The Tattered Apron

Benjamin Barker

 The smell of rain and smoke filled the tiny shop run by Mrs. Elenore Lovett. The smoke rose from her stove behind the counter, fogging the windows that couldn't be opened on the count that they were either broken or that London was such a cold, wet place. Especially in October, for fall was in full spring, sailors would return home and everything but one's worst enemies would shrivel up and die. However, this lonely baker had a deep gut feeling this season would be different; For some sort of change was about to arrive on the dreadful road of Fleet Street.

~

"It is as if the sea is parting just for us!" A joyful sailor exclaimed, standing on the bow of an old, blue painted ship that - written in bright red letters against the side - read Bountiful as it sailed beneath the parting Bridge of London. The young, naive boy with glistening eyes turned to another man - this one was no sailor. His clothes were shredded apart, a hand-my-down jacket covering them as his gruff beard hid any expression and his dark brunette hair with streaks of black and silver began to grow over his eyes. "Isn't it, Mr. Todd?" the sailor asked.

"I envy your spirit, Anthony," the man spoke, his deep - almost operatic - voice matched his exterior. The young boy hopped down towards him with a large grin, "I have seen the world, Mr. Todd, all of its marvelous wonders from Turkey to Peru; Yet, sir, there is no other place quite like London. It is as if I am coming home," he recited with such high regard.

"Yes, there's no place like London," Mr. Todd hissed as the Bountiful pulled into the dock.

The old brick paths, the crumbling stone buildings, even the grey clouded skies - All things the man never even dreamt of seeing again. If he had held on to any emotions he once possessed, he would've found himself kissing the ground as his feet left the wooden plank of a ramp and landed on the solid earth of the City of London. Instead, he remained melancholy, his eyes shifting around to look but never his head.

If his muscles had not lost their ability to smile, he would've as he looked back at the sailors running off, happy to be home with their families and lives. A grin at least, yet he simply couldn't bring himself to. He felt as if his feet were stuck there, glued down by some strange force until it was just him and Anthony standing on the emptied dock, "As you yourself said, there is no place like London," the boy grinned from ear to ear.

"You are young, life has been kind to you... You'll soon learn," Mr. Todd said as he finally moved, walking over to a crate and placing his bag down to remove his jacket. "It is here we go our separate ways, Anthony. I will not soon forget the good ship Bountiful, nor the young sailor who saved my life."

"It would've been a poor Christian, indeed, to leave you stranded there on that sorry shipwreck."

"There's many a Christian, indeed, that would and not have lost a winks sleep for it."

"Alms, alms," a beggar carried on in the distance, "for a miserable woman," she continued, entering the docks and the sight of the men. Anthony had seen her and taken pity, reaching into his satchel and grabbing a couple pennies, "Over here, mum," he raised his arm to wave. The old woman hobbled over, "Oh, thank you, sir," she grinned a toothless smile as she took the two coins with her fidgeting hands, stuffing them into her corset. Her head tweaked down, her eyes shifting up as if possessed to leer at Anthony, from top to bottom, "Hoy, sailor boy, wouldn't ya like a little squiff, dear? A little bounce around the bush? Looks like you've got plenty ta push!" she cackled as she lunged towards his waist only to fall onto her hands and knees once he stepped away.

The landing seemed to have knocked sense into her, as she had steadied her breathing now and her eyes had reverted from their dark state. As she went to stand, she noticed Mr. Todd - who paid no mind to her. "'Ey, don't I... Don't I know you, mista'?" she asked, her pointer finger practically shoving into his eye. Her words seemed to alarm the man as he quickly tightened his drawstring bag and stood, his voice raised, "Must you glare at me, woman! Off with you, off I say!"