Agh... I'm such a procrastinator. And I keep starting new stories before I've finished this one. This was actually a really hard chapter to write, surprisingly. And I'm still not completely satisfied with how it turned out. But I made it extra long to make up for the ridiculously-long wait. It's actually the longest chapter I've ever written, LOL. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for being such loyal readers, even though I'm taking forever!

Harvest Festival

The harvest festival was nearly the highlight of the year for the village and farmer folk… next to Christmas, that is. Weeks of backbreaking work in the golden fields, reaping the ripe grain culminated in a week-long celebration of the gathering in of the year's bounty. It was more than just a celebration… it was a time of thanksgiving to the Lord for His bountiful blessings.

For as long as she could remember, Sarah had participated in every moment that she possibly could of the harvest festival. When she was younger, and lived in the village, her father had gone out with the reaping crews into the surrounding farms and she often went with him. Some of her most cherished memories stemmed from that coveted time of riding atop the wagon as the men worked alongside, swinging the heavy scythes to the rhythm of the reapers' songs and the women bound the bundles of grain to toss onto the wagon as it moved slowly through the field. When she tired of riding in the hot sun, she would go with the other children into the apple orchards to pick in the cool shade or the gardens to dig the potatoes and gather the beans. With a group of rowdy children, however, digging potatoes and picking beans always became a rather dusty or even muddy mess, depending on the weather. Though Sarah prided herself on neatness, she always let that go during harvest time and arrived home each night covered from head to foot in dirt with her hair tangled with leaves and bits of straw. Her mother would shake her head in mock disapproval as she worked the tangles out of the golden hair and scrubbed the dirt from the little face. But Sarah always heard her laughing about it with father, after she had gone to bed.

"Did you see little Sarah? So covered in mud that I near mistook her for a little stray kitten. Dear girl, she must have worked so hard today!"

But that had all been years ago. Since Sarah had grown older and taken much of the responsibilities of the palace kitchen, the harvest season was like a distant and far-away dream. She still reveled in her memories, smiling as she stepped from the kitchen in those rare moments where there was not work to be done, to catch faint snatches of the reapers' songs from far away in the distant valley. But no matter how busy she was, she never missed her chance to attend the festival. For years she had gone with her parents. But now she was sixteen… and old enough to go with… a young man. But just a friend, she told herself, nothing more.

Sarah begged her day off from Rachel's father, knowing he would be the most understanding. He agreed to her going one day… no more. He was sorry it couldn't be longer, of course, but it simply wasn't possible. He finally resorted to drawing up a literal schedule, assigning a day off to each of the kitchen maids, no more than two at a time. Sarah was given the first day, and Millie had the same. Rachel was to go the following day, escorted by an old friend from the village… the son of the village blacksmith, no less. And she was nearly vibrating with her excitement. But as excited as she was, Millie was still more so. And Sarah nearly pitied her… Jack seemed so… indifferent.

Will and Sarah left early on the morning of the festival… so early, in fact, that they completely missed Jack and Millie, who did not arrive in the village until nearly an hour later. The hills and fields surrounding the village was alive with people that clear autumn morning, all dressed in their finest linen and homespun, singing on their way. Sarah lifted her face to the sapphire sky, reveling in the golden sun, her eyes alive with excitement. In spite of the heavy basket she carried, filled with apple tarts, she skipped lightly down the road at Will's side. Will had offered to carry her basket, but on account of the fact that the basket contained apple tarts, Sarah decided it would be wise not to trust him with it. He pretended to be mad, at first, but it didn't last. After all, how could one possibly be mad when one was allowed to wear normal clothes for a whole day? He had expressed great relief at not having to wear the uniform. Or stand like a tin soldier in court while the king and various diplomats discussed incredibly boring affairs of state.

The village was a veritable hubbub of excitement. The streets were crammed with people and the noise of laughter, of shouting, of music all combined created a deafening din. And yet through all that clamor, Sarah still heard her name being called. Forgetful of her apple tarts, she shoved the basket at Will and ran, pushing through the crowd, to throw herself into her father's arms.

"How's my girl?" he cried, laughing, as he spun her off her feet as he always had. "I declare, Princess, you're the very image of your mother! You look more like her every time I see you!"

"Where is Mama?" Sarah interposed eagerly. Since she had taken over so much of the work in the kitchen, her mother had gone home to stay. She had taken a job in the village bakery, as chief cook, and had wanted Sarah to join her, but Sarah had decided to stay at the palace. She loved her work. There were, of course, more reasons than one that she stayed, although she did not admit them, even to herself. Because of the demands of her job, she scarce was with her parents more than once a month.

"She's setting up a stand over at the market… such piles of tarts and muffins and pies, I'm sure I've never seen. But she's desperately eager to see you!"

