Day 4 – Dusk

Belle appreciated the silence of the door as it swung open and closed as she stepped inside with a basketful of garden herbs; Gaston had fixed the squeaky hinges, along with having dusted the top shelf of Belle's bookshelf that neither she nor her father could reach, and had even sealed the windows to safeguard against rain.

She was sure that he would return later after promising to do so, and was actually eager to see him again. It was so nice to have company and a helping hand, especially in her father's absence. Even if that company was Gaston, he wasn't all bad, and it was nice to have a strapping young lad around.

He was acting like… well, like a husband. It was something, she realized, that she could get used to.

"Belle?" Gaston half-inquired, half-greeted as he entered the cottage.

Belle shouted to him from the kitchen. "In here, Gaston."

The inventor's daughter was busying herself around the dining table, laying out china plates and wooden mugs and dishes of food. Gaston hurriedly threw down his saddlebag and rushed to help her.

"Merci, Monsieur," Belle said with a flirty wink and a slight curtsy as she set the tray, handed to her by Gaston, upon the table. She wondered briefly when she had become so bold. Perhaps she was beginning to find Gaston the slightest bit appealing. And he wasn't being nearly as obnoxious as Belle originally believed him to be; in fact, he was being quite charming, helping around the house and currently setting the table for supper. Perhaps her gratitude toward him was altering her perspective.

It was the least she could do to cook for him after he had saved her life and fixed up their ailing cottage.

"Mademoiselle," Gaston returned, flexing his biceps as he sat to eat the feast laid out before him. Belle had gone all out: roasted golden potatoes, simmering soupe à l'oignon topped with bubbly fromage blanc, a broiled ham on a bed of cabbage and steamed leeks, and, of course, more wine that Gaston had snatched from the pantry, despite the disapproving glare Belle had given him for popping it open and taking a swig.

Gaston whistled in appreciation. Belle blushed and nervously tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"This food looks almost as good as you," he complimented with a hearty laugh. Belle rolled her eyes and sat at her place across from him; she had learned very recently to take everything Gaston said and did in stride.

"Did you, um, have a nice day in town?" Belle asked as she set her napkin in her lap. Gaston merely shrugged. He did the same thing he did everyday; make the rounds, without actually buying or selling anything. It wasn't Belle's business, and even if it was, he didn't want her to know how purposeless his life was.

After a quick grace, complete with giddy, nervous laughter between Gaston's jokes and Belle's sips of wine, they ate in silence, with Gaston practically inhaling his meal while Belle timidly ate her soup, every now and then looking pensively out the window or pouring another glass of Bordeaux. The sky outside was darkening, and clouds were rolling in from the south horizon, threatening rain. She looked at either her bowl or the sky, never at Gaston.

Gaston huffed and watched her, never shifting his gaze, becoming ever more impatient. He couldn't stand the quiet. He couldn't stand her not paying any attention to him.

No one ignored Gaston!

"What's on your mind, Belle?" he finally asked with a contented sigh as he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and propping his muddy boots up on top of his empty plate.

Belle absentmindedly turned to him. "Pardon?"

"Here you are, breaking bread with the most desirable bachelor in town, and yet you insist on gazing out the window instead of at me. What's got you down?"

"Oh," Belle responded mechanically, as if she hadn't heard the question. A few moments of registration passed before she spoke again. "It's… I'm still worried about my father."

Gaston's expression turned downward. He was tilting his chair on its back legs, scratching the stubble on his chin as if he were thinking deeply about what had Belle in such a foul mood.

"Who knows? Maybe he lost his way. Ended up in Germany." Gaston chuckled as he pictured Belle's father in bright green lederhosen, desperately asking ugly Bavarians for directions back to France, and none of them stopping to give him the time of day. "Crazy old Maurice."

Gaston expected his little joke to cause Belle to laugh, or at least smile, or even get angry with him for being "insensitive", but instead–to Gaston's dismay–she exhaled and put her head in her hands. Her shoulders slumped, defeated.

Awkward.

The littlest gear in Gaston's head began turning; perhaps Belle really was upset about Maurice being away for so long. Not everyone was as independent as Gaston. Especially not an unmarried young woman who still lived with her father and was quickly developing a drinking problem, evident by the fact that she was topping off her goblet yet again.

