by Jason Vail
Stephen wound around the tables to the big one at the back of the hall by the enormous stone fireplace, itself a great curiosity because most houses didn’t have one, where a long log was burning slowly and the heat was the best. Edith Wistwode and two of the servant girls were in the midst of laying out supper: steaming cabbage soup with large chunks of pork floating in it, the aroma enough to set the mouth-watering halfway across the hall; bowls of peas and fried apples; meat pies giving off their own steam and delicious aromas; fresh bread with pounds of butter and cheese to go with it; and a large ham. It was a celebration feast to welcome the travelers back on what had been at least a half-successful journey.
“When was the last time you had a supper like that?” Stephen asked John.
“Never,” he said.
As they sat down, the inn’s front door opened to admit someone who wasn’t tall enough to be seen from their vantage place at the back. The floorboards thumped as Harry made his way around some of the occupied tables, such a common sight here that no one paid him any special attention. He pulled himself up to the vacant space beside Gilbert while Edith settled on the other side. Young Gill, their son, promptly reached for the bread, but halted when his mother snapped, “Stop that! You know prayers come first. Gilbert?”
“Yes, dear.” He clasped his hands and bowed his head.
The others copied him, except for Young Gill, who fidgeted, and John, who stared into space.
Gilbert said a quick prayer, and Edith said, “All right. Go ahead.”
The feast began in earnest and the conversation flowed along with the ale, but avoided the topic of what happened to John and how he was rescued.
Halfway through supper, a figure came out of the dimness at the front of the inn, where candles and lamps had not yet been lighted against the falling night.
John was the first to recognize it. “Mum!” he cried.
He slipped off his bench and ran to her.
Megge knelt and they embraced.
“My baby!” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”
John burst into tears and she held him.
“Mum!” he sobbed. “Why did you leave me with those men?”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Megge said. “It was a terrible mistake. Mum was drunk! Before she knew it, you and Theo were gone!”
“Mum! Don’t leave me again!” John cried.
“I won’t baby! I promise!”
Harry let himself down from the table and swung toward them.
“John, look at me,” Harry said. “I said, look at me.”
When John pulled his face away from Megge’s breast, Harry said, “Just so you know, your mother didn’t lose you by some accident. She sold you and Theo to those men. If you think she won’t sell you again and that she’s going to take care of you, you’re badly mistaken.”
“Who is this?” John asked Megge. “He claims he’s my father!”
Megge hesitated, then nodded. “He is.”
“You said he was dead,” John said.
“I thought he was, baby!” Megge said. “They told me he was going to die! His legs were crushed and mangled beyond repair! I couldn’t bear to watch him die.”
“So, you are my father,” John said.
“Like I said, what’s left of me is,” Harry said.
Joan came to Harry’s side and knelt by him. “What Harry wants to say is that he wants you to stay with him. He can give you a roof, a home and all you can eat, as long as you want it. You’ll not have to go hungry with your mother.”
The part about going hungry was a stab in the dark, but it was a good one, for Megge flinched.
“I did the best I could,” Megge said. “I was a widow, without means, but I did all I could for my boys.”
“But he says you sold us,” John said.
Megge took John’s face in her hands. “I didn’t, baby! I swear!”
“Then how did Theo and I end up at the mine? You did! Didn’t you!”
Megge wiped a tear from her cheek. She choked, and said, “I’m sorry, baby. It was the only thing I could think of to keep you safe. I couldn’t feed you, but I thought they could.”
“They killed Theo,” John said. “No one ever survived working that mine.”
“I didn’t know! I didn’t know that’s where they’d take you!” Megge cried. “It won’t happen again!”
“Are you and papa getting back together?” John asked.
“No, love,” Megge said. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Where will we live, then?”
“I don’t know. We’ll manage, don’t you worry about that.”
Stephen rose from his place and came around Harry to stand before Megge.
“I’ll buy the boy from you,” he said. “Two pounds in hard coin, payable right now.”
Avarice struggled with composure on Megge’s face. “Right … now?”
Megge looked from John to Stephen, Stephen to John and back again. Her hands clasped and unclasped spasmodically. She nodded.
“Come , then,” Stephen said, walking by her.
When John cried, “Mum!” then tried to grasp Megge’s hand, Stephen ordered, “Gilbert! Joan! Take care of him!”
Stephen gripped Megge’s elbow and marched her out of the inn.
Supper was over by the time Stephen returned. The table had been cleared except for Stephen’s bowl of soup, a bowl with sliced pork, and some bread.
“It’s gone cold, I’m afraid,” Gilbert said as Stephen took his seat.
Stephen shrugged.
“That was an enormous sum to pay,” Gilbert said as Stephen chewed on some pork. “Why so much?”
“It was worth it to be rid of her,” Stephen said. But the truth was, it did something to assuage the guilt he felt for letting his temper get the better of him and having tried to save the money by not offering to buy John from Cihric in the first place. He had risked failure because he had lost his head and from a latent desire to hold onto a few shillings.
“You’re a free man now,” Stephen said to John, who sat beside Harry with a stony, rebellious expression. “I release you.”
“Does this mean I can go back to mum if I want?” John asked.
“No, I’ll come after you if you do.”
“Then I’m not free.”
“All right, then, almost free. Since you’re only almost free, your job will be to help Joan around the house and to study to be a woodcarver, like your father.”
Harry let out a sob. Whether it was at this or for some other reason was not clear. He had been crying silently since Stephen had returned. Stephen had tried not to notice, since Harry crying in full view of everyone was such an extraordinary and embarrassing event that he did not want to draw any more attention to it than was already the case.
“Is he alright?” Stephen whispered to Gilbert about Harry.
“Tears of happiness,” Edith answered for him. “He’s going to be a father.”
“But he’s already a father,” Stephen said.
“A father again,” Edith said.
“Oh.” Stephen glanced quickly at Harry and Joan beside him, who had tears on her face as well. “I see. I didn’t know.”
“She’s been keeping it a secret until Harry returned,” Edith said.
“Shouldn’t we be celebrating — that and John’s liberation?” Stephen asked. “Bring out your best wine!”
“I suppose I should,” Edith said with a smile.
She headed toward the buttery behind the great fireplace.
“Did you really pay two pounds for me?” John asked.
“Yes,” Stephen said, reaching for the bread.
“You were robbed.”
“You are so like your father. Life will be amusing with the two of you around,” Stephen said.
He felt, not happy exactly, but more relieved, as if sensing for the first time in quite a while that things could be set right with enough sacrifice and struggle. Tomorrow he would ride out to Hal
ton Priors to see what miracles he and Ida could work there if she hadn’t already got things tidied up. He might have a week to work these miracles and then it would be off to join Edward and the king at Oxford.
Because there was still more to do. The problem of Oliver de Thottenham lay before him. It was only forty miles from Oxford to Northampton. Perhaps his fund of miracles would not be exhausted when he got there.
