Chapter 3 #2
Mr. Freelow. Well played, Beatrix.
“Oh, Omnimancer,” the old man said, “I’m so relieved you happened by because, you see, almost as soon as I woke this morning I knew I would need your help, the way my bursitis is acting up again, and you did say you’d need to cast the spell for me sometime this month, and apparently that time is today because it hurt something terrible almost as soon as I woke this morning, and wouldn’t you know it but Miss Harper called not ten minutes ago to check on me, such a thoughtful young lady, and she said I should look out for you because you would be driving by, and you were, weren’t you, and if you could cast the spell for me now I would be in your debt, or at least not right now but once we’re in my house—it’s just over there, you know—and oh, Omnimancer, bursitis is such a cross to bear … ”
And because Mr. Freelow really did suffer from bursitis, and because there would be no getting a word in edgewise let alone bargaining with the man to wait for half an hour, he gave in to the inevitable and got out of the car.
Together, Mr. Freelow never stopping for breath, they walked at the slowest possible pace to his tiny home.
The spell was not quick. It called for the wizard to lay both hands on the affected area and let the magic seep out over the course of fifteen minutes.
Because Mr. Freelow had bursitis in both elbows and knees, Peter got an exacting, hour-long account of the man’s history with the condition.
It was one Mr. Freelow had related to him several times already.
Only when the hour was up did Mr. Freelow pause, and that was to sigh appreciatively.
“Happy to help, Mr. Freelow, and now I must run,” Peter said, backing out. “If I don’t take care of the sidewalks, someone might slip.”
As he shut the door, he heard Mr. Freelow’s voice—muffled now: “Oh yes, go right ahead, and thank you so much, Omnimancer, I’m so very grateful, it’s funny how you don’t think of your knees and elbows at all until suddenly you can’t think of anything else …”
He was, as Beatrix once said, a very sweet man. He was also an ideal distraction.
Peter braced for another diversion on the road, but this time he was allowed to drive to his house.
He tried parking on the road and creeping in, to no avail.
Beatrix was once again not at her post. The same note lay on the table, now with two finished brews beside it and the ingredients for a third lying abandoned.
How was she getting out in time? Did she have the mayor playing lookout?
He thought of searching for her. She had to be someplace where she could either see or hear him leaving.
But he’d promised the mayor to take care of the sidewalks, and it was now quarter to eleven.
The mill workers, railroad employees and farmers who made enough to afford lunch at Reed’s Diner would soon be walking there.
He went back down to Main Street to find the slush fully hardened to ice. He cleared the sidewalks on both sides, acutely aware of how very long they were and grateful for the warming spell in his coat.
When he finished, the exertion of casting the melting spell multiple times overcame him and he crouched against the general store, trying to catch his breath in the searing cold. Snow fell lightly on the sidewalk he had just cleared. Would he have to take care of that in a few hours, too?
“Omnimancer!”
He bit back a groan and looked up.
It was Mr. Reed, the one person in town—other than Beatrix—to whom he didn’t want to say no. The man was hanging out the front door of his diner across the street, gesturing come here.
Peter sighed and crossed over.
“Have lunch,” Mr. Reed said, reaching out to brush the snow off his coat. “On me. You must be starving.”
Oh. He felt guilty for thinking Mr. Reed wanted something from him—Mr. Reed, who of all people deserved his assistance. And the man was right, he was starving. He glanced at his watch—nearly one o’clock.
“Come on, Pete,” Mr. Reed said with his gap-tooth smile, bringing back powerful memories of sandwiches and kindness.
Peter followed him in, warm air enveloping him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“The usual?”
He nodded. And in two minutes, he had a hot roast beef sandwich, gravy running from the meat in rivulets.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the taste of it. For all that he felt thirteen again, empty stomach filling up only because of the Reeds, the diner held no unhappy memories. His too-tight muscles relaxed.
“Good?”
He opened his eyes and smiled at Mr. Reed. “Magnificent. And it’s a lucky thing you got me in when you did. I’d no idea how close to keeling over I’d been.”
The man grinned. “Your Miss Harper called to tell me what the mayor had you doing.”
Peter’s breath caught. So she’d pulled his strings into Reed’s, too.
“She takes good care of you,” Mr. Reed said, patting his arm in a meaningful way.
Oh, she took care of him, all right.
Yet twined with the frustration and worry was pleasure, insistent and undeniable. That she’d cared enough to think of how exhausted and hungry he would be at this point in the day. That she knew what a comfort Reed’s would be to him.
“So,” Mr. Reed added in a half-joking undertone, “when’s the wedding?”
Peter’s face must have shown some sliver of the truth—that he desperately wanted to marry her, despite it all, and would never be able to—because Mr. Reed’s smile faded. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He wanted to unload the whole sorry tale on him. But telling anyone was out of the question.
“Pete?” Mr. Reed said.
The door banged open. “Is the omnimancer here?”
What now?
“Yes,” Mr. Reed said, straightening up. “Are you all right, Dan?”
Peter turned in his booth to see Daniel Clark, eyes wide with alarm, hands clutching his hat. “My wife—please, Omnimancer …”
Peter jumped to his feet, leaving the last of his sandwich on the table. Mrs. Clark was eight months pregnant. Whether Beatrix sent Mr. Clark or not, the problem he’d come about was real.
“Let’s go,” Peter said, hustling the man out the door.