Fiction: Canoe on the Roof

This month's Words for Wednesday prompts are supplied by Hilary Melton-Butcher and posted at River's blog over here. This week's prompts are: baker, canoe, gable, training, rot and/or lily-livered, provisions, barley, arrow, border. Optional prompt: Charlotte's color of the month Razzmatazz.

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Fiction: Canoe on the Roof
Mr. Huckleberry Baker's mind was elsewhere when he climbed the ladder toward the roof of his house. On the front end of his gable roof and sitting on the side of the ridge was a canoe. He hadn't a clue who put it there but he wanted it gone. 
    Mr. Baker had little knowledge of roofs so when his left foot sank and created a hole in his roof, he wondered, 'Should it rotted through like that?' It wasn't safe to continue. With his foot bare and a bit tender having to struggle out of the hole, Mr. Baker stood and proceeded back toward the ladder but was hit with dizziness and double vision. He sat down on the ridge and slowly his dizziness faded and his vision cleared. He wasn't lily-livered except when it came to heights which he often forgot about.
    How normal his day had been. This morning, after he ate two toasts with a cup of hot barley tea, he entered his home office and started work. For almost two decades, Mr. Baker wrote manuals for machines and gadgets. He had no training but he knew how things work by studying them. 
    While he was marveling at his masterpiece for a multi-propose blender, the phone rang. Automatically he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello."
    "Hello, Mr. Baker. Do you know you have a canoe on your roof?" Miss Hart was his next door neighbor who was inquisitive about everything.
    Mr. Baker's immediate respond was, 'Do not be ridiculous' but he instead said, "Thank you for letting me know, Miss Hart. I will check it out." He returned to work, had a tuna melt and black coffee for lunch, kept working and didn't remember about it until nearly night. 
    He glanced at the canoe two arms stretch from him. The inside was a pale wood but outside was painted razzmatazz, a word Miss Hart used to describe her favorite bright pink hue. On the side, painted in white was Peace Queen with two, white arrows crossed to make an X between them. Last night, he dreamt about a canoe with those exact words. What did they mean?
    Mr. Baker forgot it all when he tried to get off the roof but as he stood up, dizziness and double vision kept him down. After the fifth try, he gave up. He pictured his funeral with his parents sobbing while beside them his ex-wife laughing and throwing cash into the air. Without changing his will, any provisions he had wanted to make for his parents wouldn't happen if he die today. 
    From up here, he noted all the houses with their lights off. Everyone was probably at the town's ninety-third anniversary party. It must be 7 by now. The party didn't end until after 10. Across from him, the full moon was hanging like a sculpture in the sky. Its beauty made him think of his accumulated ifs and somedays from his forty-three years of living. Why hadn't he taken more chances? Why hadn't he done more? He thought of Miss Hart. Ever since she moved in next door two yeas ago, she had been dropping by or calling to talk about any old thing but he enjoyed her loquacious roaming.
    After a while, Mr. Baker crawled into the canoe. It was a single person vessel with a wooden ottertail paddle. He lifted the paddle and swung it on the right side and then the left. It was almost natural except he had never canoed before. He pictured paddling toward a wide horizon under a bright sky.
    Before he realized, the canoe was shifting and then gliding down the steep roof, past the border of the sculpt hedges that framed his front path and landed on the grassy lawn with him almost spilling out. The paddle had slipped from his hands, slammed against his front windows and put a hole in one of the panes. He patted himself all over and found he was in one piece and chuckled at his good luck.
    "Good evening, Mr. Baker. Isn't it a bit late for a canoe ride?" Miss Hart was staring down at him with a hint of a smile.
    Mr. Baker got out of the canoe with a hand from Miss Hart. "Thank you, Miss Hart. I was just... practicing." He dusted his clothes.
    "Don't you think it's time you call me Betsy?"
    "Betsy, yes. Why don't you call me Berry." He grinned.
    She glanced at the words on the canoe. "Berry, would you believe I used to be known as the Peace Queen?"
    Mr. Baker's grin widened.