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Text File | 1994-12-01 | 20KB | 401 lines

LIBERTY TREE PUB: Her Honour
    by D.M. Hanna

  When Mister Johnston's apples reached the size of her clenched
fist, the misses informed me as to her intention to visit kin. Not
in so many words, mind you; her dealings with me are more subtle than
that. What she actually said was something altogether different.

  "Look here, Wil," she began, holding one of the fruits aloft, "have
you ever seen such a pitiful sight? This time of year the fruits should
be much better -- would you not agree? Why, my own mother's apples are
most probably near ripe by now! And her blackberries! Oh, Wil if I could
have some of both, I would have fine preserves for this winter -- GRAND
pies I could serve you then!"

  The dear offered me these observations when my mouth was filled with
her bread awash in barley broth, and a gentleman's reply could not be
given. More to the point, it was not required. Having known this woman
for nearing a score of years, I was to know that she was not expecting
an answer to her words; she was dangling the carrot! Past dealings had
been much the same choice: accept the carrot -- or suffer the stick!

  With haste, I stuffed my cheeks with more of her savory bread well
buttered, wishing to purchase time in which to mull-over a proper
response and the timing of said.

  One thing was to be certain: the misses wanted to travel to her
native homestead, and I dared not disappoint her plan. Other men may
not admit, but it is God's truth that the hen rules the coop, and the
rooster is merely granted occasional privilege. Should he ever attempt
to rule the roost, a sound pecking awaits his head and other, softer
parts.

  Were my mother to have reared a dunce, I may have replied, "Sorry,
dearest. What with my columns due and the book growing full, I have no
time for frivolous travels. But don't dispair, my love. Perhaps, after
I have made sufficient progress in my assignments and cached a number
of writings ahead we can make the journey -- say, in a month, or so."

  Very well; I would suppose here an admission is due. As I did consider
a response such as this, I begrudgingly admit that my mother may have
borne such a foole -- but -- this particular buffoon had previously made
a similar blunder, well remembering the lesson learned! And so, I made
the decision of a learned man; a man of letters and wisdom . . . .

  My sly and considered response was a neutral "Mmmm," as I continued
to cram more crusts and soup into my foolish mouth!

  My goodly wife is not a harpy, nor can she be called unreasonable,
shrill, or unfair. My experience has been that, when I refrain from
being pigheaded and male, Susan will always afford me opportunity to
save face and a most workable solution, to boot. True to this, her
better nature, she spoke, and her reprieve gladdened my ears.

  "William," she began in her sweetest, most pleasing voice, "Ellen
Darby and I were speaking just the other day. Her man Jason is away on
extended business, and she's wanting to find quilts worthy of her new
bedroom set.

  "What?" I said to her -- completely aghast at the coincidence!

  "My mother and her bee produce award winning comforters! In fact,
nearby my childhood home lives a thriving Amish community, where I am
quite sure you can find what covers you desire for a fraction of your
anticipated cost!"

  Having swallowed my mouthful (and hers also) I smiled my best and
replied, "And what was her reply?"

  Absolutely beaming and aglow in response to my inferred approval,
she lept into my lap and gleefully said, "She leaves on the morrow and
I shall show her the way! Oh, Wil! I am so VERY glad for your consent!
I shall indeed fetch back those fruits -- and MORE!"

  Soon after, the remainder of my broth and bread was rendered fodder
for the dog, as Susan and I became otherwise engaged. Of that I shall
say nothing more, save this: my page and quill idled a fair part longer
than usual after that noontide, and this rooster was granted the
privilege of being the cock-of-the-walk that day!

  Shortly after the next day's dawning, I watched and waved as the wife
and her benefactor rode out of the burg. Making best of the circumstance,
I forewent all meals that day and worked the pen feverishly, meaning to
accomplish all that I could before the dinner hour. And when at last I
heard the reverend Murphy's bells ringing at dusk, I bid my desk and
house farewell.

  Once gaining the street, I withdrew the passkey from my pocket, smiled
broadly, and hastened my steps in search of the doorlock at the Liberty
Tree Pub and Grille.

                               *  *  *

  Upon arrival at the Liberty Tree, I was treated to a homecoming all
my own. Before reaching the bar, the lovely and vivacious Eva accosted
me in a most welcoming manner.

