The Clock Shoppe

It was one of those first chilly days in October, when you feel that magical stirring of autumn in the air. The calendars always name some date in September as the official first day of fall, but autumn is one of those things that can’t be announced on any calendar. It’s something you feel as a palpable sensation in your heart, like love.

Mother was baking bread that morning, and the smell filled the house. I love the smell of fresh bread. It makes me feel warm inside, and it was the perfect scent to match this magical autumn day. The maple tree outside my window had begun to change colors, and a few golden leaves were scattered on the ground.

When I came down the stairs, something felt slightly amiss. I tried to put my finger on it, but I couldn’t. Then, my eyes fell on the mantle clock, and I realized what it was. That clock had been there as long as I could remember, and it always greeted me with its resonant ticking the moment I came down the stairs. Today, the room was strangely quiet. I walked over to the clock and put my ear to it. Not a tick emanated from the hand-carved timepiece, and its brass pendulum hung still and silent in its glass prison. I walked into the kitchen to find Mother pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven. She looked up as I walked in and smiled at me.

“Good morning, dear,” she said, straightening and placing the loaf on the counter.

“Good morning, Mother,” I said, crossing the kitchen to give her a kiss on the cheek. I breathed in the scent of her bread. “Mmm, that smells good!”

“I knew you’d be coming down those stairs some time soon,” Mother said, as she pulled out her second loaf. “There’s nothing like your favorite smell to get you up.”

I smiled impishly at her as she set the bread on the counter. “By the way,” I said, “what’s wrong with the clock?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, pulling out a third loaf. “It was that way when I came down the stairs this morning. It’s wound up and nothing seems broken, but it just won’t work. I don’t know what to think.”

“Oh, well,” I said, looking longingly at the steaming bread, “I’m sure Papa can fix it.” Papa’s a farmer by trade, but he can fix almost anything.

“I’m afraid not,” Mother said. “Your father looked at it this morning, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, either. You’ll have to take it to that new clockmaker this afternoon.”

I snapped my head up, bread all but forgotten. “The clockmaker?” I queried nervously. Stuyvesant Ehrenreich had only been in town for a month, but I’d passed his clock shop several times, and the very look of the place frightened me, to say nothing of its proprietor. I’d only seen the gentleman himself once, catching a brief glimpse of him from across the street as he entered his shop, but the look in his eyes when he glanced over his shoulder was enough to make me shiver. “I don’t know if I can, Mother,” I said. “I have an awful lot of chores to do today. I have to collect the eggs and feed the horses and….”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll take care of all that,” Mother said, barring any further argument. “I was planning on

sending you into town today anyway. I have several other errands I want you to run.”

“Alright, Mother,” I said, realizing there was no way out of it.

“Now,” she said. “You go into the dining room and I’ll make you a nice hot breakfast.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off. “And, yes, I’ll be sure you have some of the bread before it gets cold.”

I smiled at her and went into the dining room. However, as I thought about my task that afternoon, a cold feeling crept through me. I was going to see Stuyvesant Ehrenreich all by myself. I recalled the chilling look I’d seen in his eyes and shivered.

So it was that, an hour later, with my best shawl around my shoulders, my hair plaited in a braid down my back, and my red woolen bonnet tied over my head, I set out for town. My burden, which I carried in a large basket, was heavier than I’d hoped it would be, and my arm was already tired by the time I was halfway across our horse pasture. I shielded my eyes against the morning sun and scanned the wheat field beyond. I could just make out Papa’s figure against the bright sky as he cut his way through the waving wheat with his scythe. I raised my hand into the air to wave at him, and he waved back. Then, I transferred the basket to my other arm and continued on.

As I walked along the dusty road leading to town, I breathed in the crisp autumn air and smiled. Although I was still apprehensive about my task in town, I couldn’t help enjoying the day. There truly was a magical feeling in the air, and the very twittering of the birds seemed different. The tall trees that grew on either side of me reached out their protective limbs, shading me from the sun and covering the road with a carpet of shadows.

Just as I was beginning to think that I couldn’t carry the clock a step further, the buildings of town came into view. The moment I stepped into the town, my eyes turned to the large store with the dark windows and the giant wooden pocket watch hanging from the sign that read Ehrenreich’s Clock Shoppe. I was inclined to put it off and run my other errands first, but my tired arms wouldn’t have it, so I turned my steps toward the dark windows of the clock store.

