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.
