Chapter Twenty-Nine Mo
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mo
Thankfully, Rick had given Mo very little resistance about maintaining the role of lead blacksmith that morning. Mo had already been in a battle with his discomfort before the gates opened. The arrival of this sensory nightmare of an event was bad enough. Knowing Jess was around but that he couldn’t reach out was sandpaper on his skin. When he’d arrived at the tented, temporary smithy where Rick was lighting the forges, his frustration must have been all over his face. Rick had jumped when he saw him.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Rick had said.
Mo had only been able to scowl in return.
Now, hours and a steadily growing number of patrons later, Mo felt somewhat better, calmed by his hobby. The heat from the forges was tolerable due to the breeze passing through overlaps in the tent fabric and the open-frame doorways on each side. There was just enough light for the patrons to watch as he, Rick, and one of their students worked. Mo had made a good number of brooches for purchase, and having shifted to blacksmith’s knives, his mind had gone blessedly quiet. But a boy had taken a spot directly in front of him on the benches that had been installed for patrons to sit and watch. The boy was staring with an unnerving intensity. And he’d been sitting there for a very long time. A woman Mo guessed to be the boy’s mother had tugged on his sleeve several times, to no avail. He was about Maddie’s age, but from the way he was ignoring his mother, it seemed he was a lot more stubborn. Mo was starting to get annoyed at the kid’s lack of respect, between the staring and the ignoring, until he realized that the boy wasn’t staring at him, but at his hands.
Mo turned to switch knives, returning the one whose blade he’d just flattened to the forge and using a pair of tongs to pick up the one he had been reheating. As he submerged it into a tub of oil hidden inside a period-style wooden bucket, the boy shot to his feet and leaned forward, looking inside.
“That’s not water!” he gasped. “Why don’t you use water?” he asked Mo.
“Adam, let the man work,” his mother said with a sheepish smile, tugging on his sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Mo. “He gets overexcited sometimes.”
Mo looked at the boy. His eyes had been wide when he’d spoken, but now he looked self-conscious and guarded.
“You can use water or oil for quenching,” he said to the boy. “I prefer oil.”
“Quenching?” the boy asked.
“To harden. Strengthen. You don’t want your project to break because it’s brittle,” Mo said.
“Oh,” the boy said, beginning to sit back down again.
“No, no,” his mother said. “We’ve been here forever, sweetie. It’s almost lunchtime. Aren’t you hungry?”
Mo recognized the mom’s desperate urge to do something, anything else. She had been patient and supportive of her son’s curiosity, but there’s only so long a parent can be immobile before getting bored out of their skull. An experience Mo knew far too well. He rolled his lips to smother a lip quirk.
“But, Mom, this is really, really cool,” the boy said. “I’d love to be able to do it.”
“It might be a bit early,” his mom said. “Look how strong this man is. I think you have some growing to do first.”
Mo rested his hammer on his anvil. He might have thought the same before he started, but after several years of teaching, he knew it wasn’t true.
“Actually, ma’am,” he said to her, “you don’t have to be muscular to start blacksmithing.” He looked at the boy, sizing him up. “Are you…maybe twelve?”
The boy’s eyes went wide.
“Yeah,” he said with a big smile.
Mo shrugged.
“You’re old enough for a couple of our classes,” he said.
“Will you be my teacher?” the boy asked breathlessly.
“Hold on, Adam. Let me see if I can swing it first,” his mom said. She looked at Mo. “Could I ask someone about them? I’m sure we’ve distracted you enough.”
“There’s a stand near the entrance with info about our classes,” he said.
The boy shot to his feet and dashed through the doorway to the right of Mo. His mom laughed, and Mo caught himself chuckling.
“Thanks,” she said to him. “Have a good day.”
She stepped through the doorway, waving goodbye. Mo waved back. Then he winced at Rick’s elbow in his ribs.
“Nice job,” Rick said. “New students mean more money.”
Rick wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t why Mo had said the kid could learn. He’d been really interested, and Mo had just made a suggestion to help him follow that interest.
“That’s not—”
“I know,” Rick said, cutting him off. “Just giving you a hard time. Looked like the kid caught the smithing bug. Why don’t we break for lunch?”
—
After smothering the fires and helping Rick and Emma tie off the flaps designed to block the doorways, Mo walked down the path between stands, the sun getting to him a little. He hadn’t brought his sunglasses, trying to stay in character in his garb. He’d had to wash his shirt three times before the chemical smell went away. At least the knee-high brown boots he’d found were comfortable. The interaction with the boy had brightened his mood a little. He tried to use young Adam’s excitement about smithing as a buoy against drowning in all the smells, sounds, and masses of energy the patrons were dumping all around him. But most significantly, against his Jess-ache.
Maddie-ache when she’s gone. Now Jess-ache without her. Shouldn’t be a surprise.
He just wondered how intense it would get as his garb and the Faire itself were sparking memories of her.
