Edith Harrow was a very welthy woman. Her family owned one of the two seafood processing plants in the small town on the shore of the Chesapeake bay, and her late husband had left her a wealthy widow.
But all this was of no use to her when she put the front end of her car through old man Keppners hardware store. The state examiner was clear when she failed the eyesight test to keep her licence.
"I've hired you a driver, momma. That's all there is to it! I can't afford anymore of your accidents, they've cancelled you." said her son Buddy. Since he was the owner of the plant and important bussinessman in town, what he said carried a lot of weight. "Just thank God nobody was injured in that train wreck."
"Well, I don't have to like it! And why on earth Jake Wilson, he's a ruffian! And he's got one leg to boot."
"Jake's no ruffian, momma, he's a good man. They only let him go at the lumber yard because he's too old to do the heavy work. Besides, he's missing his left leg and the cars are automatic transmissions these days."
There was a great deal of hrumphing and other noises, but the next morning when Edith came down to the kitchen, there was Jake Wilson sitting and drinking a cup of coffee with the cook, a middle age woman named Sally. What Edith saw was a medium size man with long silver white hair down past his shirt collar, a bushy silver beard, and worn tan work clothes. A stout knarly looking walking stick was leaned up against the table.
"Don't get too comfortable, Mr. Wilson. Your job is to drive me on my bussiness about town, not take up my cooks time from her job. Now if you're going to drive me, lets get going!" Edith said sharply.
"Yes Ma'am. Ready when you are."
As they walked out the door, Edith noted the limp and the use of the walking stick.
They drove off in the new Ford sedan that Buddy had bought under the company umbrella. The Harrow's always drove Ford cars and trucks. Edith's late husband Walter, had preached that America could not have won World War 2 without the B-24 bombers that had been made by the Willow Run plant, or the 2 1/2 ton trucks that the Red Ball Express had kept the troops supplied with all the way to the Rhine. Walter had been a WW2 vertern of the Red Ball express, and had preached endlessly to his wife and children. Harrow's drove Fords, and that was that. But only Fords, not the more upscale cars of the company, as that was seen as not business wise.
Jake drove Edith around on her errands, and while waiting for her in the car, took out a piece of wood from his pocket, and whittled while seated behind the wheel of the new Crown Victoria. Jake loved to whittle, and took great pleasure in creating things out of scraps of wood he found around. He could create little figures of horses, dogs, and waterfowl with his little two blade pen knife. It was a very old knife, worn down to a couple of inch long nubs of blades, but Jake had them sharp as scalples.
Edith came back to the car on one ocassion and asked him what he was doing as she saw him brushing his lap off out the door.
"Just getting rid of some wood chips, Miss Edith. I was just whittling while you where in the store. "
"Well, don't go getting wood chips all over my car, Jake."
"No ma'am, no wood chips." was all Jake replied. He was very well aware that the car was Buddy's, and he worked for Buddy, not Miss Edith, but he was too much the southern gentleman to make an issue of it.
That night, as Jake was leaving the Harrow house, Edith called out to him.
"Jake, if you're going to be my driver, get a haircut, and do something with that beard. You look like an old pirate."
"Haircut, yes ma'am." said Jake, gentleman to the last. A gentleman never argued with a lady.
The next morning, Edith came downstairs, and while passing through the formal dining room noticed a small thing. There were a set of 6 napkin rings made out of a light stained wood with a nice grain pattern. They were beautifully carved, with a celtic kind of pattern running around them. She picked one up and examined it carefully, and was struck by the simple beauty of them. Walking into the kitchen, she asked Sally where they had come from.
"Oh, Jake had been working on them, and wanted to give them to you. He said they matched the table. "
Edith went back into the dining room, and as she set the wooden ring down on the table, she saw indeed that they had been stained to perfectly match the wooden table.
"Where is the old pirate, I want to thank him." Edith asked.
"Oh, he's out by the car waiting for you."
