Market Day - a day full of various festivities and trade, with foodstuffs from every kitchen in Woodsboro and trinkets from every workshop sold at a bargain. From the early hours of dawn, before first light, people would stream into the main square and the adjoining streets, wheeling in their stalls and setting up their wares for the early birds to peruse. Cooks would roll in their massive cast iron pots and set them up over roaring firepits, boiling oil for frying and water for boiling and soup for plain eatin'.
As the sun peeked its face out from beyond the mountains and blessed the town with its light, everyone was already out and about, and anyone who wasn't would likely be very soon. The streets were teeming with customers and merchants peddling their wares, bartering over copper pieces. The earthy scents of tubers and carrots mixed with the smell of freshly baked bread and roasting meats. The sounds of chatter would be intermingled by that of the animals, sold here for milk, meat, wool, or just for fun. Even some music could be heard from one corner or another as traveling musicians panhandled for spare coins, of which there were certainly plenty.
Tawl was roused early as ever on Market Day, and he dreaded it. Market Day was the only day he couldn't shirk his responsibilities no matter how hard he tried. At an hour so early that he was sure even the roosters were sleeping, he and Tomas trudged out of bed at their father's panicked beckons to begin loading the wagon with tools and wares. There were belts, pouches, vests, hats, gambesons, boots, shoes, sacks, sashes, laces, bracelets, and other assorted leatherworks his father had crafted over the preceding months.
Once the goods were packed, the boys rolled all of the freshly tanned and cured leathers into tight bolts and loaded them all on for "custom order requests" as their father had put it. Tomas handled the custom orders but Tawl knew these rolls were only there to make the other leatherworkers envious of his father's hides. He would often see them walking by the stand, clicking their tongues as they examined the hides. On occasion an artisan would try to buy a bolt or two, to which Tawl's father would turn them down graciously but not without a hint of condescension, offering to make them a custom order instead. To this day he had yet to make a sale that way, so Tawl suspected this wasn't the purpose of this display.
"Now eat up you two! We'll be late!"
Tawl yawned loudly as his father fixed his and Tomas' packing job to his liking. The boys grabbed a pie each and sat down to eat, leaving one for their father which he would no doubt end up eating at the market. Tawl ate slowly like it was his last meal. The slightly stale crust and week-old catfish meat was just barely edible, made slightly more palatable by the copious spice he had added for this express purpose.
"Chin up Tawl, if we make a good sale today maybe you can convince papa to give you the day off tomorrow!" Tomas nudged his brother with encouragement, though they both knew that the sky would have to fall down for him to ever get a day off. Besides, who cares if he got the day off after Market Day if he couldn't enjoy the day itself. As the pies were consumed, Tawl's father entered the kitchen rushing the boys to finish their meager breakfast.
"Come on, come on! Sun's almost up! If you don't finish those now you'll eat them for lunch!"
"I miss mom," Tawl blurted out mid-bite, eyes a bit red from rubbing them all morning.
"Well then do a good job today and make her proud." His father's retort was scathing and final. He would have none of this nonsense today, not when there were customers to impress and competition to be thwarted. Tawl knew this, of course, but he pouted and slumped his shoulders anyway. "Eat up! I'll get you a bolt of fruit leather if you're good today, deal?"
Tawl's eyes lit up. A shrewd negotiator his father was, although Tawl couldn't stand leather in most of its forms, the one form he liked was fruit leather - decadent and deliciously sweet, made from pressed prunes and raisins. But Tawl was no stranger to negotiation tactics himself. If he was to be bribed, the briber had better hold up his end of the deal. "A whole bolt? You promise?"
His father narrowed his eyes. "Don't get smart with me now! Eat up and get dressed, or you won't get anything!"
Tawl knew that this would be the best deal he'd get all day. Compelled, albeit not convinced, he scarfed down his pie and ran to his room. "Will I get a bolt of fruit leather too, papa?" he could hear Tomas ask as he scampered off, although the scolding answer his father retorted with was inaudible. He kicked off his woven slippers and put on the nicest leather trousers he had. Lacing up the still-dirty boots he had spent a week polishing and cleaning, he hoped they wouldn't attract too much attention. Almost ready, he donned his cap and set off.
