APC Short Story: Mr. Tytler's Order
Mr. Tytler's Order
Stewart pulled his blankets up and over his head to block the mid-morning sun. His arm then crept out of the sheets and searched his bedside table for his spectacles. When he did not find them, he sighed heavily and rolled over.
His father was standing over him, his hands clasped behind his back. Startled, Stewart groaned “Yes James?” He always used his father’s first name to address him.
His father simply said “Time’s passing you by Stewart…” and handed Stewart his spectacles. Stewart placed them above his nose and let his eyes adjust as he watched his father, James, leave his room.
Stewart looked towards the sun and grumbled to himself. He got out of bed and went to the window that was letting in the light. He looked out the window towards the woodshop across the yard. His younger brother was already out there with uncle Toby, working on the lathe again today.
He reached out to the window’s pull and closed the window tight. He then drew his thick curtains closed to return his room to the darkness he preferred.
“No use going back to bed…” he thought aloud.
---
With warm tea in hand and looking a little bedraggled, Stewart made his was down the steps into the backyard. Across the way he saw his brother still working away on the lathe. His brother was only 16 and was turning out to be a natural woodworker. The whole family was rather proud of his improving skills, especially at his young age.
He stopped at the fence that surrounded the workshop and placed his tea on a fence post. He looked down the customer pathway leading up to the shop and saw Mr. Tytler tying up his horse-drawn wagon. He worked his way down the pathway to greet Mr. Tytler.
He reached out and slapped the horse’s neck firmly. “Good morning Candy!” he said with a smile.
“Hello Stewart” replied Mr. Tytler.
“Good morning Sir. She’s feeling better, is she Sir? Her leg looks great!”
“Candy has recovered remarkably, Stewart. I thank you for all your help with her.” Mr. Tytler said as he reached for his coat.
“She sure has grown since I saw her last fall.”
“Indeed, she’s soon ready for the market now. Once her leg’s at full strength I hope she’ll get me enough coin to finish the house.”
“You’re selling her!?” blurted Stewart.
“Well, yes. Yes. Well… I intend to.”
“But she’s so beautiful…”
“… and she’ll be worth a lot!” Mr. Tytler cut in. “Is your father in?”
“Yeah. James is in the shop. I believe your order is ready, too.”
“It is, I got word last night it was ready for me to pick it up… ah there he is.” he said as he waived to Stewart’s father.
---
“That’ll be 137 and 15, Sir.” yawned Stewart.
“Mr. Tytler, it’ll be 135”, came James’ voice from the back room.
As James turned the corner, he chuckled “Stewart, we want our customers to keep coming back…”
“No worries, Mr. Whyttel, its well worth the going price.” smiled Mr. Tytler. “And I’ll be coming back with another order by mid-summer if the market treats me well.”
“Sounds good, we’ll hope to see you then. Good luck this summer!”
Stewart followed Mr. Tytler as he headed down the pathway towards his cart. Stewart’s brother was already helping their two uncles load the wagon with Mr. Tytler’s furniture order.
“Good day Stewart!”
“Hey August… saw you on the lathe again this morning.” Stewart replied as he handed August a chair.
“Yeah, it’s easier than I expected... and today I learned that the cutting blades are sharp!” August giggled mockingly as he pointed to uncle Toby’s bandaged left hand.
Stewart whistled and laughed. “Nice work there Tobias!”
“It’s not the last time he’ll cut himself, guys… guaranteed!” chimed in their uncle Terry.
The four of them continued to crack jokes at each other as James Whyttel watched them load up the wagon with Mr. Tytler’s order. As he stood on the house’s front porch, he took a drag of his lit pipe. “I’m not going to be Mr. Popular after this season Maggie.” he said to his wife, clenching his pipe between his teeth.
“I’m sure Stewart will understand, James. He’s never been interested in learning anyway. He’ll likely be relieved.” Margaret replied through the window.
James turned and entered the house. “But the business has always gone to the eldest Maggie…I just wish I’d paid more attention to him when he was younger…”
“James, he’s a young man now. He’s not a child. He’ll understand, I promise.”
“He always insists on taking the shortcut, whenever he can, Maggie.” he said, speaking over Maggie’s consoling voice. “For the Love of the Lady, I caught him just last night using majik to engrave Mr. Tytler’s furniture! You’d think he’d know by now that we Whyttel’s do not mix our crafts. When we work the wood, we treat it as the pure art form that it is! He knows better than to use majik when he’s working the wood, Maggie!”
“We’re still a little irate, are we James?” shot Stewart as he walked through the front door. “Mom’s told you before, your voice carries…”
Stewart walked straight through the foyer, through the kitchen, and went right out the back door.
“You’d think you would have figured that out by now, old man!” he blurted before the door slammed.
