Scott Pedersen is a fiction writer based in Wisconsin, USA. His work has appeared in Fiction International, The I-70 Review, Louisiana Literature, The MacGuffin and many other journals and anthologies. When not writing fiction, he enjoys performing in a traditional Celtic band. You can find him on Facebook too.
Audrey was sixteen and the daughter of Hiram Kettle, a widower and country lawyer. Nearly every weekday Hiram sent Audrey northward to the village to deliver or retrieve legal documents. Wearing fine ankle boots and carrying a tooled-leather portfolio, she strode with purpose along the towpath on the east side of the Perryville canal. With the War of the Rebellion ended, the canal was seldom used now except by ducks and the occasional muskrat.
One day in late summer, as Audrey neared the halfway point of her hike, a girl about her age approached from the north, on the other side of the canal. Audrey recognized the simple wooden vegetable cart the girl pushed. It was the one a solemn-looking boy around ten years of age had pushed earlier in the year, when spring produce was in season. Her brown hair hung in a thick side braid down the front of her calico dress, frayed at the hem. Audrey mused that she might tell of a fight at the market over the last ear of sweet corn.
The girl’s sober gaze, however, remained forward, leaving Audrey without the spark she needed to start a conversation. She watched the girl pass by, assuming she lived on a farm south of the village.
Audrey saw her again the next day. This time the girl glanced as they passed, her face suddenly enlivened. Was that a smile? Audrey marveled at how the girl’s countenance had changed. She thought of nothing but her until she reached the village, where business matters demanded her attention.
With romantic fantasies filling her mind the next morning, Audrey was determined that she and the girl would speak. When Audrey reached their usual place of passing, she stopped and sat on a broad oak stump. Soon the girl came by and also stopped. With the canal a mere fourteen feet across, Audrey thought conversation would be easy.
“How was the market today?” asked Audrey, rising to her feet. The portfolio, which she had held so nonchalantly while walking, now seemed an awkward prop. She passed it from one hand to the other and back again.
“It was fine. As you can see,” said the girl, waving her hand across her empty cart, “I sold everything.”
“I arrive in the village around noon. You must arrive earlier.”
“Yes, around eight. I’m finished by eleven.”
Audrey nodded. And nodded again. She must think me a dolt, she thought.
“But tomorrow I’ll stay later,” offered the girl. “Until at least one o’clock.” The girl looked at Audrey intently, as if expecting a reaction, but Audrey was too unnerved to be sure of what the girl had said.
“My mother’s sister will be selling her flowers next to me on the Commons,” the girl continued excitedly. “She’ll gladly watch my cart if I care to walk about. I might take lunch to the courthouse lawn and eat under the shade trees there.”
More words—Audrey heard them, at least some of them, but her mind was wholly taken with the girl’s smile. She felt a need to respond, but the best she could do was, “I should be going. My father’s clients may be waiting.”
The next day Hiram sat with Audrey at the breakfast table. “I’ve fallen behind,” said Hiram. His stringy gray hair added to his weary look. “There is nothing to deliver—and nothing I need fetched.” His face brightened. “You’ll have a fine day off. I hear the fish are biting at Colton’s Pond.”
“I might do some fishing later,” said Audrey. “I went to the mercantile to ask about your new walking cane, and Mr. Prinzing loaned me a novel, to apologize for the late delivery. He said it’s very good.”
“He should know. A scholar, he is. Attended the finest German schools.”
So, Audrey spent the rest of the morning reading of gallant explorers and far-flung adventures and went fishing in the afternoon. At bedtime she lulled herself to sleep by imagining talking to the girl with an intimacy that could only grow and then spent the night steeped in blissful dreams.
On her walk the following day, Audrey again sat on the oak stump. As the girl approached from the north, her expression was grim. Audrey hoped she had not been accosted at the market.
When the girl was close, Audrey stood and waved. “Hello!”