It was still dark out by the time the three of them arrived at the market. Few merchants had already set up their stalls by torchlight, most of them assisted by groggy children. Tawl looked around as they rode past the stalls. The dull thudding of the waggon clattering along the cobbles drew dozens of eyes, several friendly waves, and a couple of leers. He saw Billy and Ginny, the weaver's kids, stacking baskets high on either side of a lop-sided cart; then there was pudgy Eamus, the butcher's boy and local troublemaker, his grimaces towards Tawl making him look like one of the pigs hanging up next to him; Maisey and Miranda were there too, along with their little brother Mickey and Mary the milkmaid, even Dolores and Katie the milk cows were there too, chewing on a hay bale.
Tawl looked for Dottie or her mother as her Market Day pastries were always the talk of the town, but they were nowhere to be found. Probably just late, Tawl thought to himself, pastries take time to make after all, especially ones that good. His thoughts were interrupted when the wagon lurched to a sudden stop.
"Alright boys, we're here! Come on, let's get this set up! No dillydallying this time! Tawl, you get the left side, Tomas get the right!" The boys' father's commanding presence quickly whipped them into a frenzy and they began assembling the stall, hanging up all the wares in the right places, placing all of the bolts neatly in a stack in the back, spreading out the tools on the workbench, in what Tawl felt was record time. The day would be starting soon and Tawl could not be less excited for it. He carefully unfurled the big leather sign for his father's workshop and began hanging it up in front of the stall.
"Well well, if it isn't leatherboy," an annoying voice jeered at him.
Tawl whirled around to see Eamus standing there with an apple core in his hand, his pudgy fingers almost as thick as the core itself. Tawl wondered how he'd never bitten one of them off while eating sausage, keeping the thought to himself and instead retorting curtly.
"Well well, if it isn't lardo." He chuckled to himself at the insult, one he had been cooking up for a month now, as Eamus' face turned white with rage.
"Lardo? Watch your tongue leatherboy or I'll tie you up and tan you like a cowhide!" Eamus struck back.
"You wanna try, porky?" Tawl hopped down from the stepladder and landed gracefully in front of the kid twice his width. He stood up with poise and a bit of pizazz. He wasn't confident that he could take Eamus in a fight with his buddied, but alone he at least had a shot of embarrassing him. Eamus knew this too, not buying the farce and shaking his fist in Tawl's face.
"You're gonna get it, leatherboy! You keep talkin' like that and I'll knock all your teeth out!"
With that, Eamus waddled away to Tawl's amusement. He had hoped he'd roll away like a wheel of cheese. But besides being mildly amusing, this meant Tawl was stuck working the stand whether he wanted to or not. If he ventured too far from it, no doubt Eamus and his gang would be waiting for him, and that's not something he wanted to deal with today, not when a bolt of fruit leather was on the line. He quickly turned his attention back to the cart, from which Tomas and his father had been unloading leatherworks. Tawl began to arrange them neatly for display as the sky slowly turned lighter.
By midday Tawl and Tomas were exhausted, but their father was ecstatic. He grinned ear to ear as more than half the booth had been sold clean out, garnering quite a hefty pouch of coppers and silvers. There were even some custom orders put in, and pretty simple ones to Tawl's dismay which he was certain his father would force him to make on his own. Suddenly, his father spoke up in a cheerful voice.
"Well boys, I think you've earned yourself a lunch break! Why don'tcha go grab a bite for me too, eh? And I'll get you both fruit leather once the day's done." Tawl and Tomas looked at each other and then back at their father, disbelief on their faces at what they were hearing. Tomas quickly grabbed a handful of coins from the coin pouch and the two boys ran off, almost skipping to grab something to eat, and undoubtedly see what the market had to offer on the way.
Tawl made sure to steer clear of the butcher shop, opting for the dried fish from the fishermen's stalls. Tomas paid for the fish, passing one on a wood skewer to his brother and pocketing a couple for later consumption. The two continued on, perusing wares and weaving between the stalls, Tawl ducking out of sight whenever someone remotely pudgy trudged past and Tomas laughing to himself at his brother's antics.
Eventually, the boys came to the miller's stall. Set up alongside the outside wall of a tavern, a sweet smell wafted towards their noses as they approached it. The miller was there, of course, filling Tawl's hands with a large loaf of bread.
"For ya paw," he said, grinning. "Oh ye brother's here too, just the lad I been lookin' for."
Tomas raised a brow. "What can I do you for, sir?" he asked politely. Tawl, meanwhile, looked around for the miller's daughter.
"Oh same ol' same ol', the milling wheel's actin' up again. Think it's the belt, be real good if ya can swing by sometime soon and take a look."
