CHAPTER 5
The wagon jolted and bounced along the rocky dirt road, each bump knocking Gaston hard against the seat and making his teeth rattle. The nearest town, Lourmarins, was still a good 10 miles away, but he hoped to make it there by nightfall. He couldn't wait to get off the uncomfortable, rickety wagon and into a soft bed.
It started to rain. Gaston hunched forward and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The cargo area of the wagon was covered, so at least his merchandise was protected, but the driver's seat was exposed to the elements. Gaston felt as though the journey would never end.
Suddenly there was a sharp "crack!" The wagon lurched, then tilted dangerously, threatening to tip over. Gaston pulled the reins to halt the horse. He jumped down to see what was wrong.
One of the spokes on the back right wagon wheel had snapped, and the wheel hung loose at a crazy angle. Gaston swore loudly. He had absolutely no idea how to fix the damn thing. Back home, he had always travelled on foot or on horseback. And if he ever did ride in a wagon, it was someone else's wagon, and none of his concern. What on earth was he to do now?
He looked at the road up ahead. He wondered if he could ride Henri the 10 miles to Lourmarins. He doubted it. The huge draft horse was accustomed to pulling, not carrying a rider. And he had no saddle. If he'd been himself, that wouldn't be a problem. He had been an expert horseman. But in this undersized, weak and uncoordinated body, he didn't think he could keep from slipping off the big horse riding bareback.
He looked up at the cloud-obscured sun. Judging from its position, it was about 4:00. It would be dark in two hours. With his short legs, it would take him a good three or four hours to walk to the town - probably closer to four, with the rain. And the upcoming darkness would make the journey by foot even harder. He had no wish to blunder along a dark, unfamiliar road at night.
There was no help for it. He was stuck here for the night. At the first light of day, he could start walking, and get to the town by mid-morning. Then he'd have to persuade a wheelwright to leave his establishment and drive a wagon all the way back here to fix Gaston's wheel. He'd no doubt have to pay dearly for that much service, he thought glumly.
Worse, it meant leaving the wagon and its merchandise completely unprotected. Anyone could come along and rob him blind, wiping him out completely.
But he had no choice. He would have to take the risk, once morning came.
So he sat helplessly in the rain-soaked wagon as the hours passed and night fell, feeling cold and wet and very, very sorry for himself. He wondered what he would be doing right now if he were back home. No, he knew what he would be doing. He would be at the tavern, warm and dry, with a mug of ale in his hand, surrounded by friends. They'd be playing cards, or singing boisterous drinking songs, or telling bawdy jokes and sharing hunting stories. Or if they got drunk enough, there'd be some spur-of-the-moment contest: a bout of arm wrestling, a game of darts, a spitting match...whatever their ale- and testosterone-fueled brains could come up with.
It struck him - not for the first time - how truly alone he was in this new life. He was either travelling on the road by himself, like now, or peddling in the towns and villages, trying his best to ignore the now-familiar stares and occasional mockery. Of course, his customers were polite to him - they had to be. But he had no friends. He was gregarious by nature, and the isolation got to him. At home, he had usually been surrounded by buddies, admirers and hangers-on. Even when he left the village and went hunting out in the forest, there was always LeFou, his constant presence as taken for granted as Gaston's own shadow.
If LeFou were here now, he'd be prattling on, trying hard to cheer Gaston up. Gaston certainly could have used that encouragement right now. Better still, he would have sent LeFou to get help to fix the wagon. Gaston would still have been sitting here getting wet, but at least he would know that help was on the way. And it would mean that he didn't have to make the exhausting journey by foot in the morning. He had never realized how much he had come to depend on LeFou to do all his annoying, tedious tasks for him - until now, when he had to do everything himself.
It was true that LeFou had short legs too, so it would take him the same three or four hours to get to the town...plus you had to add another hour or two for LeFou losing his way, which was inevitable. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he was tenacious, and no matter how long it took, eventually he would have come back triumphantly, bringing aid.
Of course, when LeFou finally did return, his reward for all his effort probably would have been Gaston smacking him for taking too long, he reflected with an uncharacteristic hint of contrition. He had never thought twice about the way he treated LeFou before, but after his beating in the alleyway, he had a bit more empathy for his diminutive lackey.
Gaston sighed. Would the night never end? He felt as though he had spent an eternity sitting alone in the rainy darkness.
Eventually, the rain stopped, and Gaston dozed off.
He was awakened by someone shaking him. "Hey, there, are you all right?" a gravelly voice asked.
