Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [56]
That night when I presented my mother with the bottle, she asked me warily from where it came, and for what price. When I told her she frowned and shook her head. “You’ve paid dear,” she said. With some eagerness I explained that I had in fact received a better bargain than the others. She looked at me and sighed.
“Men who offer much for little are not worthy of your trust,” she said.
“He wanted nothing but my custom,” I said defiantly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Such generosity does not come without its price,” she said, turning away.
“You will not even try it?” I asked, incredulous. She turned back to me with a pointed look.
“You should not have parted with your money.”
I stared at her, too angry to speak, then snatched up the bottle and left.
Two nights later when I went out to the yard of the Great House to draw water, I heard a commotion in the chicken coop. I rounded the corner just in time to see a figure disappear inside the stable. I stood in the open doorway, struggling to catch a glimpse within the darkness. After a moment I heard a squawk and the beating of wings, and the same quacksalver emerged from the shadows clutching a pullet by its feet.
“I thought to make a purchase, but find my purse is light,” he said. I stared at him in disbelief before replying.
“A light purse is a regrettable affliction,” I said finally. “How much do you have?” He held his free hand up in the air.
“Naught,” he said. Just then the pullet squawked again. I stepped forward and held out my hand for the pullet, and he surrendered it with a grin.
“What happened to your earnings from the fair?” I asked.
“I met with ill fortune,” he said. A gambler, I thought. I should have known.
“Another sorry affliction,” I replied. He smiled and threw up his hands in defeat. And then he waited, and I realized that the next word would have to be mine, for I had caught him red-handed, and thievery of livestock was a punishable offense. We stared at each other for several moments. And then I spoke with as much seriousness as I could muster at the age of seventeen. “Wait here and I will bring you a plate of food.”
When I returned he was lounging on a stack of hay, looking for all the world as if it were his rightful place. I shook my head in wonder as I handed him the wooden platter, piled high with scraps of meat, half a loaf of bread, some pickled onions, and a boiled egg—whatever I could procure from the kitchen without drawing attention.
“You are too generous,” he said with the slightest trace of mockery. I watched him eat in silence for a minute.
“The potion you sold,” I blurted out finally. “What did it consist of?” He stopped chewing and wiped the grease from his mouth with his sleeve.
“Naught that would do harm,” he said slowly.
“And naught that would do benefit,” I replied evenly.
He considered this. “Optimism is a powerful tonic,” he said a last. “And there are many who are sadly lacking in it.” At this I could not help but smile, for I had no doubt that he was right. I stayed until he finished, and when he handed me the empty platter he tipped his hat and bowed.
“You’d best be gone,” I said.
“When you wake, you’ll not remember I was here,” he said with an enigmatic smile. And then I watched as he slipped out of the yard and disappeared in the dusk.
But he was wrong, for when I rose the next morning I was tinged with regret at his departure, for the world seemed to shimmer in his presence. I went about with a melancholy air that day, so much so that my mistress deemed me pale and sickly, and ordered me to retire early. But I was far too restless to do so and walked out into the spring evening, choosing a route that ended up at the stable. When I paused to look inside I was stunned to find him there, asleep upon the same stack of hay in the corner. I approached him slowly and as I did he woke and smiled at me.
“I came to repay my debt,” he said. And then he reached inside his purse and withdrew one and sixpence and held them out to me. I stared at the coins in his palm.
“Where did you get this?” I said