A somber brass bell gave a single clang as I stepped over the threshold. I found myself in a dark, rather close room filled with ticking clocks of all sizes. I found it hard to think with all that tick, tick, tick resounding around me. I wondered how anyone could spend every day surrounded by it. Suddenly, there was a soft tap on my shoulder. I gasped and whirled around to find myself confronted by the person of Stuyvesant Ehrenreich. He peered at me with squinted grey eyes and gave me a pointy-toothed smile that sent chills through me. “Might I help you mit someting, Fräulein?” he asked, his speech thick with a German accent.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. “I have a mantle clock here that seems to have stopped working. There’s nothing apparently wrong with it, but it just isn’t running.”

“I zee,” he said, stroking his ill-shaven chin. “Vell, let us bring it over here to de counter, and ve vill haf a look at it, ja?”

I nodded nervous consent and followed him as he shuffled across the room. He went behind the counter and turned to his cluttered workbench as I set my basket onto the counter with a sigh of relief. I rubbed a bit of sensation back into my arms, then carefully unwrapped the clock and placed it upright on the counter. After shuffling around on his workbench for a moment, muttering to himself all the while, Mr. Ehrenreich turned back to me, now bearing a handful of tools and wearing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. “Now,” he said, laying his tools down beside the clock and resettling his spectacles, “let us see vhat ve haf here.” He began looking at the clock intently, turning it this way and that and resuming his unintelligible muttering. I could tell after a moment that he had completely forgotten anything else existed besides that clock, so I let my gaze wander around the shop. It really was difficult to see anything but vague shapes in that dreadful lighting, but even through the gloom, my attention was drawn to one large grandfather clock against the far wall. I glanced briefly at Mr. Ehrenreich and then cautiously crossed the dark shop to take a closer look at this clock.

It was huge, reaching several inches above my head, and carved out of a beautiful dark wood. The glass compartment held a large, shiny gold pendulum that swung slowly back and forth along with the deep ticking issuing from within it. The large white face had a sheen to it that made me suspect it was real ivory, and the shiny black numerals and hands glistened even in this meagre lighting. The scrolls and designs which adorned it, no doubt hand-carved, were remarkably precise and flawless down to the most minute details.

My gaze soon wandered to other parts of the shop and different clocks, all of which were made with the same care and precision as the first. I roamed through the maze of timepieces, big and small, occasionally leaning in to take a closer look at a particularly beautiful one. Despite the gloomy aspect of the place, it was very clean and tidy, with everything arranged precisely and not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. I soon wandered to the very back of the store, where the clocks became fewer. The gloom seemed to be dispelled slightly as I got farther back, the very opposite of what I’d expected, and I discovered the light’s source was a small wood-burning stove in the back corner. Beside this were another work bench and a large, ornate wooden chair. At the foot of the chair, carefully carving a small mantle clock, was a young man.

He looked very young, I guessed scarcely over twenty, but had an air about him which suggested both boyishness and maturity beyond his years. He was apparently unaware of my presence, since he didn’t look up as I approached. I studied him for a long moment, strangely fascinated. Due to the dim lighting and downward tilt of his head as he worked, I couldn’t see his face very well, but his jet-black hair suggested some foreign ethnicity. My curiosity was aroused. If only he would tilt his head up a little… I shook my head. If he did look up and found me staring at him this way, it would surely be embarrassing. Besides, I didn’t wish to disturb the work in which he was so intently engaged, so I made my way back through the ticking clocks. I soon found myself back at that first grandfather clock, so I paused to admire it again.

“It is a beautiful clock, ja?” I whirled around to find Mr. Ehrenreich behind me once again. He gave me another one of his chilling grins.

“Y…yes, it is,” I said, nervously. I found his manner of sneaking up on one quite unsettling.

“You vill find my clocks haf influences from all over de vorld,” he continued, walking over to one of the shelves holding smaller clocks. He motioned toward a small clock engraved with roses and skulls. “For example, I made dis vone vhen I vas living in Mexico.” He motioned to a small metal clock made in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. “And dis vone in Paris.” He motioned to a much larger wooden clock carved with horses and gold bars, “And dis vone in California. I haf many clocks dat I made in the West. I lived dere for nearly tventy years before coming here.”

“Oh, really?” I said, inching a step away from him.

“You vould maybe like to haf anoder clock? A new vone, perhaps?” he suggested, gesturing toward some of the clocks he’d just pointed out.

“No. I don’t think so,” I said, glancing at the Mexican clock and shivering slightly. Those grinning skulls looked far too much like Mr. Ehrenreich for my liking.