  "WILLIE!" she cried, bounding out and up from Benjamin's lap and
hastily crossing the room. "And where is it that you have been? A
naughty boy you are!"

  Ready and willing of the confrontation, I swept her off her feet in
approach, pressed her lusciously scented self to mine, and hungrily
kissed her full and wanting mouth.

  "You are forgiven!" she giggled as I released her from my clutch.
Stroking my chin, she cooed; "and thank your dear wife for me."

  "And what is it I will be thanking her for?" I queried.

  "For sating your animal fever, my dear sweet William -- and, for
teaching you so well in greeting!" she emphasized, petting me low and
grinning.

  Though I had thought myself prepared for her manner, I blushed in
reply.

  "Go on with you," she said, her voice singing in my ears. "Old Ben has
been waiting the discussion for you. Can I bring you a cup?"

  "Yes, please." I muttered, attempting to regain my composure; feeling
quite ignored, my entrails grumbled their want.

  "For you I bring a specialty," she giggled, patting my belly, "and
though your master has grieved you, Evie will fill you up. Off with you
now -- the both of you -- SCAT!" She finished, nudging me to face Ben's
table, while she waltzed away toward the counter.

  As I sat myself to the table, Ben winked me a welcome while drinking
his ale. To his left sat John, and I was pleased to find him in a much
more chipper mood then when last we met. "Halloo!" he greeted me with
open hand.

  "Wil, meet Thomas." Ben pronounced with pride, indicating the red
maned gent to his right. "Much as you, he is an author. I dare say, he
would honour the profession if he were not also a barrister."

  "This old curmudgeon has told me of you, William," he stated, shaking
my hand. "We two -- three -- have been long in acquaintance, and I am
pleased to know you."

  "And I you," was all I could get out before Eva set a large, frothy
mug before me and dropped in my lap, requiring her recompense. Without
delay, I thanked her as I knew best.

  "See here?" she announced to the room after the bus. "You would
all do well to learn from this one!" Leaning in close and clutching
me, she spoke in a whisper. "Tell your master I will chamber you when
she tires of this," and again, she was off across the room.

  A strange look of perplexity coloured Tom's face, and I could not
know why.

  "I dare say," remarked Ben, waving his arm to the room, "that Wil
may be the first of us to sample the proprietor's wares. A toast to you,
young man!"

  While we three drank, Tom grinned like a devil and slapped me on the
back, saying, "Astonished at you is what I am! For years I have tickled
and taunted that one, and she has NEVER shown ME such attention!"

  Once again, I burned with the rue of embarrassment.

  About then, another seated himself in the chair to John's left and
waited patiently to be introduced. After a moment -- when none did so
-- I introduced myself.

  "Pleased to meet you, William," he said with a nod, "I am called
Henry."

  "I do not recall your face from when last I visited," I ventured,
looking intently at his face, "but you seem familiar to me."

  "Rarely do I come here," he replied with a wry smile, adding, "I
never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude."

  Without my notice, Eva had returned to the table, carrying a piping
hot platter filled with a mouthwatering and ample fillet of perch flanked
on opposing sides by parsley potatoes and buttered beans, and, a pitcher.
She refilled everyone's mugs and collected her tithes from all -- but
Henry. Instead of smooching the saucy one, he looked away to the crackling
fire and the hearth across the room.

  If there were any who found his reaction peculiar, none mentioned it.
To me, it was as telling of him as his words.

  While I ate, the others busied themselves with trivial talk, good
natured teasing, and other such banter. By the time I had consumed near
all my portions, Eva returned and deposited another brimming pitcher.
"My compliments to the cook," I breathed, retarding a belch, "for a most
memorable meal -- and I thank you, Evie, for such fine service."

  Displaying a moist twinkle in her eye and a broad, inviting smile,
Eva announced, "Did you pack of heathens hear? Chivalry and good manners
are NOT lost in this one! You all would do well to mind his example!" And
when collecting my table service she muttered, "A special dessert for you,
dear. Be sure to see me before you return to your misses this eve." This
having been said, Eva left our company without another word and requiring
none of the attention most customarily shown her.

  "Quite the charmer, are you not, sir? Perhaps you will bewitch us all
in your -- your _futuristic_ ways," John said sourly over his cup.

  "Mind your tongue!" Ben snided in a lowish tone, "as some matters are
best left alone."

