The Magician's Sons

Chapter 18

They sat at the table, bleary eyed and careworn, as they bent over a stack of papers. They had tallied expenses and tallied income, retallied expenses, retallied income, and still the figures came out the same.

"There's no way," Henry Hannover groaned. "There's just no way!"

"Ah, dearie, don't say that!" his wife tried to comfort. "We'll find a way. Don't think the worst! Somehow we'll make ends meet."

The baker's big fingers drummed against the table top. "We'd make a decent wage if I had a bit more help," he muttered quietly. "Fact is, ya can't run a bakery with only one man and a boy. Somethin's gotta change, or we're done for, love."

That change wasn't easy to find. Mrs. Hannover had already taken Copernicus's place weighing flour and forming loaves. But she wasn't strong enough to kneed the huge trough of dough, and Charlie wasn't much better at it. They hardly made enough bread to fill the shop by morning, and they could see their business plummeting to a sure end.

It was Sunday, and that was the only reason the Hannovers weren't working their fingers to the bone right then. Charlie had thrown himself into bed the night before wondering how a boy could go on living when he had to bake by night and take his turn watching the shop by day. But he had fallen asleep with a marvelous thought stirring in his mind.

When he woke, the full daylight told him it had to be at least ten in the morning. He sprang out of bed, jittery with a mixture of excitement and apprehensions. This —will— work. I shall make it work! he decided, washing his face as clean as a whistle and taming his bed-tousled hair. He put on his best Sunday suit: a velveteen jacket and silk waistcoat which his parents shouldn't have afforded. Then he tramped downstairs looking as sharp as a tack and leapt down the last two steps into the kitchen.

"Mother, Father, I have made a plan!" he announced. His mother looked at him through teary eyes. Henry's gaze bore an expression of hopelessness.

"Well, let's have it, Charlie," the man sighed. "I'm all ears."

"I am going to work!" the boy stated.

"Ha! I reckon it's about time you did. What've you been doin'? Playin' all this time, lad?" Mr. Hannover laughed with a struggled show of humor.

"No, no! I don't mean in the bakery!" his son whined. "I mean that I am really going to work. Somewhere else! Somewhere where I can make a proper income for myself—and all of us!" He had to force the last words out, even though he earnestly meant them. He knew that more than half of his money would be spent trying to keep things afloat at home. But not all of it. He would keep some for himself, scrimping and saving for his future.

His parents gave weak smiles. "That's good of you, Charlie dear," his mother said.

"And it might be for the best," his father sighed. "Only, I had hoped for better things for us, lad. I suppose we'll both be going to the docks before long."

Charlie's smiling countenance dimmed. "The docks!" he repeated. "Humph! They were the furthest thing from my mind! I don't intend to break my back carrying heavy burdens from sun up to sundown if I can help it! I will apply for work where I might actually make something of myself!"

Henry frowned at him in confusion, but he didn't seem to have the heart to argue. He shook his head with another long sigh. "Try what you will," he allowed. So, Charlie bid his parents goodbye and sped away.

How his heart drummed while he hurried down the street and walked toward The Pearl of Britannia. He thought, surely, he would go all to pieces from anxiety as he peeked in through the window and set his hand on the front door. Suddenly he stopped himself. You senseless buffoon, what ARE you thinking? Front doors are for guests! Hmph! Better go to the back door on the alley side.