Leaving for school the next morning, Charlie got an inspiration. She went to retrieve a knapsack and filled it with pears and apples
from the fruit trees. As she was gathering up her lunch tin, the knapsack over her shoulder, Maria nodded to it.
"Que es eso?"
"Pears and apples," Charlie answered, understanding the word 'what' in the Spanish question.
Maria paused from her stirring at the stove. She looked puzzled, and Charlie understood that look, even without
any words.
"I want to share them with someone," Charlie said. "Is it alright?"
Maria nodded. "Preguntele al Sr. Murdoch."
Again, Charlie didn't need Johnny to interpret Maria's words. So, she went to find Murdoch. He was in his library, sorting thru
papers on his desk. He looked somewhat distracted, and Charlie hesitated at the doorway.
"Murdoch?" she said.
Without looking up, Murdoch replied, "What is it, darling?"
"Maria said I should ask you. Is it alright if I take some pears and apples with me today? To share?"
"Of course," he said. And then, looking up, he smiled at her. "With the other children?"
"With someone who I think might not have enough to eat," Charlie said, in honesty.
"I see," Murdoch said, looking serious. "Well, of course you can take them," he repeated.
"Thank you," Charlie said.
"Have a good day, darling," Murdoch said, and turned his attention back to the stack of papers.
Charlie told him goodbye, and raced out of the front door, nearly colliding with Scott. Scott reached out to
steady her, a hand on each shoulder.
"Whoa, there," he said.
"Sorry," Charlie said breathlessly.
"You're not late, are you?" he asked her.
"No. But, I don't want to be late."
"Okay," Scott said, running a hand over her hair. "Well, you'd best get going, then."
"Don't forget," Charlie reminded him. "I'm fishing after school today."
"I remember. Home by five."
"Alright. Bye!" Charlie said, and headed off to the barn, where Jelly had a saddled Gurth waiting.
"Thanks, Jelly!" she told him, as she mounted Gurth, and headed out for school.
L
For a day that had started out so promising, the rest of it declined rapidly. Before they went into the school building,
Rebecca told Charlie that she couldn't go with her that afternoon.
"My Ma has chores for me," Rebecca said.
"Aww," Charlie said, in disappointment.
"I can go tomorrow, though," Rebecca said. "I already asked her, and she said yes."
Thinking back to the evening before, and her bedtime conversation with Scott, Charlie remembered his statement
about how she needed to come home from school the rest of the week. No fishing.
Charlie puzzled over that the rest of the morning. Should she go home today right after school, and ask Scott if she
could go tomorrow instead? Or should she continue with the plan today, on her own?
Brave though she considered herself, Charlie thought it would take courage to approach the tar-paper shack on
her own. What if the man wasn't as he'd been the afternoon before? What if he was the scary, hollering version?
Monte chose recess to give Charlie's braid a hard tug as he passed behind her.
"Snitch," he said, in a loud whisper.
Charlie gritted her teeth. She should have known that the seeming truce between her and the boys wouldn't last.
"At least I don't torment helpless old men," Charlie told him.
"Helpless?!" Monte exclaimed. "Is that what you think? That old man is about as helpless as a rattlesnake!" Monte leaned
over the railing that Charlie was sitting against, and said, very low, "He eats kids, you know. He'd think you were nice and
juicy!"
Charlie stood up, and whirled to face Monte. "You are an ignoramous," she informed him.
"I'm not!"
"You don't even know what it means," Charlie said, giving him a superior look.
"Listen, you-" Monte said, reaching out to yank on Charlie's braid again.
"Leave her be, Monte," said a warning voice, and Monte turned to face Jason.
Jason was a half a head taller than Monte, and there was no question who would win a scuffle between them.
"Snitch," Monte hissed again, before he stalked off across the schoolyard.
L
By the end of the school day, Charlie had made up her mind as to what she was going to do. She would, she thought, walk
on out to the shack by herself. She would see if the man was outside, as he'd been yesterday. If so, she would offer the
sack of fruit to him, and maybe talk a few minutes, and that would be that. If he was in his 'peculiar' mode, and hollered,
then she would leave the fruit at the edge of the road, and make herself scarce in a hurry.
L
As Charlie was preparing to leave the school yard, and set out, Lucy Stone caught up with her. Breathless though Lucy
was, not a hair was out of place. Charlie thought she looked like a doll in a catalog.
"Our party is Sunday," she said. "You're coming, aren't you?"
"I'm not sure," Charlie said, vaguely. She would not, she thought, go if she had any choice about it.
"Oh, it's going to be lots of fun! You have to! Teresa told my sister that all of you are coming. All of the Lancers, I mean."
