Chapter 2 #2
The one who’d rather throw dirt on my grave than claim a broken failure as his son.
Theodore tightened the grip on his crutch to keep from swaying and fought to prevent his grin from slipping.
Of all the questions to ask, why must the bloke fire off one that struck his weakest point?
If he told the truth of his origins, the strained casing that held him together would crack wide open and scatter his broken movement across the floor for all to see.
No, he couldn’t afford to fall apart when he was unworthy of seeking repair from the only Maker capable of reassembling a shattered soul.
“Dear, dear. Have you lost your family, lad?”
Breath resumed with laborious agony. One might say that .
. . but he couldn’t. Theodore pointed to the walls of clocks as if noticing them for the first time.
“Incredible work you’ve done here. Do you tinker alone, or is the son of Drosselmeyer and Son off in the backroom? ’Twould be an honor to shake his hand.”
The sunny glint in Drosselmeyer’s eyes faded as though obscured by a passing cloud. Gaze unblinking, he grasped the pocket of his waistcoat and stared at the wall of clocks, seeming to see straight through them.
Theodore knew that vacant look. Had felt the grief that dwelt within that void. This man was bereft of a son as surely as he was bereft of a father. Blast his idiot mouth! He’d never meant the diversion from his pain to awaken pain in another soul. He needed to fix this. Now.
He searched the room for possible sources of distraction and spotted the tardy clock, a wall-mounted mahogany lyre clock.
That would have to do. “Mr. Drosselmeyer, I’d like to demonstrate my proficiency in clock repair in hopes that you might better consider making a place for me here.
” He removed the clock from its nail. “If you’d be so kind as to indulge my forwardness? ”
Drosselmeyer blinked into coherency, though his countenance remained shadowed. “Certainly, certainly. My tools are in the backroom.”
“Thank you, sir. But I won’t be needing them.
” Setting the lyre clock on the sales counter, Theodore shed his overcoat and spread it beside the timepiece, revealing the hidden lining covered from seam to seam in mismatched, handsewn pockets weighted with the whole of his worldly goods and various bits, bobs, and tools he’d collected over the years.
“As you can see, I’m equipped to tinker in a pinch.
” He tossed the old chap a wink and was rewarded with a feeble smile.
Right-oh, now he was getting somewhere. “Are you prepared to time me, sir? For my aim is to disassemble and reassemble this clock in just five minutes, beating my previous record of six minutes, five and forty seconds.”
Eyebrows hoisting his wrinkled forehead in astonishment, Drosselmeyer produced a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Ready, lad. On your mark. Go.”
Theodore’s hands took flight, alighting to the work that challenged mind and thrilled heart.
Going beyond an artistically designed casement to the intricate workings within, where every cog and gear served a purpose, every pendulum and spring had a place to belong.
Where brokenness that haunted with silence and stillness could always be mended and revived to tick-tick-tock once again. “Done!”
“Time.” Drosselmeyer gawked at his pocket watch, the glint restored to his eyes.
“Remarkable, remarkable. Five minutes, squarely on the dot.” He hunched to inspect the clock.
“And you’ve managed to fix the regularity problem and eliminate the two-minute delay.
Remarkable. With skills such as this, and a quick visit to a tailor, you could get hired at any shop in London.
Are you certain you wish to settle for an apprenticeship here, lad? I can’t offer much.”
A chance to settle was all he asked for. “Absolutely, sir. But only if you’re certain I can be of service.” He’d not take advantage of this kind man’s grief-induced vulnerability. Not for anything. “Perhaps a trial period would be wise? To ensure you’re pleased with my work.”
“Nonsense, nonsense. I’ve seen enough to be pleased, and I’ve orders enough to make use of an extra pair of hands.
If you agree to lighten my workload, I can provide you with an apprenticeship that includes your food and lodging.
No salary, I’m afraid. However, I could build you a mechanical leg to rid you of that confounded crutch. ”
Food and lodging with clocks to tinker on. Perhaps this was a shop of dreams after all. A place he could belong . . . at least for now. “How long would this apprenticeship last?”
“Why, for as long as you care to stay, of course. I much prefer when friendships last indefinitely, don’t you?” Drosselmeyer extended a hand. “So what say you, lad?”
A permanent apprenticeship? The offer was unusual, unorthodox, and unquestionably just what he needed. Theodore shook Drosselmeyer’s hand. “When do I start, sir?”
“This very minute. First order of the day is to get your new leg sorted out, and then we’re off to my daughter’s house for a dinner party. Come along.” Drosselmeyer scuttled off to his workshop.
“D-dinner party?” Theodore gulped. Either he was soon to enjoy a splendid evening of good food and jolly conversation . . . or he was about to face a firing squad of inquiring minds.