The Girls of North Town #4
They carefully hauled the hot pots to the long dining table, resting them on folded towels to spare the polished wood.
They didn’t let the fire die, only swapped in wide, shallow pots filled with water to start boiling the jars.
As the kitchen steamed up again, Helen uncovered a fresh loaf of bread, and the scent of it mingled with the berries—warm, yeasty, soft. Dragonfly’s stomach growled.
While they filled each jar with slow precision—ladle, wax, lid, twist—they tore small hunks of bread and dipped them into the bowl of preserves. The sweetness melted on her tongue, sharp and wild from the blackberries but mellowed by heat.
For a while, they didn’t talk much. Just the scrape of spoons, the hiss of boiling water, the soft click of glass. It was work, yes—but also a kind of ritual. And Dragonfly liked the way it made her feel, useful, trusted, part of something good.
Helen’s enormous seadog puppy, Dolly, soon plodded into the dining room, her thick paws thudding softly against the stone floor.
Even with all the windows thrown wide, the heat had driven the shaggy creature out earlier in search of cooler air.
Now she returned with her nose lifted, nostrils twitching at the scent of hot fruit and fresh bread.
“Hello, my darling girl,” Helen cooed, reaching down to offer her a plain slice of bread. Dolly accepted it with regal solemnity, then flopped her heavy body on the floor.
“I love your puppy,” Dragonfly said, wiping her hands on her apron. “How old is she?”
“Maybe five or six months. The Blue Isle captain wasn’t sure exactly. Nic came with me to Nereid to pick her up—back at the end of May.”
Dragonfly smiled at the image. “How did you ever get your parents to agree to it?”
As she spoke, she twisted the lid onto a jar—but it scraped wrong. Too loose. She sighed and reached for another.
“My father said I could have a seadog if I paid for it myself,” Helen replied. “He said if I wanted something so frivolous—something impractical, instead of clothes or shoes or jewelry—then I had to figure out my own way.”
A Blue Isle seadog... That was no small indulgence. Imports from the isles were notoriously expensive, and one look at Dolly—with her thick silver-touched coat and soulful eyes—told Dragonfly just how rare and prized she must be.
“How did you manage to get the money?”
Helen lifted her wrist, jangling half a dozen glittering bracelets.
“I made these. Earrings and necklaces too. I’ve been selling them to the Blue Isle sailors when they come through to trade.
It took almost two years to save up. My parents loaned me the money for the materials, and once I’d paid them back, I had just enough for my puppy. ”
Dragonfly blinked, surprised. She’d assumed the jewelry was a hobby, not a business.
“Have you ever met Arion’s father’s seadog?” she asked, curiosity stirring.
Helen nodded quickly. “I admired his dog for years. But his dog is elegant and mature. Dolly’s more of a... monsterette, as Nic likes to call her!”
Dragonfly laughed, carefully placing the next round of jars into the water bath. “She seems well behaved to me.”
Helen brought over more jars. “I have Nic to thank for that. Even though he pretends he’s not fond of dogs, he has such a way with her.” She paused, her eyes lighting up. “Do you want to see what he gave me for my coming-of-age?”
Dragonfly nodded, her curiosity piqued.
Helen darted off into the next room, skirts whispering along the polished floor.
Dragonfly adjusted the jars, steam curling up from the water bath and clinging to her cheeks. Her hands moved by habit, but her thoughts drifted.
The more she learned about Helen, the more the edges of envy softened into admiration. She wasn’t just the steward’s beautiful daughter—she was clever, kind, quietly determined. There was something luminous about her, the way sweetness didn’t make her small but expansive.
Maybe that was why she and Nic—so different in shape and spirit—fit so well. Her softness smoothed out his rough corners, and his boldness lit a fire in her.
The stern voice of an older woman drifted faintly down the hall—Helen’s mother. Dragonfly stilled, hands frozen over the last jar. The muffled exchange was hard to make out, but the tone left no doubt, Helen was being scolded.
A minute later, she reappeared in the doorway with her hands tucked behind her back. The light in her face had dimmed. Her eyes—those bright, dancing blues—were glassy now, rimmed with the shimmer of unshed tears.
Dragonfly’s chest pinched with concern. “Were we too loud? Should I go? I don’t want you to be in trouble.”
Helen offered a wan smile, but her voice betrayed her. “Oh, it’s not that. My mother doesn’t mind you’re here. It’s alright. Really.”
Dragonfly hesitated. They barely knew each other—was it too soon to ask? But the moment felt fragile, and honesty might be the only thing strong enough to hold it. “Why was she scolding you?”
