The Stolen Kingdom, Page 3

  Chapter 3

  A New Home

 

  Stockwell was a man that truly lived up to his name. Tall and burly, big-boned and muscular, he towered a whopping six-foot-four, two-hundred and seventy-five pounds. His hands were huge. His chest large and protruding. His head bald and eggish. He was the strongest man in the village by far – the complete physical opposite of the man that approached him that day.

  Stockwell was a reasonably wealthy man, too. He had quite a decent amount of land, more than ample for him and his family, and had established himself well amongst his fellow country folk. They noted him for his kind heart and his warm spirit, both of which radiated comfort well beyond his intimidating size. To the people of the town of Leeds, there was nothing to fear from “good ole” Stockwell. But to those outsiders that did not know him, they might find it much more comforting to steer clear, especially on a day like today, when the large, well-built man stood outside his cottage house chopping wood with an ax.

  Of course, Tibbie was no ordinary man, and so he approached him directly, walking across the grassy field. At first, from a distance, Stockwell thought that it was an animal of some sort, and so he gripped his ax ever tighter. But, upon seeing that it was certainly no animal, and furthermore only the small figure of Tibbie, he relaxed and took to chopping his wood again.

  “Hello there!” Tibbie said as he approached.

  “Hello there!” Stockwell echoed.

  Tibbie made his way up the green hill toward the sizeable man.

  “Can I help you?” Stockwell asked.

  “Yes, actually,” Tibbie said, reaching the top and stopping before him. “I was wondering if you could tell me who owns that house out there. The one back yonder over the hill. It seems to be vacant.”

  “It is vacant,” Stockwell replied. “I know because it’s I that own it – Was a man who lived there, but he moved out last winter.”

  “Is it for rent, then?”

  “If I like you.”

  Stockwell chopped down on another piece of wood.

  Tibbie held out his hand. “Name’s Tibbie,” he said. “Tibbie Cooper.”

  The larger man rubbed his enormous hand on his shirt.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister Cooper,” he rejoined, lowering down to shake Tibbie’s hand. “Stockwell. John Stockwell.”

  The two shook.

  “Me and my family are new in town,” Tibbie explained. “We could use a place like that t’stay.”

  “Your family?” Stockwell asked.

  Tibbie pointed out into the distance. “That’s them out in the wagon over there.”

  Stockwell peered.

  “Oh, yes, I see it now. Anyway, the rent is ten shoobles a month if you’re interested.”

  “I am,” Tibbie said.

  “Good. Then you’re welcome to stay.”

  “All right, then,” Tibbie said with a smile. He put his hands to his hips. “I’ll go tell my wife.”

  He turned and was about to make off, when Stockwell caused him to stop.

  “One more thing,” the large man said. “If it would please you, I’d like for you to join me and my family for dinner tonight so that we could all become better acquainted.”

  “Certainly,” Tibbie replied. “We’d be glad to.”

  “Good. Then dinner will be ready at six. Until then, why don’t you and your family go settle yourselves down in your new home?”

  “Thank you.” Again Tibbie turned.

  “Say,” Stockwell called, causing him to halt again. “How many are you anyway?”

  “Ah, three.” Tibbie answered. “But one is only a newborn.”

  “Your first, eh? Congratulations. As a matter of fact, my wife’s workin’ on our second right now. My first one’s seven.”

  “Well, I suppose we’ll meet them tonight.”

  “Sure will,” Stockwell said. “Just be prudent. The wife’s a good cook, but she gets angry when food goes to waste.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t be late.”

  …………………………………………..

  In the Stockwell kitchen, steam was everywhere. Mrs. Stockwell was making beans, corn – the works. Nothing was being spared to welcome their new tenants. She was even preparing sautéed lamb, her specialty; for Mrs. Stockwell was always hospitable.

  Her round rump bustled about the kitchen, jumping from the beans to the soup to the chicken. If there was anything Mrs. Stockwell could do, it was cook. And boy!, could she cook! If Stockwell was the largest man in the village, his wife’s cooking certainly played a part. As for Mrs. Stockwell, she too had enjoyed the benefits of her own talents: her cheeks were bulging and full, her face hearty with delight. She had never gone hungry, that’s for sure, and certainly never would in that house.

  “What are they like?” she called out to her husband, who sat counting the shoobles earned from the day’s sales.

