CHAPTER 9

Gaston put the box of dresses on his cart with a sense of satisfaction. Genevieve would be pleased, he thought. He had bought four different dresses, all beautiful, and all of them the very picture of what he saw all around him as the fashionable ladies of Paris strolled past him on the avenue or alighted from their luxurious carriages. It was just what she had asked for.

But what else could he do to impress her? I should buy her a present, he thought. But what? He had no idea what she would like. All he knew about her was that she was a seamstress, but he had already gotten her the dresses. He needed to think of something else. Not jewelry, he thought with a shudder, remembering the debacle with Celeste. No, it had to be something unique and different - something that would really spark her interest. He had to get her to fall in love with him, so he could finally turn back to the old Gaston. He started to walk, looking in store windows for inspiration.

He paused thoughtfully by a bookshop. Normally it was the last place he would ever enter. But Belle had loved books - maybe Genevieve did too. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He could just picture it: an ugly, lonely girl, sitting at home all by herself day after day, escaping her drab life by reading books and filling her head with romantic, fantastical nonsense. A book would be perfect, he decided.

He entered the bookshop. The door jingled. An elderly man with glasses came forward. "Bonjour. How may I help you?"

"I need a book," Gaston announced boldly.

"Of course," said the bookseller. "But what kind of book?"

There are different kinds? Gaston thought. He looked around, but the shelves, with their rows of spines, all looked identical to him. He tried to recall anything Belle had ever said about her books. It was difficult - he had usually tuned out any conversation that wasn't about him.

Then it came to him. "Ogres and beanstalks," he said triumphantly. He was certain she had been babbling about a book like that one day in the marketplace, while he had tried unsuccessfully to turn the discussion to his latest hunting conquest. It had been very annoying.

"Fairy tales, do you mean?" asked the bookseller.

"Yes, fine," said Gaston, already losing interest. He just wanted to pay for the book and get out of this dusty, dull place.

The bookseller selected a book with a red velvet cover and handed it to Gaston, who flipped through it. At least it had pictures. "I'll take it." He paid the bookseller, who wrapped up the book, and left.

Twelve days later, he was back in Reillanne. He had gone there straight from Paris, skipping his peddler's route entirely. Genevieve was the key to breaking the spell, he knew; he'd never have a better chance than this. He couldn't waste time wandering all over France.

He knocked on her door. She opened it, and he was gratified to see a look of delight come over her face. "Gaston! What a pleasant surprise."

"Isn't it though? I'm just full of surprises," he agreed.

"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," she said, stepping aside so he could enter the house.

"I didn't want to keep you waiting," he said, handing her the box.

"Oh, are these the dresses?" She opened the box and took them out one by one, examining them closely. "Oh, Gaston, these are perfect! Thank you so much!"

Score one point for me, he thought. It felt good to have a female reacting so positively to him again, after five years of rejection.

"I brought something else for you," he said, handing her the wrapped book.

She looked surprised and pleased. She hadn't been expecting a present. Gaston watched with anticipation as she opened the package.

"Oh! It's...a book. A book of fairy tales," she said, clearly disappointed. But she recovered almost instantly, and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you very much! That was so thoughtful of you. You're very generous."

Gaston was not fooled. "You don't like it?"

She looked embarrassed. "Truly, I'm so touched that you would get me a gift. It means a lot to me."

"But...?" Gaston pressed. "Come on now, tell the truth."

She sighed. "Well...to be perfectly honest...I'm not much of a reader. I've never really liked books."

She was surprised to see him burst out laughing. "Really? You don't like books? That's great!" To her utter astonishment, he took the book out of her hands and tossed it onto the fire.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in bewilderment.

"I hate books!" he explained, still grinning broadly. "I wanted to get you something, but I didn't know what you would like. I once knew a girl who loved books, so I thought maybe you did too. But I can't stand them myself."

Genevieve started laughing too. "Neither can I!" she admitted.

She went into the kitchen, still chuckling. "I was just about to have dinner. Come, sit down and join me. It's the least I can do after you wasted your money on me."

Gaston followed her and sat down at the table. "It wasn't a waste. It was worth the money to know you're not going to bore me to death talking about books."

Genevieve was bustling about the kitchen, getting the food ready. "What's funny is that not only did you buy me a book, but you picked fairy tales, of all things! My mother used to read them to me sometimes, and I always hated them."

"Why?" asked Gaston.

"In fairy tales, all the good people are beautiful, and all the evil people are ugly," she explained. "It's insulting! What does your appearance have to do with how good you are? Growing up, I had enough trouble with Etienne and the other boys calling me a witch, without hearing fairy tales that said the same thing. But I'm sure you've had to put up with the same kind of nonsense," she added with a sigh. "People can be very unkind."

"Yes," Gaston said sympathetically, thinking back over the past five years.

Then it occurred to him that if he had met her before he was cursed, he would have been one of the ruffians mocking her. He felt a twinge of shame at the realization.

Genevieve brought a pot of soup to the table and spooned it into two bowls, then sat down to eat. "Of course, there's nothing wrong with books for people who like them. To each his own, I say. But I never saw the point of it myself. To sit around for hours reading about imaginary stories that never happened...it just seems like a big waste of time to me. There's so much else to do."