Helen blinked fast, then wiped her cheek with the hem of her apron. Slowly, she pointed to the red blemish on her cheek.
“My mother said I hadn’t washed properly,” she said, voice tight with shame. “But I do. I really do. My skin just—doesn’t look the way it should.” Her voice broke, and tears slipped freely now, glistening trails on her flushed skin.
“Oh, Helen,” Dragonfly murmured. “Me too. My sister even took me to see Doctor Fol once because she has perfect skin and I don’t. He told me it was just part of growing up. Maybe he could talk to your mother...”
Helen gave a small shake of her head. “I know it’s not my fault, but when she points it out like that, it makes me feel like I’m failing at something I can’t even control. I act like it doesn’t bother me, but it does. It really does.”
“I get self-conscious all the time,” Dragonfly admitted. “Even my sister—she’s so pretty—but sometimes she still picks at herself in the mirror.”
Helen sighed, her whole posture softening. “I guess that’s something we never grow out of.”
“Maybe when we’re ancient and wrinkly we’ll stop caring,” Dragonfly said with a small grin. “But until then, at least our joints still work.”
That earned a laugh, and just like that, the shadow passed. Helen lit up again—her laughter full and bright, like a lantern relit.
“Let me show you Nic’s gift! Hold out your hand.”
Dragonfly did, curious. Something about the size and weight of a small pear dropped into her palm—and she gasped.
A wooden seadog, perfectly carved.
“Nic made this?”
Helen’s pride bloomed so radiantly it was almost blinding. It poured through her like sunlight—adoration, wonder, joy. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Dragonfly turned it slowly in her hands, marveling. The wood had been left natural, sanded until it was satin-smooth. The fur was carved in soft, delicate lines. The eyes held expression. Even the tiny toes were exact.
“I had no idea,” she whispered.
“He started it after our first date,” Helen said, her voice trembling. “After I told him how much I wanted a seadog.”
There was no denying it—Helen was utterly in love with him.
“He must’ve spent so much time on it,” Dragonfly said.
“You didn’t know he was carving this?” Helen asked.
Dragonfly shook her head, still staring at the dog. She’d never once heard a word about it. Not from Nic. Not from anyone.
Clearly, Helen wasn’t just a tryst.
Why had he hidden this? Why keep something so tender, so carefully made, a secret from his friends?
There was more to Nic than swagger and flirtation. A quiet depth. A thoughtfulness he rarely let show.
Dragonfly turned the carving once more in her hand, heart twisting strangely.
The girls walked into town side by side, baskets swinging gently against their hips.
Dragonfly’s was warm against her palm, filled with freshly sealed jars of blackberry jam.
Helen’s carried something entirely different—her flowing dancing dress, the bodice, the slippers—all tucked neatly beneath a folded shawl.
Even packed away, the garments shimmered with the promise of performance.
As they reached the square, Dragonfly spotted Nic sprawled on a stone bench, head tilted back, eyes closed, the very picture of lazy indifference.
Dolly, who had trotted faithfully behind them the whole way, gave a delighted bark and bounded forward.
She ignored every passerby and bee-lined straight to him, rousing him with a cold nose to the chin and a gloriously wet tongue to the cheek.
Nic groaned and sat up, rubbing at his face with theatrical misery.
Dragonfly held back a grin. She paused near the meeting hall steps, waiting as a younger class finished up inside.
Helen turned to Nic, pressing her lips briefly to his cheek. “See you after,” she whispered, before dashing off toward the White Villa garden where Larissa was already waiting.
Nic watched her cross the square, his eyes soft in a way that didn’t match his usual sarcasm. He looked almost... wistful.
“It’s nice that you two are getting along,” he said, tossing the words out like breadcrumbs. “Maybe you’ll become best friends, and I won’t have to put up with Larissa anymore.”
Dragonfly smirked. “Are you really just going to wait here the whole time until Helen’s out?”
He shrugged, scratching Dolly behind the ears. “What else would I do? Might take the beast down to the lake if she gets too squirmy.”
Just then, the meeting hall doors swung open, and a pack of children spilled out—whooping, barefoot, full of mischief and speed. Their shrieks echoed off the stone buildings as they tore through the square. The teacher for the next session slipped inside with barely a glance.
A moment later, Collin emerged from the hall, his book bag slung over one shoulder.
His eyes found hers immediately.
He smiled—wide and bright and real—and something inside her lifted like a banner caught by a sudden wind. She smiled back, cheeks flushing.
Then the bell rang, summoning the older students inside.