The Copper Sign (50 page)

When she entered the main room, which was cold and unheated, she found an elegantly dressed old man sitting there in Kenny’s armchair. He struggled to his feet and greeted her politely. He was shorter than she and looked very frail. His wrinkled face was framed in thinning grey hair that hung down in long strands to his shoulders. Though he had lost almost all his teeth, he had a distinguished look. “I am your brother-in-law,” he said, introducing himself. His strong voice contrasted sharply with his frail appearance.

Ellen did not understand at first.

“Aedith is my wife,” he explained with a weak smile.

Ellen looked at him in astonishment.

“I heard about your conversation with her today.” He propped himself up with both hands on the silver knob of his ebony walking stick and leaned forward toward Ellen.

“She is beautiful, but that is the only positive thing to be said about her. It’s no wonder she has not given me any children, because she is tight-fisted through and through.” He wheezed briefly and laughed sorrowfully. “Even with my money!”

Ellen wondered who might have told him about the conversation and suspected it was the servant who had opened the door for her.

“She refused to give you the money for the oculist. For her own father!” He shook his head in disbelief. “If I were the one who needed it and if she had control of the moneybag, she would have done the same. She is a heartless person.” He took out his leather purse and handed it to Ellen. “I know your brother cannot help—he’s up to his neck in debt,” he said softly, and cleared his throat. “I am going to take his bills and burn them, if only to anger Aedith. I’m also going to send him someone to help with the business for a while. I have been observing him: he works hard and is clever, but he has had a string of bad luck.”

Ellen looked at him distrustfully. “Why are you doing that?”

“I have no son.” He coughed painfully. “Shall I leave her everything when I die? I would rather do charitable things here and there, for the salvation of my soul. Do you understand?” He coughed again. “There is still plenty for her. Tell your brother nothing of our conversation.”

“Why not?” Ellen asked, still suspicious.

“Someone young and childish like him can reject a helping hand out of vanity or false pride. But don’t worry, he’ll find out soon enough where the help came from. I was young once, too, and I’m not sure what I would have done in his place if my brother-in-law unexpectedly set himself up as my benefactor.” He laughed, lost in thought when he thought of his youth, then coughed in a tinny sound. “Take the money and help your father get his eyesight back. And when he asks where you got it from, tell him it came from Kenny.” The old man struggled to stand up again and then proceeded with astonishingly sprightly steps to the door.

Ellen followed him. Her brother-in-law turned around toward her once more. “Your good reputation is getting around, smith woman. You’ll be a success!” He stroked her cheek with his withered hand, smiled, and left the house.

Ellen stood there thunderstruck, and it took a while before she could get herself together. What did he mean about her reputation getting around? Did he know anything more about her? With hands trembling, she opened the purse. Twelve shillings! The old silk merchant had been more than generous. And what did he intend to do for Kenny? Ellen decided to accept the generous gift without wasting too much time worrying about it. She left one shilling there for Kenny, hid the rest under her clothing, and then set out on the way home.

“We have just enough time to get you to St. Edmundsbury,” she said to Osmond right after her arrival, and she told him about the oculist.

“Oh, dear child, where shall we get all that money?” Osmond shook his head. “That’s just extravagance, as I’m not going to live much longer, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Ellen pushed him out the door of the smithy, determined. “You’ll be the happiest man in the world when you can finally see your grandson. And while we are there in St. Edmundsbury we can visit Mildred.” Mildred had married cousin Isaac four years earlier and had a daughter with him.

Osmond took a deep breath and fell silent. He was afraid of the hope that was building in him, and even more of the disappointment if the effort to free him from his blindness didn’t work.

Ellen rented two ponies, and they at once set out on their journey.

When they arrived in St. Edmundsbury three days later, Ellen was astonished at all she saw. The city lay amid fields of fruit trees, meadows, and forests, and standing above it, magnificent and splendid, was an enormous abbey. They approached the city from the southwest side and then circled around it, arriving shortly after midday at a small clearing where Isaac’s smithy was located.

