Chapter 7
“Take care, Peter,” Teresa called out cheerfully.
“Goodbye,” Peter waved at them all. Richard waved as well.
“Bye, Richard,” the little girls yelled, walking backwards. “See you later!”
Richard looked at Peter. “They are funny,” he smiled. Peter crossed over to his father waiting by the cart.
“They like you,” Peter answered with a slight turn of his head to the stranger.
“Are you ready?” Michael asked.
“Yes.” The hunter’s son pulled himself into the cart.
“Catherine and I may be done before you get back,” said Michael.
“Alright.” Peter held out his hand to Richard.
“Be back by noon,” his father reminded them as Richard scrambled in.
“We will, Papa,” the boy promised. He shook the reins.
“Come, Azarias,” Peter said to the horse, “let’s go!”
With a slight jerk, the animal started to trot.
“Bye, Peter,” his little sister waved.
“Goodbye, Catherine. Bye, Papa.” yelled Peter.
“Happy Birthday, Catherine!” Richard shouted.
“Bye, Richard,” she smiled.
“May God bless you and keep you safe!” Michael called after the two boys. He stood there with his daughter, waving them off. He followed them with his eyes as they trotted away. The father in Michael sighed. Doubts tried to fill his mind with worry. He shook them off firmly. They’ll be fine. He watched the specks fade off into the distance. That Richard boy was okay. He trusted him.
******
The two boys, companions at the start of the trip, had already become fast friends. Peter had taken them on a rougher, but more scenic route, to entertain Richard.
“When we have the bench we’ll have to take a more stable road.” Peter explained.
“Whoa,” Richard cried softly as the cart wheel hit a small pothole. The peasant smiled at him and Richard laughed.
“I can see why,” he said.
“Oh, look!” Peter pointed at a large oak in the distance. “That’s the tree I told you Matthew couldn’t get out of. Father had to climb up and rescue him,” he recalled with a smile.
“What was it you were going to do with Matthew today?” Richard asked.
Peter looked briefly at him and then at the road ahead.
“We were just going to go fishing,” he said.
“Did you want to go?” The question quickly followed Peter’s answer.
The boy shrugged his shoulders. The honest answer was ‘yes’, but it was met with an awkward silence. Peter gave Richard a look out of the corner of his eye.
“But your company has made this task far more pleasurable than fishing,” Peter assured him.
“And if I hadn’t come?” The question received a puzzled stare from the hunter’s son. But the other lad said nothing. Peter laughed.
“Then it wouldn’t have been as enjoyable.” It sounded quite obvious, to him. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing.” Richard looked out across the meadow. The peasant’s brows wrinkled as he studied his friend. He didn’t quite understand him and his questions. But as Richard didn’t volunteer to explain himself, Peter dropped the subject. And in return, Richard dropped whatever mood seemed to have caused those questions. For the rest of the trip, Peter and Richard carried on the most eager conversations. They were discussing old Azarias there and horses in general, when a sly looking creature darted across the road right in front of the cart.
“Oh, look,” Richard pointed excitedly, “ It’s a fox!”
“Yes, a grey fox” Peter peered past his friend’s head. “I wish I had my bow and arrow.” Peter told him wistfully.
“And I, my hunting dog,” was the enthusiastic response.
“I didn’t know you had a hunting dog.” Peter asked him. Richard looked at him hastily. “Well, I don’t, really,” he said clumsily. “But I imagine one would be useful.”
For a while then, the two boys discussed the different aspects of hunting. Richard appeared to know very little and Peter enjoyed teaching him.
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” said Richard sincerely. Peter smiled.
“Father is an excellent teacher.”
“Is he a good huntsman, then?” asked Richard.
“Oh, yes!” Peter assured him. “Perhaps we can all go hunting later today.”
“If it doesn’t rain,” his friend added.
And so they talked, until they’d reached the woodcutter’s cottage, just outside the village.
“So what is this bench we’re picking up?” Richard asked Peter, as the horse slowly halted.
“Mr. Damino is a carpenter.” Explained the young driver. “And my father hired him to build a bench for us.”
“Why?” asked the boy. “The ones I saw looked fine. Is it a work bench?”
“No.” Peter jumped down from the cart. “I don’t know what father plans to do with it.” Richard followed him down.
“Were I to guess, though,” Peter smiled, “I should think father ordered it because business has been ill for Mr. Damino of late. He is only just now recovering from a fall off his horse. He hasn’t been able to earn his living for some time now.” Peter commented as they walked towards the house, “Oh, and he may not be able to help us very much to carry the bench.”
“We can handle it.” Richard confidently assured his friend with a nudge. Peter grinned. In the short time they’d known each other, a bond had formed. Without realizing it, an affection had grown in the hunter’s young son for this boy; one that usually could only be explained by years of friendship.
Although Peter shared Richard’s enthusiasm, he was glad that one of Mr. Damino’s sons was there to help them carry and lift the heavy bench into the cart.
“Careful, Charles!” the carpenter called to his son, who was trying to secure its position.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Damino approached Peter. “It’s too large and won’t fit.”
“This is Richard,” Peter jumped in, saving a somewhat embarrassing moment. “He came along to help.”
“Are you cousins?” the carpenter asked. Peter and Richard looked at one another.
“No,” the younger one said, “just friends.”
“Well any friend of Michael Hawkson is a friend of mine” He shook the boy’s motionless hand.
“Thank you, sir,” Richard bowed.
“Oh!” Peter threw his hand into his pocket. “Here” the small boy handed the carpenter something. “This is for you,” he said and then turned quickly, motioning to Richard for them to leave.
“Oh no,” the old man said slowly, counting the coins. He looked up from his hand, but the hunter’s son was already up the cart.
“This is too much,” Mr. Damino called after him. Peter shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll have to discuss that with my father,” the boy responded.
“But he’s not here,” the carpenter raised an ironic brow. The lad tried to hide his smile.
“All I know is that's what he gave me,” he said innocently.
“Come now, Peter, take some of this back.” But the young huntsman was busy pulling his friend up onto the seat.
“Please excuse us, Mr. Damino,” said Peter respectfully. “But Papa wants us back by noon.” Richard squinted up at the sun.
At this, the carpenter shook a mocking fist. “I’ll make your father pay! Just wait ‘til my back heals!”
“He is waiting,” Peter waved, “And praying for it too!” Then, with a quick snap to the reins, Peter set the horse moving. The cart rocked a little and Richard glanced back anxiously at the bench.
“Careful!” Charles called out. Peter’s silent nod acknowledged the warning. The old carpenter’s face broke into a defeated smile.
“He’s as bad as his father,” Mr. Damino sighed.
His son nodded. “ Yes,” and placing his arm warmly around his father’s shoulders, he gratefully added, “…thank goodness!”
“I think it will, father,” Charles said as he shoved the bench to the very back. “There!” He hopped onto the ground and leaned against the cart. The carpenter saw that a portion was still extending out over the back of the cart and there was not enough room to secure the bench with a restraining bar.
“Just keep it steady, Peter.” assured Charles, “and it should be fine”.
“Thank you, sir,” the young boy extended his grateful hand. Charles took it gladly. His father did likewise.
“Goodbye, Peter,” he said warmly “And to you?” Mr. Damino held out his hand to Richard, who watched him with some surprise. He seemed caught off guard.