Edith walked out the door with her purse, and stopped. Standing by the car was a man she was not sure was Jake. The long silver hair had been cut in a short neat style, and the bushy beard was gone, replaced by a well trimmed short Hemingway beard. The worn work clothing was gone, and Jake was wearing a button down collar shirt and well pressed Dockers. Only the stout knarly walking stick identified him as old Jake.
"Well, I a... I'm very impressed, Jake." stuttered a very surprised Edith.
The days passed, and Edith came to gradually warm up a bit to the idea of having a driver. She found herself studying Jake in the rearview mirror from her seat in the back of the Crown Victoria. She found herself thinking that with the cleaning up, Jake was actually a handsome man.
Days passed into weeks, and Edith went about her bussiness as usual. And there lay a problem. Edith was a hide bound traditionalist, and insisted on carrying cash, and going to the bank regular as a clock. Jake would pull up at the curb, and wait for her, and whittle as he waited, keeping one eye out for her. This one day, fate changed the routine.
Two local young toughs from the other side of the moral fence, had watched her going and coming from the bank.
"It's gonna be easy. My girlfriend works at the grocery store and says she always has a roll that would choke a horse, and nobody but a broken down old man with one leg to watch out for her. " Said the one punk to the other.
One day Edith came out from the bank, and she was almost knocked down by one of them grabbing her purse. She screamed, and struggled, and then it happened. Later, Jake would say he had no idea of how he got there so fast, but Edith had no time to scream a second time, before Jake was there swinging his knarly walking stick with a savage fury at the two punks. It was over in a minute, with the two punks getting such a beating that they both had a stay in the county hospital, before being transfered to the country jail. Jake took a shaken Edith home after a short interview with the sherriff.
"Now will you listen to me Momma?" asked Buddy, "If you just use a credit card or checks, this won't happen. This ain't 1950 anymore, momma. "
"Oh hang the credit cards. This is the first time anything like this has happened. " said Edith as she sipped a small glass of brandy Buddy had given her.
Jake came over and bent down to her.
"We'll give the checks a try, won't we Miss Edith?" he said.
Edith looked up at him for a moment.
"I guess we can try it for a while." Edith said.
Buddy and the cook Sally exchanged surprised looks, and looked at Jake.
"Did I just miss something here? Was that my mother giving up without an argument to somebody?" Asked a surprise Buddy. "Well, the devil better go get a snow shovel!"
Time marched on, and Edith tried to think of something to do for Jake. He'd been so nice, and she now looked back on her behavior and felt regret that she had been so sharp with him. One day, her grandchildren were there for a visit, and her young granddaughter came running up to her.
"Look grandmommy, look what Mr. Jake made me!"
In her hand was a small carved wooden figure of a dog. It was a Irish Setter, standing at point, with his plumbed tail and one foot raised slightly. It was a beautiful carving, so life like it looked as if the little dog might run off at any moment. It was even stained a redish hue that matched an Irish Setter.
"Why thats just exquisite, dear." said Edith, deeply struck by the detail of the carving.
Just then, her grandson came in.
"Look at what Mr. Jake gave me!" he exlaimed proudly. In his hand was what looked like a army issue .45 Colt pistol.
"Good Heavens, Jake gave you a gun?!" asked a shocked Edith, going to take the gun away from her grandson. Only when she grabbed it, she found it was made of wood. But so perfect in every detail, it could fool a person at more than a few feet. The wood was stained a deep velvet black.
Buddy came over and examined the toy gun carefully.
"My God, it's a perfect replica. There's the safety, the slide release, magazine release. Jake, you know the .45 pretty good, huh?
Jake was quiet, and for a brief moment his eyes were someplace far away, then he came back, and smiled a little ruefully.
"Yeah, the 1911 and me were well aquainted a long time ago."
It was then Edith knew what she wanted to do for Jake. It was to be in two parts, and the first part was going to be easy. The second may be a little harder. When everyone had left, she went upstairs to her chest of drawers. Taking out the old wooden box she opened it and went through the items. They were the effects of her late husband, Walter, and she found what she was looking for. His old pocket knives.
