“Of course,” his nephew said plainly, and the pair of them stepped out through the front door.
John Paul was already scrawling the first things to on the list as Henry opened the door to the front porch: Door repair, Unkempt lawn. John Paul looked out at the grass and sniffed in disappointed annoyance.
There was a gravel path, he saw now, from the street to the front door. The grass had grown up through it over the years, leaving it almost invisible under any but the closest inspection. He wrote that down, as well: Gravel paths. Then the uncle and nephew stepped away from the house and began to study its front. Henry pointed up at a window.
“There, the glass is broken, you see?”
“Good eyes, lad,” John Paul said, scrawling that as well. He wrote down Fallen moss as well.
The pair strolled around the side of the house, and then behind. Between them, they found several more problems before they went to retire back inside. The list was updated to reflect them: Falling gazebo, one item read, and Dangerous balcony, and uprooted patio.
Finally, John Paul turned toward the yard, which stretched out nearly as far as the eye could see. It was filled with exotic trees and rows upon rows of hedges. He looked down and added to the list: Trim hedges, and then looked up once more, making one last accounting of his surroundings.
Then he bid his nephew follow him back inside to discuss what to do next. The two of them had only a couple hours more until dinner time. John Paul had business in town, as well. A chair he'd ordered arriving with a huge crack running through one leg and he would need to return it.
They would need to pick up supplies when they went to fetch something to eat, as well. If they were to do any last bit of work before waiting for lumber and supplies to arrive, then it would have to be done quickly.
When they finally did make town and find a place to leave the carriage, John Paul put his chores mentally in order. There was the lumber yard, and then the furniture store, and finally dinner. That seemed about right, and there was only just enough time to do it.
The lumber as well, he put in order. The thought seemed to occur to him out of nowhere that he had no real idea how a balcony was constructed. He tried to form the image in his mind of what it had looked like and what sort of problems there had been.
The frame itself, the outside bits, all seemed quite properly fitted. The rot had taken the floor, and so they had pulled that up. It had measured perhaps a centimeter thick, and perhaps ten wide; the entire balcony had perhaps the depth of a meter.
After some rough figuring, he nodded to himself. He decided he was happy enough with his figuring and that it would likely work out. The worst case was that he would have a good deal of kindling when winter finally came, so it was no real concern in the end.
Henry followed behind as he walked around town. John Paul thought it a little bit silly that he was the one guiding his nephew around by the nose as if he knew where there was a hardware store. He had only been there for a week or so himself, and the entire place was still awfully new to him.
He found a policeman on the side of the road who directed them to one Rhett’s Hardware a kilometer to the east. The man behind the counter was certainly helpful, offering his advice on what sort of materials would be suited to the task. Pine, it seemed, was the preferred material, and the cheapest as well. The sizes John Paul supplied, along with his explanation, seemed all suitable enough.
Just before he completed his order, John Paul remembered the other things he needed as well: a new door, of course. A pair of gardening shears would be lovely as well. The shears, at least, Rhett had in store in the back of the establishment. It would be relatively little trouble to fish it out.
John Paul paid with a stack of pennies and a shilling’s deposit on the lumber to be delivered the next day. He carried the shears out in a large sack made from a burlap material that chafed his hands somewhat.
They got back to the carriage and John Paul pulled the knife from his pocket and cut the rope free. He tossed it into the carriage alongside the shears. Then he and his nephew together took the chair down from the top and carried it through the street. Wakefield Furniture’s was not far, he thought, and when they came to the door they pushed through, setting it down just inside.
John Paul paused momentarily to put his thoughts in order. He needed to phrase his complaint without being rude, while being firm enough to prevent any argument. Then, his entire speech prepared, he looked up from his chair to see not a young man, but a pair of women.
The elder lady was sitting back and knitting, making as if not to be paying attention. It was the younger of the two, though, perhaps in her lower twenties, that caught his eye. Her skin was an alabaster white, with dark hair piled onto her head in a way that implied the shape of her neck.
John Paul could feel himself staring and pulled his eyes away from her. He approached the counter and tried not to stare any more. Who, he wondered, was this beautiful creature?
Before he had a chance to begin, the young woman spoke, and another spike drove into John Paul’s heart at the beauty of her voice. “Can I help you, sir?”
John Paul gaped, his speech gone entirely from his mind. He wanted, he found, only to stay here with this young woman and wait on her every need. He would give anything to have only a few more mome
nts’ time to spend with her, to hear her speak once more. And oh, to speak his name… He struggled to regain his consciousness and looked at the counter.
“Ah, yes,” he said, looking up again. She waited patiently, sweetly, her face unmarred by any hint of frustration. Yet the silence seemed to stretch on for an agonizing eternity as he struggled to find the words to answer.
“I ah, purchased this chair several days ago now, and it arrived with a crack in it. Of course, I can’t sit in it; I would be afraid for the leg breaking underneath me. I can’t accept this, so I shall need…” he trailed off. His complaint had carried itself entirely on its own momentum. When he looked up from the counter, though, he found himself distracted by her beauty. and the words died unspoken on his lips.
As if in spite of his earlier thoughts of devotion, he thought angrily that he could not bear one more moment of her presence. Everything else seemed of secondary importance compared to her, while he had so much left to do. It was absolutely impossible, he decided, to finish a thought; yet he had to try. He furrowed his brow a bit and struggled to get the words out.
“I shall need to have a replacement or a refund, madam.”
The woman didn’t respond immediately, looking down at the counter herself. He wondered if he saw her blush, but it must have been in his imagination. Her face was unmarred by any implication of human frailty. She met his eyes a moment later.
“I apologize, sir, but my father is out.” She looked to her chaperone, who did not look back at her, before continuing. “I certainly can’t disagree with your complaint, but I shall have to have you leave a message for him.”