by Jay Barnson
Mike started to speak, and Kathleen held up a staying hand. “I can make up my own mind, the both of you. I can see in his eyes that he is a good man, who will treat me fairly and with kindness. That is more than I can say about most of the lads I know hereabouts. I know you might think me a fool, Papa, but I know what I see, and I would be honored to be his wife.”
Toby's heart nearly burst from his chest. She would take him as he was, despite the rough clothes and scraggly beard. She was the first one to see behind the mask of poverty to what he was inside.
“Are you sure, girl?” Mike asked softly.
“Aye. I am perfectly sure.”
Toby smiled gently. “I would be the honored one if you become my bride, Miss Kathleen.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a ring. He remembered it on his mother's hand—how she loved it so. She would take it off and show him its secrets.
He could hear her voice in his head. ‘It's my prized possession, Toby. Your Pa won it for me from a traveling show. Isn't it the most cunning thing?’ When she was sick, it got too loose for her to wear. She told Pa to put it away for Toby, so he could give it to his sweetheart when he became a man. Toby had found it among his father's things when he was sorting out the house. It was a symbol to him of all a marriage should be—full of love and laughter like it had been when Ma was alive.
“I have carried this with me through thick and thin. It was my mother's.” He twisted the ring, and it broke into two interconnected parts. “It symbolizes two hearts as one.” He twisted it again, and the rings separated. “I give to you, half of my heart.” He slipped one half onto her delicate finger.
Then, he turned to Mike. “I thank you for your hospitality, and the honor of your daughter's hand, but I must be moving on.” He couldn't stay beneath the same roof with her or else he would tell her the entire story and lose the challenge just when he received a reason to win it. He couldn't risk losing his soul when he had so very much to gain.
To Kathleen, he promised, “I'll be back for you in just over three years time. That you might know it is I, I'll carry the other half of the ring close to my heart. When you see it again, you'll know I've come for to fetch you.” He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “If you ain't waiting, I'll understand, but the hope that you are will be a true comfort to me until I return.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining with tears. “Must you go?”
“It cannot be helped.”
“Then let me come with you!”
Toby shook his shaggy head. “No, you can't. Don't worry. The time will pass more swiftly than you think.” He hoped that last was true.
The rest of his challenge seemed simultaneously to drag and fly by. Everywhere he went, he shared the Toymaker’s gold, redeeming the wicked thoughts and deeds he’d done before he met his Kathleen—his angel. He spent many long hours turning his half of the ring over in his hand and wondering if she had found another love in his absence.
He traveled far and wide on the airships that girdled the globe, sometimes working as crew to learn more of their operation. He made suggestions for improvements that earned him the respect of his comrades, even if they did sleep downwind.
He saw the fakirs of India and the dojos of Japan. He rode a camel in Arabia and piloted a steamboat on the Mississippi.
Chester started to look as disreputable as he did as his brass tarnished and gears began to age. Toby tried to replace the worn parts, but even his gold wasn't enough to buy him the custom bits from the merchants that he required.
When Chester lost his broken leg completely in Prague, Toby was beside himself. He stepped to the back door of a clockmaker's shop and banged upon it until it opened.
“What do you want?” asked the surly man who cracked open the door. “We do not give alms to beggars here.”
“I'm no beggar,” Toby replied, pride wounded. “I need to buy materials for a delicate mechanoid. I thought perhaps—”
“Get away from my door before I call the law on you.”
“I have money.” He pulled out a handful of gold.
The man's eyes widened. “A thief as well!” He made a grab for Toby's arm, as if to hold him for the law.
Toby only escaped by throwing the gold in the man's face and taking to his heels as fast as he might go. Chester had to make do with more wire and a decided list to his off-side.
On the whole, however, Toby's days, though lonely, were uneventful. Each one was marked off as a careful tally in his battered notebook. Every night before he went to sleep, wherever he was, he pulled out his half of the ring and whispered to it all the adventures of the day. Sometimes, he wrote postcards to Kathleen, but it didn't feel as personal as telling it all to the ring.
He found himself in Paris at the waning of the sixth year. It was the Christmas season once more, and he stood shivering outside the great cathedral of Notre Dame. Light streamed through the stained glass windows to stain the snow outside the church. The music within clawed at his heart. He longed to join the service. Christmas mass at Notre Dame—one of the most sacred events in the world. Almost against his will, his feet climbed the outer stairway. His hand was on the door—a step inside, and he could make things right with God . . . but lose his soul in the process. Would it be worth it? What of Kathleen?
As he hesitated, the other door opened, and a stooped priest stepped out onto the landing. “My son! It is freezing out here. Come inside and warm yourself.”
Toby was tempted, but something in the other’s eyes stopped him. The man looked like no one he knew, but the eyes were familiar. They gleamed with a cynicism he had seen before.
“Lad, you will catch your death. It is fate that brings you to our door on this holy night. Step inside.” The priest gestured him inside with a sly smile.
Toby stepped back instead. Now, he was sure. This was a test—the Toymaker . . . he was trying to trick Toby into losing the bet.
