Black Pearls - Louise Hawes [14]
There were more songs, more secrets over the years, and the laughter always bubbling between us. In the end, though, Mother was too weak even to sing. So I did both our parts, singing first the traditional version of an old favorite, like the one where the queen goes riding "all in green, green, green." Next I would sing my version, which featured all the people in our town—the mayor's wife in boots, boots, boots; Papa in sawdust, dust, dust; and Mother in fur, fur, fur. "And where will I get fur?" she asked me once, smiling gamely from her pillows.
I grinned and whispered in her ear. "You know our good neighbor's little dog, the one that keeps yapping all night long?"
Mother put her hand over her mouth, then laughed until she coughed. And coughed until I ran for water. After, she lay breathing so hard I was afraid for her. I hid my fear, but vowed never to make her laugh again.
I cannot explain how such sad memories made my fingers fairly dance over the wood. Perhaps it was because I knew I could not spend the time on this crutch I had lavished on my others. They had each been fashioned in stolen hours, minutes snatched when Father was at church or delivering furniture or running errands. Always, I had the old crutch to make do with until my new one was ready. Now, though, unless I wanted to be carried every where, I needed to finish today.
When the armrest was done, I found a pad of fleece to cushion it. I had just put it aside to work on a chest, when Father burst through the door. He was smiling, noisy and flushed with triumph. I tried to hide the disappointment that swamped me when the place was filled with his smell, his great arms sweeping across the room.
"You should have seen the crowd," he said, glancing only briefly at the chest before me. I had put just one coat of varnish on it, and the brass fittings still lay scattered on the table. I was certain he would rage about how little I had accomplished, but instead he gossiped on.
"It seems I am not the only one who wants to beat some brains into that muttonhead of a mayor! The council chambers were full to bursting. The whole town is fed up with the rats."
"Did you tell them about the footstool?" I asked.
"Yes, but that was nothing next to some of the others' stories." He hung up his cap and jacket, then sat across from me, reaching by habit for something to work on. As he grabbed a chest, I pulled my bad leg away from his glance, hiding it under the bench.
"The miller says the vermin have left him nothing to grind. And one fräulein told how her baby's fingers will not stop bleeding since those infernal pests bit its hand while it slept."
I said nothing, but put the top of my unfinished crutch under the bench as well. I had not shaped the shaft yet, so I would have to swing myself from bench to table to bed for the rest of the day. Father was sure to find new work for us after the little boxes were done.
"I thought we would have to wait all day," Father went on, "while everyone told his tale. I guess the mayor did, too, because suddenly he jabbed one chubby finger into the air and called for silence. 'Good folk,' he said, 'I have heard enough.' He leaned over and whispered to a member of the council, then raised that silly finger again. 'I will hire the piper tomorrow.'
"There surely never was such clapping and shouting. You'd think the old fool was bringing Our Savior to town. He promised to send for the