Chapter 16: Craggs' Hut

CHUCK

I was in no hurry and walked Castor, it gave me time to try to order my plans. I had much to do. There is something therapeutic about horse riding when you're not in a hurry; the gentle sway of the magnificent animal beneath you, enjoying the fresh outside air and the grandeur of the distant scenery. Even as I descended my driveway to the main track I was already assessing the fertility of the rolling land on either side. So much could be done with it.

It felt good to think that one was planning to produce something out of the nature around. That same sense of satisfaction I had in engineering but farming that was closer to nature, the natural order of things and in a way more rewarding.

Yes, the idea of the homestead being my centre of focus was much greater than I had envisaged originally.

My mind flitted around without being forced to follow one train of thought. I went back to what I had done this morning. Oh heck, what would Mom have said about my treatment of Amina?

And, oh fuck! I was obliged to take Beth to bed.

Obliged?

I relaxed. What was all this balderdash, feeling bad about ravaging Amina? I took my mind back to my aggressive behaviour. Bloody hell! It had felt good! I took a deep breath, Fuck it! She hadn't minded, I knew then that this wouldn't be the last time I would let her appreciate a bit of rough sex, after all that was what she wanted, wasn't it?

And Beth? Why should I be so pissed off about having to regard that as a duty? I started whistling Greensleeves, it was a beautiful late morning and everything was going my way, why shouldn't I just accept things as they are. Mom had been living in a different era. She wasn't here, if she were, she would have adapted like everybody else, wouldn't she?

Everybody else? Well there was one woman who hadn't adapted, that was Laeticia. So what? I can manage to live without her. I already lived with Amina and there was Cassie. Now, Cassie, I could hardly believe it, I was starting to like her presence. As long as she wasn't acting like the big turd she used to, I wouldn't mind a bit of her skirt!*

"Dee-dee, Da-da dum dee da," I started whistling. Life was good. The view was terrific, how often had I had time to just admire it? I continued to whistle. Well, if you were present the only thing to spoil the image of the Garden of Eden was my whistling. If you heard me singing, most persons put their fingers in their ears, tone deaf, I was; but there was nobody to complain out here, in this idyllic countryside. Life was on the up, I just had a few things to do in Hartglade and I could go back and live on my homestead. Yes, I wouldn't take many jobs. That was too taxing, life was for living. I'd been given a second chance, and what a chance!

I would take everything as it came up now. Also, once I'd finished this, I determined there would be no overworking, there would be no burning the midnight oil. Midnight oil, oil lamps, they were smelly; very smelly, smoky and the yellow flickering light was not very bright. What other forms of light could there be? There must be better alternatives I could start working on.

"There I was, off again..." I said to myself as I left the bridge behind. I turned up towards the quarry to check out how they were getting on there.

Of course, by the time that I arrived back into Hartglade it was already evening. There had been so much to sort out. I let myself be seen in the bar of the brothel before returning to Madame's office and checking on the day's takings.

The next morning I walked around to Craggs' cabin. It was like a tardis*.

I couldn't believe it. How he could have collected so much and managed to store it in such a restricted space I have no idea. I spent the whole of the day there, the smell getting worse as I worked my way down to the bottom of piles of rubbish and old clothing.

The smell emanated from clothing that must've been put away twenty years earlier, leather, cotton and wool that had rotted towards the bottom of the piles and provided a haven for nesting vermin. I'm sure this had always been there but I'd never been aware of the presence of this rubbish before. I looked for an explanation and it came to me; the outdoor man that he was, Craggs has always left windows and doors wide open. In the winter he had a roaring fire to encourage a draft, keeping the air circulated, hence little smell.

I threw everything out onto the cobbles with the big notice saying, "Take what you like."

There is one thing about living on the frontier, any manufactured goods, in fact anything at all is in such short supply. There is a demand for anything and everything. Even old rags and woollen shirts would be meticulously unravelled and reused, I knew that some wives would be sitting down in the coming evenings even taking apart holed woollen gloves to recoup the strands of wool. Then they would try to spin the threads together again.

Yes, we lived in a very green society.

I might have kept some of the blankets and such for myself. Perhaps they were not good enough to use inside the house but they would have been extremely valuable as horse blankets. I did not, for they would be a pitiful reminder of a man who, despite his insularity, had been a good friend and adviser to me.

