On returning home, Rumpelstiltskin could not banish the thought of that strange scene which he had participated earlier that day. Bae continued to think of the ways of how the book could get from Belle to them and made up stories, one more incredible than the other, about her past. She could be a magical fairy that turned into a human for an offense, Bae inspiringly composed, pacing beside a cart. Or a beautiful princess, like one in his tale, stolen from home by a powerful sorcerer. Or maybe...
"So much romance, Bae" Rumpelstiltskin shook his head "It's certainly much more primitive. Maybe she stole it from a noble lady, or from the master's children, and then sold it to the junkman. You've seen it yourself; she'd make a better use of the money, than of the book".
"Papa, the next time I'll bring her food. I do not know how, but I must. I'll catch some fish in the lake, or a rabbit. Will you help me, Dad?"
"Of course, child" the father sighed, remembering with difficulty when was the last time they ate a rabbit. It seems it was the last birthday of Rumpelstiltskin. He never mentioned this day of the year, but somehow Bae always remembered, and brought him gifts. That year he began to learn how to do snares for rabbits in the month before the birthday, and the whole week he was setting them insistently and raced through the forest, in hope of booty. On his bithday, he proudly dragged a small young rabbit, jerking his long ears in amazement and puckering his little black nose. Neither Rumpelstiltskin nor Bae had the heart to kill the bunny, and he lived with them for a week, until one night he was bitten on his paw by their old shepherd dog, rather of fright than of anger. Bae mourned the fate of the rabbit, even though he knew the outcome, and Rumpelstiltskin was happy, looking forward to a rich and delicious dinner with fine meat.
The sun was almost gone over the edge of the rolling plains when Rumpelstiltskin drove the last sheep into the barn and closed the gate, intending to take his son home from the lesson, rather than waiting until he decides to finally break away from the teacher's explanations. When Dorothy was telling something interesting, the boys sat there, akin glued to the floor, and sometimes Rumpelstiltskin listened to her sensible explanations with pleasure himself. Dorothy was his neighbour for a long time, even before the war, where she lost her husband. She had never supported Mila in neglecting her spouse, repeatedly reminding that the duty of a wife is to be a man's encouragement and support, and not condemnation. She knew what she was talking about. Her beloved husband died before seeing his youngest son, and though she had two older daughters, keeping the house alone was not easy, not to mention Milah, who would have been absolutely lost with a newborn baby, penniless and without any skills that would help her earn money. Dorothy herself had knowledge of medicinal herbs and ailing, that her father taught her, and she learned to read and write well, being in the service of a noble maiden in the town, where her father sent her, when she was a girl. Years later, Dorothy coped with the absence of a spouse, established her way of life, selling herbs in the city and took charge for treatment of peasants, lacking nothing.
Rumpelstiltskin hardly opened the gate of her yard when Bae ran towards him with his eyes burning, grabbed his arm and pulled the door open, hurrying the father.
"Hurry, Dad! Dorothy is telling cool things! About our lady!"
Rumpelstiltskin raised one brow and followed the boy, who was bouncing with impatience. Too often the fate began to collide him with the girl, which he had previously not heard a word of.
"Oh, Rumple, you old curmudgeon! Did you really refused to give the book?" a woman's voice sparkling with laughter, came from her usual place in a well-made wooden chair with a high back. In Dorothy's kitchen there stood four unpaired, mismatched chairs: a small stool, painted with daisies, an elegant ottoman with wrought-iron legs, a large army stool and a light walnut chair, yet he himself, Rumpelstiltskin sadly recalled, had a single bad-nailed bench waiting for him a home.
"Bae, do you have to tell all to everybody? Why don't you tell something good about me, and not expose me as some kind of a monster" - he chided his son half-heartedly.
"Come on, Dad, all ended well, didn't it?" - Bae flashed with smile. "And Dorothy is telling us about Belle! You should hear it! Dorothy, tell us from the very beginning, please?"
"What, all over again?" - The healer moaned sadly, raising his hands to heavens. "Okay, so first comes first. Rumple, you pour yourself some tea and take a bun ..." – said Dorothy and vaguely waved toward the table somehow nervously.
Rumpelstiltskin took chamomile stool readily and poured himself a cup of tea with chamomile and mint. He laid the bun next to him on the table, trying to be polite but secretly intending to give for Bae to feast upon.
"So, my dears,"- the woman began her story again, looking at each of them in turn with a conspiratorial grin. "French, as you told me, Bae - it's not a nickname, it's a family name."
Children let out a sigh of awe, though they had heard it for the second time. No one in the village had any family names, because only gentlemen had it.
"She was born in a wealthy family of a merchant," she continued "and was the youngest in the family. Her father and mother were no longer young, because apart from Belle, the youngest daughter, they had three sons and two daughters. They were good people and they truly loved their children. Her father often traveled the kingdom and brought strange gifts for his children? Which were objects of envy of the entire district. They were rich, oh, how rich they were! The father, Sir Maurice French, advanced in metal trading. He was buying large quantities of ore from the mountainous provinces and supplied almost the entire south of the kingdom. He had a forge and a lot of workers. He melted iron and other metals and made alloys strong, fit for gates or ploughs, or soft and shiny like gold, of which kettles and coins are made. Sir French was a clever man, but slightly erratic with his head in the clouds, I tell you. He, of course, invented some useful alloys, but more often he was making some completely useless and impractical inventions. Their estate was cluttered with creepy mechanisms, do believe me. I went in there once, because I served her mother as a child, heavens be merciful to her. Rumour has it he even wanted to go into alchemy. Maybe it was that that became his undoing."