  "You folk did not hesitate one whit in questioning me regarding such
matters! Is this one so different?" John grumbled, sinking into a dark
mood and further into his ale. "You forbid me from poking about, but
why? Because I am a latecomer? A query for you, then: just WHO was it
that placed YOU in authority?"

  "Be still . . ." Tom replied with menacing pitch in his voice and
looking daggers at this other. "Know your place."

  With these words the conversation grew cold as the grave. But here
is a curious observation I made: these others became quite sullen, and
withdrew into the depths of their cups -- but again, with the exception
of Henry. He alone looked to me with a wistful, pleasing countenance.
Truly I tell you, I could not discover the meaning of this while
courting their silence. After some longish moments of their brooding and
his bemuse, I broke the quiet.

  What is it that is often said? Curiosity killed the cat -- but that
satisfaction brought it back?

  "Gentlemen," I began, taking pitcher in hand, servicing each of
their cups, and lastly my own, "it is time this was put behind us. To
date, there has existed an unspoken truce among all who venture here,
and I am not at all sure that such an arrangement is healthy. So -- I
will breech the subject and risk the fates. How is it that we, persons
of such differing periods in time's tale, can congregate here and now in
the shelter of this enchanted place?"

  Their simultaneous, group look of astonishment spoke volumes;
unfortunate for me, the language of those tomes was altogether foreign
of my own. John alone retorted, "See there, Ben? He expects it! I am
right as rain in April and this one will be its proof!"

  Tom glared at John, who quickly regained his composure, yet, retained
his glee.

  Ben regarded me with an inquisitor's eye, apparently both
apprehensive and curious. Pausing first to quench his thirst he then
puffed up and spoke. "Very well, William. Since you urge the moment, I
will moderate." Speaking to the others he remarked, "Any who think ill
of this arrangement, speak now."

  None challenged him; not even John.

  "So be it. William," he continued, looking thoughtful. "Though we
have discussed this matter amongst ourselves before, we have little
to offer in solid evidence."

  "Save, that Ben finds each of us in his wanderings," interjected
John. "And, that each of us freely returns to his place and time of
origin."

  For the first time in my recall, Ben looked cross, but more so.
Without hesitation, he spent this message on John. "If you will not
abide by the arrangement, begone!" he shouted, and emphasized his words
with a loud, hard stomp of his shoe against the floor.

  The whole of the tavern took notice of his outburst, and I was
embarrassed for him, and for John.

  I began to laugh, much to the astonishment of my companions. I
confess this to have been a nervous reply, but not an inappropriate
one. One by one, each of my tablemates joined me, but it was not until
Ben himself laughed aloud that the congregation of the pub returned to
its normalcy. When I regained my composure I had some explaining to do.
"My apologies, Ben. But just then you reminded me of myself when chiding
the misses for a silly accident!" After seeing his face reflect a humble
thought duly noted, I continued. "I understand gentlemen, I really do.
Plain to me is this: each of you is want of news, and John is the most
encouraged to take advantage of this moment."

  Looking toward the cowering John, Ben growled, "He neglects all
protocol and common sense! Suffering such ungentlemanly behavior is a
trial to me -- and he knows full well the harm to be done in asking."

  "There is that," I mused. Knowledge without wisdom can cause
unspeakable destruction, and our shared circumstance was potentially
timestopping . . . quite literally so. It was plain that I could say
nothing -- solid -- of that which was yet to be for them. "Never the
less," I continued, "have you an answer to my quest? Are any of you
privy to the workings of this enigmatic tavern? I know it is frowned
upon to look a gift horse in the mouth, but how else does one determine
the value in the offing?"

  After first looking to the others Ben shrugged his shoulders, saying,
"It is hard for an empty sack to stand upright."

  "Meaning?" I replied with a sheepish grin.

  Rather than offer response, Ben retreated into the depth of his cup
and the others remained silent. Tom, his face twisted with intellectual
perplexity and John, looking like a child spooked by strange sounds in
the night. But Henry's eyes and mouth bespoke a strange serenity -- and
a knowing.

  Again I laughed, telling them this, "Gentlemen, none of you
surprise me! Each of you replies much as I would expect. Ben, the
resident scientist and philosopher finds no little peg on which to
hang his hat with surety. And wordsmith Tom! Tom, the lawyer -- he
courts quiet after finding no misplaced words on which to base any
argument!" At this point I paused to drink and look impishly at the
others because of my suspicions. When I decided the wait had been
dramatic and sufficient enough, I continued, quoting: "O Time, bring
back those midnights and those friends,/Those glittering moments that
a spirit lends." When finished, I smiled wryly at our brother John.

