Holmes and I were eating a mouth full of dinner. I was thrilled that Holmes was trying to eat. He said not a word since we returned from Wiltshire. There came a knock at the door, a visitor came calling.
“Watson,” Holmes sighed. “I have a pounding head,” his voice cracking with each word.
“Shall I send this person away?”
“No.” He sighed again. “Come.”
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to a mountain of a man. He had to stoop to fit through the door. He stopped once he saw that we were having dinner. “I do apologize. I will return after you have finished your meal.”
“No, do come in.” Holmes offered.
Our guest took off his hat. “Only if you are sure; this is not an urgent matter. It can wait.”
“Come, sit.” Holmes instructed.
“Only if you will continue your meal,” the gentleman offered.
I for one was more than willing to finish my meal.
Our guest had leather skin, browned like a biscuit; the signs of someone that worked outside in nature a great deal. Though a mountain of a man, he was gentle in his speech, and courteous in his manner.
“Could we offer you something,” I asked.
“No, thank you.” He stared at Holmes for a long time then back at me.
“Which of you is Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
“I am.” Holmes half smiled. “My friend and colleague Dr. Watson,” Holmes pointed at me.
“I must say I am shocked that you are a real person.
Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“I have only seen your name in print. I am a skeptical person and believe only part of what I see, very little of what I read.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you.”
Holmes opened the envelope. “What have I done to earn this?”
“Nothing, that is the kicker.”
“A man must do something to earn L7,000?”
Holmes stated. “That is a goodly sum.”
I stared at both men in amazement.
Our guest took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, I am John Paul Riker. My friends call me Ox. I build homes for a living. In the year 86’, I purchased a piece of land in Winchester to build a house sight unseen. A wager less than smart on my part. After viewing the property, I had me a good long drink at a local pub to drown my sorrow at such a folly. I struck up a conversation with a young man. The more I drank the more I began to share the state of my misfortune with the lad. I could no more tell you the conversation we had than I could tell you your ages. The lad took me back to this nightmare of a mess I had made and offered to help me fix it for half the price I got from the sell. No matter when I sold the home. I had already made one horrible blunder, half hung-over, I was sure to make another. But I took the offer. Not one sole upon this good Earth works for free. But there was someone offering, at the time, nothing less.
“We worked long hard days. Though as time passed my young lad turned into a young lass. Not to put too fine a point on it, we had us a go around over this. Though by this time, she had proven her worth. A point which she drove home. I could not have done this thing without her. I know that now.
“You come into the picture Mr. Holmes in 91’. This lady never would tell me her full name. I only knew her by Liza. She insisted. I came back from buying materials with a newspaper. Also at her request. We had worked through some sorry situations but I had never seen her behave the way she did that day. She was beside herself with grief. For a solid week, she touched no food or drink. I believe she slept none. She just wondered around like a lost child in a storm. One day she went into the woods by herself, when she came back, she was more like the woman I knew.”
It took me a moment to remember what happened in 91’. It seemed like such a long time ago. So much had happened since them. I stared at Holmes. He was somewhere else other than Bakers Street.
Mr. Riker pulled an old folded piece of paper from his pocket. “When the house was finished in the fall of 92’, she left. In her room, I found this.” He laid the paper on the table.
I took it, opening it. “Holmes!” I shouted.
“It is the report of my death over Reichenback Falls.” Holmes said in a dry flat voice.
“Yes, of course.” I gasped.
“This is how I connected the two of you. She never told me about you. I had no other lead of what I should do with her share of the money. I figured you must have meant something to her or she would not have acted the way she did over your reported death, or kept the newspaper article for that matter.”
Mr. Riker got up to leave.
I must ask, “Did you ever see her again?”
“No, I did not. That is why I sought you; I am a man of my word Mr. Holmes. She worked hard as I. Never a complaint nor pain. During times of bad weather, she taught me better words, showed me new ways of thinking, even doing things. I met my wife because she encouraged me. We now have a son that I named Lester. I would have gone to the end of the Earth to find a way to have made this right, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes got up from the table and took his pipe from the mantle.
“I do remember one story that she told me,” Mr. Riker continued, “a couple nights after she came back from her journey into the woods. We were sitting on the porch. I asked her if she was going to be alright. She said to me, ‘Paul, we all have gifts that God gave us. Your gift is building. You have cut, bent, and tamed timber in order to build a lovely home. My gift is not as visible as yours. I had to go into the darkness and listen.’ What did you learn? I asked. She said, ‘that the words of men are misleading. Not with malice. The end result is a necessary one but misleading all the same.’ I am unaware of what this meant but it gave her peace.”
Our guest collected his hat and left.
Holmes retreated to his room.
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