On Saturday morning, armed with her weekly allowance from Scott, Charlie accompanied Murdoch to town. Some of the usual Saturday
errands were on the plan, and also, a possible trip to the café for a piece of pie. At least, that was included in Charlie's hopes
for the morning.
As they rode along, Murdoch asked Charlie what she planned to do with her allowance. Charlie jingled the coins in the pocket
of her overalls, enjoying the feeling.
"I thought I'd look around the mercantile," Charlie said. "And decide then."
Murdoch didn't say anything right away in response, and Charlie chattered on. "I bought a book last week. I think I'll get
something different this time."
Murdoch made an "Mmm" sort of response, and Charlie studied his profile. She had the sense that he was disapproving of her
answer, somehow.
"Should I not?" she asked him.
"It's your money to do what you wish to," Murdoch said.
"But you think I should do something else," Charlie stated.
Murdoch turned to look down at her. "I think it's good practice to save a bit of money, every opportunity that you have. It's
good preparation for the future."
"Like how much of it?" Charlie asked.
"Ten percent is the general rule of things."
Charlie did some rapid arithmetic in her head. "Is that six cents?" she asked.
"Six cents would be twenty percent," Murdoch corrected. "Three cents would be ten percent."
"So three cents?" Charlie asked him, looking thoughtful.
"That's right."
"Well, but what good is three cents?" Charlie asked. "I mean, you can't do much with three cents, really."
Murdoch settled an assessing expression on her. "That's not the right attitude to have about it."
"What is the right attitude?" Charlie asked.
"What I meant was, it's a good habit to get into. Saving a bit on a regular basis can add up. Three cents a week
would be twelve cents at the end of the month. Look at it in that way."
"Oh," Charlie said. She thought over what Murdoch was saying. She didn't want to tell him, straight out, that she
didn't really see the point to it. Not when she had thirty cents to count on, every single Saturday. But yet, she didn't want
to disappoint him. It seemed to be important to him that she do it, or at least consider it. And, after all, three cents wasn't so
much. She would still have twenty-seven cents to spend today.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the coins. Two dimes, a nickel, and five pennies. She took three pennies and held
them out to Murdoch.
"Would you keep them for me?" she asked him. "I can give them to you every Saturday, and that way I won't lose them."
"I'm not saying that it's something that you have to do, darling," Murdoch said. "It was a suggestion. That's all."
"I want to," Charlie told him. It was partially correct. What she wanted, was to please Murdoch.
"Well, alright then," Murdoch said, and smiled at her, reaching out to take the three pennies. "I'll put them somewhere in my desk. How's that?"
Charlie nodded in agreement, and put the other coins back into her pocket.
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At the bank, Charlie sat in a wooden chair, swinging her feet, and waiting for Murdoch to complete his business. After that, they walked to
the post office, where Murdoch sent off some letters to a friend in Scotland. They went to have the wished-for pie, settling at a
corner table at the café. Wilma, the owner, was herself the one who came to take their order. She and Murdoch talked for a
few minutes. They seemed, to Charlie, to be well-acquainted with one another.
Once the pie had been brought to the table, Charlie tucked into her piece of gooseberry, letting her taste buds enjoy the
unusual tang.
When Wilma was ranting about the old man and his still-frequent efforts to go thru her
bins behind the café, Murdoch listened, appearing sympathetic, but he didn't really say too much at all. Charlie listened, too, and, in between bites,
she licked her fork.
"I don't know why it is that Val can't seem to take control of the situation," Wilma went on. "He just seems to pay no mind
to what that derelict is up to."
Charlie wasn't certain just what a derelict was, but, knowing how Wilma felt about the man, she was sure it was
not something favorable.
Wilma stepped away to take another customer's order, and Charlie took the chance to say, "Why does she care if
someone goes thru her bins? It's not as though it's something she wants anymore."
"It's her privilege to decide if she cares or not," Murdoch said.
"Well, but it's just mean of her," Charlie insisted.
"You can have your opinion," Murdoch said. "But, you need to be respectful about it." He raised his eyebrow just the slightest
hitch.
Charlie subsided a bit, and went back to her pie-eating, as Wilma prepared to return to their table.
Once they'd left the café, they walked to the mercantile. As Murdoch set about gathering the things on the list
Teresa had sent with them, Charlie wandered around the store. Even though she didn't plan to purchase a book today, she
still viewed that shelf, to see if any new ones had arrived. Eventually, she chose a game of Jacks, thinking she could play
them at recess with Rebecca and some of the other girls. With the money left, she thought she might purchase a bag
of jellybeans, so as to share with Murdoch on the drive home.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the old man come into the store. He was dressed as he commonly was, in dirty
denim pants and a brown shirt with torn sleeves. Today he walked with a limp. As he came on into the store, and began
walking slowly around, he passed by Charlie.
Charlie tried to catch his eye, but he seemed not to notice her.
She watched as he selected two apples, and a bag of cornmeal, and went to the front counter. Since Murdoch and other
customers were not finished with their shopping, the clerk stepped up to tend to the man.