Remembering Will and her own tarts, Sarah returned to reclaim her basket and made a show over counting the pastries inside. She needn't have bothered… they were all there.

"Did you honestly think I would steal one?" Will asked in mock disbelief.

"You have, ere now," Sarah shook her head in disapproval.

Sarah pushed through the crowd, weaving her way around the endless stands and booths that had been set up. In her eagerness to find her mother, she didn't even stop to look at the array of goods the festival was offering. Not only the colorful abundance of ripe fruits and vegetables as well as baked goods on every street corner, but hand-carved figures, scented soaps… anything imaginable. The harvest festival was the only time of the year when the latest fashions came in. The most beautiful of fabrics, laces, and millinery as well as a wide array of the popular "fashion babies", little dolls dressed in the newest styles.

Sarah found her mother's stand quickly enough, though it was rather difficult to actually see her mother, behind the high stacks of trays filled with baked goods. The reigning fruit of autumn, the apple, was the predominant factor in the countless pies, tarts, and cakes that lined the tables just outside of the village bakery. Will became once again the sadly mistrusted guardian of Sarah's basket as she ran to meet her mother.

"Sarah, dear," Anna laughed as her daughter's enthusiastic stream of chatter finally slowed. "There's someone I want you to meet. I have a helper for the festival this year." As she spoke, a young girl stepped out of the bakery, wrapped in an ample white apron and bearing a tray laden with muffins. When she caught sight of Sarah, her eyes lit up and she hastily set down her tray, hurrying to meet her.

"Ella!" Sarah cried, recognizing her old friend instantly and throwing her arms around her. "It's been so long!"

"Seven years!" Ella laughed, nodding in agreement. "It's been too long. How I've missed you!"

Sarah introduced Ella to Will, who was promptly forgotten as the girls chattered on endlessly, almost drowning each other out in their eagerness to spill all the news of seven years' past.

"Do you remember," Sarah grinned. "That day you told me you would be a princess someday? And marry a prince?"

"I'll never forget that old dream of mine," Ella returned, eyes sparkling. "I suppose I've grown more sensible since then. But… I still do dream, sometimes." she lowered her voice. "Is the prince still as handsome?" she said it flippantly, laughing as she did, but her eyes seemed to reveal that she hadn't become quite as sensible as she claimed.

"Even more so," Sarah answered, laughingly. "And, from what I hear, the king is simply desperate to get him betrothed to a foreign princess. But the prince insists he will only marry for love. A hopeless case, if you ask me," she shrugged airily. But then the girls nearly collapsed in giggles.

"As long as I have my dear father," Ella continued, suddenly growing serious and thoughtful, "I have no need of fairytale castles in the sky. I am content." But her eyes grew sad. "He is not doing well these days," she added softly. So softly, that Sarah was not quite certain what she said. She was about to ask, when she noticed a young couple not far off. Although both were dressed simply, identical to all the other villagers, she recognized them immediately and whispered to Ella.

"See there? By the well. That's… that's John Stewart… from the palace."

"And the girl with him? Do you know her?" Ella asked, unsuspectingly. "I haven't seen her in the village before."

"That's the Lady Caroline!" Sarah's eyes were wide. "I… I can't imagine how she got here… dressed like a servant and… and with a servant! If the queen knew…" But Sarah did not finish her sentence. She wasn't sure just what the queen would do if she knew. But the rumors that had been circulating through the palace indicated that it wouldn't go well with the Lady Caroline.

oOo

Sarah drew the moments of that golden day out as long as was absolutely possible. To be in the village again, surrounded by old friends and old memories… and in the festive atmosphere of harvesttime… what truly could be better? Not much, to be certain. The one and only thing that marred her day was the constant devotion of Jack. He seemed to absolutely haunt her, following her like some sort of faithful dog, but with the air of one who is entirely certain of the victory of his conquest. And poor Millie followed him equally faithfully, with the air of an adoring, worshipful servant. She clung to his arm, looking up at him with green eyes shining with admiration. And he seemed not to even notice her presence.

For the most part of the day, Sarah was able to effectively ignore Jack. It was simple enough, especially when she had Ella to talk to, whenever she could snatch a few moments away from the stand, and Will to walk with and laugh with. Jack seemed greatly annoyed with Will. Such a rival seemed to him almost an insult, for he believed himself to be the pinnacle of perfection. And Will was just a footman. That was nothing. And a shy one at that. Why a butcher should be so entirely superior to a footman was not clear. But Jack entirely believed it to be so.