She took out the one she remembered him calling a whittler. It was a nice German made Boker, with beautifully grained rosewood handles, and three blades. The two smaller blades were short, like the ones on Jake's old pen knife with the missing handles. On one side was a round shield of silver metal with the likeness of a spreading chestnut tree on it. The knife had been a treasured item of Walter, and she deceided to give it to Jake. She also took out the old one that had the name Bruckman on the blade tang. It was a slim two bladed pen knife similar in size and shape to the one Jake had.
Later, on presenting them to Jake, he protested that they were too fine a knife for him.
"Nonsense, Jake. You deserve something nice, since you have an artistic gift for carving, or whittling as you call it. I want you to have them, they should go to somebody who will use it for what they're ment for. Now that's that! I won't take argument about it."
Jake being the southern gentleman, put the knves in his pocket.
Slowly, without Jake knowing, Edith started collecting Jake's work. A figurine here, a duck decoy there. Napkin rings, a horse figure, many others. One of the things that had changed on the lower eastern shore of Maryland was the bridge. Or as many of the locals called it; that dammed bridge. With the building of the Chesapeake Bay bridge, the make-up of the eastern shore changed radicly in just a decade. Gone were many of the old ways of life, and upscale summer homes had been built for rich folk out of Baltimore and even Washinton D.C.. Upscale bussiness had come, as had new art galleries. Wood carving was an old eastablished eastern shore art form. New art galleries opened and showcased new undiscovered artists. It was to one of these, Edith had some of Jake's carvings sent, by way of her son Buddy. Meanwhile, Jake put the Boker whittler to good use. Now he used it while waiting on Edith, and sometimes he sat on the back porch whittling, and sanding a little with some fine sandpaper he kept in his pocket. The sight of Jake, Boker pocket knife in hand, became a normal sight at the Harrow home. Edith kept track of his work, and got every bit of it she could. This was going to be the second part of her favor to Jake.
One day Edith told him they were going someplace special the next day, and to please wear a coat and tie. The next day, Jake drove her to a new art gallery out on the main road. There was a banner up over the door saying a new local artist was being featured. Jake opened the car door for Edith, and to his surprise, she told him he would not be waiting by the car today, but he was going to escort her to the art show. A very unsuspecting Jake held out his arm for Edith, and they walked into the gallery.
Jake stopped at stared in shock. On shinny chrome stands were all his work of past months, maybe even years. Miss Edith had contacted his relitives, and bought up, borrowed, and connived, to have an exibit of wood carvings from Jake Wilson. People were asking him questions, and a few flashbulbs went off.
"Mr. Wilson, I'm from Chesapeake Crafts magazine," asked a young well dressed woman, " How do you carve such beautiful figures from a piece of wood?"
Jake, a quiet man by nature, stammered.
"Well, Uh... I kind of just whittle away what doesn't look like what I'm tring to make." he repied.
"Mr Wilson, what insprires you to do this kind of work in such detail" asked a man in a blue suit and holding a small tape recorder.
By now, Jake was near panic. Feeling beads of sweat run down his back under the new dress shirt, he looked at the small crowd of people who all waited to hear what he'd say. He was bedazzeled by the sudden fame and attention, and was thinking of running out the door. Then a strange thing happened.
He was groping around in his pocket, and his fingers closed on a slim object. It was the Boker whittler. His hand closed around it, and at the same time he looked out and saw Edith smiling at him in an encouraging manner. Somehow, Edith smiling at him, and the Boker pocket knife in his hand in the pocket, steadied him a bit. Edith nodded at him and he looked at the man who had spoken.
" You ask what inspires me, sir?" said Jake, " I guess you could say two very good friends. "
So it came to pass, Jake Wilson turned into a local artist of wood carving, who sold his works for some good money. But he still drove Edith Harrow around in her shiney Ford Crown Victoria, and they were seen a great deal in each others company. Only Edith no longer sat in the back seat.