“Now, den,” he said, starting back toward the counter at the front and motioning for me to follow. “Getting back to de business of your little clock here.” He went behind the counter and studied the clock for a moment. “It iss a fery simple problem. I tink I can haf it fixed in an hour or zo.”

“Oh, alright,” I said. “I have some other errands to run, so I can do those now and come back later.”

“Dat vill be fine,” he said. He shuffled around under the counter for a moment, muttering to himself, then suddenly straightened up and yelled, “Estevan!”

I looked in the direction he had turned, thinking of the young man in the back corner. After a moment, just as I expected, he emerged from the store’s shadowed recesses, and I got a chance to study his face. His skin had an olive hue to it, suggesting some Latin blood, but his eyes, which were slightly slanted, almost suggested Asian ancestry. His thick hair fell forward onto his forehead slightly, and I noticed a pronounced scar dangerously close to his right eye. I was fascinated. I’d never seen anyone quite like him before. He scarcely seemed to notice my presence, and when he did briefly glance my way, his expression was blank and unreadable. When he walked around the back of the counter, Mr. Ehrenreich sharply said something to him in a foreign tongue. The young man didn’t reply; he merely nodded quickly and walked through the curtained doorway behind the counter.

“Now, vill dat be all, Fräulein?” Mr. Ehrenreich said, now resuming his previous friendly attitude.

“Yes, thank you,” I said. I hesitated, wanting to ask him about the young man but afraid I might seem nosy. However, after a moment, curiosity overcame my apprehension. “Please pardon me for asking, but who is that?” I asked, nodding toward the doorway through which his assistant had disappeared.

“Dat iss my zon, Estevan,” he said, a different, heavier tone creeping into his voice.

I was taken aback. How could this dark, foreign-looking boy be the son of an Arian like Stuyvesant Ehrenreich? I thought of the clock with the grinning skulls and recalled that he made it while living in Mexico. Perhaps this boy’s mother was a Mexican lady. Spanish blood would certainly explain the structure of his features and his olive skin tone, and the slanted eyes could be from South American natives in his background. However, his father’s German blood would explain his skin’s slightly fairer hue and his nose’s more delicate structure. As I was musing thus, Mr. Ehrenreich’s voice broke into my thoughts. “You are surprised, ja? You are tinking he doss not look like me.” I felt my cheeks flush at his accurate reading of my reaction. “He is not at all like me, dis boy,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “He iss gut for notting, like his motter.”

I stared at him for a moment, shocked by this sudden confession of his innermost feelings to a perfect stranger. A moment later, I pulled myself together and said, “Well, I must be running along to do my other errands. I’ll be back in an hour or so to pick up the clock.”

It took him a moment to respond, as though he were surfacing from a fog of memories or a deep reverie, but he soon came back to himself and said, “Ach, ja, Fräulein. I vill haf your clock ticking avay by den.”

“Thank you,” I said, then I took my basket and hurried out. As I opened the door, I looked back and saw the young man, Estevan, emerging from the back room. Mr. Ehrenreich spoke another sharp phrase in that foreign tongue he’d used earlier, which I now recognized as German. I saw Estevan speak a brief reply, but his voice was as soft as the wind, and I couldn’t hear his words. With a small shrug and a shake of my head, I turned and left the shop.

“Now, will that be all for you, dear?” Mrs. Allison asked as she handed me the knitting needles and yarn Mother had requested.

“Yes. That’s all. Thank you, Mrs. Allison,” I replied, placing the items in my basket and reaching into my handbag to get her money. I counted out the amount and handed it to her. “This is the right amount, is it not?” I asked.

She quickly counted the bills and kindly said, “Exactly the amount, as always.”

I smiled at her and lifted my basket off the counter. “Thank you, Mrs. Allison. I should be back some time next month.”

“Of course, dear,” she replied, as I walked to the door. “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

“Goodbye,” I called as I left the store.

“Goodbye, dear,” I heard her call after me.

Once out on the street, I pulled out Mother’s shopping list and scanned it to see what was left. Realizing I had completed my last errand, my eyes turned toward the sign with the giant pocket watch. It was time for me to return to the clock shop. I shivered with a strange mixture of fear and excitement. There was something decidedly fascinating and almost magnetic about the shop that made me want to return, in spite of my fear.

I crossed the street, hesitated, then slowly pushed the door open. That bell above the door gave its single somber clang as I stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind me. I looked around, but there was no one in sight. Suddenly, something brushed my skirt. I looked down to find a slinky white cat rubbing against my legs. It looked up at me with round blue eyes, purring loudly, then bumped its head against my leg again. I smiled and leaned down to stroke the cat. It was very friendly and arched into my hand as I petted it. “Hello there, kitty,” I cooed. “Oh, aren’t you a pretty little cat?” The cat continued purring, drinking in my attention as I crouched down to pet it and scratch its back.