  “I don’t know the woman,” he replied. “I only met the man.”

  “Well, what’s he like?”

  “Seemed nice. I didn’t get much of chance t’get t’know’m, though. Although I can tell ya that he’s practically a midget, so don’t be surprised.”

  “A midget?”

  “You know what a midget is, don’tchya?” Stockwell asked.

  “Sure I know what a midget is!” she said. “It’s just that I heard they’re taboo.”

  “Ya stupid woman! A midget is just like the rest of us, only shorter. Plus, he’s not actually a midget. Just almost could be is all.”

  “What about the wife?”

  “What about her?”

  “Is she like that, too?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see her. We’ll find out soon enough, though – they should be here any minute now.”

  Against the wall was an old grandfather clock that Stockwell took a lot of pride in. It was finely crafted wood with gold and silver lacing on the side, and he would often look up at it even when he already knew the time, just to marvel.

  “It’s six,” he said, “is everything ready? I told them not to be late.”

  “It’s ready.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Stockwell turned to it.

  “Where’s the boy?” he asked.

  Mrs. Stockwell quit her scurrying and paused for a moment.

  “James!” she hollered.

  “Yes, Mother?” a voice answered.

  “Get out here!”

  The boy, tall and lanky for seven, emerged with a big grin on his face. His height was like his father’s, but his brain was more like his mother’s – yet even she was twice as smart. Also like his parents, he had brown hair and brown eyes. The thinness, though, was his own. As for his clothes, a simple pair of brown slacks with matching vest over a plain cream-white shirt. He was about as simple a boy as ever there was.

  “What, Mother?”

  His voice wavered from high to low and low to high, as if it didn’t know what pitch to settle on.

  “The guests are here,” she told him. “Answer the door.”

  The boy nodded happily, as if he had just been assigned some exciting new adventure. He skipped on over to the door and opened it. Outside stood Tibbie and Brianna, the baby wrapped snugly in a fresh blue blanket within Brianna’s arms.

  “Hi,” the boy said.

  “Hello,” Brianna returned.

  “I’m James.”

  Tibbie nodded. “Hello, James,” he said. “I’m Tibbie, and this is my wife Brianna.”

  “Hello,” James said.

  For a moment they all stood staring.

  “Ah…May we come in?” Brianna asked.

  “Oh, sure,” James replied.

  Again they stood staring, the boy bouncing up and down.

  Finally, Tibbie politely surged ahead, forcing James to step to the side. Brianna and the baby followed.

  “Hello!” Stockwell exclaimed with a smile, bending to shake Tibbie’s hand. “Glad to see you made it.”


  “Hello,” Tibbie rejoined, shaking cordially. “This is my wife, Brianna.”

  “Hello, Brianna,” Stockwell said, trying not to be thrown off by her size like so many people had been thrown off by his. “It’s good to meet you.”

  “I see you’ve already met my boy, James,” he said, standing. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Tara.”

  “How do ya do,” she said with a slight bow of the head. She also tried not to be put off by Brianna’s girth.

  “How do ya do.”

  “Please,” Mrs. Stockwell said. “Sit down. The food’s ready.”

  She walked back into the kitchen and all began to take their seats at the table. Stockwell sat at the head, of course, with Tibbie to his right and Brianna to his left. James, meanwhile, sat himself down next to Tibbie. The two were practically the same height. The chair across from him was empty, while the chair next to him, at the other end of the table, remained for Mrs. Stockwell to fill.

  Tibbie took a look around. The Stockwell house was rather large for its time, considerably bigger than his own. Next to the dining room, through an arch, was an open sitting area with a fireplace and some chairs. One of these chairs was large and green, and had a pair of Stockwell’s tremendous slacks slung over it, stained a distinct blood-red. On the other side of the sitting room was the kitchen, where Mrs. Stockwell spent most of her time. Past the kitchen was a hallway, which evidently led to the bedrooms. Later Tibbie was to find-out that there were in fact three bedrooms: one for the Stockwells, one for James, and one that was currently vacant.

  Mrs. Stockwell brought a bowl of piping hot beans to the table, then turned and ran back into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Mr. Stockwell began the conversation:

  “Sooo…Where is it that you’re coming from?” he asked.

  “Belsden,” Tibbie replied.

