A/N Not too fluffy, but I thought it was necessary for this collection. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.

Dedicated to: Bach's prelude in C major



Prélude


"Deliver it straight into the hands of the Lordship Midwinter," Dorcas's father had told her. Dorcas in turn had given her father a look that would have singed anyone looking directly at it, save her father, of course. He was immune to such things.

"Well, who else would I deliver it too, father?" she asked testily. Her father only shook his head at this and sent her out the door.

The Midwinter estate was a good one mile walk from the post office, so Dorcas was pleased when her father had asked her to deliver the postbag. He had been hesitant about sending his daughter to do a postman's job. "Not old enough," Dorcas muttered as she made her way through the woods that surrounded the manor. "I am fifteen! There is no reason he couldn't trust me…" she said, scowling. She was perfectly capable of delivering a postbag.

Dorcas was pleased to see that the sun was out and shining; for the past two weeks there had been rain, and she had been longing to go outside. She was so happy that she didn't even mind walking through several patches of mud. It was only afterwards that she realized that her petticoats would be stained through. "Oh dear," she murmured, lifting her skirt to get a good look at them. "Zillah won't be happy…"

On her way to the estate, Dorcas noticed an elder tree surrounded by beautiful yellow cowslips. She looked around guiltily before making a dash for the tree. As she knelt down to pick some, she realized that she had forgotten about the task at hand. Well, she reasoned, it's not as if I have much to occupy myself with after this…

Dorcas fell to temptation and dropped to her hands and knees in the flowers, breathing in their sweet fragrance.

"And what do you think you're doing?" a voice rang out. Dorcas looked up to see who the intruder was.

"Picking flowers," she replied insolently at the rude inquiry.

"Do you realize that this is the Midwinter estate?" the man, rather, the boy asked.

"I do," Dorcas said.

"Then you know that you are trespassing."

"Who are you?" Dorcas asked rather impulsively. She regretted the words immediately after they left her mouth, but she wasn't going to let the boy notice that.

"Timothy Midwinter," the boy said, bowing slightly. "And you are…?"

"Dorcas Lane."

"Dorcas… I remember you from school!" the boy cried out, a smile appearing on his face.

"And I you," Dorcas said, standing up. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate…," she murmured almost to herself. "You read Shakespeare's sonnets well," she admitted. "But that was some time ago."

"Indeed, it was. I have long since finished my schooling." The boy scowled for a moment, and Dorcas couldn't help but think that it was mildly attractive. "Regardless," the boy said, "you are still trespassing."

"Am I indeed? Well, consider this, Master Midwinter. Who does this land belong to? England, of course. So what right have you to put a claim on land that has already been claimed? None whatsoever. So perhaps it is you who are the trespasser." Dorcas said quickly.

Timothy's brow furrowed in confusion. What was this girl talking about? The land was his, quite simply, and now she was just confusing him. "Regardless, the land is legally property of the Midwinters."

"Isn't it also property of England? And I am a citizen of England, so I have as much right to this land as you do."

"Look, could you just please leave?" Timothy asked, approaching the girl.

"No, I cannot. I have something very important to do."

"And that would be picking yellow flowers, would it?"

"They're cowslips if you must know," Dorcas said, implying that anyone who didn't know that was an utter idiot, "and no, that is not what I must do."

"Well then, pray tell, what is it you need do?"

"I must deliver the Lordship Midwinter's postbag," Dorcas shot back, tilting her head upwards.

"You may give it to me, and then you may leave," Timothy said, getting a little tired of this whole charade.

"I may not!" Dorcas exclaimed, clearly quite shocked. "It would be against post office regulations."

"Well then, by all means, follow me," Timothy said, dryly. Dorcas followed Timothy to the estate where she was greeted by the sight of his Lordship Midwinter himself. The elderly man seemed to be so frail that a breeze could knock him over. Dorcas gave him a small curtsey before presenting him with his post bag. Not a word was exchanged between the two.

Dorcas turned on her heel and left, planning to pick some flowers on her way out.

"Candleford is that way," a voice behind her said. Dorcas jumped and turned around, finding herself face to face with Timothy Midwinter.

"Is it your policy to follow people out your door?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "I shall pick flowers, and you shan't stop me."

"But—"

Dorcas had already started running towards the elder tree.

"Dorcas, wait!" Timothy called out, but Dorcas paid him no heed. For the second time that day, she fell to her knees among the flowers. She found the brightest flowers and commenced picking them. "At least… Let me help you," he said, offering his hand.

"You? You're too old to pick flowers."

"Me?" Timothy scoffed. "I'm scarcely five years older than you, I am sure!"

"Well, all right, but you can only pick the brightest ones, and make sure the ones you pick aren't dying."

"Like this one?" Timothy asked, holding up a particularly bright specimen. Dorcas nodded, seemingly pleased. Well, she thought, perhaps this Timothy boy might not be too irritating…

A/N Enjoyable? I know it wasn't actually their first meeting, but I thought it was close enough. Leave a review, if you please! Oh, and if anyone can guess the significance of the chapter titles, I will be impressed. ;) Danke. ~ the shattered star