As the two rode into the courtyard, they found Mildred sitting in front of the house enjoying the warm spring weather and plucking a chicken. She rushed to meet the unexpected guests and embraced them warmly, then moved the bench around so the two of them could sit down at the table and brought a pitcher of fresh water.

“I’m expecting another child!” she whispered in Ellen’s ear. Last autumn she had given birth to a stillborn child and a year before that one who was premature. Marie, her only living child, was almost four years old, and Mildred wished more than anything to present her husband with a son.

Ellen kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand. “This time it will all work out,” she whispered.

“A person who has lost his sight can hear all the better,” Osmond grumbled, then broke out laughing. “I’d have no objection to having another grandchild.”

Mildred blushed. “I’m sorry, Father.” Nervously she nibbled on a strand of hair.

“Don’t apologize, child!” Osmond reassured her. Mildred got up quickly and brought something to eat.

“We want to go straight to the marketplace. Can we stay with you for a few days?” Ellen asked, without telling Mildred anything about the reason for their visit.

“You don’t have to ask. I’d be really angry if you just turned around and left.”

“We should leave the horses here and go the rest of the way on foot,” Ellen suggested.

Osmond nodded. He remembered St. Edmundsbury well. The smithy was not very far from the western gate to the city, and he could make the rest of the trip easily.

Ellen handed Osmond a walking stick, and they departed.

Once they arrived in the market, Ellen started looking around. The market was teeming with people, and at one end there was a large wooden platform. This was where the tooth puller, the barber-surgeon, and the oculist had set up shop. Farther ahead, magicians and actors were performing, making the crowds laugh. But sometimes the merry laughter and excited cries of the spectators were drowned out by the bloodcurdling screams of the patients.

Ellen pushed her way through the crowd, past the onlookers, pulling Osmond along behind her, and presented herself to the oculist. Then she told him why she was there.

The little man with snow-white, almost shoulder-length hair and a smooth-shaven face leaned down to her from the platform where he was standing. “I’ll see your father, and if I think I can help him, I’ll be glad to do it. Bring him up here,” he said in a friendly voice.

She helped Osmond up the creaking wooden stairs.

The oculist examined Osmond’s eyes carefully.

“I think it’s worth the chance. If I can remove the bad fluids that are clouding his vision and if they don’t come back, he will be able to see you today!” he said loudly, so that the onlookers standing around could hear him, and he told Ellen what it would cost.

A murmur went through the crowd, and the people gathered around the platform in order not to miss any of it.

“Can you lend a hand, or shall I find a strongman to hold him down?”

“Just tell me what I have to do,” Ellen replied, looking him in the eye.

“Seat your father here in this chair and stand behind him.” The oculist pulled up another chair, moved it back and forth a bit until he was directly in front of his patient, and sat down.

“Hold his head tightly in both hands and press him close to you so he can’t move. He’ll try, he’ll shake, probably he’ll also scream, but you mustn’t let go of him, do you hear?” He looked her directly in the eye and asked, “Can you do that?”

Ellen nodded, though she had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“She’ll hold me tight, she’s my daughter!” Osmond said proudly, patting Ellen’s hand. He himself appeared completely calm and without fear.

“I am now going to stick the needle in your eye. It will hurt, but it won’t take long, and then—God willing—you’ll be able to see your daughter again,” the oculist said encouragingly. Then, putting his left hand on Osmond’s forehead, he opened wide the right eyelid with his thumb and index finger and held the eyeball tightly with his slender fingers so Osmond couldn’t move it. In his right hand he held a thin needle with a slightly rounded head. He put it to his mouth, moistened it with his saliva, and then stuck it into the white of the eye from the side.

Osmond quivered and groaned briefly as the needle penetrated his eye, but he made no other sound.

The crowd fell silent. Every fiber in Osmond’s body seemed to tighten.

