He turned to Tom, his face as unguarded as he could make it. “You, T-Tom Everson, are the b-bravest man I have ever met. I regret I could not t-t-tell you the other night bu-but…”
Unable to face either of them the more he stumbled about, he clutched his walking stick and spoke to the ivory knob hidden beneath his fingers. “I was t-t-taught to hide it, t-t-to not speak—have the b-beatings to show for it.” He smiled grimly and risked an upward look at Everson, only to find comprehension and compassion coming from that quarter.
Though he spoke to Tom, his next words were for the father. “I p-p-pray, should I ever b-b-b-be blessed with children, I can be as good a father as your own.”
Making sure the youth knew he meant it, Daniel said what had been milling about his garret for days. “And, T-Tom, if you still have an interest in p-pounding me to a pulp in the ring, would b-b-be honored to work with you. But your father isn’t—” A bad hand, he was about to say, but was overshadowed by Tom’s response.
“Wwwww-would I!” The exuberant young man started to rush forward but checked himself. “Cap-cap-capital! And I pr-prom-prom-ise, no one will-will-will hear from me.” He indicated Daniel’s head, then his own mouth. “’Tis your-your bus-in-in-ess.”
“Nor I.” Everson weighed in, coming forward to cover Daniel’s hand, causing him to realize the strength of his hold was about to shatter the ivory. “And you have no idea how relieved I am, in some selfish ways, you understand.” The man patted his hand once, then released him. “I always suspected you never liked me, just tolerated boxing with the big lout who never could learn any better.”
“Never that,” Daniel vowed, finding his hand gripped in a strong, comforting shake, almost as though Everson hugged his entire body with that simple touch of curved fingers and palm to palm. At least now he knew where Tom had learned that!
A nod of understanding and accord passed between the two men and their hands separated.
“Now,” Everson began, after taking a deep, relaxing breath, one it seemed Daniel’s lungs automatically echoed, “Thomas told me what he asked of you and that it had been done in a social setting. But he failed to tell me exactly where you two met—”
“’Twas-’twas at L-L-Lord P-P—”
“Hold up, Thomas.” Everson cast a fond glance at his son, then caught Daniel’s gaze. His lips curved in a gentle smile that spoke volumes. “Let’s all sit, shall we? I think this may take a while.”
Daniel laughed. He actually laughed.
And so the story came out between the two of them, haltingly slow, furiously fast, in bits, starts, stops and stammers, but it came out. Gratifyingly, for once in his life, without a speck of aggravation.
It was simply a conversation that took a rather long time (a really long time), and that was just the way of it.
A pleasance he hadn’t anticipated buffeted the day’s exchange, the ease he experienced conversing with these two fine gentlemen nothing short of remarkable.
Positively remarkable.
At some point, after first taking refreshments and then lunch with them, talk naturally turned to Thomas and Daniel’s difficulty. “I had a cousin who stammered as a boy,” Everson explained. “He eventually grew out of it, but a physician his parents consulted made several recommendations…”
As Daniel idly listened, he couldn’t help recall how the only physician he was ever paraded in front of wanted to slice out his tongue, sever off the nerves in his lips. Father had supported the notion and an all-out brawl ensued when one very determined ten-year-old made his escape. The sour taste that tarnished his saliva was too easily evoked and he swallowed hard. Bad memories best forgotten.
He renewed his interest in what Everson was saying. “…favorite suggestion was that he practice reciting word puzzles and poetry—”
The word poetry set off an unwanted visceral reaction. But instead of casting up his accounts and heading for the coast, Daniel made himself calmly inquire, “Word…puzzles. What are they?”
Everson nodded to Tom who quickly—and surprisingly—rattled off, with only a hitch or two:
Naked naughty Nancy natters on like a ninnyhammer while knitting napkins for the nob’s nozzle.
There once was a man, not a priest,
who fancied for himself a fancy piece.
So he counted his coins
through his stiffening loins
till he could buy himself into her crease.
While Daniel chuckled, Everson frowned. “Thomas, what have I told you about the bawdy ones?”
Thomas assumed a glum expression. “Nnnn-not while-while Mum is home.” Turning to Daniel, he brightened. “But-but they’re grand fu-fu-funnn.”
“Helpful, too,” Everson put in. “We don’t know if it’s the cadence or song quality, but with practice, he’s able to spew these out like a geyser. They’ve really helped with his regular speech too.”
Helped his speech? Daniel couldn’t fathom it, the poor lad. Evidently his expression gave him away.
Everson laughed so hard he choked. “Truly, my lord. You should have heard him before.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Tom added, “But these are mmmmmy favorites, the p-peh-personal kind. Roses are red. / My name is Thomas. / Follow my lead, / I’ll be your compass. And one mmmy brother wrrrrote: Roses are red. / My name-na-name is Sir Henry. / There’s no time to waste. / To the privy I make haste.” He finished on a grin. “Now-now you try.”
As though housed in a glacier, Daniel’s mind froze. But Tom looked at him so expectantly, he pried his lips open, determined to give it a go. Only what came out was a disgruntled, “Don’t like p-poetry.”
Everson smiled, that indulgent, fatherly smile Daniel hadn’t received in years, not since his beloved grandfather passed on. “Here now.” He scooted his chair toward his desk and pulled a sheet and the ink toward him. “I’ll jot down a few of the others and you can practice at home, hmmm?”
“Much obliged.”
While Everson wrote and Daniel tried not to be embarrassed by his lack of
