the hearth. In a rocking chair beside it, calmly knitting, was a woman in an ankle-length dress and a bonnet. She hummed as her long needles clacked and clicked. When a log popped, she stared serenely at the flames.
“Jack Sprat, Jack Sprat, why do you keep doing that?”
The man coughed.
Glancing up, the woman placed her knitting in her lap. “I do declare. How long have you been there?”
“Where?” the man asked.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean. And so between the two of them, they licked the platter clean.”
“I am not Jack Sprat,” the man said.
The woman smiled. “Of course we are. We have always been. That was our heaven, that was our sin. But what to do now? Where to begin? I’m happy you are here. Come on in.”
“I already am. Do you know where you are?”
“Don’t you?” The woman heaved her bulk out of the rocking chair, grunting with the effort. “Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie.”
“I don’t like to eat blackbird,” the man said. “Too stringy and dry.”
“Isn’t Tommy Thumb’s song pretty? That Tommy Thumb sure was witty.” The woman set her knitting on the rocking chair. From a bag next to it she took another long needle and made a circle in the air. “Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Three bags full.”
“I haven’t any wool,” the man said. “Only this.” He wagged his knife.
“Bow, wow, wow, whose dog art thou?” the woman quoted.
“I think I am yours. Can you help me? I saw a horse, but it ran away. You can never trust horses.”
The woman walked to the table and placed her hands on her stout hips. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are.” She motioned. “Come, won’t you play with me?”
“It is hard,” the man said.
“Try.”
“Very well.” The man’s brow knit. “Will you take a walk with me, my little wife, today?”
The woman uttered a sharp bark of a laugh. “You can do better than that, surely. If you want my help, that is.”
“I want it more than anything,” the man admitted. Again his brow furrowed. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”
“Oh, come now. That is hardly in the spirit of things.” The woman untied her bonnet and then tied it again. “I’m waiting. If you insist on this intrusion, you must at least be gallant.”
“I never could,” the man said. But his brow puckered a third time. “One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, knock at the door. Five, six…” The man stopped. “I can’t remember the rest.”
“You must. What do you want me to take you for? If that is your best, no wonder we are where we are.”
“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” The man paused. “Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven, eight, set them straight. Nine, ten, a big fat hen. Eleven, twelve, dig and delve.”
The woman squealed in delight. “You did it! You actually and truly did it! I am very proud of you.”
“Don’t expect more. They made me say it day after day so I would learn my numbers. Why it has stuck with me all these years is beyond me. Our minds are a strange place.”
“Birds of a feather flock together, and so do pigs and swine.” The woman moved to the counter. She picked up a pan, hefted it, and set it back down. “What help can I be? I can cook and bake, I can sweep and rake.”
“We must leave. Together. Now.”
The woman laughed. “You jest, sir. Leave my humble home? Leave my rocking chair and my knitting? What kind of woman do you take me for? What would my husband think?”
“Don’t remind me. The fog has cleared. I wish I couldn’t remember, but I do.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If turnips were watches, I’d wear one at my side.”
“You can stop that now.”
“As I went to Bonner, I met a pig with a wig, upon my word and honor,” the woman recited.
“Please stop.”
“You started it,” she retorted. “Then to bring them into this. To think you thought you knew it all, only to find out you knew nothing.”
“Please.”
“I have my moments, too, you know. I will help if you will tell me what kind of help I can be.”
The man wearily stepped to the table and sat on a bench. “It’s been so long. I’m no longer sure of what is and what isn’t. I have to pinch myself sometimes.” So saying, he pinched his cheek as hard as he could. “I think I am real.”
Chuckling merrily, so that her whole body quivered like a great dish of pudding, the woman pointed a thick finger at him. “I bet I know what you would like more than anything. How empty is your belly?”
“So empty it is scraping my backbone.” The man folded his arms on the table and lowered his face onto them. His next words were muffled. “They were after me a while ago. Right before I saw the horse. They might be after the horse now.”
“The man in the wilderness asked me how many strawberries grew in the sea but I didn’t tell him.”
“God in heaven. Is this what we have come to? Is this to be our end?” The man slowly straightened. Tears were in his eyes. “Will you fill my belly or not?”
“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man. Make me a cake as fast as you can. Prick it, and pat it, and mark it with a T. And put it in the oven for my Sully and me.”
“Is that yes or no?”
“Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating his Christmas pie.”
“I asked you not to do that.”
The woman opened a cupboard. “What would you like? Waffles and eggs? Elk meat? Corn dodgers? How about apple dumplings? I think of all the food in the world, apple dumplings are my favorite.”
The man stared at the empty shelves in the cupboard. His throat bobbed and he wiped an arm across his eyes. “How long have you been without?”
“My dears, my dears, calm your fears.”
“I never would have guessed. You don’t look as if you have lost weight.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You
The woman beamed jovially and twined her fingers together. “Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor doggie a bone. But when she got there the cupboard was bare, so the poor doggie got none.”
“One more and I will scream. I swear to God I will.”
“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children she didn’t know what to do.”
The man was off the bench and reached her in three bounds. Gripping her by the arms, he shook her as hard as he could.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
The woman went on beaming. “Calm yourself, Sully. Haven’t I always taken care of you?” She cupped his chin and gazed deep into his eyes. “My sweet, sour, splendid, awful, caring, cold codpiece.”
Sully staggered back, his cheeks damp. He groped behind him until his hand found the rough-hewn table. Sinking onto the bench, he trembled. “I can feel it clawing at me. It never stops. When it takes hold I am lost to everything. But then I come out of it for a while, like you.”
“Bat, bat, come under my hat, and I’ll give you a slice of bacon.” The woman chortled. “Is that what you would like to eat? A bat?”
“Philberta, please. I did all I could. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. The thing now is to get away. We must leave while I am clear in the head. Try to shake it off so we—” Sully stopped at a sudden scratching at the door, as if a claw was scraping it from top to bottom. “No. Not now.”
“My darlings!” Philberta happily exclaimed. “They have come to pay me another visit. I wonder what sweetmeats they have brought me this time.” She started toward the door, but Sully got there ahead of her and