"Or maybe his horse died, and he's trying to get a new one so he can travel back home."

Stupid.

Gaston scrubbed his palm over his face. He was only making the situation worse. But for some inexplicable, unexplainable reason, he wanted to cheer Belle up. He didn't want her to worry.

When he looked back at Belle, however, she was peeking at him between her fingers with an amused smile on her face.

"W-what?" Gaston asked, his face suddenly hot. Why was she looking at him like that? With those… bedroom eyes?

Embarrassing.

"Thank you for trying," she giggled as she reached for her glass.

Humiliating.

Gaston stuck a finger in his collar and tried to loosen it. After a long, but ladylike drink of her wine, Belle straightened up in her chair before standing to clean the table, oblivious to his turmoil.

"It's been just him and I for so long," Belle explained as she traveled from the table to the washbasin with a carefully balanced stack of porcelain. "He's all I have left in the world."

The words stung; what would she do if she lost him? Belle shook her head to clear it. She mustn't think that way.

Suddenly, something caught her foot, twisting and knotting around her ankle. In a flash, she was stumbling, and falling backwards, the plates falling from her hands as she lost her grip. Big, strong arms encircled her torso, and the last thing she saw before the sound of shattering pottery met her ears was two hairy forearms clutching her rib cage.

"Dammit, Belle," Gaston muttered; not cursing at her, but at himself. He had caught her from behind before she hit the ground. Belle, in a daze, looked up to see an apologetic frown plastered across his handsome features. The thing that had caused her to trip and fall was the leather strap to Gaston's saddlebag that he had carelessly thrown down earlier. In the struggle, its contents had spilled out, and were now mingling with shattered ceramic shards. A rag, a pair of hunting gloves, a vial of oil, a flask, a handful of coins, hair tonic, a book–

A book?

Perhaps it was the Bordeaux, or Belle's passive nature, that allowed her to forget the mess of plates, if only for a moment. They could replace them later.

With what money? She shooed the thought away.

With Gaston still holding her above the floor, Belle reached forward and lifted the dusty book, wiping the cover with her apron to read the title. As if Gaston couldn't be any more deceiving.

"The Canterbury Tales?" she breathed. She felt him tense against her back. "You really bought it. I can't believe it."

"What's so hard to believe?" Gulp.

"Forgive me, Gaston, but I thought you only went in the bookshop that day to follow me. I should have never doubted you."

Gaston gulped again. "I'm just… full of surprises."

Excited, Belle straightened up and flipped the book open to the Wife of Bath's prologue. She was reminded of her mother the instant she saw the illustration. Not that Belle's late mother bore any resemblance to the haggardly old maid with red hair, but nostalgia was a powerful and overbearing feeling that washed over her, all the way down to the inventor's daughter's toes.

"Here, why don't you read it to me?"

Moving chairs together and sitting at the table, Belle was laughing now, playfully leaning against Gaston's side, her hand brushing his forearm as she turned the book towards him. Although the hunter felt that it would be appropriate for him to laugh as well, he couldn't. She was holding the book out to him. He didn't take it. She stopped her chortling when she realized he wasn't being merry with her. His face was intense, thick brows drawn together, lips pressed into a hard, thin line.

Belle tilted her head towards him. "Gaston?"

Unwilling to admit the truth–not directly, anyway–a cryptic Gaston allowed Belle to move out of his embrace as he took the book from her. "I can't."

It dawned on Belle, at long last, that Gaston couldn't read. How would he? And why didn't she figure this out before? She felt pity for him; being illiterate seemed to explain many, if not all, of his "boorish and brainless" behaviors.

"You mean… you never learned?"

"I learned. It's just been so… long."

"Well, here. I'll help you."

"I was hoping… I was hoping you would read this. To me."

The thrill of sharing the one thing that brought her joy–Belle earnestly clasped her hands over her collarbone to keep them from visibly trembling. "Really?"

"I don't know why I bought it. I can't read it. But you said it was one of your favorites, and… I don't know. I've been carrying it around for days, for no reason. No reason at all. But now… yes, I want you to read to me. If you'd like, I mean."

Trying not to appear too eager, Belle pursed her lips and nodded. "I'd love to."