The girl continued walking until she was directly across the canal. “I don’t care beans if you ever come to the village again!” She reached into her cart, yanked out a large carrot and flung it at Audrey. It grazed the top of her head as she ducked. The girl’s next carrot sailed toward Audrey’s face, but she raised the portfolio to deflect it. The girl finished by throwing the rest of the bunch in Audrey’s direction. The carrots fell into the canal as the girl continued on her way.
That evening Audrey sat with her father and explained what had happened. Surely he could explain the girl’s odd behavior.
Hiram smiled and shook his head. “So, this girl said she would be walking alone in the village?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure when. Father, do you ever get so nervous in front of a judge that you can’t think straight?”
“Not for a very long time.” Hiram leaned forward and spoke softly. “Audrey, I need to ask you something. Do you have feelings for this girl that come from here?” He pressed both his palms against his chest.
Audrey nodded.
“Then I have some advice that may help you,” Hiram continued. “Mr. Prinzing isn’t the only wise merchant in the village. Years ago your mother and I had a horse reshod by Mr. Bonetti, the blacksmith. He had just learned an American expression: ‘Strike while the iron’s hot.’ He loved to say this. Laughed every time. So, if you ever have a desire in your heart that can be fulfilled only if you act, think of Mr. Bonetti.”
“Father, will I always learn the hard way?”
“Yes, but each time you’ll get a little more of the hardship behind you.”
For the next week, Audrey and the girl passed each other without a word. She imagined ways she and the girl might become friendly again. Then, as Audrey walked toward the village on a Friday, the girl came to a stop directly across the canal. Remembering her father’s advice, Audrey called out, “I was hoping we could talk again.” The girl stared expressionless.
Audrey placed the portfolio on the ground and removed her boots. She stepped to the edge of the canal and jumped in, feet first. As the water was only waist-deep, she was able to walk to the other side within seconds. She hoisted herself out of the water and then stood, dripping heavily, close to the girl. She was shorter than Audrey had thought, with pale eyes, not quite blue.
“We’re having dinner on Sunday at two,” said the girl. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Surprised that the girl had ignored her drenched condition, Audrey resolved to appear just as collected. “I’d like that. Where will I find your farm?”
“Cross the canal at the new bridge,” the girl said, pointing southward. “Our house is the closest to it.” She looked down at Audrey’s soaked clothes. As she walked away, she said over her shoulder, “I could have told you all that from across the canal, you know.” The girl folded over laughing.
Audrey waded back to retrieve her boots and portfolio. She sat on the oak stump, waiting to dry. She imagined the girl flattered by her gesture, but the girl had laughed as though she were a sideshow attraction. Did she invite Audrey to her house only to laugh again, with the whole family? Audrey decided she would not go to the farm—not on Sunday, nor on any day, ever.
On Monday, as Audrey approached the midpoint of her walk, she saw a woman sitting on the oak stump. She looked to be a farmer, with solid arms propped on thick, sturdy legs. She’s just resting, Audrey thought. I’ll nod and walk quickly past her.
When Audrey was within a few feet, the woman stood. She was an imposing figure, with a six-foot frame and broad, sober face. “You didn’t come to dinner,” she said. “We set an extra place, with the good china. Were you ill?”
“No, but, my father…oh, it’s terrible! The doctor says he has the consumption. He’s mad with fever.” The woman looked alarmed. “It took my mother two years ago,” Audrey continued. “She wasted away, and then she was gone. I could be next. The doctor says I mustn’t cough on anyone.” Audrey covered her mouth with her hand.
The woman stepped away. She gave Audrey a wide berth as she headed south with long strides. She turned back to yell, “Will you be staying on your side of the canal then?”
“Yes, for the rest of my short life!”
Staying on this side of the canal seemed the safest course. It was fine to see and talk to a girl pushing a cart—from a distance. Maybe when she was older, Audrey would cross the canal. For now, it was there for a reason.