"It's true!" agreed Gaston. She had described his own feelings perfectly.

Genevieve went on, "I would rather sew a dress, or make a cake - at least then I have something to show for my time. Or I can visit with friends, or do something outside - work in my garden, ride my horses..."

"You ride horses?" asked Gaston, interested.

"Yes," she said. "I love going riding out in the woods all day. I have two very nice little fillies who are as sweet as can be." She stood up, removed the empty soup bowls, and brought over a platter of fried fish. "Maybe you could come riding with me sometime."

"I'd love to," Gaston replied, meaning it. He had missed horseback riding these past few years. He took a bite of fish. "This is good," he said. "It tastes fresh - did you buy it today?"

"No," she said proudly. "I caught it myself."

He put the fork down. "You're joking," he said.

"No, I really did," she assured him. "I should have spent the day sewing - I have two dresses that absolutely have to be finished by next week. But it was such a gorgeous day today, I couldn't bear to spend it inside. So I went down to the lake and went fishing. It's a nice spot. The fish are always biting - you're pretty much guaranteed to catch something. And it's cheaper than going to the market."

Gaston continued eating, but he looked at her with new interest. He had never met a woman who liked fishing and horseback riding. The girls back home wouldn't do anything that might soil their dresses or muss their hair.

"I like fishing too," he told her. "And hunting."

"Really?" she said. "Are you good at it?"

"I was the best," he boasted. "The greatest hunter in the world. I could bag anything: deer, wild geese, foxes, boar, rabbits, wolves...I even faced down a grizzly bear. I had it made into a rug. The village tavern had a whole wall covered with my trophies."

She looked at him doubtfully. It was hard to picture this little dwarf being a renowned hunter. Still, he spoke with such conviction, she found herself believing him. "You said you were a hunter. But not now?" she asked.

He wondered how to explain. "My eyes aren't as good as they used to be," he said finally. But they will be again, and soon, he thought determinedly, looking at her. She liked him, he could tell. It was only a matter of time, and then he would be that mighty hunter again. He couldn't wait.

"So, you killed a grizzly bear?" Genevieve asked, impressed. "That's incredible. How did you do it?"

Dinner passed quickly as they talked. Gaston regaled her with colorful stories of his hunting exploits, and she listened with genuine interest, peppering him with questions throughout.

Afterward, Genevieve brought out an apple pie for dessert. "This is delicious," Gaston said appreciatively. He was surprised at how much at home he felt here. The cozy kitchen, the homemade pie, the hound dog snoozing in front of the hearth...it was exactly the kind of domestic scene he had imagined when he had proposed to Belle. All it needed was six or seven kids to complete the picture.

Genevieve was looking at him thoughtfully. "I wonder...do you play poker, by any chance?"

"Of course," Gaston replied. "Why?"

"Well...you'll think me strange, no doubt. But I enjoy poker, and I never have anyone to play with," she explained.

He was surprised. "But you're a woman. Women don't play poker."

"I know!" she said. "That's my problem. My father taught me how to play, and I'm very good at it. But the women think it very unladylike, so they wouldn't dream of playing it. And I can't very well go down to the tavern and tell the men to deal me in! I thought maybe you'd play a hand with me. But no betting more than 10 francs; I'm not rich, you know."

He looked at her, intrigued. It was obvious to him by now that she wasn't the dull, drab wallflower he had originally assumed she must be. He was having a far better time in her company than he had ever imagined he would.

He grinned. "You're full of surprises too, you know that? All right, I'll play with you. But I warn you, I never lose."

Her eyes were mischievous. "Don't be so sure."

She cleared the table, fetched a deck of cards, and dealt the first hand. Gaston picked up his cards. A straight flush. Genevieve tossed a sou onto the table. "I'll see you and raise you a franc," he said. She did the same, and he saw her bet. Neither of them chose to pick another card. They laid down their hands.

She had a straight. His hand beat hers. He grinned as he scooped up the money. "I told you, I always win," he said smugly.

She smiled. "The night is young," she warned.

On the second hand, he had three jacks. She kept raising the bet, getting close to the limit of 10 francs. She must have something really good, he thought. Better cut my losses. "I fold," he said, laying the cards down.

She put hers down as well. To his surprise, she had nothing - just a king as a high card. "I bluffed!" she said cheerfully, gathering up the money.

Gaston stiffened, and anger flashed briefly in his blue eyes. He had never been a good sport. And to be beaten by a woman! His gaze flickered to her to see if she was gloating at his loss.

But she wasn't. She was already shuffling the deck for the next hand, as though it didn't matter who won. "This is so much fun!" she said happily. "Thank you for playing with me."

Gaston relaxed. "You're welcome," he said calmly, and was surprised at himself.

He won the next two hands. She won the following hand after that, and oddly, he realized he didn't mind. He found himself enjoying the challenge.

Night had fallen, and it had started to rain outside. They could hear the patter of drops on the roof as they played. But inside the cottage it was warm. The fire crackled in the fireplace and cast flickering shadows on the cards. They talked companionably as the game went on. Gaston was feeling more at ease than he had in years.