Stewart pulled his blankets up and over his head to block the mid-morning sun. His arm then crept out of the sheets and searched his bedside table for his spectacles. When he did not find them, he sighed heavily and rolled over.
His father was standing over him, his hands clasped behind his back. Startled, Stewart groaned “Yes James?” He always used his father’s first name to address him.
His father simply said “Time’s passing you by Stewart…” and handed Stewart his spectacles. Stewart placed them above his nose and let his eyes adjust as he watched his father, James, leave his room.
Stewart looked towards the sun and grumbled to himself. He got out of bed and went to the window that was letting in the light. He looked out the window towards the woodshop across the yard. His younger brother was already out there with uncle Toby, working on the lathe again today.
He reached out to the window’s pull and closed the window tight. He then drew his thick curtains closed to return his room to the darkness he preferred.
“No use going back to bed…” he thought aloud.
---
With warm tea in hand and looking a little bedraggled, Stewart made his was down the steps into the backyard. Across the way he saw his brother still working away on the lathe. His brother was only 16 and was turning out to be a natural woodworker. The whole family was rather proud of his improving skills, especially at his young age.
He stopped at the fence that surrounded the workshop and placed his tea on a fence post. He looked down the customer pathway leading up to the shop and saw Mr. Tytler tying up his horse-drawn wagon. He worked his way down the pathway to greet Mr. Tytler.
He reached out and slapped the horse’s neck firmly. “Good morning Candy!” he said with a smile.
“Hello Stewart” replied Mr. Tytler.
“Good morning Sir. She’s feeling better, is she Sir? Her leg looks great!”
“Candy has recovered remarkably, Stewart. I thank you for all your help with her.” Mr. Tytler said as he reached for his coat.
“She sure has grown since I saw her last fall.”
“Indeed, she’s soon ready for the market now. Once her leg’s at full strength I hope she’ll get me enough coin to finish the house.”
“You’re selling her!?” blurted Stewart.
“Well, yes. Yes. Well… I intend to.”
“But she’s so beautiful…”
“… and she’ll be worth a lot!” Mr. Tytler cut in. “Is your father in?”
“Yeah. James is in the shop. I believe your order is ready, too.”
“It is, I got word last night it was ready for me to pick it up… ah there he is.” he said as he waived to Stewart’s father.
---
“That’ll be 137 and 15, Sir.” yawned Stewart.
“Mr. Tytler, it’ll be 135”, came James’ voice from the back room.
As James turned the corner, he chuckled “Stewart, we want our customers to keep coming back…”
“No worries, Mr. Whyttel, its well worth the going price.” smiled Mr. Tytler. “And I’ll be coming back with another order by mid-summer if the market treats me well.”
“Sounds good, we’ll hope to see you then. Good luck this summer!”
Stewart followed Mr. Tytler as he headed down the pathway towards his cart. Stewart’s brother was already helping their two uncles load the wagon with Mr. Tytler’s furniture order.
“Good day Stewart!”
“Hey August… saw you on the lathe again this morning.” Stewart replied as he handed August a chair.
“Yeah, it’s easier than I expected... and today I learned that the cutting blades are sharp!” August giggled mockingly as he pointed to uncle Toby’s bandaged left hand.
Stewart whistled and laughed. “Nice work there Tobias!”
“It’s not the last time he’ll cut himself, guys… guaranteed!” chimed in their uncle Terry.
The four of them continued to crack jokes at each other as James Whyttel watched them load up the wagon with Mr. Tytler’s order. As he stood on the house’s front porch, he took a drag of his lit pipe. “I’m not going to be Mr. Popular after this season Maggie.” he said to his wife, clenching his pipe between his teeth.
“I’m sure Stewart will understand, James. He’s never been interested in learning anyway. He’ll likely be relieved.” Margaret replied through the window.
James turned and entered the house. “But the business has always gone to the eldest Maggie…I just wish I’d paid more attention to him when he was younger…”
“James, he’s a young man now. He’s not a child. He’ll understand, I promise.”
“He always insists on taking the shortcut, whenever he can, Maggie.” he said, speaking over Maggie’s consoling voice. “For the Love of the Lady, I caught him just last night using majik to engrave Mr. Tytler’s furniture! You’d think he’d know by now that we Whyttel’s do not mix our crafts. When we work the wood, we treat it as the pure art form that it is! He knows better than to use majik when he’s working the wood, Maggie!”
“We’re still a little irate, are we James?” shot Stewart as he walked through the front door. “Mom’s told you before, your voice carries…”
Stewart walked straight through the foyer, through the kitchen, and went right out the back door.
“You’d think you would have figured that out by now, old man!” he blurted before the door slammed.
posted by Dean Michaud
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