Belle spun wool until the tips of her fingers grew thick with calluses. Very often, at the request of Rumplestiltskin, she neglected her usual duties, in favor of more time at the spinning wheel. She quickly realized the advantages of keeping house by magic. Whether accomplished by Belle's hand or the unseen forces of the Castle, the chores were never overlooked. While her hands measured dozens of yards of wool, the dust refused to settle on Rumple's collection, clothes folded themselves, and the floors were always swept clean.
When Belle became restless and felt the need to move about, she explored the castle grounds. Summer had arrived, and the earth sang its song in blooms of every color. Belle delighted to meander through the many gardens alone with her thoughts. Smelling the fragrant perfume of a thousand blossoms, she gratefully accepted an hour of tranquility.
Each day she ventured outside, a new discovery awaited her. First, she came across a fountain which resembled little stone fairies frolicking at the edge of a pond. Belle could not remember ever seeing it before. The next day, she found a garden path hedged in all around with every variety of rose she could name and many she could not. And then, there was the shaded gazebo where she spent a lovely, restful afternoon remembering the best parts of all her favorite books.
The day arrived when the all the wool had been spun. Belle cradled the skeins of yarn gently in her hands. Her first skein was worthless, but Rumple had said she should expect as much. The others, after being soaked and weighted to set the twist, had been given his subtle seal of approval. She remembered how far away his eyes looked as he handled the loose strands of yarn. His eyes were looking centuries behind the coiled loops of wool. He had muttered something which sounded like approval and dropped the yarn back on top of the basket.
With great excitement, Belle began to work secretly on the next step in her plan. One afternoon, while Rumple was out of the house on business, she stole up to his study. Her eager hands found the only book in his collection which she could read and dared to touch. She scanned the pages of the alchemy guide, learning everything necessary to make her plan a success. When she had gleaned all she could from its pages, she returned the book to its place, leaving the study as she had found it.
Now, her daily walks in the garden were more for scavenging than pleasure. Of the plants, flowers, and roots she could identify, she gathered as many as could be used for her scheme. Hoping to keep her stores hidden from Rumplestiltskin's quick eye, she stored her supplies in the darkest corner of the pantry. Once or twice she crossed his path unintentionally while scurrying to the kitchen. He had asked about the copious amounts of flowers in her basket.
"Well, what have we here?" he questioned with a twinkle in his eye. He gestured to the overstuffed basket, "Pruning the garden?"
Belle chewed her lip, "I thought I might put some fresh flowers in my room. Cheer things up a bit."
He grinned and answered, "Cheer up a dungeon with flowers? You'll want another basket."
Belle looked at him curiously. Either he knew nothing about the transformation of her room or refused to acknowledge his good deed. Without further comment, she passed by him and continued down the hall. She would let the matter drop for now.
Once she had collected enough, she processed the roots, washing, dicing, drying, and grinding the pulps until they yielded a fine powder. It would have been easier to do this sort of work in the study; however, the room lacked privacy. To her benefit, the kitchen was also stocked with pots, kettles, and mortars and pestles. All the necessary materials were at her fingertips. Now, she could work in solitude.
One afternoon, she prepared two pots of boiling water. In the first pot, she placed several cut up potatoes, carrots, onions, and a portion of roast. In the second, she added a mixture of alum, which was readily available amongst the pickling and canning supplies, and cream of tartar. After the second pot had cooled a little, she added more water and a generous portion of the root powder she had made last week. She was measuring out her ingredients when she heard the light, but confident step of boots on the stones just behind her.
"Bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble," sang the high-pitched gleeful voice of Rumplestiltskin with a laugh. He added, "What a charming little witch you are, dearie, standing over your cauldron."
She started and turned around quickly, holding her hands behind her back. She hoped he would not see the small tins of alum and cream of tartar. "Just working on a stew," she stammered.
He pointed at the two pots, "Are we expecting company?" She shook her head, and he eyed her warily.
Deceit had never been one of Belle's strong suits, and even the best liars could not fool Rumple for very long. With a quick movement, Belle hurried back to the counter, using it as a shield as she pocketed the metal tins. She chopped more carrots.
"I thought, since I don't have any more wool to spin, I might brush up on my cooking skills. Try a new recipe or two."
"Mmm," he hummed to himself as if testing the truth of her words.
She dipped a spoon into the stew pot and lifted it out, "Taste?"
He held up his hand and shook his head. "I'll wait." He sniffed the air, which Belle knew reeked of musty roots. "Add some rosemary," he resolutely suggested before turning on his heels and stepping out of the room.
Belle heaved a sigh of relief and checked the hallway to make sure she was alone. Rumple was headed up the stairs with a basketful of straw. Certain she would be left alone, Belle returned to the kitchen. She pulled the yarn out of the basket and began to submerge the loops into the second pot one by one with a long wooden spoon. As the stew in the first pot simmered, Belle rinsed the dyed yarn in vinegar and water then crept up to her chamber where she hung her woolen handiwork up to dry.
A/N: Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! I treasure each one.
