Chapter Twenty #2
I furrowed my brow. “Why?” Had I missed something? A half-birthday? A random holiday?
“To thank him for all his help. I know he didn’t want to work at the shoppe, but we should still give him something in return.”
“Right. Of course.” Inside, I winced. Why hadn’t I considered that?
Bri wanted to buy him a new pair of gloves, because apparently his were moth-eaten and worn—another thing I hadn’t noticed.
It was fully autumn now, the air just beginning to turn more than crisp.
There was the bite of frost in the air, and most of the trees were half bare, their branches filled with squabbling crows and the occasional red squirrel.
The walk to the shoppe every morning was about to get significantly less pleasant.
“I was thinking of these,” Bri said, stopping outside the milliner’s shoppe. The gloves she pointed to were thick brown leather, lined with creamy sheepskin.
“Those are quite fancy.” My eyes drifted to a pair of heavy knit gloves in a heather gray, something I could immediately picture on Finlay. He would find the leather gloves too extravagant.
“They’re warm,” Bri said. “He delivers papers early in the morning. His hands must get so cold.”
Once again, I felt chastened for not considering another person’s needs.
Maybe Finlay didn’t find fine clothing extravagant.
Perhaps he was being modest when he said those sorts of things.
Or maybe he was trying to convince himself he didn’t want anything that expensive, since he knew he’d never have it.
“It’s a thoughtful gift,” I agreed.
“I’ll buy them,” Bri said. “Why don’t you go get yourself that dress in the meantime? It’s going to look beautiful on you.”
I thanked her, hoping Trystan would be gone by the time I arrived.
As I walked down the block, I allowed myself to peer into the windows of stores I’d never considered going in.
The stationer, the florist, the gourmet cheese shoppe.
Maybe Bri was right. I’d saved Da’s shoppe.
I could finish selling off our stock and live quite comfortably for a few years.
Most women in my position would begin to look for a husband.
I was still young, and now I would hardly be considered a burden.
I purchased the dress and a matching ribbon, earning an approving smile from the shoppe owner. “We got this in from Upland last week,” she said as she folded the dress into crinkly white tissue paper. “I know several girls who will be quite envious.”
I had the feeling this comment was supposed to make me feel good about myself, the way owning a magical object made some people feel special. But it had never been my goal to be special. All I’d ever wanted was to be like everyone else.
Back on the street, a young man strolled past and tipped his hat at me. No one had ever acknowledged me that way before, and I turned away before he could see me blush. What was the matter with me? I had no need of a gentleman’s attentions, and certainly no desire to be a gentleman’s wife.
My reflection in the jeweler’s window stared back at me. What do you want? it seemed to ask.
I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing my imagination to supply an answer.
But Finlay had been right that evening by the burn.
I didn’t have a clear picture of my ideal future.
All I had were bits and pieces—laughing with Bri in the shoppe when we’d made a big sale, the way Finlay looked at me when he thought I couldn’t see, stepping into the library in Abundance, holding a genuine dragon tooth in my own hands—that didn’t add up.
When I reopened my eyes, a gold pocket watch winked up at me from its bed of indigo velvet.
Now that, I thought as I leaned in to examine it, was a gift.
Yule was fast approaching, the one time of year I remembered to give something to Finlay, usually a homemade gift like knitted socks.
Last year, he’d given me an embroidered tea towel from his mother and a little hand-painted porcelain trinket dish adorned with chrysanthemums. Alas, I had no trinkets to fill it with, but it sat on my nightstand regardless.
On a whim, I darted into the shoppe and purchased the pocket watch, not even bothering to haggle. I was too afraid I’d change my mind. I shoved it into my pocket and hurried back toward the milliner as Bri was stepping out.
“All set?” she asked, glancing toward the window of the shoppe we’d met in front of. “Or did you want to buy some cheese?”
I smiled. “I’m good on cheese.”
We found Finlay at the printing press, laying out letters for the day’s paper. “Bri, Willow,” he said when we entered. “How’s business?”
“Good,” Bri replied, going to stand near him while I loitered in the doorway. “We just saw Trystan.”
He did his best to smother a grin. “I did, too. He walked past earlier. Even with his hat pulled low, it was obvious he had no hair. What did you two do to him?”
“It was Bri’s idea,” I blurted.
He turned to her and smiled. “In that case, well done. It was a fitting punishment for his years of bullying.”
I couldn’t help feeling that if I’d taken credit for the prank, he would have showed some disapproval. But it had been Bri’s idea, regardless.
“How is the repayment for the cart coming?” I asked. We’d offered to pay off the debt for Finlay, but he had refused, saying it was his responsibility.
“Jack is letting me pay him in installments, fortunately. Otherwise this winter might have been harsher than usual.”
“That’s generous of him.”
“He’s a good man. I don’t know where Ma and I would be without him.”
“We got you something,” Bri said, stepping forward to hand Finlay the gift.
It was wrapped in gold paper and tied with a dark red velvet ribbon.
I watched Finlay’s reaction closely, wondering if I’d been right in thinking he’d find the gift ostentatious.
But though his ears pinked and he glanced at Bri and me several times as he unwrapped the paper, I realized I couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.
“These are beautiful,” he said, holding up the gloves. “What can I possibly have done to deserve them?”
Bri looked to me, giving me silent permission to take credit for the thoughtfulness, but I gave a small shake of my head.
“You helped us open the shoppe!” she said. “Besides, you need something warm for delivering papers this winter. You deserve them, Fin.”
I could feel Finlay’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“Thank you both. They’re wonderful.”
“You have to promise to use them,” Bri said.
“I promise.” Finlay set the parcel on the counter and resumed laying his typesetting.
Bri went to stand next to him, peering over his shoulder at the metal and wooden letters. “Do you need any help with that?”
Before he answered, I glanced at the clock and realized how late it had gotten. I was going to miss my meeting with Wexley. “You stay and help, Bri. I’m going to head home early, if that’s all right. I have a lot of … laundry to catch up on.”
They both stared at me as though I’d grown a third eye. “Um, that’s fine,” Finlay said. “I can bring Bri home on Fergus later.”
“I can walk home myself,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“It’s dark early now. I don’t mind.”
“Great!” I said, in a voice that was overly chipper and completely out of character. “I’ll make dinner, Bri. See you at home.”
As soon as I was out of the shoppe, I inhaled a deep lungful of air. It was cold and sharp with the scent of burning coal and woodsmoke, but it was a relief to be out of Finlay’s presence. What was wrong with me? When had I become so daft?
I kept my head down as I walked, not wanting to greet the people who knew me by name now.
Even still, several recognized me and waved hello, forcing me to acknowledge them.
Two additional young men tipped their hats, greeting me as Miss Stokes.
I was tempted to duck into a store to buy a cloak with a hood to hide my face, but I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t run into someone I knew in the process.
For years, all I’d wanted was the acknowledgment and respect of my community.
Now that I had it, I found myself longing for obscurity.
As I passed a group of laughing young men I recognized as cronies of Trystan, it struck me for the first time how vulnerable I was now.
Another benefit to being the town outcast: no one had seen me as worth robbing, and no man would have sullied his own reputation by seeking any kind of dalliance with me.
I’d walked past Wexley’s brick town house countless times, but I’d never paid it any more mind than the other fine homes along this street. In fact, I rarely walked this way, because I knew I’d likely earn dark looks.
I approached the house and knocked lightly on the door, which was answered by a man so large I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. “Ehm, hello. I’m Willow Stokes. I have an appointment with—”
“This way,” the giant said, leading me down a dimly lit corridor into a parlor, which I quickly realized wasn’t a parlor at all.
I was in a cabinet of curiosities.