A few more months, and he would be free to tour all the cathedrals of the world, soul intact. He looked down at his hand clutching the handle of the door. It was filthy. His nails curved like talons. The cuff of his shirt was frayed into string.
He had gone through so much, and Kathleen waited for him in Ireland. If he gave in now, they would have no future. No. He must hold on.
“No, Father,” he emphasized the title to let the Toymaker know he had seen through the ruse. “I have pressing business.” He turned and plodded away from the church. It was not the time to give in. He was so close to the end.
Chester's brass grew progressively duller, as Toby's clothing deteriorated even more—anyone who had known him as a boy would have been hard pressed to recognize him now. Even the wire was beginning to fail as a repair. Toby didn't know what to do . . . until he remembered the clockmaker in Switzerland who had made Heidi's doll.
He hurried to the Alps—arriving in spring this time, when the flowers spread their fragrant blanket everywhere one looked. He went first to the clockmaker.
“May I help you?” asked the proprietor at the sound of the bell over the door. When he turned from the clock he was hanging, Toby almost laughed aloud at the horror that ran across his face at the sight of his “customer.”
“You may not remember me, Herr Schultz, but I need your help.” He sat Chester on the counter, and then a stack of golden coins.
At the sight of the coins, Herr Schultz nodded. “Ah, yes—the eccentric American. What can I do for you this time?”
Now, Toby did laugh, long and hard. It felt good. Wiping tears from his eyes, he outlined his problem.
“Easily fixed,” assured Herr Schultz. “I learned a great deal working out the mechanics for your doll. I will make him as good as new. Give me three days.”
Toby shook the man's hand and headed up the mountain to see Heidi and Grandfather again. It made his heart glad to be welcomed back to the cabin as if he had left only yesterday.
“Look, Toby,” Heidi said happily, winding the key project
ing from her doll's back. “She dances just as beautifully as the day she arrived!”
He watched the doll whirl and leap about the room. It was a marvelous creature. Chester was in good hands.
He enjoyed his time on the mountain, but the time of his release from the challenge was nearing daily. He could almost feel the sands in his cosmic hourglass running down. Every breath brought him closer to Kathleen. Would she still be waiting?
The day he was to pick up his mechanoid, he set Heidi upon his knee. “I must be leaving today, Heidi, and I don't know if I will ever be back this way. You’ll take care of Grandfather for me, won't you?”
“I promise,” said the child solemnly. “You must go home to your sweetheart now, mustn't you?”
“How did you know?”
“I heard you whispering by the fire last night, when you were laying down to sleep. Is she pretty, your Kathleen?”
“As pretty as all the stars above the mountain.” He stood her on her feet and rose to his.
“I am happy for you, Toby. Your eyes are shining again. Shall I be someone's sweetheart someday?”
“I am sure you shall,” he answered, kissing the top of her head in farewell.
Herr Schultz was waiting when he went down to the village to retrieve Chester. The clockmaker had removed both of Chester's battleworn legs and replaced them with sturdy telescoping limbs that gave him greater mobility and adaptability.
“Wonderful, sir!” Toby left a second stack of coins on the counter when he took Chester away.
With only six days until the end of the challenge, Toby eagerly boarded an airship for Ireland. Nothing else would do. He needed to be close to her, to embrace her as himself as soon as he was able.
The night his cursed life would end, he bedded down in a forest clearing remarkably like that in which he had met the devil all those years before. He sat by the fire, back to a log, and waited, his carving knife in hand. Waiting.
It was nearly dawn when he heard the rustling of someone approaching through the undergrowth.
Toby set the queen he had been whittling down beside the other chess pieces. It was amazing how productive an anxious man could be. He lacked only three pieces for the set.
“’Bout time you got here,” he called to the Toymaker as that gentleman limped into the firelight.
“You aren't my only concern this evening,” grunted the Devil in reply. “I must say, I didn't expect to see you again.”
“You thought you'd get my soul, but I'm hardier stock than that.”
“So I see.” The Toymaker lowered himself to a seat with a sigh. “I fully expected the cold would get you if the loneliness didn't, but you were never really lonely, were you? You managed to make friends despite this.” He waved a hand at Toby's unkempt appearance. “You beat me fair and square.” He began to slip out of Toby's old coat. “Now, just give me back my jacket, and I'll be on my way.”
“Not so fast,” Toby barked. “You ain't leaving me in this condition.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are going to bathe and shave me proper. I'll not go another moment wrapped in this filth that was your making.”
The Toymaker narrowed his eyes at Toby. “I see. Steel beneath the mud, is there? Oh, all right. I'll do as you ask.”
There was a warm spring nearby, and Toby led the way to it. Seven years of grime took a while to wash away, but as the sun rose, it touched upon a different man than it had set upon.
Toby was clean-shaven once more, and his hair fit his head like a sleek cap. His clothes had fallen to rags, but the Toymaker replaced them with clean and simple garments. Toby retrieved his ring from his trousers and burned the rags in the fire. Finally, he handed the Toymaker back the magical jacket with its pockets of never-ending treasure.
“There you go. We're square.”
“I believe I promised you riches,” countered the Toymaker.
“I don't need riches, though I would like to give that dancer to my girl someday.”
