Fresh bread
1369 Words
*Linnie*
I love the smell of freshly baked bread; it comforts me, especially on Christmas.
NOnce I put away the ball gown, I find it difficult to sleep, holding all of the wonderful moments close, reliving them, knowing they will stay with me forever. Still, I toss and turn much of the night, wondering if Marsden has made his choice. I have little doubt that he returns to the ball to dance and flirt into the wee hours of the morning. He is probably still at it when I crawl out of bed at four to begin helping my father with the baking.
In addition to the bread, I prepare a large cauldron of stew that I am now ladling into crocks that I will distribute to those who might otherwise go hungry this day. Giving to others is one of my favorite things to do.
The rap on the back door to the kitchens has me glancing over at my father. He merely shrugs and shakes his head before returning to his task of removing the last of the golden-brown loaves from the oven. It is nearly seven, so it is quite possible that a villager is anxious to claim some bread. We have been gifting bread to those in need for as long as I can remember. Some have come to expect it.
But when I open the door, I am surprised to find Marsden standing there. Surprised and glad. I shouldn’t be so happy to see him, not when there can never be more between us than a friendship, not when I want more, not when it is quite possible that he has adhered to his mother’s wishes and made a decision regarding whom he will take to mate. Perhaps that is the reason he is here now, to tell me of his selection, to ask for my opinion. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s snowing. I thought you might welcome the use of my coaches for making your deliveries.”
Glancing past him, I see three carriages lined up. The snowfall is light, nothing I haven’t trudged through before. “I’m not sugar, Marsden. I won’t melt if I get a bit wet.”
“Do you really want to deliver soggy bread?”
No, I suppose I don’t.
“Besides, with my carriages, you’ll also get my assistance so you can finish a bit earlier.”
“What about your guests?”
“They’ll be abed until noon at least.”
I can’t imagine sleeping most of the day away. “All right, then. Come on, give us a hand.”
*Marsden*
Most of my favorite memories involve Linnie. As the coach travels slowly along the road, it's difficult to acknowledge that very few of my future ones will include her.
She sits across from me now with baskets of bread stacked on either side of her, while boxes of covered tins and crocks wedge me in. After taking her home the evening before, I returned to the castle to dance and visit with the she-wolves listed on parchment in my mother’s precise script.
I invited each one to accompany me this morning for my annual pilgrimage with Linnie to see to the needs of those without. Every single one, they all declined.
“Did you get much sleep?” I ask her now.
“A couple of hours. I enjoy Christmas too much to spend it in oblivion. I’ll sleep in tomorrow.”
I doubt that.
“What of you?” she asks. “What did you do after you left me?”
“Danced a bit. Drank a bit more. Lost at cards. Won at billiards.”
She glances out the window at the open countryside. We are heading to some houses on the outskirts of the village. “Did you make your mother happy?”
“I’m beginning to think she is happiest when she is unhappy.”
Smiling, she shifts her gaze over to me. “Does that mean you didn’t choose a she-wolf to court?”
“Not yet. Not from among those on her list anyway. They bored me.”
“Were you trying, Marsden? Did you give them a fair shake?”
How like her to worry about someone else, the fairness of their life. “I was quite open-minded.”
“Did you want to discuss any of them with me?”
“No, I don’t think any of them will suit.”
“Pity. I don’t want you to get lonely when I leave.”
My chest tightens and it feels as though my throat is striving to knot up. “When are you leaving?”
Lifting a delicate shoulder, she sighs. “Probably not for another year. I don’t yet have enough money to see me through for the hard times. I know success won’t come straightaway. My father has never been shy about sharing the struggles of owning a business. But I welcome the challenge of it.”
Of course she does. She is the most optimistic and courageous person I know. “Do you fear failing?”
“No. I fear never giving it a go. Failure at least means one tried, doesn’t it?”
I hold her gaze. “I asked a pointless question. You won’t fail. I believe that with all my heart.”
“Your belief in me means the world to me, Marsden.”
I want to give her so much more than my unconditional belief in her. I want to be the one to give her the world. Not that she’d take it. She wants to earn it for herself.
The coach comes to a stop. Linnie moves up to the edge of her seat. “Grab two of the tins, will you, Marsden? Mrs. Wilkins lost her oldest boy to a fever a couple of weeks ago. I doubt she’ll be up to cooking a holiday dinner for the family.”
By the time our visit is over, Mrs. Wilkins isn’t even going to be warming the stew that Linnie brought for her. Instead, she and her family will be joining Linnie’s family for a meal at four that afternoon. By the time the last of the bread and crocks have been given out, I reckon there will be nearly twenty people gathered around Linnie’s table for a meal that afternoon, which means when she returns home, she’ll begin preparing a meal for her guests.
Today isn’t the first time that I’ve gone on the charitable rounds with her, but it is the first time I’ve noticed how beloved she is, how kind and generous she is to others. She knows everything about everyone: who’s been ill, who’s suffered loss, who is to marry, who will soon be giving birth.
She truly cares about these people in a way my mother never has, in a way that I want my future wife to care. I want a partner who is interested in more than gossip, balls, and the latest fashions.
When we finally arrive back at the shop, I am weary, but she appears more invigorated.
“Thank you for coming with me, Marsden,” she says as I hand her down.
I smile, “I don’t know where you get your energy.”
“Helping others always revitalizes me.” Rising up on her toes, she brushes a quick kiss over my cheek. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Then she’s bouncing toward the door.
“Will you be coming out with the carolers tonight?” I call after her. A group from the village always comes to the castle on Christmas.
She spins around. “Of course. Perhaps this year, you’ll sing with us.”
“You’ve heard me sing. I’m atrocious. If any of the she-wolves in attendance heard me perform, they’d turn down my suit without question.”
She laughs, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “Then they don’t deserve you.”
Before I can respond, she’s disappeared into the house. But perhaps she has the right of it. Does any she-wolves deserve to be married to a man who will always love someone else?
- Writer