  "My dear Lord." John uttered breathlessly, "How is it that you know
my muse?"

  With the most baffling smile I could muster I turned to Henry,
saying, "Did you not once say, `Time is but the stream I go a-fishing
in'?"

  Much to my amusement, Henery exhibited first surprise, then, a look
of anger as if having been robbed. Quickened by the thrill in my heart,
I continued speaking, saying, "Gents! Just as surely as I know myself,
I know the lot of you!"

  Noticing Eva in approach, I stood with mug in hand and loudly
pronounced, "Gentlefolk! I will not pretend to know just how this
meetinghouse exists, but I can toast her spirit -- to Eva! For all my
tomorrows, may she be ready to sate my every hunger!"

  In reply, all those attending the hall stood and raised their cups
amid calls and cries of, "Hear, hear!" and "To Eva!" Almost immediately,
the dear lady was being passed around from one set of lips to another.
And while this carousal went round, I crossed to the bar and stood apart
from it.

  When the patrons once again settled into their places I glanced back
to the table and caught sight of Ben's happy eye winking a secret reply.
From a distance, I observed all the clientele resume their conversations
and gayeties as if I myself were an unseen spectre in the pub. That is,
until that little vixen Eva set upon me with her hungry mouth. And I
would have you know -- she did not release me until she was well sated.
This proved to be quite entertaining to all those who noticed; laughing
and cat-calling their pleasure at the spectacle.

  "Thank you, sweet William," she whispered while the two of us
embraced. United, we edged our way toward the vestibule and so, out
of eyespot of all others. Once alone, I looked deep into her emerald
green eyes, and was sorely tempted to be imprudent and speak my heart.
"I thank you for such a luscious dessert," I muttered privately to her.
"I will say nothing to them of my knowing; your secrets are saved in me."

  Surprising enough to me, she blushed a little. "Whatever are you
speaking about?" she asked as she pulled away, showing an enigmatic
smile. But when she squeezed my hand in hers and winked, I found
assurance that we had an understanding.

  Next, she helped me on with my jacket and kissed me quite fine.
Afterward, I spent a long moment to look into those Erin pools of hers
before finally speaking my heart's thought. "I cannot know if you hail
from before or aft on time's line," I whispered, pressing my cheek to
hers. "But I appreciate inclusion amongst your collection -- and I look
forward to returning . . . good night, Eva Bartlett."

  Though I fully expected her to exhibit surprise at my assertion, it
was I who became amazed. Rather than looking aghast, her smile became
bitter-sweet and a lone, salty tear puddled in her right eye. "Such a
wonder, you are -- does your woman know this?" Lastly -- putting me out
door with a push -- she muttered, "When next you come the two of us must
find another entertainment. Off with you, now! And remember to thank
that misses of yours."

  And that, as they say, was that. Once again, I was walking the
streets; this time, homeward bound. Yet, I remain curious. For if my
assumption is correct, there remains a wonder yet to be satisfied. Not
whether Eva is from a future time, or, if she survives as a relic of
events past. Either way from that question, she it is a fact that she
and the pub exist. And not that I am right -- that she is a Bartlett,
that is.

  My nosiness lies in the thought that she regards me collectable and
worthy of distinction among the bibers at the Liberty Tree. To date,
none of my words or compiled works warrants notoriety, let alone
immortality.  So, I am encouraged to return to the stylus and page of
my time; thrilled by the prospect of discovering words rought in gold,
timeless, and noteworthy. But I shant stay away quite so long this next
time. All the sooner shall I return to that hallowed hall; in search of
copious spirits, food for the soul, and inspiration . . .

. . . and, mayhap, some dose of eternal bliss.

                               *  *  *
Copyright 1994 Don M. Hanna
----------------------------------------------------------------------
  Don, author of the Liberty Tree stories, remarks that the existance
of the pub will be explained in episode #3, "RELATIVES." In addition
to this on-going series, he promises other short stories soon to appear,
and a new series, THE TIME TRIPPER TALES, slated for publication in 1995.
He can be reached: netmail at 1:2601/522 or WRITERS BIZ, 412-588-7863.
=======================================================================