A Rancher's Wife
By,
Victoire Faye
The clear drops of rain fell down onto the earth in a cool, careless and jubilant way. They soaked down into the deep rich soil and then found new life in the air as the swirling fog that coated the forest. Spring was everywhere now, warmth was every where. The large trees of the forest held up their leaves to the sky and covered the little wildflowers that grew along the path. Sweet smells hung in the air, and euphoria coated the world.
A horse's hooves danced through the woods and through the tunnel formed by foliage, its master was covered by a cloak and draped elegantly over the saddle. If anyone was to see the traveler from afar, they could not swear to it that the person even existed- partly for the heavy air and because of the sheer mysticism. To the passing eye, the horse and traveler were nothing more than a fancy, or a dream. They moved across the mind like a breeze over silk.
She was not dream, this girl on her horse. In fact she was not just a girl. She was a princess. Her long and thin fingers clutched the bridle and moved with the beast as if she was conducting a symphony, her cloak covered her but could not contain her radiance. As she moved, hair streamed out behind her curled and twisted into golden spirals.
Her heart beat like the horses hooves. She could not contain it. Her stomach churned. She could not calm it. A smile broke onto her face, and she could not erase this either. The morning was her time and the woods her haven, her life story was unwinding into the heavens like the disappearing fog.
The horizon bore a town, and the rising sun split through the tree line. She slowed her horse, and rode into the town without notice from even one of the birds. An inn was nestled on the main road, and inn she barely knew but thought of often- a part of this town that filled her heart with memories she longed to have. The traveler left her horse at the stable and lifted her riding habit over the mud. The pub on the floor of the inn was dark, and an old woman made her way to the desk.
"My lady, I require a room. Only for the morning," said the invisible princess.
The lady cocked her head and look at the maid in front of her with suspicion.
"We charge by the day. It's ten rupees for the night. No less." Pieces of gray hair fell into her eyes and over her wrinkled forehead.
Without words, the princess put the money on the desk. Her room was small, but it would do. Out of her pack she pulled brushes and combs and powder. Quickly, she began to wash and anoint her body with perfumes from Arabia, and she joined the front sections of her smooth hair into a braid behind her head, and let the rest hang down in waves. The girl discarded her habit and stuffed it in her pack, and smoothed the wrinkles of the white dress brought with her from the castle, and as she dressed she admired the colored flowers stitched into the bodice.
She walked out into the world, barefooted. The rain had stopped, and the ground was still moist and the air still sweet. The ranch sat in the distance; he would be resting now, or preparing to herd the goats back into the barn. A smile crept across her face, and she began to walk, and thoughts of him filled her head.
As she began to climb up to the fields, the girl stopped along the river, and peered at herself- her powdered face, her comely dress. How funny, she thought, that she had made every effort to look like a princess, yet she planned to ask to be nothing more than a rancher's wife.