  “Ooh, Belsden…” Stockwell said. “I’m sorry about the death of the Queen. From what I hear, she was a good woman.”

  “You heard about the Queen already?” Brianna asked.

  “I’m a butcher,” Stockwell replied. “I have customers everywhere. You’re lucky you were able to get out. I hear they closed the borders because so many people were trying to flee from the rule of that Dark Duke fellow.”

  Mrs. Stockwell walked in and laid down some chicken.

  “So, where do ya come from?” she asked.

  “Belsden,” Brianna said.

  “Ooooohhh, Belsden!…Sorry about the death of the Queen.”

  “Yes, so are we.”

  “She was a good woman, I hear.”

  “Yes, she was,” Brianna agreed.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She turned and headed back into the kitchen.

  “Anyway,” Stockwell said, already digging in to some mashed potatoes, “what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a chimney sweep,” Tibbie said.

  “A chimney sweep, eh? If you need help finding work out here, I’m sure I could find you some.”

  “Sure. Tha’d be great.”

  Mrs. Stockwell re-entered the room, laying a dish of broccoli on the table.

  “So, what do you do for a living, Tibbie?” she asked.

  “I’m a chimney sweep.”

  “Oh, a chimney sweep, eh?” She turned to her husband. “John, maybe you can help him find some work.”

  “I mentioned that already,” Mr. Stockwell said. “If you were here, you would’ve heard it.”

  “Well, do you want t’serve?”

  Stockwell looked away.

  “Then shut-up.” With that, Mrs. Stockwell walked back into the kitchen.

  “Anyway,” Stockwell proceeded, “are you satisfied with your living quarters?”

  “Yes,” Tibbie replied. “Very much so.”

  “Good,” said Stockwell. “Then I assume that you’ll be staying?”

  “Certainly,” Tibbie assured him.

  Mrs. Stockwell came back in, laid down some potatoes, and sat.

  “So,” she began, “do ya like where you’re stayin’?”

  Mr. Stockwell slammed down his fork.

  “We were just over that!” he snapped.

  “Well, pardon me,” Mrs. Stockwell cracked. “Maybe I should submit to you what I’m gonna ask before I ask it. How would that be, Your Highness?”

  “It’s better than hearing the same thing twice.”

  Both of them “hmf”ed and began picking at their food. For a moment, Tibbie and Brianna felt uncomfortable. Then, finally, Mrs. Stockwell turned to Brianna and said, “My dear, why on earth are you holdin’ that baby when we got a nice old bassinet over in the sittin’ room?”

  “You do?”

  “Sure,” Mrs. Stockwell said, patting her stomach. “Ya know, I’m getting ready for another myself. – Come. I’ll show ya.”

  She got up from her seat and went over to Brianna, lifting her by the hand out of the chair. She led her into the sitting room and over to the bassinet, then took the baby from her arms and laid him snuggly inside. He gave a happy little laugh and kicked his feet, to which Mrs. Stockwell responded by smiling and rubbing his head.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  Brianna’s heart dropped; for she had no answer to this question. With all of the rushing and running, she had completely forgotten to give the baby a name!

  Mrs. Stockwell glanced back at her. Then, with a swift turn, she glared at Mr. Stockwell.

  “Is that all right to ask?” she snapped. “Or has that been said, too?”

  Stockwell stopped eating for a moment. “No actually,” he said. He looked at Tibbie. “What is the baby’s name?”

  “…Uhh…Uhh…”

  There was a knock.

  Thank goodness, too. How bad it would have looked if the baby didn’t have a name! And how odd!

  “That must be Aunt Soothie,” Mrs. Stockwell said. “I’ll get it.”

  “Oh, good,” said her husband sardonically. “I was afraid she wasn’t going to show.”

  Another knock pounded the door. Then an aged voice could be heard yelling: “Come on! Get off your lard and hurry-up! It’s chilly out here!”

  Mrs. Stockwell opened the door.

  “Hello, Auntie,” she said. “How are ya?”

  “One minute closer t’death. Next time answer sooner.”

  The woman, not needing any invitation, briskly stepped inside the house. She looked to be in her late fifties; her face was wrinkled, her hair gray; her hazel eyes the last mark of beauty that remained on her withered face, which at one time had indeed been very beautiful. She had a look that could be construed as both pleasant and intruding, and a manner that could only be thought of as strong.

