The Waggish Traveller

Albert brushed the crumbled dirt from the roots of a tree before turning to sit. The day was hot, and the shade was a welcome break from the beating sun. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and removed his derby hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. Dark curls fell to his forehead and clung to it from the moisture.

“The Family Grave of James Jeffrey Clemens.” He read aloud from the epitaph before him. It was leaning and weathered from its years of standing through the changing seasons. Listed on it were the faded appellations of those who were buried in the plots surrounding him, with the dates of birth and death beneath each one.

Just beside it, James Jeffrey Clemens headstone stood taller and wider than the rest. It had a small iron fence around it, and it was overgrown with vines.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a nip of whisky down there for a lowly traveller, eh James?” Albert asked.

Dropping his suspenders, he unbuttoned his tattered black shirt and leaned back on the tree.

“You think anyone will think to look for me in here?” Albert continued. “You see, I’m in a bit of trouble, James.” He picked up a piece of grass and put it between his teeth.

“Wasn’t my fault, of course. I just found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time, you know?” he grinned.

Albert motioned before him as if it were playing out on a big screen, and continued.

“There I was, minding my business, when a dame came out of nowhere and planted her lips on mine.” He snickered.

“Alright, I may be bending the truth a bit, James. You got me there.” Albert said, as he ripped the piece of grass into smaller bits and tossed them at his feet.

“I may have had to charm her a bit, but she did kiss me. ‘Course, I didn’t know she was married until I heard the distinct sound of a pistol chamber cocking from behind me.” Albert continued with a chuckle.

“I kid you not, James. And when I spun around to see who was taking aim; you would not believe who I saw. None other than Mayor Sherwood. Imagine the scandal.”

Albert shook his head, then rested it on the tree behind him.

“His wife fell to my feet in a fluster, but not before asserting that I’d forced myself on her.” Albert dabbed his face with his handkerchief and sighed.

“Then his goons locked me in a separate room, and I could hear them wittering about a missing twenty thousand dollars. That wag accused me of stealing from him on top of it all. Can you believe it?” Albert snorted.

“So, I crawled out the window and made off with my freedom, but nothing else.”

Albert closed his eyes and listened to the gentle whooshing of grass for a moment.

“I think I will rest a bit before I take my journey elsewhere. You think you can keep an eye out for me, pal?” Albert said to James as he placed his hat over his face and leaned back into the tree. He was asleep within minutes.

The sound of a rattling engine jolted Albert from his slumber a short while later. In a drowsy panic, he scurried behind James’ headstone. He was relieved that the grounds hadn’t been well maintained, so he could use the over grown landscape to conceal him. Huddling down, he plotted which direction would be best to run if needed.

Albert was used to being on the run. He’d been adrift since his parents died in a house fire when he was seventeen. Eight years later, it was all he knew.

He’d joined on with a travelling circus for a short while, and when they accused him of stealing ticket money, he was forced to leave. Then he’d met up with some gypsies and trekked with them. They’d taught him to pickpocket, but he quickly surpassed them, so they too sent him on his way.

But even alone, he’d managed to attract trouble.

In a previous town he’d passed through, Albert was chased from a tavern for cheating at blackjack and stealing from the pot. Ofcourse he denied every word of it, then acted highly surprised later on when he pulled his wares from the hidden pockets in his trousers.

Albert's length of stay in each new place depended on its “earning potential” and he’d been in the current town of Putnam for a month. It was a growing community, and one of the first places that Albert had visited that had fully developed roads and had traded their horse and buggies for automobiles. In other words, it had major earning potential.

Albert could hear voices approaching from behind him, so he pressed his back up against the tall stone and hoped they were visiting a grave closer to the edge of the graveyard. Spotting a larger rock protruding from the ground beside him, Albert reckoned it would make a good weapon if needed, so he wiggled it out from between the overgrown vines and held it close. As he sat in wait, he looked down and noticed something else sticking out of the hole from where he’d just pulled the stone. He glanced around quickly, then carefully used his fingers to dig the object out. It took a bit of work, but finally broke free. Once out, he could see that it was a tin box.

The voices could still be heard, but did not seem to be getting any closer, so Albert brushed the caked dirt from the box and inspected it. It had rusted edges and the paint was faded and chipped. He opened it slowly, hesitant to produce unnecessary noise.

Inside, he found a stained white handkerchief wrapped around a small black book. In the opening, there were photographs which were very faded and discoloured. Each, of the same man in different settings. By his attire, Albert guessed them to be taken in the mid to late 1800’s.