Suddenly, I heard shuffling footsteps nearby and looked up to see Mr. Ehrenreich emerging from the curtain behind the counter. I rose to my feet just as he looked up. “Ach, dere you are, Fräulein,” he said. “I tought I heard de bell.” He suddenly noticed the cat, which was still rubbing against me, and his expression darkened. “Ach, dat cat! It has been bodering you, ja?” He shook his head and turned toward the curtained doorway just as Estevan emerged through it. I felt my pulse quicken unexpectedly and dropped my eyes, embarrassed. “I told you to keep dat cat out of de store!” Mr. Ehrenreich said to him, in a soft but angry voice. “Put it back vhere it belongs.” Estevan nodded quickly, the only response he seemed willing to give, and walked swiftly around the counter to come and collect the cat. I noticed that he ducked his head slightly as he passed his father, as though expecting a blow, and I felt a pang, wondering if Mr. Ehrenreich struck him often. I looked over at Mr. Ehrenreich and said, “It’s really perfectly alright. I like your cat very much.”

“I am glad of dat, Fräulein,” Mr. Ehrenreich said, his former charming manner returning. “But I prefer to keep it out of de shop. You know, rubbing on everyting, getting fur everyvhere, annoying de customers. It’s not gut for bissness.” While we spoke, Estevan walked quickly over to me and scooped up the cat. As he straightened, our eyes met for a brief moment. He gave me the smallest hint of a smile before turning and going back to the counter. As his son passed him, Mr. Ehrenreich gave him a small shove between the shoulders, making him trip slightly as he passed through the curtains.

“Now,” Mr. Ehrenreich said, as I approached him cautiously. “I haf fixed your clock. She iss as gut as new.” He reached under the counter, grinning, then suddenly seemed to grow angry. He ducked down to look under the counter, beginning that unintelligible muttering to which he was so inclined.

After carrying on in this fashion for a moment, he straightened up with a huff of frustration. “Please pardon me, Fräulein,” he said, walking to the curtains and parting them to call, “Estevan! De Fräulein’s clock!” He stepped to the side of the curtain and stood there, tapping his hand impatiently on the wall.

A few moments later, Estevan emerged with the clock. Mr. Ehrenreich quietly said, “Was is de matter mit you, ah? Go wrap it up again for de Fräulein!” Estevan nodded quickly and carried the clock to the counter. I set my basket down on it and pulled out the cloth in which the clock had previously been wrapped. He swiftly set about wrapping up the clock, apparently unaware that I was watching him and hoping to catch his eye. However, my attention was soon called away by Mr. Ehrenreich.

“Fräulein,” he said, and I looked up to see him turning from the workbench with his spectacles on and a paper and pen in his hand. “I vill qvickly make you a receipt for de job. Now, let me zee, de clock….” He trailed off into muttering again, and I spared a glance in Estevan’s direction. He was carefully moving the items in my basket to make room for the clock, and I suddenly wondered if I should have brought another one for all these things. However, Mr. Ehrenreich interrupted my worrying by asking, “Oh, Fräulein, may I ask, vhat is de name?”

“My name?” I asked, not fully registering what he had asked me.

“Ja, your name,” he replied, pen poised to write it down.

“My name is Elspeth Wood,” I responded. “My father is Lewis Wood. We own the first farm down the road going that way.” I pointed in the direction of our farm.

“Sehr gut,” he responded, returning to his writing. I glanced over at Estevan again, but he was still arranging my basket, so I soon found myself wandering back into their forest of clocks.

This time, I paid closer attention to the smaller clocks which sat on several counters at the middle of the shop. As I was studying one especially pretty mantle clock, I spotted something shoved so far behind the other clocks that it was almost completely hidden. I carefully moved a couple of clocks out of the way and pulled the hidden object forward, only to find myself completely baffled by it. It appeared to be a lovely little statue of a fairytale castle set on a painted lawn and moat. While it was a perfectly beautiful, flawless statuette, I couldn’t help wondering how it belonged in this store of clocks. I studied it carefully, searching for any sign of a clock, but there was none to be seen.