  Her relationship with Mr. Stockwell was anything but ideal. They didn’t hate each other, per se, but they certainly liked to pretend they did. It was just that they had conflicting personalities. One was jovial and polite, while the other was glib and uncouth. Furthermore, the two had a constant battle of the wits going that made things even worse.

  “Nice t’see you, Soothie,” Stockwell said in a sarcastic tone. “What would dinner be without indigestion?”

  “Why thank ya, John,” she returned. “But ya didn’t hafta go n’ polish yer head all on account’a me.”

  “Aunt Soothie,” Mrs. Stockwell interjected, “these are our new tenants…Tibbie and Brianna. And this is their new baby….What did you say his name was again?”

  “Well, actually…” Tibbie began.

  “Taylor!”

  “What?”

  The “Taylor” was Brianna’s. The “What” was everyone else’s.

  “Taylor,” Brianna repeated.

  Everybody in the room looked at each other, contemplating the name. Tibbie tried not to look confused.

  “Yes. Taylor,” he affirmed.

  “Taylor what?” Mrs. Stockwell asked.

  “Pardon?” Tibbie said.

  “Well, he should have a middle name, too, ya know?”

  “Oh.
” He tried to think quick. He looked over to James, who was busy making strange noises with his armpits. “James,” he said at last. “Taylor James.”

  “That’s nice,” Mrs. Stockwell observed. “Don’tchyou think so, Aunt Soothie?”

  “Yes, yes. Very nice.” But for some reason her voice sounded suspicious. “May I see the child?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Brianna said.

  Soothie walked over to the bassinet. A baby full of wonder stared out into her hazel eyes as she bent over to get a closer look. For a moment, Soothie remained enraptured. Then, addressing everyone and no one in particular, she rose up and spoke:

  “There is something special about this child,” she said.

  “How do you mean?” Brianna asked.

  But it was Mr. Stockwell who answered:

  “I think I can explain,” he said to Tibbie. “You see, my wife’s aunt believes that she has soothsaying powers of some sort, that she can see things. All she does all day (in the house that I provide for her), is come up with stupid predictions. It’s pathetic.”

  “Shut-up, ya egg-headed fool! I’m tellin’ ya I look inta this boy’s eyes n’ I see something special.”

  “You couldn’t see a bat if it was clasped to your face.”

  “Oh, you’re wrong about that, monkey brains. In fact, right now I spot myself a bald eagle.”

  “What the heck’s a bald eagle?”

  “Wouldn’tchyou like t’know!”

  Stockwell dropped his fork and threw up his hands.

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Mrs. Stockwell pleaded.

  For a moment, Soothie and Stockwell remained glaring at each other. Finally, Mrs. Stockwell, already growing impatient, began to lead Soothie to her seat. The older woman shrugged off her arms and sat down on her own.

  The rest of the meal was nothing much out of the ordinary. The conversation gradually moved along, jumping from Belsden to the food to work and so on. Tibbie and Brianna talked about Taylor, pretending to be as comfortable with the topic as any other, while Mr. and Mrs. Stockwell spoke of their baby yet to come. James, meanwhile, just kept repeating, “We have the same name, we have the same name,” which he had been saying over and over again ever since Tibbie had made the announcement.

  With the exception of Stockwell and Aunt Soothie, all seemed to get along quite well. Stockwell told stories about things that had happened to him on the job, and Tibbie contributed by passing the occasional witty remark. The evening climaxed with the indulgence of a blueberry pie, which Mrs. Stockwell had prepared earlier in the day. It was the beginning of a very good thing: Friendship.

  After dinner, both Tibbie and Brianna felt very good about their new surroundings. By the time they stepped outside late that evening, they were able to smile at each other for the first time since leaving Belsden.

  “One question,” Tibbie said. “What made you come up with the name Taylor?”

  Brianna laughed. “Why, Stockwell’s enormous pants,” she said. “They were right there beside me.”

  …………………………………………..

  Over the next few months the two families became better and better friends. Mr. Stockwell helped Tibbie find work, as promised, and Mrs. Stockwell helped Brianna tend to Taylor. Soothie, too, contributed, mostly by aiding in the cooking, and by keeping everyone (except Stockwell) entertained with her stories of ole. Tibbie and Brianna would grow very fond of her as well.