As expected, not everything was to be thrown away. I discovered the jewellery box. It was not unknown in this place for people to use jewellery as a store of wealth. I think that Craggs had quite often taken such items in place of true credits. I remember once that one of his customers had come to reclaim some rings just like he would come to a hock shop.

I noted that the good quality rugs and skins had been well looked after and treated to preserve them. These, I also took over to Madame's quarters. They were now hers.

I suppose I should have foreseen that there was no full day I could devote from eight o'clock in the morning until six o'clock at night to clearing out the old log cabin. There were too many other demands on my time, and interruptions.

The deputation from the City Fathers interrupted me one day. "We have come to enquire when you're going to come for your inauguration." I had divested myself of my shirt as I struggled with the overabundance of junk items. I was smelly, besmirched with dirt and pissed off. Fortunately I recalled Madame's advice and refused their request.

"You can't do that!" They took affront at my refusal. "Nobody has ever done that before. It is an honour to be called to be a City Father. We expect you to turn up at seven o'clock tomorrow night."

"I'm afraid at seven o'clock I shall be busy, I have a prior appointment," I declared, and immediately sent a written note to Madame asking why I should turn down the honour.

Amina was overjoyed to be sent back with a reply. It gave her some time to spend shopping for various things in the new haberdashery store that had opened. I read the note very carefully, "The old fogeys want to appoint you in Craggs' place, and will be forever trying to suggest that you should vote as Craggs would have done. They are just looking for another puppet like Snapes."

Snapes, a City Father! The idea was ridiculous. He was a burk*!

As a result of my refusal, one after another I had visits from various elderly men each insisting that it was my duty to do something for the community as I was a respected man. In the process I discovered that they had a very weird system. As a new Councillor or Father, I had no power at all until I found my feet. My vote would be held by others acting for Craggs and voting as he would have done. What a load of codswallop!

"But you are the only man we have shortlisted." If it were not such a ridiculous proposition I should have demanded that they change their criteria. What was wrong with appointing Madame? I know that if she were on the Council, she would make her own feelings felt. They listened to her.

I couldn't believe that this was the same city council that had contracted me to build the bridge and improve all the roads around the town. Things didn't make sense.

It was more than a year later I discovered that Craggs had been the instigator of those moves, and then he had retired to take a back seat to let others front the project. He was meticulous in not doing anything that would substantiate an accusation of fixing prices. As he was the only proven contractor available he had absented himself from every meeting so as to remain squeaky clean.

Instead of worrying about petty politicians, I was more interested in getting down to the lower levels of the floor where I discovered a lot of rotten wood which needed to be replaced. It was full of mouse holes and vermin droppings. I hated to imagine what diseases I could have got if I had been nipped in my sleep.

All the artefacts I piled up in the middle of the floor.

I threw out his bed, it would be more use as firewood.

That damn chest remained. I'd not even been able to see it clearly until I had moved the bed. It had been sunk into a pit hollowed out in the floor. The floorboards had been cut away and a leaded waterproof insert dropped in place. I discovered that the only way of accessing the chest had been to remove the mattress from the bed, lift out two of the bed boards, unlock the chest and pull up the hinged lid.

I searched for a key in vain.

There must have been a key but I was damned if I could find one. I was loath to ruin such an old artefact. To me, it looked very much like those that would be found in the manors of the wealthy towards the end of the Middle Ages, maybe in the Fifteenth Century or Sixteenth. I just couldn't bring myself to damage it.

I knew that half an hour's work with some delicate tools and I'd have the lock open. Locks in those days were quite simple. But, clearing out the house, I didn't have the patience to deal with it at that moment. I wanted to clear the room. It was too heavy to lift. With difficulty I tugged it out of its hole then dragged the chest to the middle of the room.

With a heap of stuff to sort through later piled up in the centre of the floorboards, I set about replacing all the rotten and gnawed wood at ground level. Once I had started I'm afraid that I just went on and started replacing rotten inserts for the doors and windows. I knew, having lived there, that the roof let in water. It was of the oldest style, no shingles, but overlapping split logs. They were no problem to source from the sawmill, though those I took out had all been hand split and worked with an adze.