It was a brisk spring morning when Tawl left his house to go find Dottie, the miller's girl. He had just gotten a brand new fish net from his older brother, and he wanted to go down to the river and catch the drowsy morning catfish. Dottie always teased him about how he couldn't catch even the clumsiest of toads and he was dead set on proving her wrong. That and possibly impressing her so that she might sneak him some flour from her father's storehouse so that he can make some catfish pies, Tawl's mother's favorite. He nearly tripped over himself daydreaming as he ran past the merchants setting up their carts in the market square, up towards the mill on the hill. He hopped the canal, neglecting the perfectly serviceable stone bridge. His destination was in sight.
Tawl ran up the stairs, skipping two stairs at a time, landing at the final step and almost bruising his knuckles with a loud knock. Embarrassed, he followed it up with a set of quieter knocks. The miller's wife, Violeta, opened the door. She gave him a questioning look to which Tawl quickly blurted out:
"Is Dottie awake I need to show her I can fish!" He covered his mouth and blushed in embarrassment, but Violeta just laughed and replied.
"Dottie is fetching water, but aren't you awfully early to be up and about? Have you eaten?"
Tawl shook his head, to which the miller's wife opened the door to him and beckoned.
"Come in then, have a fresh pastry and a glass of milk. You can wait for Dottie here."
Still red as a beet, Tawl entered and sat down, silently munching on a towel-wrapped pastry which Violeta handed him.
"So what are you fishing for?" Violeta asked with curiosity. Tawl made a motion resembling whiskers with his fingers and she chuckled, "Ah I see, in the Bourbon River I assume? You be careful now, net fishing is fun but the river's been running mighty high lately. Oh and you might want to take off your shoes, I doubt your father will be too pleased if you were to dirty your shoes."
Tawl looked down at his shoes, fine leather shoes with brass buttons holding them together. They were already frayed at the seams, as he went just about everywhere with them. If his father found out he got them wet in the river he surely wouldn't hear the end of it, so he made sure to make a note of Violeta's advice.
Tawl's head turned to the door as he heard footsteps approaching it. Violeta noticed this and her gaze followed suit, as the door swung open and Dottie lumbered in carrying two heavy wooden buckets of water. She looked at her mother with a look of relief as she set the two buckets down and opened her mouth to speak, pausing as she saw Tawl scarfing down the rest of his pastry. She looked down at the ground where his fishing net lay and smiled a toothy grin.
"Gonna finally catch a fish today, Tawlie?" she said to him.
"Be nice Dottie," Violeta retorted before Tawl could answer. He gulped down his glass and stood up, grabbing his net as he did.
"We'll be going now!" he said as he darted for the door, and Dottie followed suit before Violeta could get another word in. She sighed and chuckled, picking up the buckets and carrying them off.
Tawl raced to the river with Dottie trailing behind him yelling "Wait for me Tawlie!" He crested the stone canal bridge and hopped on the railing, sticking his tongue out at his friend. She grimaced as she caught up and suddenly overtook him, bounding off towards the river faster than he'd seen her go before. Not to be shown up, Tawl swiftly hopped from bridge to wall and nimbly ran above Dottie, balancing with the net dangling above the canal from his left hand. It was in such a manner that the two of them finally reached the river, with Tawl coming in first place and Dottie in a very close second. Panting and laughing, they collapsed on the sand as the rays of dawn began bathing the ferns and grasses in radiance.
Seeing this, Tawl stood up and brushed himself off. He looked at his shoes which had already gotten dirty from the run and kicked them off into the grass. He then approached the riverside with net in hand, a curious Dottie sticking close by him, watching his every move. Tawl stared at the murky shallows, as if waiting for something, and just as Dottie was about to interrupt the silence, he drove the net into the water. Dottie gasped and held her breath as he brought it up.
But alas, the net was full of duckweed and dirt and a couple of tadpoles. Not even a crawfish wriggled in the grimy mass Tawl pulled up. Dottie laughed as Tawl emptied out his net, flustered, and grumbled to himself.
"You can't catch a prize fish on the first try you know…"
Laughing, Dottie responded, "But you sure as heck can miss one!" Tawl threatened her with the net, splashing dirty water in her direction as she yelped and backed off. He then moved a few paces to the left and stared at the water once more. Once again he cast his net in and, just as before, he pulled out nothing but weeds and dirt. He cursed under his breath and Dottie held in a snigger. He moved a bit further and proclaimed with defiance:
"This is the spot, I just know it!"
Dottie waited with baited breath as he eyed some shadows moving in the mud, waiting what felt to her like an eternity, before plunging his net into the water with such force the splash reached the other side of the river. He held the net underwater for a few moments, wiggling it around, before triumphantly pulling up… a rock.