"The belt, eh? Hmm.. I think we got some leather strips that'll fit jus' right, might take a bit of time to get to it though," Tomas began haggling with the miller. Just like papa taught him, Tawl thought to himself chuckling. Now, to fine Dottie.
"Hiya Tawlie!"
Tawl jumped back at the sudden greeting - she had found him first. "Hi Dottie! Didn't see you there!"
"Pastry?" she asked as she held out a warm cloth-wrapped tartlet. He grabbed it, unwrapping the cloth and stuffing his face with the crust. These pastries always made Market Day seem less dull and boring. Dottie looked over at Tomas and the miller's conversation. "What's daddy talking with Tommy about?"
Tawl waved his hand, mouth too full of crumbling dough to respond. Chewing swiftly and swallowing, he responded. "Something about the millstone or something. Anyway, papa's been real nice and let us have a break, even said he'd get us fruit leather!"
"Wow!" Dottie's eyes lit up at the mention of the delicious dried snack. "So why's he so nice today? Did he sell lots of saddles?" Dottie says giggling.
"Oh loads! We sold a brand new one to the mayor's son. He came riding in on a white stallion with an alabaster mane, with a golden sword at his waist in a diamond scabbard. Papa sold him our finest saddle that he's ever made and he paid us in gemstones."
Dottie started laughing. Tawl's tall tales always lightened her spirits, something Tawl prided himself on being able to do. Tawl continued his dubiously accurate elucidation for some time before suddenly spotting a suspiciously rotund boy waddling towards them.
"Oh no! Eamus! Quick, let's get outta here!" Dottie's eyes widened as she looked in the direction Tawl was pointing. The two ducked behind the miller's stand as Tomas was still trying to finagle a better deal on the millstone belt. Tawl made sure to remind himself to apologize for ditching his brother like this later, before he and Dottie snuck around behind the stands out of sight. Bobbing and weaving between sellers and customers, they made their way down the street away from the fat butcher's boy, surely eager to get his revenge for Tawl's cheek remarks.
Before long, they had found themselves at the leather stand where Tawl's father was situated on a stool counting a large pile of coins on the counter.
"Papa!" Tawl rushed around the counter with Dottie in tow.
"Oh there y'are! The blacksmith came by, offered a king's ransom for some work aprons. Lucky I had Tomas make 'em, eh?" Tawl's father showed him the pile of coins. He ruffled Tawl's hair and grabbed the loaf of bread that he had still been holding onto, taking a whiff of it before setting it down. Noticing Dottie he almost jumped in his seat. "Didn't see you there Doretta."
Dottie puffed out her cheeks. "It's Dottie!"
Tawl's father was slightly taken aback by her swift retort but quickly composed himself. "I mean Dottie, yes. What'll ya be needin'?"
"I want Tawlie to go to school with me!" Tawl blinked in shock at Dottie's forward remark, as did his father.
"Tawl? School? Where's'is coming from?" Tawl's father quickly recovered from the surprising request.
"Tawlie doesn't want to make shoes and saddles, he wants to go to school! Mama said you'd let him!" Dottie said, warping the truth a bit.
"Now I don't know what your mother told you but I certainly made no such promises," Tawl's father insisted, frowning a bit. "Besides, we've barely had enough coin to keep the shop in working order," he began before Dottie cut him off.
"But look at all the money you made today!" Dottie pointed at the coins that Tawl's father was counting. She was determined to push her luck today, Tawl thought while dreading the result.
Tawl's father looked at the pile of coinage and sighed. He scratched his chin and then the back of his balding head. Dottie held her demeanor, cheeks puffed and shoulders squared, as if she were bracing herself against a powerful wind. Tawl looked from her to his father and back again, unsure of what would happen and fearing the worst. After a lengthy silence, Tawl's father spoke.
"I s'pose we have enough for a year," he said, pushing the coins around into different piles. He then turned to Tawl and shook his finger at him, his expression and tone much more serious. "But I don't wantcha steppin' even a toe out of line, y'hear me? If ya do, you can forget all about school!"
"Yes sir!" Tawl said, his voice quivering from excitement. He looked over at Dottie who grinned at him triumphantly. He had always wanted to attend school but his father's excuses kept him from doing so.
"Oh and Market Day, you're helpin' here! No lollygagging or slacking off, got it?" Tawl's father added. Tawl blinked and then nodded in response. Market Day, he thought, why did he hate it so much? This had been the greatest day of his life. Surely it wasn't so bad.