They wouldn't have it any other way.
But all this was of no use to her when she put the front end of her car through old man Keppners hardware store. The state examiner was clear when she failed the eyesight test to keep her licence.
"I've hired you a driver, momma. That's all there is to it! I can't afford anymore of your accidents, they've cancelled you." said her son Buddy. Since he was the owner of the plant and important bussinessman in town, what he said carried a lot of weight. "Just thank God nobody was injured in that train wreck."
"Well, I don't have to like it! And why on earth Jake Wilson, he's a ruffian! And he's got one leg to boot."
"Jake's no ruffian, momma, he's a good man. They only let him go at the lumber yard because he's too old to do the heavy work. Besides, he's missing his left leg and the cars are automatic transmissions these days."
There was a great deal of hrumphing and other noises, but the next morning when Edith came down to the kitchen, there was Jake Wilson sitting and drinking a cup of coffee with the cook, a middle age woman named Sally. What Edith saw was a medium size man with long silver white hair down past his shirt collar, a bushy silver beard, and worn tan work clothes. A stout knarly looking walking stick was leaned up against the table.
"Don't get too comfortable, Mr. Wilson. Your job is to drive me on my bussiness about town, not take up my cooks time from her job. Now if you're going to drive me, lets get going!" Edith said sharply.
"Yes Ma'am. Ready when you are."
As they walked out the door, Edith noted the limp and the use of the walking stick.
They drove off in the new Ford sedan that Buddy had bought under the company umbrella. The Harrow's always drove Ford cars and trucks. Edith's late husband Walter, had preached that America could not have won World War 2 without the B-24 bombers that had been made by the Willow Run plant, or the 2 1/2 ton trucks that the Red Ball Express had kept the troops supplied with all the way to the Rhine. Walter had been a WW2 vertern of the Red Ball express, and had preached endlessly to his wife and children. Harrow's drove Fords, and that was that. But only Fords, not the more upscale cars of the company, as that was seen as not business wise.
Jake drove Edith around on her errands, and while waiting for her in the car, took out a piece of wood from his pocket, and whittled while seated behind the wheel of the new Crown Victoria. Jake loved to whittle, and took great pleasure in creating things out of scraps of wood he found around. He could create little figures of horses, dogs, and waterfowl with his little two blade pen knife. It was a very old knife, worn down to a couple of inch long nubs of blades, but Jake had them sharp as scalples.
Edith came back to the car on one ocassion and asked him what he was doing as she saw him brushing his lap off out the door.
"Just getting rid of some wood chips, Miss Edith. I was just whittling while you where in the store. "
"Well, don't go getting wood chips all over my car, Jake."
"No ma'am, no wood chips." was all Jake replied. He was very well aware that the car was Buddy's, and he worked for Buddy, not Miss Edith, but he was too much the southern gentleman to make an issue of it.
That night, as Jake was leaving the Harrow house, Edith called out to him.
"Jake, if you're going to be my driver, get a haircut, and do something with that beard. You look like an old pirate."
"Haircut, yes ma'am." said Jake, gentleman to the last. A gentleman never argued with a lady.
The next morning, Edith came downstairs, and while passing through the formal dining room noticed a small thing. There were a set of 6 napkin rings made out of a light stained wood with a nice grain pattern. They were beautifully carved, with a celtic kind of pattern running around them. She picked one up and examined it carefully, and was struck by the simple beauty of them. Walking into the kitchen, she asked Sally where they had come from.
"Oh, Jake had been working on them, and wanted to give them to you. He said they matched the table. "
Edith went back into the dining room, and as she set the wooden ring down on the table, she saw indeed that they had been stained to perfectly match the wooden table.
"Where is the old pirate, I want to thank him." Edith asked.
"Oh, he's out by the car waiting for you."
