A Tale of Two, Part 2: Caroline

September 4, 1891

Father made me go into the city today. Because Mother is away at work, we cannot bother her with such a menial task, and Father must tend to the fields; it is my job to purchase food for the next week. He has given me seven pounds and sent Marie and John with me. I only hoped they would not find trouble.

I should have known better.

John ran off to watch the artists as soon as he spotted them in the square, and Marie went to touch the jewelry for sale. Both of them were reluctant to leave their fascinations. This was only the start of my frustrations.

John had hidden charcoal and paper inside his coat and began to copy an artist’s painting. The artist nearly took off his head, he was so angry. Then John thought it would be wonderful to draw an artist. Only, when the artist kept working, John became frustrated and asked if he could hold still. If I had not been there to intervene, I do not know what would have become of John. And Marie, oh do not start me!

She thought she would see what I thought of a bracelet she was going to purchase with the small allowance Mother provides her monthly, and ran away from the cart with it in her hand. The woman was incensed, but pardoned it on account of Marie’s age. The jewelry cost her everything she had. Father would not be pleased with all the mischief they were causing.

I finally convinced them to play with a group of children who were in the square with their mother; they were neighbors of ours.

The shopping was difficult. I had to haggle with several of the sellers to afford food for the week. It should not surprise you I was horrible at this and ended up spending much more than Mother would have on some items. They are horrible people, those in the London market. If they could help it, they would not spare me halfpence.

It was the last seller who gave me the most trouble. I had only a bit left to spend and he would not lower his price. I was ready to concede when a kind gentleman approached us and asked after the problem.

“This woman has not the money to pay for my bread. She wants me to lower my price but cannot give me good enough a reason to.”

“I shall purchase it then,” he said reaching into his jacket for his coin purse.

“I do not need it that badly,” I hurriedly said, turning to leave.

“No, I insist. A meal is nothing without bread.”

The seller handed him the bread in exchange for the money. The gentleman handed me the bread. When I did not accept it, he placed it in Mother’s shopping sack with the rest of our goods.

“Thank you,” I said, gazing down. The hair on the back of my neck was raised as he continued to stand there considering me.nMother had warned me of men purchasing things for women they have never before seen. He wanted something.

The laughter of children running past stirred me. Everything was bought; now I needed to locate John and Marie and return home to start supper.

He followed me as I walked through the streets searching for them.

“For whom are you searching?”

“John and Marie,” I replied, not noticing I had spoken.

His head bobbed up and down as if he understood.

“Your children?”

I looked at him properly for the first time, my eyes large.

“Not your children.”

“I am dreadfully sorry; that was rude.” My cheeks burned.

“Not at all. It was my fault for assuming.”

“Caroline! Caroline!” Marie shouted, running down the street toward me. I knelt to pick her up.

“What is it?”

“John was chasing me with Robert’s knife.”

“Now why would he do that?”

She shrugged. “Robert told him I was an Indian, like the ones in America, and he needed to scalp me. Then he handed him a knife and he chased me.”

John came running up then, stopping dead in front of me and trying fruitlessly to hide the knife behind him.

“Hand it over, John.”

“But Robert said I was to scalp Marie for being a savage.”

“I do not care what Robert said. Hand it over.”

“But…”

“Do you want me to tell Father?”

“Oh, all right.”

Marie stood beside me as I set the knife in the shopping bag and turned back to him.

“We’ll return it to Mrs. Cole on the way home. But I do not want you accepting any weapon from Robert again. Robert does not know of what he speaks.”

“But Robert said a man is supposed to scalp a savage when he sees one in America.”

“Has Robert ever been to America?”

“No.”

“Then how does Robert know?”

“Caroline…”

“Do not whine. If you whine, I shall tell Father everything.”

“Do not do that! He shall take away my charcoal.”

“Then behave. I do not want you running off somewhere on the way home.”

“Yes, Caroline.”

“I want to eat, Caroline. When is supper?” Marie asked.

“I shall start preparing it when we are home.”

I took her hand and had just begun walking away when I remembered our “guest.”

“I am dearly sorry,” I said, turning to face him. “This is Marie, and this is John.”

He smiled at them. “And you are Caroline.”

“Yes, I am Caroline. But I know not who you are.”

“Josef Calloway.”

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Calloway, but we must be going.”

“I understand. It has been a pleasure.”

“It certainly has been.”

“Shall I see you again?”

“I do not know.”

“Where do you live?”

“On a farm. You undoubtedly live somewhere in London.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“The country dirt would soil your finery.”

“I suppose you are correct.”

“Caroline, may we go?” Marie whined, twisting her face to an odd distortion.

“Do not twist your face, Marie. Or it shall stay like that forever.”

“Well, may we?” John asked, burrowing his hands in his pockets and staring holes into his toes.

“Yes.”

“What is your father’s name?” Mr. Calloway asked.

“George Smith.”

“The man who harvests the best winter wheat annually?”

“That is what they say.”

He smiled—a rather brilliant sight; “I shall hope to see you again soon.”

I turned to Marie and John; “Say good-bye.”

They muttered their farewells as I wished him my own. I was nervous as we started home. My heart would not settle. It kept fluttering around in my chest. But I was not sure what it meant. I had never felt that way before. Of course, now I am better.

Mrs. Cole thanked us for returning her best cooking knife and promised us Robert would have a talk with his father. Marie and John kept inquiring about Mr. Calloway all throughout supper and until they were tucked soundly in bed. I answered the same thing every time. “He is a man who did our family a service today. We should be grateful.” I was too ashamed to tell them what exactly he had done. That would mean admitting I was horrible at shopping and that would shame Mother.

Whatever his reason for helping me today, I would not mind knowing. But what it will cost me, I will pay. It is, after all, my fault.