Seeming impatient, the middle-aged clerk, (Charlie couldn't remember her name), said, in a sharp way, "That will be
twenty-five cents."
Listening, and observing, Charlie saw the man push two dimes onto the counter and across.
"Twenty-five cents," the woman clarified.
"Got but twenty," the man said.
"Well, then, you haven't enough," she snapped.
"Need the cornmeal," he insisted.
"Then return the apples. And make up your mind. I've got customers waiting," she said.
An expression came over the man's face. Charlie thought it was a mixture of fury, and shame. She felt herself holding her
breath.
She felt Murdoch beside her, and looked up at him. She saw that he'd been listening, as well, to what was transpiring between
the man and the store clerk. With a sudden inspiration, she reached out to touch Murdoch's arm, and when he looked
down at her, she held up the coins in her hand in a silent gesture of questioning.
'Should I? May I?'
Instead of answering Charlie, Murdoch instead said, very quietly, to the female clerk, "Put the apples on my bill."
"No need for charity," the old man said, gruffly. Then, swiftly, he took his sack of corn meal, and went thru the
front door.
Bewildered, Charlie looked up at Murdoch again.
Murdoch looked regretful, and ran his hand over the back of Charlie's head. He finished paying for the items on the
counter, and then, carrying the box of supplies, he and Charlie went out of the store. Loading the box into the back of
the buggy, parked in front of the mercantile, Charlie saw the old man, limping now, walking a distance away.
"Did you find what you wanted today?" Murdoch asked her.
"No. I mean, I was going to get a set of jacks, but then I didn't. I still have my money. I got to watching what was
happening, and-" Charlie let her voice trail off in explanation.
"Yes. It was unfortunate," Murdoch said.
Charlie looked after the man, still walking slowly, limping. It would take him a while, at this rate, to get far.
"May I go back in?" Charlie asked him.
"Yes. Go get your jacks," Murdoch said, looking indulgent.
"Not jacks," Charlie said. "I want to buy the apples."
Murdoch straightened to his full height, and looked down at Charlie.
"You heard. He said no," Murdoch reminded her.
"Yes. But, I think he'll take them. If it's not in front of other people, like it was in the store."
"What makes you believe that?" Murdoch asked.
"He took the fruit I took that time, to his cabin. And, once I told him that if he was really hungry, I thought you
would give him some food."
"You told him that I would?" Murdoch asked, looking surprised.
"Yes. And he said he knew who you were."
Murdoch studied her seriously, silent for a few long moments.
He put a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Let's go back in," he said.
Thrilled, glad, Charlie went back inside. She fetched five apples, instead of two, and then went to the counter
to pay, also getting the bag of jellybeans that she'd thought of previously.
After paying, she turned to see Murdoch coming from behind her, a bag of sugar in his hand. He laid that on the
counter, and then told the woman working that he needed a pound of coffee, as well.
"A dozen eggs," he said then.
When those items had been placed into a box, they walked out, yet again. Murdoch set that box up into the buggy seat, and
then lifted Charlie up.
"There he is," Charlie said, pointing.
"Put your apples in that box there," Murdoch said, before climbing up himself, and taking up the reins.
"These are for the man, though," Charlie said.
"These other things are for him, too," Murdoch said. "Might as well have them all in one box."
Charlie gave Murdoch a full-out smile, her dimples showing.
Murdoch put the horse and buggy into motion, and it didn't take long to come upon the old man, limping his way along
the road out of town.
Riding up alongside of him, Murdoch spoke first. "We'd be glad to offer you a ride, the rest of the way to your place."
The man swept a look to his left and upward. "You be Murdoch Lancer. Ain't that so?"
"That's so."
"Murdoch Lancer offerin' me a ride. Never thought to see it."
"It's only a ride. But, I'd be glad for you to accept it," Murdoch said.
The man paused in walking, and Murdoch pulled the buggy to a halt, as well.
"Well, I'll be accepting it. And be grateful for it, too," the man said, then. In his lyrical voice. With corrected English.
Charlie scooted over closer to Murdoch, and held the box of groceries on her lap. The old man climbed up into the buggy.
And he did so, with surprising quickness, and ease of movement. Not with the stiffness of limb that he'd shown earlier walking.
Once in the buggy, Murdoch put the buggy into motion, and they began the short distance that was left to the man's
shack.
"The items in the box are yours," Murdoch said. He said it simply. Without fanfare.
The old man took a look into the box, observing the apples, coffee, sugar and eggs.
"It's things that everybody needs," Charlie spoke up.
"Needs are as the passing of scenery. Different for everyone according to their views," the man replied.
Charlie looked to Murdoch, who had a puzzled look on his face. Charlie could see he was startled by the change
in the old man's demeanor, and in his expressing of himself. Very different from just a few moments earlier.
Charlie lifted her shoulders just slightly, in an attempt to say that she would explain to him later.