Edith walked out the door with her purse, and stopped. Standing by the car was a man she was not sure was Jake. The long silver hair had been cut in a short neat style, and the bushy beard was gone, replaced by a well trimmed short Hemingway beard. The worn work clothing was gone, and Jake was wearing a button down collar shirt and well pressed Dockers. Only the stout knarly walking stick identified him as old Jake.
"Well, I a... I'm very impressed, Jake." stuttered a very surprised Edith.
The days passed, and Edith came to gradually warm up a bit to the idea of having a driver. She found herself studying Jake in the rearview mirror from her seat in the back of the Crown Victoria. She found herself thinking that with the cleaning up, Jake was actually a handsome man.
Days passed into weeks, and Edith went about her bussiness as usual. And there lay a problem. Edith was a hide bound traditionalist, and insisted on carrying cash, and going to the bank regular as a clock. Jake would pull up at the curb, and wait for her, and whittle as he waited, keeping one eye out for her. This one day, fate changed the routine.
Two local young toughs from the other side of the moral fence, had watched her going and coming from the bank.
"It's gonna be easy. My girlfriend works at the grocery store and says she always has a roll that would choke a horse, and nobody but a broken down old man with one leg to watch out for her. " Said the one punk to the other.
One day Edith came out from the bank, and she was almost knocked down by one of them grabbing her purse. She screamed, and struggled, and then it happened. Later, Jake would say he had no idea of how he got there so fast, but Edith had no time to scream a second time, before Jake was there swinging his knarly walking stick with a savage fury at the two punks. It was over in a minute, with the two punks getting such a beating that they both had a stay in the county hospital, before being transfered to the country jail. Jake took a shaken Edith home after a short interview with the sherriff.
"Now will you listen to me Momma?" asked Buddy, "If you just use a credit card or checks, this won't happen. This ain't 1950 anymore, momma. "
"Oh hang the credit cards. This is the first time anything like this has happened. " said Edith as she sipped a small glass of brandy Buddy had given her.
Jake came over and bent down to her.
"We'll give the checks a try, won't we Miss Edith?" he said.
Edith looked up at him for a moment.
"I guess we can try it for a while." Edith said.
Buddy and the cook Sally exchanged surprised looks, and looked at Jake.
"Did I just miss something here? Was that my mother giving up without an argument to somebody?" Asked a surprise Buddy. "Well, the devil better go get a snow shovel!"
Time marched on, and Edith tried to think of something to do for Jake. He'd been so nice, and she now looked back on her behavior and felt regret that she had been so sharp with him. One day, her grandchildren were there for a visit, and her young granddaughter came running up to her.
"Look grandmommy, look what Mr. Jake made me!"
In her hand was a small carved wooden figure of a dog. It was a Irish Setter, standing at point, with his plumbed tail and one foot raised slightly. It was a beautiful carving, so life like it looked as if the little dog might run off at any moment. It was even stained a redish hue that matched an Irish Setter.
"Why thats just exquisite, dear." said Edith, deeply struck by the detail of the carving.
Just then, her grandson came in.
"Look at what Mr. Jake gave me!" he exlaimed proudly. In his hand was what looked like a army issue .45 Colt pistol.
"Good Heavens, Jake gave you a gun?!" asked a shocked Edith, going to take the gun away from her grandson. Only when she grabbed it, she found it was made of wood. But so perfect in every detail, it could fool a person at more than a few feet. The wood was stained a deep velvet black.
Buddy came over and examined the toy gun carefully.
"My God, it's a perfect replica. There's the safety, the slide release, magazine release. Jake, you know the .45 pretty good, huh?
Jake was quiet, and for a brief moment his eyes were someplace far away, then he came back, and smiled a little ruefully.
"Yeah, the 1911 and me were well aquainted a long time ago."
It was then Edith knew what she wanted to do for Jake. It was to be in two parts, and the first part was going to be easy. The second may be a little harder. When everyone had left, she went upstairs to her chest of drawers. Taking out the old wooden box she opened it and went through the items. They were the effects of her late husband, Walter, and she found what she was looking for. His old pocket knives.
