“Stop whining,” I hissed. “You’re going to do whatever it takes to repay Mrs. Clover for the damage you caused.”
He’d thrown, or kicked, or batted a baseball through her front windowpane, obliterating framed photographs, piano keys, candlesticks, and tiny crystal animals. Thousands of dollars of damage. It was just his latest calamity.
I gave the doorbell another rigid-fingered poke.
“What will she make me do though?” whined Freddie.
“Clean up the mess you caused, for starters. Then, I don’t know. Maybe some weeding out back, helping unload groceries, polishing shoe leather… Whatever she needs help with.”
Finally, Mrs. Clover’s silhouette appeared through the frosted glass of the front door. She pried it open cautiously, craning her neck past the doorjamb like a velociraptor. Odd duck, she.
“So sorry again, Mrs. Clover,” I said, poking Freddie forward. “But Freddie is here to make things right.”
She held her head high, literally looking down her nose at him. “Is that right, Freddie?” she asked.
Freddie looked at me. “You can answer for yourself,” I prodded. He gazed up, sheepishly, at Mrs. Clover. “Yes, ma’am.”
She allowed him the hint of a smile, cast the door wide, and ushered him in.
“I’ll be back at five!” I called. I’m not sure Mrs. Clover heard me over the slamming front door.
I arrived a bit late, but I figured it might serve Freddie well to prolong his torture a few minutes. It took three or four rings for Mrs. Clover to materialize, but when she did, she looked very pleased.
“Has he repaid his debt?” I joked.
“Oh,” she sighed, “There’s still work to be done, but Freddie was very helpful.”
“Mind if I take a look at the state of things?” I asked.
“Please,” she answered, beckoning me into the parlour.
The place looked immaculate. All the crystal creatures had been swept up, pictures reframed, candlesticks replaced. Two of the piano keys, I noticed, were still cracked and broken.
“These were ivory, were they?” I asked.
“Alas, yes,” Mrs. Clover answered. "I can grind up a good replacement, I've still got an old molding. It won't be quite the same as ivory, though."
“Shame,” I nodded, frowning in solidarity. “Is it all right if I take Freddie then? For today, at least?”
“Oh yes,” she said brightly, “I think he’s given everything he can. You may want to wait a spell though, he’s still icing his gums.”
I halted mid-step. “He’s what?”
“Daddy?” I heard Freddie call, a noticeable lisp in his voice.
He bolted into the parlour, his face puffy and red, and wrapped his arms tight around me.
“What… what did you do to him?”
Mrs. Clover furrowed her brow. “I took what was owed,” she said.
It was then that I noticed the bronze-plated spittoon beside the piano bench, the heavy iron pliers inside, and there – in a cluster at the bottom of the bucket – twenty pearly-white milk teeth, some still pink with blood.
---
Credits
He’d thrown, or kicked, or batted a baseball through her front windowpane, obliterating framed photographs, piano keys, candlesticks, and tiny crystal animals. Thousands of dollars of damage. It was just his latest calamity.
I gave the doorbell another rigid-fingered poke.
“What will she make me do though?” whined Freddie.
“Clean up the mess you caused, for starters. Then, I don’t know. Maybe some weeding out back, helping unload groceries, polishing shoe leather… Whatever she needs help with.”
Finally, Mrs. Clover’s silhouette appeared through the frosted glass of the front door. She pried it open cautiously, craning her neck past the doorjamb like a velociraptor. Odd duck, she.
“So sorry again, Mrs. Clover,” I said, poking Freddie forward. “But Freddie is here to make things right.”
She held her head high, literally looking down her nose at him. “Is that right, Freddie?” she asked.
Freddie looked at me. “You can answer for yourself,” I prodded. He gazed up, sheepishly, at Mrs. Clover. “Yes, ma’am.”
She allowed him the hint of a smile, cast the door wide, and ushered him in.
“I’ll be back at five!” I called. I’m not sure Mrs. Clover heard me over the slamming front door.
I arrived a bit late, but I figured it might serve Freddie well to prolong his torture a few minutes. It took three or four rings for Mrs. Clover to materialize, but when she did, she looked very pleased.
“Has he repaid his debt?” I joked.
“Oh,” she sighed, “There’s still work to be done, but Freddie was very helpful.”
“Mind if I take a look at the state of things?” I asked.
“Please,” she answered, beckoning me into the parlour.
The place looked immaculate. All the crystal creatures had been swept up, pictures reframed, candlesticks replaced. Two of the piano keys, I noticed, were still cracked and broken.
“These were ivory, were they?” I asked.
“Alas, yes,” Mrs. Clover answered. "I can grind up a good replacement, I've still got an old molding. It won't be quite the same as ivory, though."
“Shame,” I nodded, frowning in solidarity. “Is it all right if I take Freddie then? For today, at least?”
“Oh yes,” she said brightly, “I think he’s given everything he can. You may want to wait a spell though, he’s still icing his gums.”
I halted mid-step. “He’s what?”
“Daddy?” I heard Freddie call, a noticeable lisp in his voice.
He bolted into the parlour, his face puffy and red, and wrapped his arms tight around me.
“What… what did you do to him?”
Mrs. Clover furrowed her brow. “I took what was owed,” she said.
It was then that I noticed the bronze-plated spittoon beside the piano bench, the heavy iron pliers inside, and there – in a cluster at the bottom of the bucket – twenty pearly-white milk teeth, some still pink with blood.
---
Credits
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