Annabelle felt her heart leap when she heard three quick knocks on her door. Ben had been out and chasing that brat for roughly a week and a half now – maybe he was finally home, and finally ready to marry!
Springing up from her chair in the parlor, Annabelle raced to the front door and flung it open excitedly, while absolutely grinning from ear to ear. To her dismay, it was not Ben standing in front of her, but rather, a lanky blond-haired gentleman, who seemed very startled by his greeting.
"Oh." She said flatly. "And you are?"
"P-pardon if you were expecting someone else, Miss Cole." He stammered out nervously. "It's just I – I" he cleared his throat. "I'm Henry Smith."
"Very good." She said slowly, still confused. "May I assist you with something, Mr. Smith?"
"Not quite like that, Miss." He smiled at her. "I've seen you around town, heard things-"
"Oh, what are they saying now!" Annabelle spat, livid.
"Just – just that you're still…available."
"Oh." Annabelle softened. "You've come to call!"
"Yes I have, miss. May I escort you on a walk?" he asked cheerfully.
Annabelle softened at this. He was rather cute, and she felt flattered that she asked, but she was so sure that Ben was hers, and she would do nothing to risk losing him. So, she refused. "I'm sorry," she said insincerely. "but I am soon to be Mrs. Ben Davidson, and it would be highly improper for me to be going out on walks with men who are not my relatives."
"Oh." The man's face fell. "I suppose that's true. I'm sorry, I had no idea."
"It is fine. Good day, sir." She said cordially, and then shut the door to him, heading back to the parlor to plan her wedding.
…
If Ben had been keeping count, he could've made an argument that 'I'm looking for a girl named Felicity Merriman' was the most-used sentence in his current vernacular. He said it to anyone whose attention he could catch for more than a second, in hopes that the name would trigger a response, or the oddity of the question would buy him the time to continue his description of her.
He stopped anyone who would listen – shop owners, shop-goers, women, men, young, old – anyone! He didn't know who might have information and who didn't, and he wasn't willing to run the risk of not asking the one person who may know. Few had anything to offer him that would help; most, only condolences, and they did more to increase his desperation than calm his nerves.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" he asked one day, approaching a 30-something woman, holding her daughter's hand.
"Oh!" the woman exclaimed, startled. "Yes, may I help you?"
"I certainly hope so." Ben nodded. "You see, I'm looking for a girl named Felicity Merriman. She's a girl I love very dearly, and her family and I are afraid something has happened to her."
"Oh, well I don't think I know anyone by that name." the woman said sadly. "Could you describe her? She may have passed through."
"Yes, of course!" Ben said. "She's about five foot five, with dark red hair and green eyes. She's of average size, and would most likely be in a simple day dress. She may have mentioned something about Williamsburg, her shopkeeper father, or…me."
The woman thought hard for a second, but eventually shrugged. "I'd like to think I'd remember her – we don't have a lot of people pass through her after all, but I don't know anyone who'd fit that description. I'm sorry."
"No, you've done everything you could have. Thank you." Ben said, disappointed. "Please though, if she does end up through her, tell her we'd all like her back."
"Yes, um, I will." The woman smiled a bit. "Good luck, sir." She turned to her daughter. "Come along, Emmy."
With quick steps, the woman walked up and to the shop nearby, letting go of her daughter's hand in the process. Little Emmy stood behind her mother for a minute, wavering, and then dashed back to Ben.
"I know how you can find her!" Emmy said quickly.
"What?" Ben asked, more than a little confused. He wasn't kidding about taking whatever help he could get, but this girl must've been no older than seven!
"Go to the fortune teller! Go to the fortune teller!" She said quickly. "I'm not allowed to see her, but she knows everything."
"How would she possibly-"
"She knows where your Felicity is, and she'll tell ya, I swear it." Emmy continued quickly. "She lives in the woods, in a big tent house, like a real fortune teller should!"
Ben's eyes flicked up – the woods were visible from here. What if the little girl was right?
"Emily!" a harsh voice cried out, her mother having returned, with hands on hips.
"Comin' momma!" Emmy dashed off again, leaving Ben in the middle of the road.
He didn't even need another second to think. Any lead, any opportunity – he would take it. He hiked his pack up again, and headed towards the woods, where this fortune teller would hopefully be able to give him some sort of real lead!
…
She wasn't hard to find – she was running a business after all. Emmy was right – her house was covered in so many tapestries and sheets that Ben would've believed it was comprised of only that. The woman herself, dark-skinned and dark-haired, sat outside at a little table, looking pleased that he had arrived.
"Ah, I knew that you'd find me." She said dreamily.
"I feel like you're supposed to say things like that."
"Perhaps." She shrugged. "Now, tell me what you'd like help with."
"Aren't you supposed to know?"
She merely glared at him, and Ben figured it'd be best to not push his luck.
"Okay," he began. "I'm looking for this girl-"
"Your happiness."
"Yes, my…Felicity." Ben felt taken aback. Did she mean it as a synonym or just a noun? "She's run away, we think, and I have to find her. I just have to. I'll take any help you can give me."
"I should say the same." The woman picked up a jar and shook it a few times.
Ben sighed and fished some coins out of his pocket, dropping them in and looking back up at her.
"Good." She nodded. "Now, let me tell you the truth."
"Please."
"You're relying too much on fate."
"Huh?"
"Asking random people where she is, seeking out magic you clearly don't believe in, running about with no plan, no organization, you're leaving it up to fate!" the woman shrugged.
"Well what else am I supposed to do? I have no clues, no-"
"Hey, I'm talking now!" the woman pointed a finger at him. "Moreover, you expect to find her, and then have everything fall into place. She'll love you back, she'll come home, and all will be well. Now isn't that pretty?"
Ben was silent.
"She ran away, she didn't run away with you. There's a very important difference. You must use your agency, boy! Make a plan to find her, go place you know she would go! And when you find her, make sure she knows your feelings, make her feel good about returning! Make her feel safe and understood!"
"I-I suppose you're right." Ben said quietly.
"Of course I am! You don't pay me to be wrong." The woman huffed. "Confidence in pursuit, clear goals, these are the keys to success!"
Ben gave her a half smile and said "This is all very good, but not very fortune teller like. I expected more…I don't know."
"Crystal balls and prophecies?" The woman snorted.
"Well, yeah, I suppose."
"You paid well, so I'll humor you." The woman rose and walked inside her home, returning with a crystal ball. "Good service makes referrals and repeats, anyway." Sinking down to a cross-legged position, she waved her hands over the ball and closed her eyes. "Listen well, soldier boy, for every word I say is vital to what I mean. Your beloved maiden hides is a kingdom that only appears safe to her. She wears a disguise, but, alas, she is not the only one. She lives among shapeshifters, men with great powers to be one way, yet appear another. Soon, very soon, he shall reveal his true form. The night that he does, he will give her a terrible potion, and you must be there before he does! Or else, great harm will come to her." With a final flourish, she folded her hands and looked up at him.
"Wow." Ben half-laughed. "Then I best be on my way."
"You have what you need, boy." She pointed northwest. "Head off."
Ben thanked her, and started off on his way, to a little town called Ashville. It would be quite the journey, and he most likely wouldn't arrive until tomorrow evening, or even after that.
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