Genevieve's eye fell on the mantel clock. "Oh, my! It's almost 10:00," she said in surprise. She had been having a good time and hadn't noticed the time passing.

Gaston reluctantly rose to go. He wasn't looking forward to his empty room at the inn.

She rose too, and walked him to the door. "Thank you so much," she said warmly. "That was the nicest evening I've had in quite a while."

"Me too," he said sincerely.

Genevieve noticed that he lingered on her doorstep, as if he didn't want to leave. He must be very lonely, always traveling from town to town, she thought sympathetically. She remembered how homesick he had sounded when he described the village where he'd grown up.

He asked hopefully, "May I call on you later this week?"

"I'd like that," she said, smiling.

Gaston smiled back, feeling unexpectedly lighthearted.

Then he suddenly remembered his mission. He was supposed to be acting as charming as possible. He took her hand and kissed it as suavely as he knew how. "Bonnuit, mademoiselle," he said with a courtly bow, and left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Genevieve was sewing when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find a plump, cheerful young woman with curly black hair, accompanied by a tousled two-year-old boy. Genevieve smiled in delight. "Nathalie!" She hugged her friend. "It's good to see you."

She kneeled in front of the child. "And Jean-Claude! How's my favorite godson?" She scooped him up and carried him into the kitchen. "I think I have something here just for you." She opened the cookie jar and handed him a gingerbread cookie. He munched it happily.

"Where doggie?" he asked.

She set him down. "Right over there," she said, pointing at Remy. The toddler ran over to pet the dog, who licked his face.

Nathalie sat down at the table. "I'm sorry I haven't been by lately - the last few weeks have been so busy, with the harvest and all. But I've missed you."

"How are you feeling?" asked Genevieve, putting a plate of cookies on the table and sitting down.

Nathalie patted her belly. "Well, the morning sickness isn't quite as bad this time around, so that's a blessing. I still have four more months to go, though."

"Is Jean-Claude looking forward to being a big brother?" asked Genevieve.

Nathalie laughed. "I asked him if he wanted a little brother or a little sister, and he said, 'I want a puppy.'" Genevieve chuckled.

Nathalie took a cookie from the plate. "So, what's new with you?"

"Well..." said Genevieve, with a twinkle in her eye. "I think I'm being courted by a man."

Nathalie stopped in mid-bite. "Really? Oh, Gen, that's wonderful! Tell me everything!"

"His name is Gaston," said Genevieve. "He's a peddler - you've probably seen him around."

Nathalie looked thoughtful. "Yes, I think I have. That little dwarf, right? Not much to look at, though, is he?"

"Well, let's be honest, neither am I," said Genevieve frankly. "And anyway, I don't trust men who are too good-looking. Look at what my mother went through with my father."

Nathalie nodded sympathetically. "He did have an eye for the ladies, didn't he?"

"He certainly did," said Genevieve grimly. "It just about broke my mother's heart." Her father had been exceptionally handsome, but a shameless rake and womanizer. His frequent liaisons had given the town gossips plenty to talk about.

"Well, that's one thing you won't have to worry about with that peddler," said Nathalie. "I doubt he has hordes of women falling for him! But tell me about him - I've only seen him in passing. I've never spoken to him."

Genevieve looked thoughtful. "He's hard to describe. He's just a little guy, not much to look at as you said, yet there's something so...larger than life about him, you know? He's incredibly confident and ambitious, like there's nothing he can't do. He likes to brag, and he tells the most wonderful stories about all the things he's done. He has so much energy and charisma. I really admire him. He's built up this whole peddler route, which can't have been easy, and he's been successful at it. And he likes fishing, and hunting, and horseback riding. Oh, and he doesn't mind playing cards with me!" she added.

Nathalie looked delighted. "He sounds perfect for you! Is it serious?"

Genevieve laughed. "Oh, I don't know. I do like him a lot. But he's probably just being friendly. And besides, he's a travelling peddler - I'm sure he'll be moving on soon."

"You never know," said Nathalie. Her eyes became dreamy as she thought of romantic possibilities. "Maybe you've totally swept him off his feet! And he'll realize he simply can't live without you. So he'll give up the peddling business and take a job here in Reillanne, just to be near you. And then..."

Genevieve laughed. "You're incorrigible! You'll have me married off with six children by next week."

"Would that be so bad?" asked Nathalie.

Genevieve smiled. "No," she admitted. "But wishing and daydreaming won't make it happen. As my mother used to say, 'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.' She bit into a cookie and chewed it thoughtfully. "I just try to enjoy each day as it comes. Whatever will be, will be."

Nathalie shook her head. "Oh, Gen, you're always so practical."

Genevieve shrugged. "Just realistic."

Nathalie said, "Well, I'm going to do some wishing and hoping for you, so there."

Genevieve laughed. "Be my guest. I'll let you know how it turns out."

"You'd better!" Nathalie looked at the clock and got up carefully, holding her stomach. "Well, I'd better be getting back." She scooped up Jean-Claude and carried him to the door. "I'll see you Tuesday at the quilting bee."

"Okay. See you then," said Genevieve, closing the door, and went back to her sewing.