Page 8 of Caroline Saves the Blacksmith
Mrs. Heeley was a proud old woman who insisted on paying or bartering for any help William provided. Which was why, when he noticed her roof was leaking during a recent visit, William had planned to do the repairs when she left town. The widow would be none the wiser, and he could take care of her.
He had purchased slate tiles the week before, so all he needed to do was collect his tools and find his ladder. Usually, he would have an apprentice assist him with such work, but he had sent everyone home early yesterday, so they would have time to travel to their family homes for the holiday.
As he walked along the street, there were few people, except for the inn near his house, where the sound of merriment spilled out onto the deserted street. William did not mind his solitude, but the holidays always reminded him of his cousin.
They had been of an age and spent their entire youth together. After William’s parents died, he had joined his cousin’s family in their home. Uncle Albert had apprenticed him in the arts of the blacksmith, and he and Charles had run amok during the holidays, drinking ale and flirting with girls.
Now Charles was dead and his grieving parents had retired to Cornwall. William had taken over their smithy and thrown himself into work to bury the pain of his cousin’s absence. Pain he was responsible for.
Charles would never have signed up to fight Boney’s army without William’s persuasion.
Since taking over the smithy, William’s obsession with work had tripled the size of the business. He could keep his uncle and aunt in comfort, which was only fair considering that he had stolen their only child from their lives with his youthful indiscretion.
“It will be a lark! We shall spill French blood and protect the liberty of England!”
Young men never understood the gruesome reality of war until it was too late. He and Charles had been out of their depth, green soldiers answering the call of duty after Napoleon had escaped and raised his army anew.
William shook his head as if to fling the memories back into the recesses of his mind. Reaching Mrs. Heeley’s, he walked around back to lay down the heavy tiles and went in search of his tools. Then he dug up an old ladder he kept in the back and went to lean it against the honeyed stone cottage.
Lifting the bag of tiles, he hoisted them over his shoulder and climbed. About midway up the two-story building, one of the rungs creaked in protest at his weight combined with that of the slate, and he made a mental note to avoid it on the way down.
William had not used the ladder in some time, and obviously it required attention, so he would need to take it to the smithy and repair the rung before he put it away. For now, he needed to get on with repairing the roof, as there was no telling how long it would take. He might need the next two days to complete the work, so there was no time to dillydally.
As the sun slowly set, William worked. He pulled up old tiles and threw them down into the small slip of a garden at the back. Then he fitted the replacement tiles in place. The repairs were not extensive, and he thought he could complete them today. That would free him to work on drawing up a lock design he had been contemplating. Between Christmas and Boxing Day, he might even have the time to make it and test it out.
Sitting back, he stretched his aching shoulders and looked up to enjoy the sunset.
A light flurry of snow descended from the heavens as he took in the picturesque view. The slate roofs, and chimneys bellowing cheerful smoke, gave way to rolling hills blanketed in the colors of winter, while the sky glowered a moody iron gray in the gathering darkness.
To the west, the sun emanated a weak, yellow light as it dipped over the horizon and recalled to his mind the last time he had sat on a roof like this with his cousin at his side.
It had been the year of 1815, mere weeks before they had signed up to fight Boney on the Continent.
Charles was a year younger than him and several inches shorter, but he and William could have been brothers for their similarity in coloring and physical bearing. His cousin, who had followed William into every ill-conceived situation, had spoken of how he planned to marry the lass he was courting, now that the cousins were both journeymen in their own right.
They had been next door, repairing Uncle Albert’s roof after a violent storm. William could almost feel the presence of his cousin at his side now, remembering how they had discussed their hopes and dreams for the future. They pondered over the women they might marry, laughing about the rambunctious children they might have, given their misspent youth, and one day sharing the smithy as business partners when Uncle Albert retired.
William closed his eyes, willing the memory away. Charles had been dead these five years because of William’s persuasion, and only work buried the pain of that loss and guilt.
When he opened his lids once more, he realized the snow was coming down harder. It was time to go home and occupy himself with drawing the lock. The work would help him keep his memories at bay. It was simply the holidays making him sentimental. If he felt lonely running his smithy, he had only himself to blame for persuading Charles to go to war, or else his cousin would still be here to work with him.
William put his tools away in the battered valise he brought them in and gingerly made his way back to the ladder. Snowflakes were melting as they hit the slate tiles that had been warmed in the afternoon sun, causing water to slick the roof. Fortunately, his work on the roof was now done, because if the snow continued, doing repairs on Christmas Day would have been impossible.
He carefully put his foot on the wooden ladder and began his descent.
When he reached the midway point, about the height of a second floor, a loud crack echoed against the walls of the stone cottages, and William felt the forgotten rung give out under his boot.
Blazes!
William fell, his ankle caught in the ladder which fell with him as he hit the ground hard on his back, knocking the air right out of his lungs.
* * *
When Caroline lookedup from her embroidery, it was to find that the light from the back window had failed. The sun was setting, and snow was falling, casting the room in a gray light.
Her shop was located amongst other merchants, so the world was absolutely quiet.
Too quiet.
