Cursed to Love: The Golden Curse

Chapter Two: Selling Wares And Hearing Tales

‘Sunrise and Sunset will be your keepers and Daylight will be your prison.’ – From the Witch’s Curse

Gilda had scared the daylights out of her Gran when she had returned the night before in such a dreadful state. Gilda rarely had a hair out of place, let alone being gray, sweaty, muddy and out of breath. She’d had to reassure her Gran ten or twelve times that she had seen nothing, and that it had all been in her head. Thankfully, Gran had been over the moon about the glorious pheasant and it had been easy to distract her with that. If she let Gran dwell on her fright too much she might forbid her to check her traps anymore, and that could not be tolerated. Without the income from trapping…well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Besides, trapping had been Gran’s idea in the beginning anyhow. She couldn’t forbid Gilda do something she’d initially encouraged could she? Unlady-like as it was to be good with a knife, the coin it brought in could not be denied.

The run from the wood had been two days ago. She was due to check her traps, but she had decided to let them go one more day. She was busy curing a set of hides at the moment, and she could use that as an excuse to stay out of the woods for a little while longer. She added more rock salt to the barrel of hides and stirred it. The temperature was still correct. She should let them sit for another day or two before they would be ready to temper. Gilda picked up her bags of feathers, carefully separated by size and quality, as well as the few furs she did have ready. It was a pity that the chocolate colored rabbit pelt wasn’t ready yet. That one was going to get her quite a few coins. The cotton tail pelts that she had available were only marginally better than nothing.

Gilda cut a fresh lace for her boot off of a piece of lower quality squirrel leather and laced them up. It wasn’t as if she could sell the squirrel hides. No one would buy something so common.

“Gran! I’m going into town before the milliner closes.” Gran poked her head out of the cabin.

“It’ll be nearly evening when you get there. I don’t want you walkin’ back in the dark ya hear? Best go in the mornin’.” Gran said waggling a bony finger at her with authority. Her broken English accent undermined her authority and betrayed her foreign origins. Gilda was foreign herself, although Gran would never tell her exactly where from.

“I’ll bring a lantern, don’t worry. I can’t go tomorrow, as I’ll have to check the traps. Please Gran, I have to see if I can’t get the coin together for the dress. You do understand don’t you?” Gilda pleaded, turning her big golden eyes on her Grandmother. Had Gran ever been young and beautiful? If so, no evidence of it remained. Gran’s hair was gray and stringy and her eyes so pale and watery it was impossible to see what color they had been. Could she really understand why a girl like Gilda would feel like she needed a dress that much? If she didn’t get the dress, if she wasn’t seen in it, if she wasn’t named Queen of the Faire, it would feel like dying. It would certainly kill her feeble romantic dreams. Every second that she wasn’t recognized for the extraordinary girl that she was, every second that she had to spend in this primeval existence, was agony.

“Alright then. But you best be walkin’ home alone! Don’t let no men walk you home, you never know which ones are highway robbers or seducers!” Gran warned her. Gilda just laughed and slid the lantern off the hook on the post by the door.

“No walks home from highway men – I promise!” Gilda said laughing and brandishing the lantern. She’d have a shopkeeper light it before she headed home. She turned the path toward town before she realized something. Highwaymen? Had she left this late in the day because she wanted to run into the dark man? She had never seen him before sundown…had this been an intentional attempt to see him? Perhaps it had. She certainly could have left for town earlier in the day. Hmmm. That was distressing. Intentionally trying to ‘run into’ a man that you had every reason to suspect was disreputable was beyond her usual level of ‘foolishness’. She was contemplating her own folly for a rather long time when she realized that she had come to the front door of the milliner’s shop. Oh. She hadn’t been aware of how quickly she was walking! Well, Gran would be pleased. The sky was still rather light despite the low position of the sun. She might make it home before it was utterly inky outside. She pushed open the door and walked in to the tinkling sound of the little metal bell wound on a brass loop by the door. Mr. Grant looked up.

“Miss Lillan!” He said surprised to see her. His breath nearly caught in his throat. He squinted more than usual in order to see the pretty girl clearer. Gilda Lillan was the most beautiful girl in the village, and probably the surrounding villages…probably the all of Europe quite honestly. He found himself perspiring and fumbling for his handkerchief. He wiped his brow with slightly trembling hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked in a voice he tried, and failed, to keep quaver free.

