Franko, “It is about time for a watering don’t you think?”
“I heard Alison had an incident the other day.” Fritz replied.
“What has that got to do with our plants getting water? Franko frowned.
“It’s a story. Don’t you want to hear it? Fritz asked.
Patchwork wizard
Alison was ready to leave. She had had a few buyers earlier in the day. But sales had dried up as the sun rose and the day became heated. The cloth over her display offered very little shade at this time of the day. Henry the sausage vender had packed up shortly after the noon rush. The tavern was moving all their patrons inside. Their stone walls resisted the sun’s heat. Very few folk wandered the fair this second day. It was a shame she had not been here on the first day of the fair. Her donkey had thrown a shoe just as they were ready to leave home. She had arrived with just enough time to set up her booth that first day.
She had an almost sleepless night. Maker Josiah’s idea of a comfortable cot was different from Her’s. Still after a quick breakfast of cold porridge, she had eagerly awaited the first visitors to the fair this morning. Only to have her hope dashed by the lack of people perusing her wares. They had been popular at the Bishops’ Creek fair. But here in Harveston few seemed interested in her wares.
A rich merchant rode his horse down the street, stirring up dust, that would soon settle on her mugs and bowls. He hadn’t even looked her way.
Wait! Wasn’t he the one who had persuaded her that a shilling was little consequence compared to the sales coming to this fair would generate. She considered calling him down. But better judgement stopped her tirade. He would claim that the fault was her’s. After all she had missed the first day.
She sighed as she began imitating the other vendors who had started to pack their wares anticipating the journey home. She picked up the mug with the sunset motif and carefully wrapped it in a soft piece of cloth, before she packed it into a crate.
One crate packed and on the cart. Five more and she could head home. A heaver load for her donkey Molly than she had intended. She was thinking that if she hurried and was loaded within the next half hour she could be home as the finial light of day was fading.
That was when she heard the whistling. Who could that be? They were whistling a dance tune. In this heat? Even the dogs had quit barking because of the heat.
Alison looked up and scanned the village square. There, where the road was starting to curve away from the village, walked a man. No that was definitely dance steps he was doing. How could he stand the heat? He was wearing a patched robe. Was there any original piece of robe? As he whistled and danced toward her he swept the hood off his head revealing white hair and a wrinkled face. He stopped for a moment and observed that he had gathered their attention. He shuffled his feet as he began to approach the square.
He stopped at the well and peered into its depths. He turned to the bucket that was tied to the well. No pulley was present to make the drawing of the water easier. He would have to pull it hand over hand. He considered his dilemma for a moment.
Looking up he spied Alison and behind her head the waterskin she had filled that morning. Pulling that bucket full of water took a bit of strength and some endurance. A timid smile crossed his face.
With shuffling feet, he slowly approached her. He wasn’t fooling her she had seen his dancing feet. He wasn’t as pitiful as he wanted to appear. He stooped a little more. Now he had to look up to her. From a pocket of his robe. (It had pockets? Alison had not noticed any before.) He withdrew a broken stein.
“I know if my stein was whole, you would not be troubled to pour me a drink of water from your waterskin. But here I stand a broken stein and no water.” He told her.
He had to be thirsty. It was a mile at least to the first possible place to gain some water. And that stream flowed muddy. She wouldn’t wish anyone to drink that water.
Well, she admitted to herself, she was a softy. Suspicious as she was of this strange man she offered a small smile to him.” I believe I have a cup you can use.” She said as she handed him a cup that bore the image of a wren. “Hold it steady as I pour you some water.”
He carefully drank it down before holding out the cup for another drink. Alison obliged. “This is nice workmanship.” He spoke.” If only I had the coin to purchase it. My last client reneged on my fee. And this my last penny.” He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger. He shrugged and the coin disappeared from wherever it had appeared.
“There might be something I can do.” He gave a nod. Several almost square pieces of cloth were spread out before her. “Hmm, maybe, Ah, yes. He mumbled as he flipped through the pieces. He held a light-yellow rectangular piece. He sat on Alison’s stool. He laid the piece on his knee as he threaded a needle with gold colored thread.
“He’s quite good with his slight of hand” Alison thought. Then she turned and once more began to pack.
“Are you in a hurry to leave?” The old man asked. “I believe the tavern has a couple of rooms to lend.”
Alison looked up as he held up the piece of cloth. The pattern now stitched into the cloth was clearly a coin. The old man stood and carefully stitched the piece to her covering cloth. He was mumbling something? It sounded something like “Pro benign tate ferte nummum”?
As he finished attaching the piece he turned and said “You are packing much to quick. I believe you have a customer.”
“Potter Alison” The tavern keeper addressed her. “Did you not price me four brown mugs for a schilling?”
“The small ones I did” She answered him.
As she squatted to find the crate with the small mugs. He called out “If you have another four I’ll take them as well.”
Franco & Fritz curtesy of Alison Cockrum
Bare's Den 