The Toymaker reached into the pocket of his coat where it was kept and handed Toby the little brass box. “You are an unusual man, Tobias Kincaid.”
“No,” Toby answered with a grin. “I happen every day.”
The Toymaker gave a rueful chuckle and vanished into the shadows.
Toby watched the place where he had gone for awhile. He had to give the Devil his due. The Toymaker had made him a promise, and he'd made good on it.
Sighing, Toby turned toward Dublin, determined to claim the bride he'd waited for these three long years. He thrust his hands in his pockets as he walked. Something was in the bottom of the left pocket—he stopped and pulled out his hand. There, in his palm, were fifteen gold coins. And when he stopped to put them into Chester's belly for safe-keeping, he found the mechanoid full to the brim with bright disks.
The Toymaker had fulfilled his promise of riches despite Toby's protests.
Well, then, Mike would get a bigger house, and the girls pretty things to wear. He'd help Mary Frances and Bridget find the husbands they were searching for, but not until he was legally wed to Kathleen.
He strode up to the house at midday. In the unforgiving sunlight, with no haze of lager about it, it looked even more ramshackle and decrepit. He half-feared a good strong knock would send it to the ground around the inhabitants, but he rapped upon the door regardless.
Mary Frances opened the door, the sour expression on her face evaporating at the sight of him. “May I help you, sir?” she asked breathlessly, batting her lashes like a schoolgirl flirt.
“I've come for Kathleen,” Toby answered. He strained to see beyond her into the dark interior. “Is she here?”
“She's out on an errand at the moment.” He could hear the curiosity in her voice—who was this stranger, and why would he be seeking Kathleen?
“Is your father here?”
“Pa died a year ago.” Mary Frances daubed her eyes with the corner of the apron, but her misery rang insincere. “’Tis just the three of us girls now.”
“I'm sorry for your loss,” he murmured, and he was as sincere as she was false. He had looked forward to spending more time with Mike. He would see he had a fine granite tombstone at his head—it was the least he could do for his friend. “What time do you expect Kathleen home?”
“It should be any moment. Would you care to wait inside?”
She stepped back from the doorway, gesturing him into the house.
Toby allowed her to escort him to the best chair beside the fire. She brought him tea and fussed over him like a mother, though she was not yet thirty.
As he was about to refuse a third cup of weak tea, the front door flew open and banged against the wall with enough force to rattle the crockery on the sideboard. “I've had all I can take of Mr. McGuire's hands. The minute his wife's back is turned, they’re all over me!” Bridget stormed into the room, tossing her hat on the table as she came. “Ten shillings a month is not worth this frustration!”
She froze at the sight of Toby. “Who is this then?” Her voice changed from a whining growl to a purr.
“He says he's come to see Kathleen,” Mary Frances answered with a sniff.
“Whatever would you want with a plain little thing like that?” Bridget lowered herself to the arm of his chair. “You deserve someone so much better.” She began to run her finger up and down his sleeve.
Toby felt the reins of his temper begin to slip from his grasp. Neither of these girls had given him the time of day when he was ragged and filthy and needed a kind word. Now that he was once again himself, they would not leave him be.
He jumped to his feet, fully prepared to give them what they deserved—
. . . When the door opened again, and he saw her standing there.
She was dressed head to toe in black, as neither of the others were, mourning her fatherand—dared he hope?—the bridegroom who had left her behind. She gave a start when she saw there was a stranger in the room. “I'm sorry I was gone
so long,” she began, hanging her cloak and hat neatly on their pegs. “The market was a mad house.” She handed Mary Frances a paper-wrapped parcel.
Her head cocked, as her eyes searched Toby's face. “Do I know you?” she breathed.
“I hope so,” replied Toby, his voice catching in his throat. He reached into the breast pocket of his new suit and pulled out his half of the ring.
She raised her hand, her own ring still circling her finger. It was shaking.
Then, she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tight. “I knew you would come back to me.”
Toby bent and kissed her bright hair. “That was the only thing that kept me alive these three years gone—the thought you were awaiting me here.”
He took her hand and slipped the ring off her finger.
“But—” Kathleen protested, her face crumpling.
“Shh . . .” Toby twisted the rings back together and slipped the joint result back onto her hand. “The ring is restored. Whole. We are together now, as it should and always will be.”
“Yes . . .”
“Tobias,” he whispered.
“Yes, Toby.”
He sealed it with another kiss.
They were married soon after, and Toby brought his new bride home to America where they landed in New York City on their very own airship—a sleek little runabout with room for five. Now that he had seen the world, he had no desire to return to Tennessee.
He also brought along Mary Frances and Bridget, thrilled to be going to the America of their dreams. Through the auspices of an agent,he had purchased a brownstone, with spare rooms for the older sisters until they found accommodations—or husbands—of their own. Privately, he expected them to be lifelong residents.
When they arrived on the threshold of the new house, he swept Kathleen into his arms.
“Put me down!” she ordered, breathless with laughter.
“No. Not until I've carried you across proper.” And he did.
Setting her on her own feet in the hallway, he looked around in satisfaction. “Isn't it a beaut?”