“I caught a pheasant.” The lovely vision was opening a series of bags and laying out some truly remarkable feathers. “I wanted to offer you first chance at them.” Gilda said laying out some of the best examples of each size and color. Mr. Grant coughed into his handkerchief. He hadn’t planned on buying feathers that day, but these were good quality, and with the faire coming, people were buying more frivolities.

“Well, Miss Lillan, these are lovely. I’m afraid I am a bit short of coin just now. Can I trade you something? A hat? A pin? A scarf perhaps?” He asked hopefully. Gilda shook her head slowly, her golden curls swishing slightly. Her eyes looked like honey.

“I’m afraid I don’t usually wear head coverings.” She said with a slight laugh as she fingered one of her perfect curls. Of course she didn’t wear head coverings! How could he be so stupid!? No one with such hair would wear a hat! No doubt she would offended by such an offer.

“Please, Miss Lillan!” He said as she turned to leave. She turned back toward him in what looked like a swirl of gold to his hazy vision. His squinted eyes gave her an almost glowing aura.

“Yes Mr. Grant?” She asked letting go of the feathers she had been sweeping up. They fell like a waterfall of color back onto the white cloth of his counter tops.

“Perhaps I can pay coin for them after all. Will you wait a moment?” He asked, fearful that if he made her wait too long that she would disappear like a mirage. It had happened to him before, many years back, and with a different girl. Now he was on guard to prevent such feminine flights. She nodded kindly.

“Of course Mr. Grant.” She said smiling sweetly. Ah, she was an angel. He dashed back to the counting room and grasped a bag of coins without even looking at it. He returned to the counter panting slightly.

“I apologize for the wait.” He gasped out. Gilda inhaled and smiled tolerantly.

“It was barely a moment. I was enjoying looking at your beautiful work anyway.” She assured him. He flushed and wiped his forehead again, she was so lovely and so kind! His hands were perspiring enough that it was hard to count out the slippery coins. He managed to grasp slightly more than the appropriate amount and thrust it towards her.

“Here you are Miss Lillan.” He said in a voice that somehow managed to come out in a squeak like a teenage boy’s despite his 38 years. The angel didn’t laugh at him, but instead took the coins silently and slid them into the pouch at her waist. Her slender perfect waist which was so narrow that it could have been turned on a woodworker’s lathe.

“Thank you ever so much Mr. Grant. You are too kind, and as always, exceedingly generous.” She said eloquently and curtsied lightly. Then, like a vision, she was gone. He slumped back against the wall behind his counter. His heart couldn’t take many more visits from that girl. He was not ordinarily such a nervous or unintelligent man. It was almost unnatural how much her presence effected him. He gasped a few shallow breaths before standing up again. He had a lot of work to do. He had just purchased a great deal of feathers.

Gilda left the milliner’s shop feeling rather good. Mr. Grant hadn’t fainted this time, so that was an improvement, and he had given her a nice sum for her feathers. She’d been truly concerned that he was going to try to convince her to take a hat for a minute there, but he had acquiesced in the end. She shook her head, she honestly didn’t understand the trouble she managed to cause lately. Something was wrong with her. Gilda sighed. She’d never get a first kiss at this rate. Any man who tried would get so nervous that he would probably accidentally bite off his own tongue in the attempt.

Gilda looked across the dirty narrow street warily. She still had to go to the clothier’s to see if he would buy the lousy cotton tail pelts she had for him. She shivered involuntarily. She was not looking forward to this. Gilda groaned inwardly as she pushed open the door and entered the shop, her eyes traveling instantly to the empty display mannequin inside. Her trepidation was quickly replaced by shock, horror, and then fear.

“Mr. Grummold? Mr. Grummold?” She shouted running to the back of the store where the portly older man was seated, relaxedly smoking his pipe as though the worst thing in the world hadn’t just happened. She stopped abruptly in her tracks so as not to get too close. There was significant danger in standing too close to him…or so she’d heard.

“Yes Miss Lillan? Slow down before you trip and hurt your pretty little self.” He said gesturing to a chair beside him. He had a bottle of three penny gin half hidden behind a sack of grain and was drinking from a tin mug. She shook her head.

“No thank you Sir. I only wish to ask Sir, if you did not sell the blue silk dress? The one from the mannequin?” She asked, her voice anxious. He nodded.

“I’m afraid I may well have my dear. But that dress weren’t right for you any-ways.” He leaned forward as if about to stand. “I find, that I have something special just for you.” He said in a conspiratory way. Gilda shook her head.