And then, Lucy talked on. And on. And on. "I mean, you're sort of a Lancer now, aren't you? Since you're living with them,
and Scott's like your guardian, isn't he? My mother says you're a very fortunate girl to be there with them-"
"Excuse me, Lucy," Charlie interrupted Lucy's steam of chatter. "I have to be going."
"Oh, alright," Lucy said, looking a bit crestfallen. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you," Charlie echoed, and headed out.
L
Charlie walked swiftly until the shack was in sight. Then, she slowed her steps somewhat. She could see from here
that there was someone sitting out front.
She clutched the knapsack closer to her chest, and walked on. She paused in the road, not directly in front of the
shack, but to the side. The man was again working with his hands, whittling.
When there was no evidence that the man was going to look up, Charlie said, "Good afternoon."
Ah. There she had his attention.
"Good afternoon," he returned the greeting. In the same lilting voice as yesterday. Charlie felt relief wash over her.
"How are you today?" Charlie asked him then.
"I've the luck of the Irish behind me," the man said.
Charlie wondered what that meant. She decided not to ask.
"I brought some fruit," she said, raising the knapsack in her hand.
The man looked at her, but did not respond.
"Pears. And apples," Charlie went on. "I thought you might like them."
Still he was silent. Just looking at her. Charlie began to wonder what she should say next. Why didn't he answer?
"If you like fruit, that is," Charlie said.
"I do enjoy a good pear, when I can get one," he said, finally answering.
Charlie waited. Thinking he would stand up, and come over to get the fruit. Or tell her to bring it to him. He did neither one.
"I need my knapsack," Charlie said. "Do you have something to put the fruit in?"
The man reached to his side, and scooted a space on the bench where he sat. Moving a cup, and what looked from where she stood
to be a book.
"You can set them here," he said.
Charlie hesitated. Wishing he would come to her, and bring a pan, or a bucket to put the fruit in. Going that close. Right
up to where he sat. That was different than standing in the road. At least, it seemed so to Charlie.
"I don't know if I should-" she said.
When the man just looked at her, and said nothing, Charlie told herself she was being foolish. After all, she saw no
gun resting nearby, and she knew for a certainty that she could run, and run fast, if necessary.
So she stepped from the road, and began to walk up closer to the shack. When she was about five feet from him, she
stepped forward to set the knapsack onto the bench, and then stepped back again.
The man opened the knapsack and began to take the fruit out. He did it slowly, deliberately, looking at each piece of fruit.
This close to him, Charlie was studying him, wishing he would look up, so she could see the infamous glass eye.
And then, he finished setting out the fruit, and handed the knapsack back out to Charlie. Charlie took it, getting a good
look at his face then. His face was tanned, lined with age, but his eyes, well, they were a dark blue. Nearly as blue as
Johnny's eyes.
And, she couldn't tell which one was made of glass.
"My name is Charlie," Charlie said. She waited for the man to give his own name. To introduce himself. He didn't.
"Charlie, is it?" he asked.
"Well, it's really Charlotte," Charlie explained. "But, I prefer Charlie."
"Charlotte is a fine name, I'd say."
Silence then.
"Thank you," Charlie said, to get him to talking again.
She kept studying his face. Did they make glass eyes to match the color of the other eye? She hadn't known that
that could be done.
"Will you and your friends be fishing today?" he asked.
"No. Not today, I don't think. They couldn't go."
He nodded in response. Silence, then.
"Do you like to fish?" Charlie asked him.
"The fish need not fear me," he said, in answer.
Charlie was puzzled, yet again, by his cryptic answers. What did that mean? 'The fish need not fear me'?
"Where are your dogs?" she asked.
"They belong to themselves. Not to me. They go where they please. They come when they please."
"Oh," Charlie said.
The man returned his attention to his whittling. Charlie thought it looked as though it was some sort of an
animal that he was carving. What animal, though, she couldn't tell.
"How is your horse?" Charlie asked.
"I have no horse."
"I mean the horse you bought at the auction a few weeks ago," Charlie explained.
"I have no horse," the man said again.
Charlie felt a quiver run down her back. She'd seen the man leading the horse away from the auction, and out of town.
When he said no more for several minutes, but just whittled in silence, Charlie cleared her throat a bit, and said,
"I guess I should be getting home."
"It's a grand afternoon," he said, in response.
"Yes. Well, goodbye."
He didn't return her goodbye, and Charlie walked to the edge of the yard, near the road, and then paused,
turning back. He hadn't raised his head from his whittling.
"I can bring you some more fruit. If you'd like me to," Charlie told him.
"If your footsteps bring you," he replied.
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