The Tinkerer's Daughter Read Online Free Page A

was a week after the first snow when Tinker announced that he must take a trip into town. “I have neglected my business,” he said, “and we are low on supplies. I spent far too much time building that extra room, and now I must set things to right.”
    “Can I go?” I asked. “Please take me with you!”
    He frowned. “It’s not a good idea.”
    “Please, Tinker? I’ll behave. I won’t touch anything!”
    He sighed and ran his hand through that rat’s nest he called hair. “I suppose it’s just as dangerous, leaving you here alone…” He disappeared into the loft and came back holding a knit wool cap. “You must wear this,” he said. “You must promise me that you won’t take it off, no matter what happens. You must not let anyone see your ears, or they might become angry.”
    “I promise,” I said.
    “Alright then, remember you must do whatever I say. We don’t have money to spend so we won’t be doing any shopping, and we won’t be staying long, understand?”
    “I understand.”
    I tried on my new hat as Tinker went behind the garage and pulled out an old wagon. It was a rusty, rickety thing that looked like it would rattle apart if someone sneezed. There was a long bench seat across the front, and an odd contraption rested just behind the seat. He crawled into the back of the wagon and built a fire inside the tall metal chamber.
    I watched with growing curiosity, and soon enough the questions came bubbling out. “What is that thing, Tinker? What does it do? Will it keep us warm? How will we pull the wagon without a horse?”
    He chuckled as the questions streamed out of me. “Aren’t you the curious one today?” he said. I smiled. “Just be patient, child. All your questions will be answered soon enough.” He lifted me onto the seat. “You wait here while I load the wagon.”
    I did as he instructed, eager to prove that I was worthy of his trust. He hauled a few boxes out of the barn and then climbed into the seat next to me. I felt warmth radiating off the contraption, and it felt good on that wintry morning.
    “Hang on,” Tinker said. He pulled back on a long metal bar that rose up in front of the bench (which I soon learned was the brake), and the cart started to move. I gasped, and he shot me a smile. “This is what we call steam locomotion,” he said. “This is my steamwagon .”
    I bent over, trying to get a look at what was happening underneath us. He grabbed my coat by the collar and hauled me back. “I don’t want you bouncing out,” he said. “Last thing I need is you with a broken arm, or worse yet, a broken neck.” I glanced around and saw steam exhausting out of the machine, and heard a loud hissing noise.
    The wagon bounced happily down the road as I twisted left and right, searching for an understanding of this bizarre creation. It was slow-going as we traveled down the valley, but once we reached the flatlands, Tinker let it go. We easily doubled the speed of a horse-drawn carriage and in less than an hour, we rolled into town.
    It was breathtaking.
    Like Tinker, my father had lived in seclusion. I’d never been near a town in my life. I had never even dreamed of the wonders that now revealed themselves to me. The town of Riverfork was alive with festivity. The buildings were decorated with dancing skeletons and brilliant streamers of gold and red for the celebration of Sowen, the week of the dead.
    Tinker explained that although the name of the holiday sounded morbid, it was actually a celebration of the seasonal harvest and the transition into winter. The citizens celebrated by hanging stick figures in the shape of skeletons and black cats from the street lamps and doors, and by placing pumpkins with angry faces carved into them on their porches to ward off the specter of death.
    I absorbed this all in mute wonder. I was equally awed by the town itself. The buildings were tall, some as high as four stories, and their steep roofs cast shadows across the