The oculist carefully pushed the needle farther in until he could see the point of it behind the pupil, then moved it up and down, waited a moment to see that the blindness did not return, and slowly pulled it out of the eye. Finally, he laid a compress on Osmond’s eye that had been heavily soaked in wine. Then he handed Osmond a little goblet of the same wine and said, “Take a drink, it will do you good—but slowly,” he admonished him.

Osmond took several sips and relaxed a bit.

“It will be over soon,” the oculist said reassuringly. Then he took the needle in his left hand and went through the same procedure on the other eye. When he was finished, he took the compress from the first eye and covered the second eye with it.

“Well, can you see anything now?”

Osmond blinked and turned his head. “Ellenweore!” he said softly; then he broke out into tears of joy and opened his arms wide.

Mildred could scarcely believe it when she saw her father looking at her.

“What happened to your eyes?” she asked incredulously.

Osmond told her in great detail how the oculist had cured him of his blindness. “I can’t see quite as well as a young man, but I can see!” He smiled with joy. “Thank the Lord for that. I can see you again, and my grandchildren, too. Where is Marie? It’s been so long since I have been able to see her.”

While Osmond and Mildred sat in the kitchen and Marie bounced up and down on her grandfather’s knee, Ellen was anxious to visit the smithy.

“Just go ahead. Isaac knows you are here.” Mildred laughed and waved her off.

As Ellen entered the workshop, Isaac was struggling with a large piece for which he could have used a helper.

“Can I give you a hand?” Ellen asked, and went over to him. Her brother-in-law was almost a head taller than her, broad shouldered, and good-looking. “I’m Ellenweore!” she said with a smile.

“Aha, the cousin who is a smith.” Isaac sounded less than cordial. “Well, you can hold it,” he said condescendingly.

Ellen was annoyed at his tone—he could have been a bit friendlier. Looking around, she picked up a leather apron hanging on a post next to the forge. Isaac was adept at handling the piece. He had good rhythm and swung the hammer in a much wider arc than Ellen did. When he nodded, she placed the piece back in the fire. He gave her a derogatory glance. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think much of women working at the forge. I like them better at the kitchen hearth.”

“Well, excuse me,” Ellen said, and took the apron off again. “If it makes you so upset, then you can continue by yourself.” She turned away to leave the smithy.

“That’s exactly what I mean! Women give up too easily and are too quarrelsome to do a man’s job.”

Ellen took a couple of deep breaths and went back to the house. “Your husband didn’t want to have me in the smithy. He thinks women belong at the kitchen hearth,” she huffed.

“If he only knew what your cooking is like, he certainly wouldn’t have said that.” Mildred grinned, and Osmond couldn’t help smiling as well.

“Oh, you are impossible. If he only knew what a good smith I am…”

“Then he wouldn’t have said that. You’re completely right, my dear,” Osmond confirmed softly. “Some men just can’t stand getting on close terms with a skilled woman.”

“I’ll never get married. I couldn’t bear being banished to the kitchen hearth.”

“But once you were married. Wasn’t your husband like that as well?” Mildred asked, with some surprise.

Ellen blushed at the thought she was deceiving everyone. “Jocelyn was very different. He taught me so much, and he would let me work on anything I wanted to. But he didn’t have the chance,” she stammered, her voice trailing off.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Mildred said when she saw the tears in Ellen’s eyes.

Whenever Ellen was in the house, Isaac treated her cordially, joked, and laughed freely, but as soon as she returned to the shop, he was on his worst behavior.

Isaac had a youthful face even though he was nearly thirty years old. When he grinned, he squinted so all you could see were little slits. He had friendly, brown eyes that sparkled when he laughed, but they could also be ice-cold when he cursed or was making fun of someone.

The days at Mildred’s house passed quickly, and soon Ellen and Osmond were on their way back.

Mildred held them both tightly in her arms. “I’m so happy you took over Father’s smithy—he’s so proud of you,” she whispered in Ellen’s ear as they were leaving.

At Christmastime, Mildred and Isaac came to Orford for a visit along with little Marie and their daughter, Agnes, who was only a few weeks old.