“I’m afraid Sir that I had scarcely enough coin for that particular dress, and even only if you purchased these…” Gilda pulled the cotton tail pelts from her satchel. “For considerably more than you usually do.” She sighed. “I don’t have enough coin for anything specially made.” Gilda looked at her feet. She was utterly dejected and miserable. Mr. Grummold smiled a wide toothless smile. Years of eating the sweets from the jar on the counter of his own shop had rendered him quite bereft of dentine.

“Not even for this?” He asked opening a box behind the counter and pulling out a beautiful green/gold dress. Gilda’s heart stopped. It was perfect. And certainly about twice as expensive as the blue one had been.

“Oh Sir, it is magnificent, and it pains me greatly to admit this, but I have no hope of affording that.” Gilda said sadly. He chuckled.

“What if I told you, that you could have it for no coin at all?” He asked twirling his pipe with another gummy smile. Gilda took a step back, ah, so this was how the horrid man managed it.

“I am sure that I do not know what you mean.” Gilda said backing toward the door. Mr. Grummold stood up.

“I think you do Miss Lillan. I think you do. You’re a very pretty girl. Too pretty. The kind of pretty that makes a man do out of character things. The kind of things that make him wonder if you don’t have some powers that other girls don’t! Almost feels like witchcraft the way you draw a man in. My boy can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even think a sane thought in his head for pining after you. Calls out your name in the night, like he’s possessed or something.” Mr. Grummold said as he continued towards her. Gilda was nearly at the door. Mr. Grummold slid a finger along her satiny cheek.

“Other girls freckle in the sun…you turn gold. Tell me that isn’t witchcraft! You don’t want to be accused of witchcraft do you? I hear they burned quite a collection of them not three months back over in Brabant. Surely you don’t want that? Not when you could have this nice pretty dress free of charge? All you have to do is wear it to the dance with my boy, and when he makes his pretty speech to you – be obliging!” Mr. Grummold said reaching for her hand. Gilda snatched it back.

“Your son wants to marry me?” She asked in surprise, trying to take the conversation back to a respectable place. His son hadn’t spoken a single word to her since she was fifteen. How did he think he could propose to her? Mr. Grummold laughed.

“If that’s the price one has to pay for your loveliness, then yes, he wants to marry you.” He chuckled again. “For myself, I just want you to show an old man some kindness…in return for a pretty dress. You don’t say a word to my son about the kindness, and I won’t say a word to anyone about how you bewitched him, or me-self.” His eyes glistened as he grasped her hand in an attempt to pull her towards him.

Gilda took one giant step backwards and straight into something hard and unyielding. Belatedly she realized that it was the chest of a man who had just stepped out from behind a large display of fabric rolls. Gilda made a terrified squeaking noise. She attempted to twist and see who had now sandwiched her in so that she was trapped, but she could not move. Her heart made its way up into her throat. But the man to whom she was backed up into didn’t try to turn her toward him. Instead he grasped her arm free of Mr. Grummold’s fingers and spun her around so that she was now behind him. He kept his arm twisted behind his back so that her wrist stayed wrapped in his long fingers. His other hand pushed Mr. Grummold back hard, so that the shopkeeper made a satisfying “smack” noise when he hit his own sales counter. Her rescuer was exceedingly tall, and broad shouldered to the point where she could no longer see Mr. Grummold’s crumpled body from behind him. She imagined that Mr. Grummold would look about as surprised as she felt.

“Don’t worry Gilda, I won’t harm you.” Her mysterious rescuer? Assured her.

“This doesn’t concern you Mr. Vanhelstad.” Mr. Grummold said in a high pitched voice, as though the wind had been knocked out of him. The exceptionally tall man – presumably Mr. Vanhelstad, laughed, it was a warm, woolen sound. He pulled Mr. Grummold to his feet.

“Nonsense. I like to be helpful when I can, and I happened to overhear your little misunderstanding with Gilda here. I thought that I might help clear things up.” The man said with a smile in a voice. “It would never do for a gentleman to stand by when assistance was needed.” Gilda wanted to squirm and see his face, but he was keeping her firmly behind him with a grip on her arm that was vise-like.