–

A knight, traveling on his horse, was captivated by the sight of a beautiful maiden in a meadow. Without a second thought for the girl or her dignity, he took her maidenhood in the field. When the deed was done, the distraught maiden fled to the Queen to report what had transpired between her and the knight; he was collected and brought to court, where he stood trial before the Queen and her council, who addressed him.

"The crime you have committed, by common law, is punishable by no more or no less than death. However, should you solve my riddle in one year's time, your miserable life shall be spared. My riddle is this: what do women desire most?"

Bound by honor to return in precisely a year and a day, the knight set out, traveling on his horse over the continent of Europe, as well as the span of many of the Arabic and Oriental trade routes. During his travels, he came across many women–old and young, fair and dark, frail and plump–each with a different desire. A Romani woman desires wealth. A servant girl desires love. Many others desire beauty, fame, youth, children, and good health. By the end of the year, the knight was no more sure of an answer than he had been when the Queen first asked him the riddle. Despaired, the knight finally journeyed home, coming across an elderly maid in an enchanted wood along the way.

"Good knight, pray tell, why do dark clouds hang upon you?"

And so the knight told the hag of his predicament. She clucked her tongue when he revealed the riddle, swearing with a hand over her breast that she knew the answer. Promising to grant the old woman any request at any time in exchange for the answer, the maid whispered in his ear, and he thanked her before riding out of the forest.

On the morrow, the knight appeared before the Queen, as arranged. When she again asked the knight what it is that women desire most, he declared, confident in his answer: "What women desire most is sovereignty over their husbands."

The Queen reasoned that this was an acceptable answer.

"Where, sir knight, did you learn the solution to my riddle?"

Before the knight could reply, the elderly maid entered the court.

"It was I, Your Majesty. I met him in the wood, and, in return for my aid, he has given me his word that he will grant me my one request: I would like to be bound to this knight in holy matrimony, under your eye."

When the Queen turned to the knight for confirmation of this request, the knight lamented that what the woman said was true, and he had agreed. He begged the Queen to spare him such a fate; he would rather have the punishment of death. But, on his word, the old woman and the young knight were wed the next morning at dawn, in a joyless ceremony overseen by the Queen. The knight then hid from his hideous bride for the day, only returning to her in the evening, where he lay in their bed as stiff and frigid as a corpse.

"Do all husbands shirk from their wife's touch on their wedding night?"

"No, it is not common."

"Then why is it common with you?"

"O woe, you are old and ugly," the knight wailed.

"I may not be as young as I once was, nor as pretty, but I offer you all the love that a wife should offer her husband. Is that not enough?"

When the knight didn't reply, the woman offered him a choice.

"You can have me as I am- ancient and grotesque, but a faithful, loving wife, who will never stray from your bed- or young and beautiful, but scarce to be found when you are away and other men turn their eyes upon me."

The knight considered her words; to have a wife who shared a bed with a different man every night, despite her beauty, was a horrendous apparition. Yet, to have a wife as elderly as she, despite her loyalty, was no more comforting. He thought about what he had learned in his travels, as well as what his new wife had taught him, and answered the hag at last: "I would rather have you old and faithful than young and adulterous. Alas, it is not my choice to make. I know now what women desire most. You must do what it is you wish to do."

Suddenly, the room was filled with light and fairy-magic. The knight's wife had transformed into a beautiful and young enchantress. So captivated was he by her beauty, that he swept her up into his arms before she could explain that, because he had learned his lesson well, he shall have her as both youthful and faithful. They lived happily together until the end of their days.

–

Belle closed the book with a sigh. Before she could turn to see Gaston's reaction, she heard a gentle snore, like the hum of a honeybee, and immediately felt his warm breath on her chest. He was fast asleep, resting his head on her left shoulder, his hair loose and coming apart. A quiet gasp escaped Belle's lips as she took in his face; his peaceful expression made him almost boy-like, his features softened by both candlelight and uninterrupted slumber. Unable to resist, Belle reached up and softly stroked his face with the back of her right palm, feeling the tender scrape of stubble on her smooth skin.

He really was quite handsome.

Smiling to herself, Belle carefully brushed Gaston's unkempt hair back with her fingertips before turning back to her book. She wouldn't admit to herself that she wished to touch him more, but instead was content with reading into the night with his body so close to hers.