Mr. Wicker's Window

by Carley Dawson

  CHAPTER 9

  In the kitchen, Chris leaned against the corner of the passage andkitchen wall to watch Becky at her tasks. How different from thecompact white kitchen they had at home! And yet there was a cosyfeeling about the huge room in front of him with its ruddy copperutensils, tub-size wicker basket of vegetables, steaming pots hungover the fire, and the browning row of four chickens on a revolvingspit, that gave out a friendliness and welcome modern kitchens did nothave. Becky finally paused in her work long enough to glance out fromunder her hat at Chris.

  "Now then, me lad! 'Tis not yet time to eat. That young belly of yourstakes a bit of filling, and no mistake! Be off now, and do you not goa-bothering Becky for a bit. I will soon call you when all's done."

  Chris would have liked to go outside and put his hand on the handle ofthe back door, when a momentary confusion overtook him. He wondered ifin going out he would step back into his own time before he hadcompleted the work Mr. Wicker wanted him to do, and suddenly unsure,turned away regretfully. Not knowing where else to go, he climbed thestairs to his bedroom.

  Becky had made his bed, and the little room looked spruce. Chriswalked into one of the niches made by the projecting windows, pushedup the sash, and leaned perilously out.

  This was to be the first of many such times that Chris was to lean outso, king of this new world spread out below him as far as the eyecould reach. A vast and absorbing panorama lay beneath and beyond him.Immediately below turned Water Street, narrow and muddy, while thebroad wharves and wooden storehouses spaced themselves at intervalsalong the shore. Beyond, the sailing ships of all kinds that he hadadmired that morning pointed their bowsprits along the docks or swungat anchor along the river.

  Chris looked down at the many vessels. He could not tell one fromanother, but names began to drift into his mind from some forgottentrip to a museum, or from the pages of a book read long ago. Frigate,schooner, brigantine. Good ships all. The creak of rigging sounded inthe names, the harsh whip of salty winds, and the heart-lifting sightof white sails cutting across blue water. Chris leaned on his arms,his eyes shining. If he should ever go to sea in a sailing ship, whata day that would be! And then he remembered that he must do so if hewere ever to obtain the fabulous Jewel Tree. All at once the dangersof such a quest were terrifying, and Chris turned his thoughts awayfrom them to look at the view.

  Where the city of Washington lay in his time were only woods andmarshlands. No Monument, no Lincoln Memorial, no houses. Lying in theriver like a great green ship, he could see the island which had oncebelonged to his ancestor, George Mason. Once? Now it probably stilldid. He could make out figures moving at the bank of it, and a ferrypushing off from the shore.

  What fun this was! Chris gave a chuckle out loud. What a chance--tosee what once had been! He was enjoying himself increasingly as heglanced down at the activity along the riverbanks.

  So close to noon, the sailors and stevedores had vanished to eat theirmeal, and passers-by were few. The street was nearly deserted whenalong the hardened muddy ruts of Water Street Chris heard a wailingcry: "Pity the blind! Pity the pore blind!" The boy looked down, andthe drop below him to the road made his head swim, until he refused tothink of it. He saw below him a grotesque figure making its way,turning its head toward the houses as it made its cry.

  It was a hunchbacked man with a wooden peg leg and a crutch. Tiedcrisscross over his snarled hair were two black eye patches. He wasunshaven and in a rare state of filth, his coat green with age andspeckled with greasy stains, the stocking on his one good legwrinkling down into his shoe, and his hands gnarled with long-nailedfingers. Chris gave an involuntary shudder, but the sight of the manheld his gaze, for he had never seen anyone quite like him before.

  As the cripple advanced slowly past the few houses of Water Street,here and there a window was opened and a coin tossed out, which thecripple held his cap for, or grubbed with his filthy hands where heheard it fall. Watching his progress, Chris became fascinated with theaccuracy with which the blind man caught the coins or found them inthe road. After a passing gentleman on horseback had tossed a silverpiece in his direction, the hunchback made off around the corner ofthe stables beyond Mr. Wicker's garden.

  The boy hung out even farther and craned his neck to see what theblind man would do, for from his determined gait he seemed to have apurpose. Feeling along the side of the barn to guide himself, when hecame to the back of it the cripple darted around, and then, to Chris'samazement, lifted the corner of one black eye patch and peered outfrom under it! Seeing no one, and thinking himself unobserved, thecripple nonchalantly pushed both eye patches onto his forehead, fishedin his pocket, and began examining the silver piece he had justretrieved. It appeared to satisfy his scrutiny, turn it over and overthough he did, but to be quite sure of its value he bit tentatively onit with his back teeth. This seemed to be the final test, for thecripple grinned from ear to ear, disclosing even fewer teeth thanMaster Cilley.

  Next, the hunchback sat down upon a heap of straw, laying his crutchbeside him, and with a quick movement, wriggled himself out of notonly his jacket but his humpback too!

  Chris could scarcely believe his eyes, but he now saw that a falsehump had been cleverly sewn into the jacket from inside. The crippleuntied a patch that formed a trap door in the hump, and putting hishand inside the hollow, drew from its hiding place in the false hump asmall bag tied at the neck with a string. Then, as Chris watched, hecounted the contents of the bag, pieces of money that winked in thesun, and added to his horde those pieces he had begged that morning.The bag was then retied, replaced, and the jacket and hump put back onits wearer with evident satisfaction.

  But the cripple had not yet completed his work. Holding the silverpiece between the blackened stubs of his front teeth, with difficultyhe managed to hoist his peg leg over his good knee. Then, afterdarting many a sly look all about him, he unstrapped the wooden pegoff the stump of his leg.

  First, from the interior of the stump he pulled out an assortment ofrags used for stuffing, and to cushion the weight of his stump. Then,after spreading a torn bandanna handkerchief near him, he tipped upthe stump and from its hollow peg, out rained a shower of coins!

  Chris looked, and looked again. Gold and silver money flashed on thecrumpled handkerchief, and adding to it the last silver piece he hadheld in his teeth, the loathsome cripple stirred the heap around andaround with one dirty forefinger, his mouth stretched in a cackle ofgreed.

  After a while he caught up the coins, counting them over not once butmany times, and at last let them fall slowly one by one into thehollow peg of his stump, strapping it back securely. Finally, afterlooking about with his face close to the ground to make sure that nosmallest coin had escaped him, the cripple replaced his eye patchesand heaved himself up with his crutch under his arm, turning to makehis way once more toward the docks and the ships. His wailing crylagged behind him like a cur dog: "Pity the blind! Pity the porecrippled blind!" Yet Chris now noticed that his head was tilted backto enable him to see under the patches as he went.

  The boy was straining to see him out of sight when a resounding bellowfrom Becky Boozer let him know that dinner was ready. Hastily shuttingthe window and running downstairs, Chris could think of only onething.

  "Becky!" he cried, bursting out at the bottom of the stairs, "Who isthe blind man that just went by--the hunchback?"

  Becky never even turned from the plate she was preparing. "Oh, him?That would be Simon Gosler, one of Claggett Chew's men. How he can bea sailor beats me, but Claggett Chew has hired him for years, plaguetake him! Now," and she came toward the sunny table with a beamingsmile, "eat up, young man, or I shall think my cooking does not pleaseyou!"

  Chris hurriedly set about proving his appreciation.