As the sun set that evening, the villagers gathered in the green. Lanterns had been hung in the surrounding trees, casting a flickering golden light through the dim twilight. To follow with an age-old tradition, every evening of the festival ended with music and dancing. Old Joshua Bentley, the best fiddler in the area, had been called in, along with several other aspiring musicians, and the timeless folk melodies rang across the green, punctuated with merry laughter. Sarah loved to dance and had always participated. But she had always and only danced with her father. He came to claim her, as usual, for the first dance and she joined him willingly, laughing at his antics. He never really followed the folk dances as accurately as he knew how to.

"It's more interesting when you change things up a bit," he always said. "If you do the same steps every time, you might forget how to be original."

And so he moved to the right when the others moved to the left, spun Sarah in a circle when everyone else was promenading down the line, and promenaded when the others were spinning.

"Really, Papa," Sarah laughed, gasping for breath, when the music paused. "You're going to cause a collision. Everyone's staring at you!"

"Are they?" her father grinned. "Shows that they know real talent when they see it! But enough of this. I've had my dance with my little girl. Now I think there's someone else waiting for you."

Sarah looked up at her father in surprise, then turned to see who he had just indicated with a nod. Will was standing to the side, watching her with a funny half-smile. The music was starting again and Sarah went to him suddenly and, without warning, drew him into the circle of dancers.

Will was, surprisingly, a good dancer. Sarah would never have believed it of him. And she told him so. But he just laughed at her and said he wasn't any good at it.

And that was when the evening took an abrupt turn. How it happened, Sarah was never really sure. She only knew that, as she turned at the end of the line of dancers, she was dancing suddenly with Jack. She glanced up at him, both startled and alarmed, and he laughed.

"Well, well, Goldilocks. So you've consented to dance with me after all. I am honored by your attention."

"Jack!" Sarah cried. "How on earth… what are you doing?"

"So you've decided to drop the formalities after all," he grinned. Sarah's eyes flashed indignation and she struggled to get away from him but… he wouldn't let her go. She was forced to go along dancing with him and fuming all the while. It was humiliating… degrading… to be pulled along in this way and not be able to get away. Where was Will? She craned to see over the other dancers but it was too dark. When at last the music ended, she turned away, infuriated, but Jack caught her wrist and pulled her back.

"Why in such a hurry, Goldilocks?" his grip on her wrist tightened as she tried to yank it away.

"If you will kindly let me go," she held her head up high, clutching desperately at her last shreds of dignity. "I must return to my partner."

"That… that… jolterhead?!" Jack exploded. "Listen to me, Sarah, I…"

"So, you've decided to drop that ridiculous name after all," Sarah mimicked, noticing that he hadn't called her Goldilocks for practically the first time ever. Jack pressed his lips tightly together as, without warning, he pulled her away from the others, ignoring her protests.

"What about Millie?" Sarah remembered suddenly. "Did you just leave her by herself? And Will… Will is going to be worried… I don't think he knows where I am."

"Do you think he even cares about you? I can't understand why on earth you insist on being with him when I… why… don't you feel anything for me?"

"No," Sarah returned calmly. "Why should I?"

"Because I love you, Goldilocks."

"That's… that's not true!" Sarah was frightened. She cast a furtive glance back toward the lantern-lit circle of dancers. No one seemed to notice them. "Don't you ever say such a thing to me, ever again!" But before she could say another word, Jack had gripped her chin and, raising her face to his, kissed her.

Sarah backed away from him now, staring at him in silence. Before she could react, someone grabbed Jack from behind and spun him around.

"I've told you before to leave her alone!" someone demanded in a voice Sarah thought at first she had never heard before. But then… she realized who it was.

"What business is it of yours, jolterhead?" Jack jeered, catching on to his new nickname for his rival. Will didn't answer. Instead, he did something Sarah would never have imagined he would do. Jack went reeling from a sudden blow to his jaw and fell to the ground. Sarah screamed… more from surprise than from horror. The music had stopped and a circle gathered round the two young men as Jack jumped to his feet and retaliated with just as forceful of a blow. The struggle was swift but fierce. In but a few moments, Jack was down again, indicating that he had no intention of getting up again soon. Millie was at his side in tears, not noticing that he was trying to push her away. Sarah ran to Will and threw her arms around him.

"I can't believe it," she cried, suddenly realizing that she was crying and not exactly sure why. "But I'm so glad you did it. Why did you do it, Will?"

Will pulled back and held her at arm's length, looking at her with that lopsided grin of his.

"Why not? Couldn't stand the thought of that… what did he call me?... jolterhead… bothering you."

BTW, jolterhead is an 18th century term for, basically, a blockhead... a stupid person...

Important Note: I've gotten over a really busy time and will be able to write more, for now. As soon as I start getting readers again (I'm afraid I lost most of them =P) I'll start posting at least one chapter a week.