He turned the pages of the book and was surprised to find that it was a travel log filled with entries by none other than James Clemens himself. He too had been a voyager, and in his journal, James had described the places he’d been, sketched different items of interest, and even penned a poem or two. He also had a page dedicated to listing his favourite places. Most, Albert had never heard of.

From behind him, two men began to argue, so Albert shimmied himself around to get a glimpse at what was happening.

Peering around the stone, he saw two men that he recognized from Mayor Sherwood’s, standing a mere thirty feet from where he was. They had rolled up their sleeves and one was holding a shovel.

Albert felt a sense of panic.

“Nobody is going to look here, alright? Just get digging. We’ll come back for it when the coast is clear.” The larger of the two said.

“What if the law comes here looking for that grifter?” the smaller one replied.

Albert scowled from behind the gravestone. “Grifter?” he mouthed.

“You think they are going to start digging up graves to find him, Jacobs? Now quit bumping gums and get digging! We are running out of daylight!”

“But Mayor Sherwoo…” Jacobs began before he was cut off.

“Sherwood is a thief himself. Where do you think he got it from? Consider this a favor to the public.”

“Sure boss.” Jacobs replied.

“That kid kissing Sherwood’s wife was icing on the cake. Did you see his face?” Boss laughed.

“I thought he was going to have a conniption.” Jacobs added.

Albert watched as Jacobs dug a hole at the base of a grave, while Boss supervised. He was relieved they hadn’t chosen James’ gravestone.

When the hole was deep enough, Boss handed Jacobs a large medicine bag.

“Try to be neat about it.” Boss said.

Jacobs shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“So, we’ll come back together to fetch it?”

“Yes, I told you, we’ll let the kid take the heat, and when he’s rotting in a cell, we’ll dig it up.”

Satisfied, Jacobs shoved the bag inside the hole, then began filling it in.

Albert sat back down behind James’ headstone with his curiosity doing backflips.

Trying to muster the patience for them to leave, he opened James’ book to a page in the middle. There was an entry beneath a sketch of a woman’s face.

September 12th, 1862

My travelling days are over. I’ve met a woman in Putnam, and she’s all I can think about. I used to think I’d travel the world forever, but now I want to settle down and be the man Emily deserves. Her father refuses to allow it, but I shall make it my life’s aim to be her husband.

Edward heard the men still talking, so he read on.

October 30th, 1862

I have taken a job at the mill. I’ve promised Emily that we shall one day own it, and our sons will work there too. Her father has still not allowed us, but that has not stopped her from meeting me in secret.

Albert heard the engine in the car turn over and jumped at the sound. He didn’t want to rush, in case they came back, so he sat tight and read some more entries. He envisioned James on his travels and imagined all the places he’d been and the people he’d met.

It also made him regret not writing his journeys in a diary, so he vowed to begin once he put some space between himself and Putnam.

Giving himself one more moment, he opened the book to the final entry. It was a drawing of a wheat mill, and on it, a sign that read “Clemens Millhouse”. Beneath it was written:

March 5, 1866

I once believed that I needed to take hold of the world to fill my heart with wonder. Perhaps that were the case for a while. But when I watch my sweet Emily chasing James Jr. through the garden or feel the swell of her belly where our next child grows, it fills me with so much more. This shall be my last entry, for I am on a new adventure and my heart has never been so full.

James Jeffrey Clemens

Albert closed the book with a smile, then stood slowly and peered around. Feeling confident that the coast was clear, he stepped around to the front.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking this with me, James. It would be good to have a friend with me.” Albert said.

He smiled and shoved the small book into his back pocket.

“I hope to one day settle down like you.” He said, then turned and looked over at the fresh dirt where Sherwood’s men had buried the medicine bag.

“But for now, a new adventure calls, Pal.” He said witha grin.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photo of himself from the circus, and placed it at the foot of the gravestone. Then he gave a nod and went straight over begin digging. It was getting dark, but Albert’s mouth was aglow from smiling so wide.

When he finally pulled the bag free, he ripped it open and burst with laughter. It was filled to the brim with cash. It had to have been the twenty thousand dollars that he’d heard Sherwood’s men talking about at the house.

“If I am going to be accused of something, I might as well be guilty of it!” Albert said boisterously. And with that, he grabbed the bag, tipped his hat to James, and disappeared into the night.