Gaston opened his eyes and blinked in bright sunshine. He stretched, feeling achy from his night on the uncomfortable wagon. Standing next to the wagon, looking concerned, was a weatherbeaten farmer in his 50s, wearing overalls, with his own wagon parked alongside Gaston's.
"Looks like you've got yourself a broken wheel," the farmer said, nodding at the wagon. "Need some help?"
Gaston hesitated. He certainly did need help. But he had learned to be suspicious of people. He was stranded out in the middle of nowhere, with no way of fixing the wagon. That made him an easy mark, and the farmer obviously knew it.
Gaston wondered what the man's angle was. He might have some brawny sons hiding behind the trees, ready to rob the wagon when he gave the signal. Or, he might indeed fix the wheel - then charge some ridiculously exorbitant fee for his services, and Gaston would have no choice but to pay it. He hated being at someone else's mercy like that.
But he had no other option. Leaving the wagon unguarded while he walked to the next town was a much greater risk, he realized. He would probably return to discover it was gone. At least this way, he would know what happened, bad as it was likely to be.
"Yes," he said reluctantly. "Can you fix it?"
The farmer nodded. He examined the wheel. "There's your problem," he said, pointing. "One of the felloes is bent. It was pressing on the spoke. That's what made it snap. And it was putting too much friction on the hub and wearing it away - that's why the wheel came loose."
"Oh," said Gaston, having no idea what the man was talking about.
"First we have to take everything out of the wagon, to lighten it," said the farmer. He and Gaston spent 20 minutes doing just that. Then the farmer found a large boulder. With effort, he rolled it over to the wagon, forcing it under the back end to brace it.
Then he took a wrench and removed what was left of the hub, and took the wheel off the wagon. With some twine, he lashed together the broken pieces of the spoke until it held tight. Next he used pliers to straighten out the bent felloe.
Gaston watched him work, feeling tense as a bowstring. He kept one eye on the surrounding trees. No one jumped out to rob the wagon, so he relaxed marginally. And he could see that the farmer actually was fixing the wheel.
So it was the second angle, Gaston decided. The farmer saw a chance to make easy money off Gaston's misfortune by charging an outrageous fee for the repair.
The question was, how much? Since becoming a peddler, Gaston had judiciously saved every sou he could toward the day when he could buy a girl's affections and finally end this nightmare. It would be devastating to have to hand it all over to a stranger and start from scratch.
Or worse, what if his savings weren't enough? he wondered. What if the farmer demanded the merchandise from the wagon as well?
Now he was beginning to wish he hadn't accepted the man's offer of help. He waited nervously as the farmer finished the repairs.
The farmer rummaged in his tool box and found a nut the right size to replace the hub. He put the wheel back on the wagon and screwed the nut tight.
He stood back to admire his handiwork. "Walk the horse a few paces, so we can see how she rolls," he said. Gaston took hold of Henri's bridle and walked the horse.
The farmer nodded in satisfaction. "That'll do ya till you get to Lourmarins. As soon as you get there, find a wheelwright and have him replace the spoke and the felloe. Then she'll be as good as new." He helped Gaston load all the merchandise back on the wagon.
Gaston took a deep breath, bracing himself. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, dreading the answer.
The farmer looked surprised. "Why, nothing, friend. Folks got to look out for each other."
Gaston was stunned into speechlessness. In all the time he had been a dwarf, no one had shown him an act of kindness. He had actually forgotten such a thing existed.
"Well...thank you," he managed to say.
"Any time," said the farmer cheerfully, tipping his hat. He got back on his wagon. Then he had a thought. "When you go to the wheelwright, make sure to buy some tools to keep on the wagon," he advised Gaston. "You don't want to get stranded again." He jiggled the reins, and his wagon started to move.
Gaston watched him go. Then, impulsively, he called out "Wait!"
The wagon stopped. "Yes?" said the farmer.
Gaston rummaged among the merchandise on his wagon. He found a silver pocket watch and brought it over to the farmer. "Here," he said, handing it over.
The farmer was startled. "That's mighty kind of you, but there's no need," he assured Gaston. He looked at the watch. "This looks expensive."
"Take it," Gaston insisted. "I would have been in real trouble if you hadn't helped me."
The farmer's creased face broke into a broad smile. "Well, thank you. That's very generous of you." He pocketed the watch. "You have a good journey, now."
"You too," said Gaston, watching him go.
Now, why did I do that? he wondered. It wasn't like him. The watch was expensive - he could have easily gotten 40 or 50 francs for it.
But it felt right, somehow.
Gaston shrugged, got back into his wagon and started off for Lourmarins.