"What's that?" Interrupting each other, boys fidgeted on a knitted rug by the chair of a healer.
"An explosion!" She exclaimed and waved her hands in the air. The boys were silent and hugged her knees, waiting to hear the continuation of the bloody and tragic story.
Rumpelstiltskin, puzzled, followed the story of Dorothy. It looked like Bae was right indeed, and a much more sad story of the ill-fated book was hiding in the darkness.
Dorothy's dramatic pause came to an end, and she continued the story again.
"Apparently, some ghastly experiment went wrong in his workshop, and a terrible explosion thundered, which was heard in all the neighbouring villages. Cattle from nearby fields run up so that it took very long to the farmers to gather again sheep and goats, which were lost in forests and many of them eaten by wolves. So, when people got to the place, the whole house was in ruins. And a terrifying black smoke billowed over it. All the family and servants were dead, everyone who was in the house. People did not want to approach the terrible place, but after a couple of days those hunting for profit were already scouring the ruins. Then she was found. She was twelve, as I recall. How she survived is unclear. Probably she wasn't in the house and walked in the garden.
Quite undamaged she was, only her mind was corrupted since. When they found her, she was sitting by the corpses of her father and elder brother, half sticking out of the ruins. She sat there and rocked. This is how she was after that. Sometimes she seems to be waking up, says something, but still very little sanity remains in her. She lived in a shelter for a couple of years until she was pushed out as she came of age at sixteen. Since then, she lives on the streets, here and there. She performs artless tasks for a butcher and a pharmacist when and gets food for her work. Few people know her story. This is the story of her life. And your book, Bae, was probably found by looters and sold. The End. And now, little boys, go and get an apple from the cellar, but quickly before I change my mind!" Dorothy waved her hands, driving children into the cellar ."
"And now I need to talk to you, Rumple".
Dorothy turned to Rumpelstiltskin, who was thoughtfully pinching off small pieces from the bun in his lap, with a serious and anxious expression. The man choked, transfixed. Close attention to his person always meant some trouble. Did Dorothy want to give up the lessons with his son?
"You were in the town. Have you heard about the decree?" She asked him.
Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. He forgot to ask, what the matter was, discouraged by unexpected emotions from meeting the town loony.
"Well, you'd better have. It will most likely affect you too." the worried woman told him. "Duke sent out decree telling that all widows and unmarried girls should choose a groom to marry before the first day of summer. Those, it says, who can not choose by themselves, should apply to the head, which will pick a spouse on the list."
"Why?" Rumpelstiltskin asked in amazement. "Did they get in somebody's way, widows and virgins?
"Can't you see?" answered Dorothy, arrows of anger flashing in her eyes. "After the war, there are few of the people left, and soon a new war is coming. New soldiers are needed."
The healer frowned and crossed her arms. "They always find a way to cause trouble to common people" , thought Rumpelstiltskin bitterly.
"I don't need that" she continued "And that's what I'm thinking of, Rumple - marry me."
Rumpelstiltskin smiled uncertainly, thinking that he missed where to laugh. But Dorothy looked at him resolutely and without a shadow of a smile. His eyebrows went up when he realized that she was not joking.
"Me? ...You? ... Dorothy, I'm ..." Rumpelstiltskin shook his head dumbfounded, his long dark hair falling over his eyes, staring blankly at the floor. "It makes no sense."
"But why , I already thought of everything" the hostess started to explain readily. "I do not need a random husband – an idler, a drunkard, who will beat me and my children. I didn't build my house to have another man with his greedy hands in here. You are a muddle-headed man, but a decent one, and my children know you. Together we can have a better living. Soon the girls will get married too; they have grooms already waiting. It means that there will be a room for you and Baelfire. You'll sell your shack. Well?" Dorothy tilted her head questioningly. "What do you say?"
"Dorothy? It's just ... well ... you cannot just ..." Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, not knowing what to say. His secret dreams about new wife included anyone, but not his old neighbour, a few years older than him. "And what about ... well ..." he stumbled again, unable to express his idea of what should be there between spouses.
"Love? What are you talking, Rumple? My love died long ago, somewhere in the mud of the battlefield." Dorothy's voice was low and bitter. "We have children to love. And we're certainly not handsome, but not too disgusting to look at, we'll reconcile, become friends. And if you decide to beat me up, I'll take your stick away!" the woman laughed, shaking her small curls, sticking out from under the bonnet." Rumple, have you over read the boy's fairy tale? Who can ever be able to love people like us?"
Rumpelstiltskin could not sleep that night, tossing and turning against the wall on an old mattress stuffed with straw. He rubbed his nose, eyes shut , anticipating an approaching headache. Dorothy's offer took him by surprise and filled him with a sense of doom. All the arguments seemed so logical, compelling, right, coming from his reasonable neighbour, and he could find no reasons to disagree. Most importantly, his son would be better there in a squatty warm house, in a company of not merely a good-for-nothing father, but wise and nice stepmother and half-brothers and sisters.
But Rumpelstiltskin felt, nay, knew it will break his hart into pieces. No matter how much he denied it in the dispute with Dorothy and himself, that he does not expect to meet his "true love", yet it would mean the end of any, even the most chimerical dream. What Dorothy offered was practical and reasonable union, deal, not burdened by feelings, promising no "love" or affection in return - just a better chance for the children. Even in his unhappy marriage with Mila there was some kind of love, even if only from his side.
Dorothy warmly hugged him goodbye, clapping on his back, tossing a cloud of flour, which remained stuck to the hands of the hostess.
Rumpelstiltskin could not stop recalling again and again a gentle, affectionate hug of a blue-eyed girl and a quiet whisper tickling his cheek.