“Fezzik!” A masked noblewoman walking down the path called to him. “Are there rocks ahead?” She and her group smiled expectantly.
The direct reference to the Princess Bride hurt, making it hard for him to reply. But the guests needed to have a good time.
“If there are,” he answered back, “we’ll all be dead.”
The woman and her friends laughed, clapping their hands as he continued on his way. The outdoor bar of the Ale’s Faire ale house came into view. Suddenly a man in a colorful padded vest sort of thing stepped directly in front of Mo. He stopped.
“No more rhymes now, I mean it,” the man said. Mo caught the mischievous look in his eye before he glanced at a woman and two children in garb just to his right. Mo sighed.
“Anybody want a peanut?” he asked, forcing a smile.
The man and woman exploded in laughter, while the children looked lost.
“Gramercy, my good sir,” the man said, clapping Mo on the arm before stepping out of his way. Unsure about the meaning of that word, Mo nodded and continued on.
The crowd on the path was much bigger than he’d realized from inside the smithy. Thankfully, there were enough people to make it easy not to glance at the archery stand as he passed it. He wove around other families and couples fully decked out. Some of them nodded to him or waved, and he gulped and waved back. It was intensely uncomfortable for so many strangers to be looking at him, engaging with him. His chest was tightening, his heart rate picking up. He didn’t understand why they were doing it; then he noticed everyone was acknowledging one another that way. As long as no one spoke directly to him, the atmosphere was actually kind of nice. He could feel everyone’s good mood. When he reached the bar, it was several people deep, so he made his way to a clear spot down one side. Eventually, a bar wench he didn’t recognize noticed him and asked what he’d like. He asked for a Coke, and she returned, thunking a large stainless-steel tankard in front of him.
“You’re the blacksmith teacher, right?” she asked.
“One of them, yeah,” he said, nodding slowly.
“No charge,” she said and walked away.
Mo took a long, deep sip, grateful for the generous helping of ice she’d included. As he was lowering the drink, a “huzzah” went up from the other end of the bar. And there was Jess, surrounded by a small group of people, raising their drinks to her. Mo’s heart dropped. He didn’t want to see her, it hurt too much. But he’d barely made a dent in his drink, and there was no way for him to toss a big metal mug in the trash can a few feet away. Trying to drink quickly, he scooted to the very corner of the bar and hoped for the best.
But Jess looked miserable. It was obvious that she was trying to humor the people around her, raising her tankard to clink with theirs as they motioned to her. He could tell that she was putting their comfort ahead of her own. Her smile was tight, and she kept taking long gulps of her drink, probably doing the same thing as he was, trying to finish quickly. One of the young men pretended to fire a bow, and the young woman next to him quickly turned to Jess to ask something. Mo realized that they must have been talking about Jess’s performance, which he surmised must have gone well for them to be so excited, but Jess wouldn’t have wanted this much fuss. She answered the young woman with a smile and nod, her face flushed. Just as the young woman turned away, Jess’s face dropped completely, looking stricken before she took another long drink. Mo couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up his tankard and strode over to the group. He stood to his full height and cleared his throat loudly. They went silent and looked up at him.
“Good morrow, Master…brewer?” one young man said, eyes wide.
“Good morrow,” Mo said as deeply as possible. “Not to spoil your fun, but methinks Lady Archer needs a break.”
The group looked at one another, then at Jess, and began apologizing. Jess nodded, and they took their drinks, moving farther down the bar. Mo put his tankard down and crossed his arms on the bar beside her.
“You have fans,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t as tense as he felt.
“Thank you, Mo.” She sighed. “Um, are you okay? There’s uh…there’s a lot of people and noise.”
He appreciated her asking, her knowing. But the pitch of her voice was too high, her jaw tight. He didn’t want her worrying about him just then.
“It is a lot,” he said. “But I haven’t had groupies.”
The laugh she attempted fell flat.
“I didn’t want to offend them, but…” She trailed off.
“Too much,” he said.
“Exactly.” She took another long drink, put down her tankard, and rested her palms on the bar. “And…and the girl. She looked—” Jess’s face was pale, her eyes glistening as she looked up at him. There was a sharp blast around his heart. He swallowed hard.
“Like Cassie,” he said softly, remembering the photo of her and Jess laughing together.
She nodded; her lips pressed tightly. Mo hesitated before gently putting his hand on her back.
“Do you need to leave?” he asked. She shook her head hard.
“If I do, I won’t be able to come back.”
Mo nodded and began slowly rubbing her back. He wanted to take her in his arms, but that probably wouldn’t look right, and he didn’t know if it was what she wanted. She took a long, deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she picked up her tankard for another drink. The bar wench who’d served him earlier came by and raised an eyebrow.
“You all right?” she asked Jess.
Jess nodded.
“A little too much heat,” she said.
The bar wench nodded and grabbed her tankard. She added more ice and a little pop.
“Normal,” she said as she returned it. “?’Specially the first time.”
“Thanks,” said Jess, taking another drink. The bar wench winked at her and left.
