Wanted

Chapter 50

"He sure does," Mrs McCarthy said with a compassionate smile, and a good-natured nod towards John. "Come on, John. Let's have a look at what you've got with you, eh?" she added, and then moved the tray of freshly baked biscuits in front of her from the table to the counter, inviting him to put his bundle of clothes on her kitchen table.

Reluctantly, John obeyed. He would have liked to be on his own when he opened it up. He wasn't sure what exactly Sally had put into it. He only knew that none of the clothes that Numees had made for him were in it.

The woman opened the knot and unfolded the thin blanket which revealed a bar of soap wrapped in a handkerchief embroidered with pink flowers on top of a meagre stack of folded up boy's clothes. Holding the soap in her open palm she gently unfolded the handkerchief and lifted the two items up, showing them first to her husband than to John. The scent of the soap made John swallow hard as it reminded him of Numees combing her brother's hair sitting on the floor in their cabin. "They meant him well," she told her husband with a well-meaning smile and then smelt the soap. John watched her suspiciously as she put it to the side. He was wondering if she was going to keep it for herself.

There was a pair of warm socks, mittens and a warm jumper made from the same wool, a pair of trousers and a shirt with thin stripes. The clothes had been Carl's. Sally had apologised to Carl for giving them to John and told him she'd replace them for him, but Carl had told her he didn't care. The shirt was practically new, she had said. Carl had ribbed it on the very first day he wore it to church, and she had just not gotten around to fixing it yet. She'd put it off because they hadn't had occasion to wear their good clothes since, she'd said. Sally had been talking mostly to herself while she gathered the things, but John had heard her, because he was trying not to listen to Walls arguing with the doctor.

"I suppose, they will do for work," Mrs McCarthy told her husband, showing him the opened seam at the collar of the shirt and the lightly scuffed knees on the trousers, "He needs a change of clothes for school and church as well. What he's wearing is surly coming to the end of its lifetime. What do you think, Matthew?"

McCarthy picked up the trousers and examined them, by holding them up in front of him, "He needs a change of clothes for church alright, and proper shoes and a warm coat too. But he's not going to school Clarissa," McCarthy told her stoically as he handed her back the clothes.

"Hm," Mrs McCarthy went in a high pitch, but otherwise ignoring what her husband said, while she continued to fold the clothes.

"Clarissa, he's our apprentice. He's needed in the shop. I can't afford him being in school for most of the day. I teach him what he needs to know. You can give him some lessons in the evenings if you must, but he's not going to school," McCarthy argued with his wife as if she had contradicted what he had said.

"Hm-m," Mrs McCarthy, went again, as she turned to her stove where she pulled a large towel from the rail that was hanging above it.

"Clarissa," McCarthy said sternly.

"What?" his wife asked feigning innocence, as she folded up the towel and placed it on the table and then folded the trousers, shirt and socks into it.

"I am serious, Clarissa," McCarthy said, looking at her resolutely.

"I know," Clarissa replied in a neutral tone, as if she was in complete agreement with her husband. Her eyes however gave her away. She might as well have added, "...and so am I."

Without even saying what she was serious about, John suspected that one way or another she'd make sure he'd end up going to school, which made him almost smile a little. He started to like her, and he'd always liked the idea of going to school.