Suddenly, a soft voice next to me said, “You can only see the time every fifteen minutes.” I turned to find Estevan standing at my side. I stepped back slightly, feeling my cheeks flush, but I couldn’t help smiling. He carefully turned the clock around and fiddled with its back. Suddenly, a music box began playing somewhere inside it, and the front of the main turret opened to reveal a clock face. At the same time, the front doors opened, revealing a miniature prince and princess dancing inside. I laughed in delight at the charming picture, and I saw Estevan give the smallest crooked grin at my reaction. The melody the clock played was very familiar, but it took me a moment to recognize it as Debussy’s Reverie. After far too short a time, the music ended, and the castle closed again, returning to just a statuette.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” I looked up at him and he offered me another small smile. “Did… did you make it?” I asked. He hesitated a moment then nodded, making his thick hair fall down onto his forehead. “It’s such an unusual idea,” I marveled. “A clock that only shows the time on the quarter hours.”

“That’s what my father said,” he replied. “But unusual wasn’t the word he used.” As he spoke, I found myself liking his voice immensely. It was not altogether high but sounded so due to its softness, with just the tiniest hint of an accent revealed by his slightly dark vowels and faintly flipped r’s.

I smiled at him again but then dropped my eyes, wanting to say more but suddenly feeling embarrassed. He seemed embarrassed during this pause as well, and he quickly ran his hand through his hair to brush it out of his eyes. “Do you… make many of the clocks?” I asked him softly.

He shook his head. “Not really. I carve most of the designs on them, though.”

“You do?” I replied. “Earlier I was marveling at the remarkable detail of the carving. It’s all simply splendid.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes again. I was just about to continue when Mr. Ehrenreich suddenly appeared behind Estevan and grabbed his arm. Estevan turned to look at him and then dropped his head as his father pulled him none too gently toward the counter, saying something to him under his breath. As his father did this, something in Estevan’s manner expressed indifference rather than complete submission. However, whether submissive or merely complacent, he offered no resistance but simply kept his head down and returned to his place behind the counter. Mr. Ehrenreich seemed to lecture him briefly but softly, as Estevan gave quick nods at intervals. When he was sure he had subdued Estevan sufficiently, he came back over to me with another chilling smile and said, “I haf finished your receipt, Fräulein. Come vit me, and ve vill settle de matter of money.”

“Certainly,” I said, finding myself liking him less and less every minute I was around him. Nevertheless, I followed him over to the counter and read the receipt he had written out. It all seemed in order, from what I could decipher of his nearly illegible handwriting, so I reached into my handbag to get the money for him. I thought the price seemed a bit high for what he had called a simple repair, but the last thing I wanted to do was haggle with him. I would have felt more comfortable with Estevan nearby, but he had quickly deserted the counter and gone back into the clocks on some unknown mission. Somehow, even though we’d only exchanged a few phrases, I felt safer and more protected in his presence. Thankfully, the matter of money was solved quite quickly, and I was soon ready to leave.

“Danke, Fräulein Vood,” he said, after I had paid him. “I hope ve vill see you again soon.”

“Thank you,” I said, shuddering at the thought of more dealings with him but secretly hoping I would have to return so I could see Estevan again.

“Now,” he said, greedily concealing the money in his coat, “if you vill excuse me.” With that, he turned and disappeared behind the curtains, and I saw no more of him.

Just as I was about to lift the basket off the counter, Estevan appeared at my side again and said, “Here. Let me take it for you.”

“Thank you,” I said shyly, as he easily lifted the heavy basket with one hand, strangely keeping the other behind his back. He walked me to the door and there handed me the basket. It should have felt appallingly heavy with all the things I had in it, but, when I was looking at him, I didn’t seem to notice.

He gallantly opened the door for me but then stopped me, saying, “Please, take this.” I looked back to see him holding a small object wrapped in a cloth.

“What is it?” I asked shyly, hoping it was what I thought.

“The clock that doesn’t show time,” he said, with another crooked grin. “No one else wants it. Please take it.”

My breath caught in my chest, and I nearly felt tears start to my eyes. “Oh… oh, thank you,” I finally said. “I would love so very much to have it. It’s so beautiful.”

He shrugged a little, “It's nothing,” he said, holding my gaze and still smiling faintly. I suddenly felt embarrassed and had to drop my eyes. However, I couldn’t help looking at him from under my lashes as he moved a few things in my basket and set the clock down in it. “There you go,” he said, looking up at me and brushing his hair out of his eyes again.

“Thank you very much… for everything,” I said, raising my eyes to his and willing my cheeks not to flush again.

“Of course,” he said. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” I said, looking right into his deep brown eyes. Then, I turned and left that strange but somehow beautiful little world of Ehrenreich’s Clock Shoppe.