Pulling up into the yard of the shack, Murdoch pulled up on the reins. The dogs, lying on the porch, raised their
heads, and then got up to come trotting forward. A low word from the old man, and they went back to their napping spots.
The old man hopped to the ground, with the agility of a man half his age.
"I'd be honored to have you step down, and be my guests for a time," he said, gesturing towards the shack, as though
to a palace.
Charlie gave Murdoch a quick, pleading glance, and Murdoch, though she could tell was reserved, nodded
in agreement. He carried the box as the three of them headed towards the porch. Once there, the man took the box
from Murdoch and went into the torn screened door. Wishing she could see inside the shack, now that she was this close,
Charlie went closer.
"Charlie," Murdoch said, and, knowing just what he meant, Charlie came away from the door, to stand next to him again.
When the man came out again, he carried a pot of coffee and had three tin cups hooked over his fingers.
Without asking, he poured a cup for Murdoch, one for himself, and one for Charlie, as well.
Charlie, not used to having coffee, looked at Murdoch, and he gave a brief nod.
"Thank you," Murdoch said.
"Thank you," Charlie echoed.
"How long have you lived around here?" Murdoch asked.
The old man sat down in one of the old chairs there, and gestured towards the others. Murdoch sat down, and Charlie
followed suit.
"Days become months. Months become years," he said, in response to Murdoch's question.
Murdoch raised his eyebrows, but asked nothing more. Just sipping at his brew.
Charlie, curious, took a drink herself. And very nearly choked. The coffee made her eyes water, and caused her to
nearly spit out the mouthful. She managed not to do that, only just, however. It was the worst thing she'd ever tasted.
Bitter. Strong. Nasty.
Murdoch, if he felt the same, was doing a fine job of hiding it. He continued to drink the coffee until the cup was
empty. At which point, he set the cup onto the upturned chest that served as a table on the porch.
"We'll be leaving now," he said, standing up.
Charlie stood up, too, setting her own cup down, though it was as full as it had been when she'd received it.
The old man looked at them, but only smiled, showing his missing teeth, and not speaking.
"There's work, if you need it," Murdoch said.
"Work is as elusive as the gold at the end of the rainbow," the old man said.
"Perhaps you're speaking to the wrong folks about work," Murdoch countered.
Instead of a response to that, the man was silent again.
"Thank you for the coffee," Murdoch said, and took Charlie's hand, beginning to walk towards the parked buggy.
Charlie waited for the man to thank Murdoch for the groceries, but he did not.
"Safe travels," was all he said to them.
"Can we tell him we'll come back again?" Charlie asked, looking up at Murdoch as they were nearly to the buggy.
"No," Murdoch said.
Charlie wanted to ask why not, but she kept still, until they were in the buggy and trotting back down the road. She turned
back to look. The man was still sitting on the porch, not moving. Charlie waved at him, but he did not wave in return.
Turning forward again, she looked at Murdoch, and then moved closer to him, hooking her arm thru his.
"He's interesting, isn't he? Just like I told you all, that he was."
"He is, at that," Murdoch said in agreement.
"He changes like that sometimes," Charlie went on to explain. "He'll go from being stiff and limping, to moving
real easily. And he goes from being gruff to talking like he was, all correctly, like he's making up a poem as he talks."
"I've never seen the likes of it, before," Murdoch said.
Charlie squeezed his arm. "It was nice, you buying the food for him that way."
"As it was for you, buying the apples for him."
Charlie brought out the jellybeans from her pocket. "I bought these, too. For us to share." She held the bag out to him,
and he took a couple out of the bag.
"My favorite," he said.
Charlie took a black jellybean, and popped it into her mouth.
"Murdoch?" she asked, after a few moments of quiet.
"What, darling?"
"Can you hire him? To work at Lancer?"
She'd surprised him. She could tell, by the look he gave her.
"That way he wouldn't have to go thru bins, looking for food. And he wouldn't be getting into trouble with Wilma, or the
other folks in town. Or with Val," Charlie went on.
"Have you considered the fact that if he truly wanted work, that he would find it?" Murdoch asked.
"No one in town will hire him, though," Charlie protested. "They all think he's criminal or something."
"Not criminal," Murdoch denied mildly.
"No good, then. A derelict. That's what that means, right?" Charlie persisted.
Murdoch sighed very lightly, and Charlie tightened her hold on his arm, pushing her point.
"There's lots of things he could do around Lancer," she said.
"I don't think that he would accept the offer, Charlie."
"He might," Charlie said, stubbornly.
Murdoch went on as though she hadn't spoken. "And, even if he did accept, I don't believe that it would be a good
thing."
"Why?" Charlie asked.
"It's a feeling that I have."
"Like an instinct?" she asked.
"Yes. Like that."
"Can we take him food again?" Charlie asked, changing her tactic.
"We'll talk about that. I don't want you to go alone, though." He turned to look down at her. "Are we clear on that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright. Good." He smiled at Charlie. "Could I have a few more of those jellybeans?"
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