“I think everyone would understand if you had to go,” Mo said under the noise around them, leaning close. Jess shook her head again, the air filling with vanilla. He swallowed hard.
“I had a plan,” she said. “And everything was going okay…ish. I was going to focus on the things to do, give the patrons a good time. Think about her when I got home. But now…” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she straightened her shoulders. “I can do this. Cassie would want me to. She wouldn’t want me to run away. She’d want me to have fun.”
Jess did not look like she was having fun, but Mo certainly wasn’t going to point that out. While being beside her had washed away the Jess-ache, seeing her struggle was twisting his insides.
“Okay,” he said. “You got a couple minutes? Need to get back to your stand, or have another show soon?”
“No, no show. And I’m sure the guys have everything under control.”
“All right.” He caught the bar wench’s attention. “Can we bring these back?” he asked, gesturing at the tankards.
“Sure,” she said.
“Come on,” he said to Jess, taking her hand and curving it in the crook of his elbow.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she let him pull her away from the ale house.
“Doing what Cassie wants. We’re having some fun.”
—
They strolled down the paths, past ax throws and strongman games. The experienced Rennies and School volunteers manning them encouraged Mo to compete, but he brushed them off for another time. Jess actually smiled when a tarot reader told her that a handsome, bearded man would beat out two competitors for her heart while glancing meaningfully at Mo. Jess suggested bringing Maddie to see the live mermaids and the petting zoo, and he agreed that it was an excellent idea. She tugged at his arm, pulling him to the far side of the path as they passed a roasted turkey leg stand. Confused, he raised an eyebrow at her. She tapped the side of her nose.
“Not too much for you?” she asked. “Lots of smells, too.”
His cheeks heated, and he tucked his chin at her concern. “Thanks, but it’s okay right now,” he said.
—
As they passed the stage just after the bend in the horseshoe of the path, Jess slowed down. Mo thought it was because she was trying to find a path around the large group gathered between two booths, but she surprised him by trying to make her way to the front. A woman wearing an ivy crown and with long brown hair gilded by a ray of sunlight was singing and playing a harp. Mo thought the music sounded Celtic, but he didn’t know enough to be sure. He was struck by the silence of the people listening. Shifting his attention from Jess, he caught sad half-smiles on the patrons’ faces that he could see. Their positive mood warmed him, like what he’d picked up on in the rest of the Faire, but it was crinkled with a little wistfulness. He saw Jess’s hand dart up to her face, even though her back was to him.
“…it will not be long, love, till our wedding day…” sang the woman playing the harp. She repeated the phrase, gracefully drawing and curving the lyrics in that Celtic way as she brought the song to an end. There was a moment of complete silence before the crowd applauded. The woman bowed her head as people stepped forward to put coins in a decorated basket on a stool in front of her. Jess turned around and walked back to Mo. Her eyes were glistening. Mo offered her his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook again.
“Are you okay?” he asked as they moved through the dispersing group. She nodded.
“Cassie loved that song,” she said.
“It’s not too hard hearing it?”
Jess shrugged.
“A little bit. Especially as some interpretations say that the couple didn’t get married because the woman died,” she said. Mo squeezed her hand on his arm. “But…it’s nice hearing it. Here. With you.” She looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back.
“And thank you, for earlier,” she said.
“For earlier?”
“You said, ‘what Cassie wants.’ You referred to her in the present tense. You’ve…” Mo caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes just before she glanced away. Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at him. “You’ve done it in the past, and it means a lot.” She smiled, waveringly, but warmly.
Mo swallowed, trying to ignore his jackhammering heart. He squeezed her hand again.
“I…I hadn’t noticed. You’re…welcome,” he said through a scratchy throat.
Her eyebrows rumpled. She took a breath like she was going to say something, then looked away, sniffing.
“I wanna say something,” she said, voice tight. “But I can’t right now, not here, with…” She gestured around them, at the people, the stands. “I will, though. Okay?” She looked back up at him, eyes still glistening. His throat sealed shut. He nodded and bent his arm tighter, pulling her close again.
—
When they’d strolled the entire Faire and almost reached the archery stand, Jess stopped and slipped her hand off Mo’s arm.
“Thanks, Mo,” she said, looking up at him.
“You’re welcome, m’—Jess,” he said, his face warming.
She gave him a half-smile.
“Maddie’s at her mom’s tonight, right?” she asked.
“Um…yeah?”
“It’ll take us a bit to get everything closed here, go home, and get cleaned up. But can I stop by? Maybe around nine?” she asked.
Mo’s mind had kind of stuttered off for a second, and he was trying to reboot.
“I mean, I understand if…you know, I’m sorry,” she said. “Never mind, forget—”
“No, yes, yes, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I’d like that. Nine is good.”
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure. Nine is great.”
She smiled.
“Perfect.” She looked at her empty tankard. “Guess we gotta take these back.”
He reached for hers.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, handing it to him. “See you at nine?”
“See you then.”