  Mr. Stockwell also introduced Tibbie to fishing, and the two men found much enjoyment in it, often taking long trips without their wives. (Not that the wives minded. They appreciated the free time.) On most days, Stockwell would meet up with Tibbie at the local pub after the two had finished their work for the day. The two were a sight to see, for sure: one being so large and the other so small; but it soon became well-known around town that the two were the best of friends.

  While the men were out, the women were usually home conversing. They conferred with each other daily, talking about different things to cook, things that had happened with the children, and whatever else it was that would come up during the day. Often they sat poking fun at the men, whom they found to be easy targets. Mostly, though, they just enjoyed each other’s company.

  And that is why James ran to Tibbie and Brianna’s house the night that Rosemarie was born.

  Tibbie had had a tough day at work, and sat at the table tired and disheveled while Brianna served him some soup and bread. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.

  “Well, who could that be, out in the rain?” Brianna said, rising from the table.

  Tibbie shrugged as Brianna went and answered. Outside was little James, soaking wet from head to toe. He was breathing hard. He had obviously been running.

  “James!” Brianna cried. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Come quick!” he said. “Mom’s givin’ birth.”

  Brianna spun round to Tibbie.

  “Tibbie, get the wagon!”

  “Why?” he said. “What is it?”

  “Tara’s givin’ birth.”

  Quickly, Tibbie jumped from the table. Not two minutes later, Tibbie and Brianna were outside the Stockwell house with James, the baby Taylor covered safely in a bassinet. It was Soothie that answered.

  “It’s all right,” she said, letting them in. “The midwife is here and things are under control.”

  In the background they could hear Mrs. Stockwell grunting as the midwife ordered her to push. She was sitting on the large chair by the fireplace, her feet propped up on two stools. The midwife was kneeling between her legs, examining. She was young for a midwife, in her thirties, perhaps; with long light hair fluttering over a purple dress.

  Mr. Stockwell was pacing up and down the floor, causing the entire house to shake while nearly pulling out his eyebrows in the process.

  The midwife rose. “It may be a while,” she announced.

  “All we can do is wait,” Soothie said.

  And wait they did. For hours and hours.

  Poor Tibbie, devoted as he was, gradually ceded to sleep in the sixth hour. He had just begun to dream of a small world, where he was a big person, when suddenly the sound of a baby crying cracked the air.

  “It’s a girl!” the midwife declared, holding it up for all to see.

  “Let me see her!” Stockwell demanded, taking the baby from the midwife’s hands. He smiled down at her with pride. “She’s beautiful,” he said.

  All gathered round as Stockwell lowered his arms for them to get a look. The child was just opening its eyes and taking its first peek at the new world.

  “Congratulations,” said Tibbie.

  “She’s wonderful,” Brianna said.

  “What a beautiful baby girl,” Soothie noted.

  “Are we gonna keep’r?” James asked.

  “We sure are,” Stockwell told him. His eyes were glistening with pride, gazing down at the newborn like an archeologist would gaze at some sort of rare artifact.

  “John,” Mrs. Stockwell gasped. “Let me see her.”

  She held out her arms and Stockwell gently placed the crying newborn within them. He leaned down next to her and for a moment the two remained silent in awe, two happy smiles stretched widely across their faces.

  “Look how gorgeous she is,” Mrs. Stockwell said.

  “Beautiful,” Stockwell remarked. “Like a rose.”

  Mrs. Stockwell nodded her head in agreement.

  “Then that is what we should call her,” she said.

  “Rose?” Stockwell repeated, pondering aloud. “Hmm…I like that.”

  “And Marie,” added Mrs. Stockwell. “Like my late mother…Rosemarie.”

  “Rosemarie it is, then.”

  Stockwell stood up.

  “Everyone come and see,” he yelled. “Brianna…bring Taylor, too.”

  And so they all went over to see the newly arrived Rosemarie, with Brianna taking baby Taylor out of his bassinet and into her arms. All welcomed Rosemari
e in their own way: Soothie by saying a blessing, James by waving, Tibbie by making funny faces. When it was Brianna’s turn, she leaned in close with Taylor.

  “Say hello to Rosemarie,” Brianna told him.

  Now, of course, Taylor still couldn’t speak, and so he said hello to Rosemarie in his own way. He smiled at her and giggled. Then he reached across and hit her.