead. Mr. Cheeseman affixed the second suction cup to his patient’s forehead, then turned on the Empathizer. Immediately Mr. Cheeseman’s face adopted the same scowl worn by Mr. Lumley.

  “Wow,” he said. “That is painful. But it’s also familiar.” Mr. Cheeseman turned off the Empathizer and disconnected the suction cups.

  “Didn’t work,” said Mr. Lumley with resignation. “Head still hurts.”

  “It sure does,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “It hurts the way my head hurts when I forget to wear my glasses for any amount of time. Have you ever been to an eye doctor?’

  “They have a doctor just for eyes?”

  “Well, some places they do. Here.” Mr. Cheeseman removed his glasses and handed them to Mr. Lumley. “Try these.” Mr. Lumley slid the glasses onto his face and almost immediately his eyes lost their squint and the scowl slowly faded until it had all but disappeared. He rubbed his head, perhaps to make sure it was still there.

  “Well I’ll be,” he said. “You mean all this time I just needed to get me some spectacles?”

  “Could be,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Like I said, I’m no doctor, but chronic eye strain is a common cause of headaches. And the light in here isn’t the best.”

  Mr. Lumley nodded in agreement and right then decided that once he had completed work on the doorknobs and hinges for the governor’s mansion, he would travel to Boston to be fitted with a pair of proper spectacles by a man who had once offered to drill holes in his skull. He removed the glasses and handed them back to Mr. Cheeseman. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. “You and that magical black box of yours.”