A modest carriage clamored over the cobblestones, sending echos through the alleys in the early afternoon quiet that followed a busy lunch hour at the market. Two men drove, one older and grizzled and the other a young man of fourteen or so, with shaggy brown hair. When the carriage came to a stop it was the younger man that climbed down to open the carriage door. He held out his hand and helped a redheaded woman step down from the ledge. Once she was safely down he eagerly turned and with a spry step climbed into the carriage, leaving the door open to converse with the now disembarked passenger.
“Way he eats, I bet he naps til’ supper,” the boy offered, passing the redheaded woman a pastry box from where it had been stored in the carriage.
Her reply was a raised brow and a grin, but she said nothing to indicate she agreed.
Perhaps this was itself a joke, because the boy erupted with laughter as she exaggerated the gesture of rolling her eyes and pushed shut the door of the carriage. Giving two hard claps to the side to let the driver know. Another moment more and the carriage was off.
Both hands settled into carrying the box as she closed the distance to the shop that bore a sign resembling Aloisius Treadwell’s face. Just before the door she couldn’t help but reach out with her left hand and run her fingers over the belly of the wooden statue. With a nostalgic smile she went to the door, turned the knob and pressed in.
Within, the shop was very much like it’s proprietor, friendly and over-stuffed. And of course, it was him that Genny had come to see.