Read Online Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel - Free Book Online
Authors: Fran Friel
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special treat of rock candy or a biscuit, nearly as happy giving it as the boy was receiving it. And when he was done with his tea, he offered his thanks with a slight bow and departed. He never allowed Will's mother to pay him for the supplies, promising to settle the account when business was better at the tailor shop.
Although uncomfortable with this arrangement, Will's mother was deeply grateful, since she had such limited means to acquire food for her child. She begged Mister Worthing for mending she might do for him and his Missus but he declined, suggesting that it might be best if they kept their arrangement just between them.
Late one evening after the first snowfall and a scant few days before Will's ninth birthday, a frantic knock came at the door. At his mother's urging, Will opened the door and in flew Missus McTavish, the shawl around her head as much to hide her appearance, it seemed, as to stave off the cold.
"Close the door, lad!” she nearly shouted.
Running to Maire Pennycock's side, she clutched the seamstress’ sleeve.
"Listen to me, lass. You must leave this village before dawn. The shopkeeper's wife has been ravin’ some nonsense about ye being a witch. I heard she sent word o'er a month ago to the Inquisitor General, and he's bound to arrive on the morrow."
Confused by the news, Will's mother sat silently staring into the woman's worried face.
"Come on, lass! There's no time to waste,” said the woman. “Get up from your stitching and pack up the wee boy and be off."
"I don't understand, Maggie. What are you on about?"
Missus McTavish shook her head in frustration.
"She's saying you're a witch, and she's puttin’ the fear in others to speak out against ye. They'll hang ye, Maire. Don't ye understand? Ye have to go ... now!"
"I've nowhere to go, Maggie. The family won't have me back. And besides, I'm no witch, and the King's law will prove it. I'd rather face them than run and hide like a guilty dog. I'll not sully my good husband's name with such nonsense."
"Seems the King's law ain't for the likes of us, but I done me part to warn ye. I'm puttin’ risk to me own kin for bein’ here, so if ye haven't the good sense to take me heed, than may God have mercy on ye."
The woman clutched at her shawl and bustled toward the door. Looking back, her eyes fell on Will and she began to speak, then clamped her mouth shut. She opened the door and ran out into the dark night, snow billowing in through the doorway behind her.
"Mum?"
"Hush, lad. Get me your father's coat from the sea chest. It's time I stitch that to fit you, boy. Now off to bed with you. You'll have you a new wool coat by morning."
* * * *
Will woke to a pounding on the door. The sun barely risen, he could see his mother at the entrance to the shop, men reading to her from a paper. Will put his feet on the cold floor and ran toward his mother. A large man he knew from the village stepped inside the door, blocking his way.
"Stand firm, young Will. Your mother has been charged and will be held until her trial. You'll not be seeing her until then."
Will tried to push past the big man, tears of rage and fear slipping from the corners of his eyes.
"Mum, don't let them take you! Mum?"
With tears in her own eyes, she called to her son as the men dragged her from her home.
"Will, the coat. It's yours now, lad. Keep it close, and remember, I'll always be with you. Always."
Those were the last words he heard his mother speak until the Inquisitor's trial.
He cried for days it seemed, and no one in the village would help him. No one would answer his questions about what was happening to his mother. Missus McTavish's door was closed to him, and even Mister Worthing averted his eyes when he saw Will. But true to her word, his mother had completed stitching his father's coat to nearly fit him. He had found it laying across the sea chest by the chair where she did her stitching. The coat was big, room to grow as she would have said. He
Although uncomfortable with this arrangement, Will's mother was deeply grateful, since she had such limited means to acquire food for her child. She begged Mister Worthing for mending she might do for him and his Missus but he declined, suggesting that it might be best if they kept their arrangement just between them.
Late one evening after the first snowfall and a scant few days before Will's ninth birthday, a frantic knock came at the door. At his mother's urging, Will opened the door and in flew Missus McTavish, the shawl around her head as much to hide her appearance, it seemed, as to stave off the cold.
"Close the door, lad!” she nearly shouted.
Running to Maire Pennycock's side, she clutched the seamstress’ sleeve.
"Listen to me, lass. You must leave this village before dawn. The shopkeeper's wife has been ravin’ some nonsense about ye being a witch. I heard she sent word o'er a month ago to the Inquisitor General, and he's bound to arrive on the morrow."
Confused by the news, Will's mother sat silently staring into the woman's worried face.
"Come on, lass! There's no time to waste,” said the woman. “Get up from your stitching and pack up the wee boy and be off."
"I don't understand, Maggie. What are you on about?"
Missus McTavish shook her head in frustration.
"She's saying you're a witch, and she's puttin’ the fear in others to speak out against ye. They'll hang ye, Maire. Don't ye understand? Ye have to go ... now!"
"I've nowhere to go, Maggie. The family won't have me back. And besides, I'm no witch, and the King's law will prove it. I'd rather face them than run and hide like a guilty dog. I'll not sully my good husband's name with such nonsense."
"Seems the King's law ain't for the likes of us, but I done me part to warn ye. I'm puttin’ risk to me own kin for bein’ here, so if ye haven't the good sense to take me heed, than may God have mercy on ye."
The woman clutched at her shawl and bustled toward the door. Looking back, her eyes fell on Will and she began to speak, then clamped her mouth shut. She opened the door and ran out into the dark night, snow billowing in through the doorway behind her.
"Mum?"
"Hush, lad. Get me your father's coat from the sea chest. It's time I stitch that to fit you, boy. Now off to bed with you. You'll have you a new wool coat by morning."
* * * *
Will woke to a pounding on the door. The sun barely risen, he could see his mother at the entrance to the shop, men reading to her from a paper. Will put his feet on the cold floor and ran toward his mother. A large man he knew from the village stepped inside the door, blocking his way.
"Stand firm, young Will. Your mother has been charged and will be held until her trial. You'll not be seeing her until then."
Will tried to push past the big man, tears of rage and fear slipping from the corners of his eyes.
"Mum, don't let them take you! Mum?"
With tears in her own eyes, she called to her son as the men dragged her from her home.
"Will, the coat. It's yours now, lad. Keep it close, and remember, I'll always be with you. Always."
Those were the last words he heard his mother speak until the Inquisitor's trial.
He cried for days it seemed, and no one in the village would help him. No one would answer his questions about what was happening to his mother. Missus McTavish's door was closed to him, and even Mister Worthing averted his eyes when he saw Will. But true to her word, his mother had completed stitching his father's coat to nearly fit him. He had found it laying across the sea chest by the chair where she did her stitching. The coat was big, room to grow as she would have said. He
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