Dottie fell over backwards with laughter as Tawl threw down the net in anger. He stomped the water and then is foot felt something slippery as he fell flat on his rear. Dottie, still laughing, made her way over to a submerged Tawl. But his focus was not on his friend but rather on something under his foot. As Dottie helped him back on his feet, he dragged from the depths a large somewhat flat and slimy object. When he stood up with his hands outstretched, Dottie was shocked to find him holding a floundering catfish – and what a catfish it was! Smooth blue-gray skin with two sets of ink-black whiskers and green translucent fins, nearly two feet long, it began to thrash as Tawl struggled with it. Dottie helped him haul the beast to shore, a battle which took no less than half a minute, and placed it on the grass away from the water it so desperately wanted to return to. Tawl grinned at Dottie with triumph, and she rolled her eyes and laughed.
That morning Tawl spent at the Miller's house, chopping away at his catch on a spare bench while Dottie mixed some dough for his catfish pies. Violeta had procured spices and filling for the pies, which Tawl made use of in copious amounts. Dottie made sure to keep Tawl's eager hands away from two of the pies, one for herself and one for her father. She couldn't handle the spices in the volumes he used them, and her father was a very picky eater as it is. Then, they piled the pies into the stone oven, filling it nearly to the brim. Dottie and Tawl sat across the room, watching the oven for fear of it bursting with catfish filling and dough, but no such event occurred. Instead, the whole millhouse began to fill with an aroma so decadent and fishy that even Violeta herself came in the room to join them, gently patting Dottie on the head and ruffling Tawl's scruffy hair.
When the pies were sufficiently browned for Tawl's taste, the three removed them from the oven and began to singe their mouths with tentative nibbles, made not for the purpose of injury but to assure themselves of the pies' veritable quality. The taste brought them to the home of Tawl's mother and her famous catfish pies with mulled wine and mountain ash jam. While the wine and jam were missing, Tawl and the others concluded that the main ingredient – the catfish pies, were exactly as they had been back then. Before long, they had eaten half the pies and it was time for Tawl to go home. Violeta packed up Tawl's pies in a sack and tied it around the fishing net for Tawl, who happily grabbed it and held it like a wanderer would. He waved farewell to his friend and walked with purpose back down the road.
When he reached home, Tawl cautiously stepped past the creaky floorboard and tip-toed into the kitchen, where he deposited the pies into a wooden bowl. The bowl loudly clunked on the table, and as it did Tawl winced and held his breath.
"Tawl? Is that you? Where have you been?" He dreaded hearing his father's voice coming from the workshop, but what he dreaded even more was the footsteps that followed. He quickly stowed the fishing net and sack before his father walked through the doorway to the kitchen and looked in his direction. His father glanced at the table, then looked at Tawl's legs, as Tawl realized in horror that he had forgotten his shoes by the river.
"What did you do with your shoes, Tawl? I swear, if you lost another pair I'll have Kerwick make you a pair of steel clogs!" his father angrily shook his finger in Tawl's direction, who sunk back in his shirt.
"I'll go get them sir," Tawl meekly responded and turned towards the door, as his father shook his head and walked to the table. Tawl quickly ducked out of the room before his father could connect the fish pies to his missing shoes, and ran back towards the river, dusk settling in securely all around him. He raced faster, not wanting to lose his shoes to night crawlers, or worse, and before long he made it to the river. Searching the grass for his shoes was simple, but when he found them they had sunk into the mud and were caked with a healthy layer of dirt. He tried washing them but to no avail – they were dirty whether he liked it or not. He was sure to get it now. He could only pray for one thing to save him now.
As he re-entered his home, his father was sitting at the table, a frown on his face directed at Tawl. But before he could open his mouth, the one thing that could save Tawl walked through the workshop door – Tomas, his older brother.
"Smells delicious papa, are those catfish pies?"
Tawl's father looked at Tomas with a slightly annoyed look and spoke sarcastically, "just like your mother used to make, of course. No doubt another excuse of your lousy brother to shirk his responsibilities."
Tawl's father glowered at him, but Tomas grabbed a pie from the bowl and bit into it. With a delighted sigh, Tomas said, "Then perhaps you should encourage his culinary work rather than forcing him to tan leather all day!" followed by a subtle wink to Tawl, who lowered his eyes.
His father sighed and took a pie for himself, eating it in silence. Tawl followed suit. After a silent meal, Tawl excused himself to bed and climbed the narrow staircase. He hopped up to his bunk and stared out the window at the corner of sky visible to him. Before long he was peacefully asleep, away from all the problems and concerns of his life, within a world of dreams. He dreamt of those delicious pies and how his mother used to make them. He dreamt of how proud she would be that he figured out her recipe all on her own, unaware that his mother had been very close with Violeta to whom she entrusted the formula. He dreamt of unknown fields and forests ripe for exploration, filled with rivers teeming with catfish, so easy to catch that a simple net can't hold the amount of fish found even in the shallowest of waters. And in his dreams he remained until the following morning, roused by a rooster as every morning.