“The girl is obviously only here to buy a dress.” The man continued. “I’m pretty sure we both know that she has neither the cunning, nor the skills to cast any sort of spells. Also, if she were a witch, and you were foolish enough to speak to her as you did, I am fairly certain that you would be a toad…or some other sort of slimy creature by now. Don’t you think?” The tall man ran a hand through his long dark hair with a wry chuckle. “And although a toad would be a bit redundant, she doesn’t strike me as someone with much imagination.” The man turned toward Gilda. He was the dark man! The one she had thought was a highwayman…although he was probably not a highwayman…he had just saved her. His eyes looked trustworthy, despite his rakish hair and demeaning speech. So, she stopped attempting to free herself from his grasp and instead waited to see how he planned to end this confrontation.

“Come here.” He said pulling her back in front of him with a curving whip-like motion of his arm. “You came here to do business, so do it.” He said gruffly. Gilda looked up at him.

“What?” She asked. He sighed as if greatly irritated by her stupidity. He gave a sharp tug to the money belt on her waist. The little bag of coins fell off into his hand.

“You were here to buy the blue dress, but now he has offered you this one instead, yes?” He asked. She nodded.

“Well, sort of. But…” Gilda began, how much had he overheard from behind the rolls of fabric, all the way in the back of the store?

Mr. Vanhelstad dumped her coins on the counter, and with a second violation of her personal space, tugged off the rabbit pelts and laid them next to the coins.

“There. She has paid for her purchase appropriately, and we will be going.” He said to the startled Mr. Grummold. The tall dark man picked up the box with the gown inside and resumed his hold on Gilda’s arm, propelling her outside the shop.

“But Sir, this gown is more expensive, I can’t just…” Gilda said as he forced them out into the street.

“Doesn’t your beauty usually get you a discount?” He said in the same irritated tone, as he looked over his shoulder to see if Mr. Grummold was following them. The very startled older man was not.

“I don’t know why are you are being so condescending! I’m only suggesting that I don’t wish to cheat a man out of his livelihood.” Gilda tried to process the myriad ridiculous things that had just happened. To her surprise the man chuckled again. It was a strange, oddly comforting sound, like something she had heard before.

“He’s trying to have you burnt at the stake if you won’t go to bed with him, and you’re worried about cheating him out of a few coins?” He asked. He shook his head. “You’re a very strange girl, Gilda. Now go home before you get into any more trouble.” He said turning her in the direction of her house. She turned back to him.

“You can’t say salacious things like that to a girl! It isn’t appropriate!” Gilda said still breathing heavily from the ordeal...or from the fact that she had laced her corset extra tightly in order to get a slight discount… He hadn’t been wrong about that. The man shrugged his very tall shoulders and leaned towards her, close enough that she could smell his strange woodsy smell…like pine needles and cured animal skin.

“That is because I am not a proper man. Now, you had better be off home before you spend any more time in the company of such a man.” He handed her the dress box and turned her by the shoulders again, towards the road leading to the woods. “And next time you have a batch of furs, take them to the cobbler! He won’t pay as much, but he won’t accuse you of any witch craft either.” He gave her a little push between the shoulder blades. “Go on.” He said encouragingly.

Gilda didn’t feel prepared to argue with a giant man dressed mostly in dark leather, so she nodded and mumbled “Thank you” before she started walking towards home. About ten steps down the path she realized that there was no way he should have pointed her in this direction. Every sane person lived in town, or on the other side of it in the village hamlet. NO one aside from her and Gran lived in the woods. How did he know she ought to take the path to woods? Odder still, how did he know her name? He had twice called her Gilda. She knew she had never mentioned her name to him…she’d never really met him before tonight. Mr. Grummold had called her Miss Lillan. She was sure of that. Fear had seared it into her mind. Feeling rather bewildered, she wandered up the steps to her house. Gran was standing at the door.

“You didn’t light your lantern! Don’t them shop keeps know they ought not let a wee girl walk home in the dark? Ain’t none of the village boys good enough to walk you home Gilda-Lily?” Her Gran asked. Gilda sniffed the air. Her grandmother had turned the rest of the pheasant into a pie by the smell of it.

“Didn’t need the light so much Gran. I know the way home alright. Besides, I thought you didn’t want a man to walk me home!” Gilda chuckled. Just like Gran to demand she have it one way, and then complain it was wrong when she did exactly that.

“You needn’t worry Gran. A man from the village did walk me part of the way. Not a highwayman.” She said reassuringly, falling back into the manner of speech her Gran expected from her. She considered a moment…Mr. Vanhelstad was most likely not a highwayman. She sniffed deeply. “Smells like you made a pie. Any chance that I could have some, now that you’ve verified I’ve not been robbed?” Gilda asked stepping through the door. Gran nodded.

