Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [64]
“We’re low on firewood,” she said, “and I saw him earlier with the ax. Perhaps he’s wandered afar in search of the right trees to fell. This deep snow makes for slow going.”
That was a perfectly reasonable explanation, as Max had not the slightest idea what the true state of their wood supply was, seeing as how it was stored outside, under the same low shed that housed the animals in winter. But something seemed false in the way Claudia acted.
“You look nervous, Claudia, dear. What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing at all, sir. Only —”
“Yes?”
“Well, like you, I’m naturally nervous, because it has been some hours since Mr. Schoep’s been gone. Though he’s made his life as a woodcutter, he’s not as young or strong as he was. And there are fell creatures in the woods.”
“You’re offering up a number of good reasons why poor old Gerwulf might be tardy,” Max said. “But now I wonder if you might be providing too many.”
“Never, sir!”
“Just the same, your worry has now become mine. I think I’d best go out and see if some harm has befallen the man.”
“But, sir! You never go out!”
“And I shouldn’t have to. But like you, Claudia, dear old Gerwulf is under my care, and a good shepherd doesn’t neglect his flock. Besides, at least once before the season passes I should try out the new coat you’ve sewn for me over the past two months.”
After Claudia had finished cleaning and mending Max’s performance suit of bright colors, seeing how deft she was with a needle and thread, Max asked about the possibility of a coat to match. Claudia practically leapt at the idea, thinking that a warm coat might inspire him to once again venture outdoors, and doing that might inspire him to move down the road to oppress other homesteads. Claudia only had bits and pieces of cloth to work with, the scraps of a lifetime of sewing not only her own clothes, but finer dresses to sell at market each year. That suited Max’s tastes just fine. A coat of diverse colors and patterns would be a delight.
So Claudia made Max a pied coat of bright yellows and cheerful blue stripes, and silky vermilions, and a dozen shades of verdant. There were bold reds offset by somber browns and amber checkerboards. Fine needlework designs tied it all together in a festive theme. It was a coat like no other, and Max loved it.
Then, in order to further encourage Max to leave, she sewed him a warm liner for his coat that could be buttoned in or removed at need. In his younger days, Gerwulf had been a hunter, as well as a woodcutter. He’d provided Claudia with many a fur pelt from which to devise expensive winter coats for rich townsfolk. Claudia used the many leftover scraps of treated pelts to form the liner, sewing them together any which way. She didn’t worry about matching one type of fur to another, since Max reveled in the chaotic jumble of different shades and napes. Joined with the outer coat, it was a mantle that could keep a man warm on the coldest day.
Claudia made it all to encourage Max to leave, but now she acted as if that was the last thing she wished him to do.
“Don’t worry, old mother. I’ll bring Gerwulf back, sound and safe.”
Claudia couldn’t answer. Max put on his coat, with its fur liner, a pair of the couple’s old fur snow boots, which turned out to fit his feet just fine, and then buckled his sword belt outside the coat. After he left, walking resolutely through the drifts, she tried to keep from weeping, but ultimately failed.
Maybe Husband left in time and is too far ahead to be caught now, she thought. And maybe Max will give up and turn back around, which, considering his past inclinations, seemed entirely likely.
Outside of the cottage, Max was nearly stunned by the intensity of the cold. His first instinct was to turn around immediately and go back in. But then he saw the tracks Gerwulf had left from earlier in the morning. It had snowed all night and not since then, so there was only a single