Chapter Twenty #3
In the end, Azizi purchased four dolls—the one I’d not let go of since little Marie had handed it to me, one for herself, and one each for her father and brother. I’m sure I’ve never seen a child so excited to be handed a handful of coins before, nor heard so many ‘merci’s’ being offered at once.
“Good luck on selling the rest, Marie,” Theodore offered sweetly as he took my hand and tucked it back into the crook of his elbow. “We’ve more of the festival left to see, but you make sure your mama lets you have some fun too while you’re here, yes? Don’t waste the whole day working.”
“I will! Merci!”
“Come, there’s someone I’d like you both to meet.”
He does not wait before dragging us both back into the crowded street, eager and quick. I cannot help but mirror his excitement, soaking it up like soil soaking up the rain. It’s infectious, Theodore’s happiness, and judging by the fond smile ever-present on Azizi’s lips, she feels the same.
After some weaving through the crowded square, we arrive at a little shop with dozens of braided ribbons dangling from the overhang.
A lovely yellow evening dress and a handsome slate suit sit on display in the front window, framed by various fabrics and hats and gloves, and above the door is an old, but sturdy, faded sign.
‘Sew and Tell – Bespoke Tailoring & Alterations’.
Though not quite as much as the streets outside, the little shop is fairly busy when we step in—ladies pulling their escorts around by the hands as they admire the various gowns and hats on display, older women comparing the laces and trims that hang from one of the walls, children poking about at a table of braided ribbons and coloured wool that must have been set out for the festival itself.
Despite the low buzz of noise and the many faces and people I do not know, I find the store rather comforting.
Cozy in a way I cannot put my finger on.
Perhaps it’s how comfortable Theodore is here, the latent tension in his shoulders easing as soon as we pass over the threshold. Like he knows this place better than the streets outside and knows that there is safety within its walls.
“We sell a lot of ribbon and wool on festival days, as you can imagine,” the boy tells us, leading us further into the shop.
“We usually have a booth out in the market for the festival. I used to work it while my father worked here, but now that we have Manon—our new salesgirl—she’s out handling the stall, which allows me to enjoy the whole festival, for once. Now where—ah! There he is! Papa!”
Even if I hadn’t been there when Mr. Villin convinced Azizi to hire help all those months ago, it is obvious the man who turns to face us is Theodore’s father.
They look remarkably alike—with the same thick eyebrows and the same button-shaped nose.
They even share the same dark hair and floppy curls, though the elder bares significantly more grey in his.
The only thing missing is the abundance of freckles dotted across Theodore’s cheeks.
A trait he earned from his late mother, perhaps?
“Theo! My boy!” The man grins wide and hurries to set down the bolts of fabric stacked up in his arms, dusting his hands off on his trousers. “Thought you’d stop by soon! Enjoying the festival?”
Theodore matches his father’s grin perfectly. “We are! Though we only arrived a little while ago. I wanted you to meet my companions before the night got away from us. If I remember, you already know Lady Azizi Alilovi?.”
Azizi smiles politely as Mr. Villin bows his head to her. “A pleasure to meet you again, Monsieur Villin. I must say, your son has been a most welcome addition to my household. I thank you for his recommendation.”
“Ah, well—” The man’s cheeks turn a splotchy red, and he tugs shyly at his coat. “I said he was a good boy. I thank you for giving him a chance, Lady Alilovi?.”
“And this,” Theodore interrupts, patting my hand where it sits in the crook of his elbow as if to grab my attention, “is Lady Kolfina Everleigh. She’s taken residence with LadyAlilovi? for a time.”
The name surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn’t.
The de Klein name is not a common one, and with the history of my house so deeply rooted in the cliff above this village, it is no surprise that Theodore would hesitate to use such a recognizable name.
My death may have been decades ago, but there are still those alive who might remember it, who might remember me, and Theodore’s father is one of them.
And isn’t that something? The idea that someone might know me, might remember me?
Remember who I was before I lost it all?
Is it possible to find someone in this village who could tell me stories about what I was like before?
Who could fill in the endless gaps in my memories?
Could I find the woman from my vision, the one who bid Theodore to wait for my song to be over before mourning his mother?
Would I want to?
Something in Mr. Villin’s eyes changes as he looks at me, his head tilting just slightly to the side—the same way Theodore’s does when he is thinking deeply on something.
“Lady Kolfina, ah?” I worry for a moment if he does remember me.
If he is trying to place the name and face with one in his memories.
Whatever he is thinking, he quickly brushes it aside with another smile and bow of his head.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lady. Hope my boy isn’t giving you too much trouble now. ”
With no way to repeat the greeting, I offer him a polite smile and a shake of my head, trying to ignore the strange fluttering in my chest that I cannot identify. Hope, maybe? Fear?
If Theodore notices his father’s strange look or my nerves, he makes no show of it, only continues on with that same excited smile of his.
“Kolfina writes the most beautiful music, papa. You should hear her play. And Azizi paints the most beautiful works. It’s fascinating to watch, really, the both of them. When I’m not working, that is.”
My chest flutters again, this time lower and quicker, and I know if I could blush, my face would be burning with how easily the praise falls from the boy’s tongue, as if it is natural for him to speak to his father about us. As if he is happy to speak of us.
And perhaps he is. Mr. Villin has a certain expression on his face as Theodore continues to babble on, one of fond amusement that settles in the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. It looks at home on his features, as if it’s been there his entire life—or more likely, Theodore’s entire life.
Had my father ever looked at me like that, I wonder? Had anyone ever looked at me like that?
Cheers echo through the town square, filtering through the shop door and causing me to jump in surprise. Mr. Villin chuckles at the reaction and waves a hand toward the noise. “Sounds like the show’s about to start. Best get going now before you miss too much.”
Though Theodore looks reluctant to leave, he relents upon seeing my and Azizi’s curious looks. “The schoolchildren put on a play every year reenacting the founding,” he explains easily. “It truly is the best part of the festival—other than the dancing, of course.”
“Yes, and you best be going! Stop bothering an old man trying to work!”
Theodore rolls his eyes fondly before leaning forward to press a kiss to each of the old man’s cheeks. “D’accord, papa! We’ll come say goodbye before we leave. Don’t work yourself too hard, or I’ll be cross with you in the morning.”
“Bah! I’ll work as hard as I please, boy! Now out with you!”
Theodore’s laughter sings through my bones as he guides us out of the shop and back into the festivities outside.
It settles somewhere between my borrowed ribs, growing like moss until my entire chest feels full and fuzzy with it.
I want to burrow my way into it and rest there where it’s warm and soft.
I want to leave an imprint in the shape of me pressed into that welcoming green, want it to mold and grow around me until I am surrounded. Protected. Safe.
Home.