She took out the one she remembered him calling a whittler. It was a nice German made Boker, with beautifully grained rosewood handles, and three blades. The two smaller blades were short, like the ones on Jake's old pen knife with the missing handles. On one side was a round shield of silver metal with the likeness of a spreading chestnut tree on it. The knife had been a treasured item of Walter, and she deceided to give it to Jake. She also took out the old one that had the name Bruckman on the blade tang. It was a slim two bladed pen knife similar in size and shape to the one Jake had.
Later, on presenting them to Jake, he protested that they were too fine a knife for him.
"Nonsense, Jake. You deserve something nice, since you have an artistic gift for carving, or whittling as you call it. I want you to have them, they should go to somebody who will use it for what they're ment for. Now that's that! I won't take argument about it."
Jake being the southern gentleman, put the knves in his pocket.
Slowly, without Jake knowing, Edith started collecting Jake's work. A figurine here, a duck decoy there. Napkin rings, a horse figure, many others. One of the things that had changed on the lower eastern shore of Maryland was the bridge. Or as many of the locals called it; that dammed bridge. With the building of the Chesapeake Bay bridge, the make-up of the eastern shore changed radicly in just a decade. Gone were many of the old ways of life, and upscale summer homes had been built for rich folk out of Baltimore and even Washinton D.C.. Upscale bussiness had come, as had new art galleries. Wood carving was an old eastablished eastern shore art form. New art galleries opened and showcased new undiscovered artists. It was to one of these, Edith had some of Jake's carvings sent, by way of her son Buddy. Meanwhile, Jake put the Boker whittler to good use. Now he used it while waiting on Edith, and sometimes he sat on the back porch whittling, and sanding a little with some fine sandpaper he kept in his pocket. The sight of Jake, Boker pocket knife in hand, became a normal sight at the Harrow home. Edith kept track of his work, and got every bit of it she could. This was going to be the second part of her favor to Jake.
One day Edith told him they were going someplace special the next day, and to please wear a coat and tie. The next day, Jake drove her to a new art gallery out on the main road. There was a banner up over the door saying a new local artist was being featured. Jake opened the car door for Edith, and to his surprise, she told him he would not be waiting by the car today, but he was going to escort her to the art show. A very unsuspecting Jake held out his arm for Edith, and they walked into the gallery.
Jake stopped at stared in shock. On shinny chrome stands were all his work of past months, maybe even years. Miss Edith had contacted his relitives, and bought up, borrowed, and connived, to have an exibit of wood carvings from Jake Wilson. People were asking him questions, and a few flashbulbs went off.
"Mr. Wilson, I'm from Chesapeake Crafts magazine," asked a young well dressed woman, " How do you carve such beautiful figures from a piece of wood?"
Jake, a quiet man by nature, stammered.
"Well, Uh... I kind of just whittle away what doesn't look like what I'm tring to make." he repied.
"Mr Wilson, what insprires you to do this kind of work in such detail" asked a man in a blue suit and holding a small tape recorder.
By now, Jake was near panic. Feeling beads of sweat run down his back under the new dress shirt, he looked at the small crowd of people who all waited to hear what he'd say. He was bedazzeled by the sudden fame and attention, and was thinking of running out the door. Then a strange thing happened.
He was groping around in his pocket, and his fingers closed on a slim object. It was the Boker whittler. His hand closed around it, and at the same time he looked out and saw Edith smiling at him in an encouraging manner. Somehow, Edith smiling at him, and the Boker pocket knife in his hand in the pocket, steadied him a bit. Edith nodded at him and he looked at the man who had spoken.
" You ask what inspires me, sir?" said Jake, " I guess you could say two very good friends. "
So it came to pass, Jake Wilson turned into a local artist of wood carving, who sold his works for some good money. But he still drove Edith Harrow around in her shiney Ford Crown Victoria, and they were seen a great deal in each others company. Only Edith no longer sat in the back seat.
They wouldn't have it any other way.
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