“Didn’t burn it none this time neither!” She said with pride in her voice as she spooned Gilda a bowl. Gilda didn’t even bother remind her Grandma that a pie should be eaten with a fork. The events of the evening had made Gilda hungry and disinclined to talk. She picked up the spoon and took a bite.

“This is really good Gran.” She said honestly. It was surprisingly good. She used her toe to shove the dress box under the table where she could retrieve it later. She didn’t want to face the wrath of Gran if she had to tell the story of how she had gotten such a dress.

“What’s that there that you don’t want me to see? D’ya get that purty dress you been wantin’?” Gran asked. Gilda swallowed another savory bite of pie.

“Is that sage or thyme you used in the pie? It’s truly delicious Gran.” Gilda said trying to avoid the subjects of witch trials, marriage proposals and strange leather clad men who only came out after dark. She wanted to be let out of her room before 1696, and if Gran heard all that nonsense, she would lock her up for a least a year.

“It’s rosemary.” Gran said with more than a touch of pride in her voice. “But don’t you think compliments on my cookin’ gonna make me forget that you got that big fancy lookin’ box.” She warned. Gilda sighed deeply and kicked the lid off the box with her toe. Hopefully at the angle it was under the table, it would look less spectacular than it was. Gran wiped her hands on her old gray apron. She picked up the shining dress out of the box. The colors shifted green and gold as she turned it in her hands, like sunlight through a tree canopy. Gran’s face first looked awed, then angered.

“The pheasant feathers were worth quite a bit Gran…and Mr. Grummold let me trade in the rabbit pelts toward it too.” She said swallowing a bite without tasting it. Gran fingered the lace at the low collar of the dress, it was intricate, handwoven bobbin lace.

“And how much credit did Mr. Grummold extend you then? How many more pelts will you need to be trading in?” She asked. Not accusing, not scolding, just asking, a small measure of disappointment in her voice. Gilda shook her head.

“No credit Gran. It’s all paid for, I don’t owe a thing, I promise.” She said looking at the table. Gilda spooned another mouthful of the pie into her mouth, since a full mouth couldn’t be expected to speak. Her Gran looked at the dress.

“It looks a mite too fine to be paid off so easy.” She said skeptically. Gilda couldn’t disagree. She was just glad that her Gran hadn’t guessed, or accused her of any other reasons she could have the dress so cheaply. She sighed.

“Alright Gran. I do owe Mr. Grummold a further six pelts, but I am curing that many now! It is not so great an expense for such a fine dress. Please don’t be angry!” She begged, pretending to weep piteously as though she had confessed a great sin. It was after all far better to confess to being a spendthrift than a suspected witch or a harlot. Her Gran sat down beside her.

“Oh Gilda, I ain’t angry with you. I just don’t want you living your life in debt to those shop keeps! It’s the great temptation for pretty girls to overspend their pocketbooks.” She said putting her hand on Gilda’s.

“You best be off to bed, you gotta check your traps tomorrow. You need ta pay your debt, and the sooner the better.” Gran said in her ‘superior’ voice. Gilda nodded as though her Gran had given her sage advice. She ate a quick five bites in rapid succession – who knew when her Gran would make anything palatable again? She then rose to head to her room.

“Thank you Gran. I promise I will. It’ll be like it never happened. I promise.” Gilda said reassuringly as she left the kitchen. It would be like it never happened…because it never had! She couldn’t give Gran anything to worry about. The woman had worn herself to the bone keeping Gilda fed and clothed until she was old enough to feed and clothe herself.

Gilda slipped into her room to head to bed. She didn’t bother to light a candle, and undressed in the dark. Ostensibly to save the candle, but more so that she wouldn’t have to look at her own golden skin. The sun only touched her face and hands, but she was actually golden from head to toe. Mr. Grummold’s words had scared her. Could her appearance really be used to accuse her of anything? She had heard of women brought down by less…a neighbor’s sick cow, a crying cat, or even strange patterns of dead grass. She had turned an entire village of boys into jabbering idiots. Two summers ago an old woman in a neighboring village had been drowned after her chickens began laying rotten eggs. Even though drowning had proved her innocence, the test had killed her. An accusation was death…even before the execution.

Gilda laid down with her head on her hard threadbare pillow. She was surely over-reacting. This was all going to be alright.