AN: Thanks for the amazing response! So many favorites and alerts and reviews right off the bat. I hope I don't disappoint. Thanks, Beta, for being all kinds of awesome.
Her father needs more twine.
Brittany walks the short distance to town with a skip in her step. The sun is out and shining brightly without burning. The breeze is warm against her skin as it bats playfully at her skirt. The weather is perfect and even though her father is leaving (after she fetches his twine) she can't help the smile on her face.
When Brittany was younger she used to always accompany her father to town. This was due mainly to the fact that Brittany was too young to be left alone. It was also because Brittany loved to atmosphere of the town. She loved seeing the people, the shops, the colors and smells and wonder of it all.
Brittany traveled everywhere with her father. Ever since her mothers passing after she was born, Brittany hasn't been away from his side. He makes musical instruments, which Brittany has always thought is the best skill to have. They used to travel all over the country, selling the guitars and harps and violins and cellos her father made. Brittany thinks that's where her love of travel comes from, her childhood.
Not only does he make instruments, he can play them. When Brittany was old enough to steer Philippe and the cart, her father would relax into his seat and play one of his many instruments. Those were some of her favorite memories. When it was just her and her father and the music.
When Brittany turned eight, they settled into a small town tucked into the middle of nowhere. The town is quiet and far away from any big, jostling cities full of too many people. Her father had told her it would be better to grow up in a small place with lots of familiar faces than in large overcrowded city. He had been right, for the most part. Whenever something terrible happened to someone within the village, everyone was there to help, lend a hand or a donation of some sort. The trouble was though, everyone knew everything that went on. Everyone gossiped.
Brittany tried to never pay attention to that, though. She grew up paying attention to her fathers music, playing in the town square and wishing for more travel and more adventure.
Going into town has lost its original excitement. Brittany feels as if she has outgrown the poor provincial town. She wants to move in the world like she did as a child. She wants to see new things, new people. There are still some fun parts to going into town, though. She always stops by the fountain where the children gather to play while their parents barter. She laughs with them and remembers the days when she was the child playing. She joins their games and twirls them around in hopes of sparking their interest in dance.
Brittany loves dance almost more than she loves her father.
Her first encounter with dance was when she was six and a half. They were invited to the estate of a nobleman who was interested in purchasing one of her father's instruments. While her father negotiated with the nobleman Brittany wandered. She heard music coming from a half open door and moved towards it.
Due to her fathers occupation music was present through Brittany's entire life. In that moment Brittany followed the music and looked inside the open door. A young girl was being moved around the floor by an older man. He counted to her as they glided gracefully over the marble floor of the ballroom.
They were the most beautiful things Brittany had ever seen. They moved with the music became a part of it. She was entranced and watched them.
"I believe we have a spy," the young lady said, spotting Brittany by the door.
Brittany gasped and tucked herself behind the one closed door, peeking around shyly at the two people staring at her.
"I see," the older gentlemen said. He walked towards her and stopped, bending over at the waist slightly and offering her a hand. "May I have this dance?"
She hadn't known what he meant. She was afraid of refusing the man and took his hand. He swept her into the middle of the room and cued the musicians back up. "Follow my feet," he said as the music began to play.
She watched his feet and held onto his hand as he counted. "One two three and one two three and...yes, there you go," he said, laughing.
Brittany looked up at him, smiling.
"A natural," he told her, picking her up off the ground and twirling her.
Later, during the carriage ride back home she asked her father about the young girl and the man. He explained it was the nobleman's daughter and her dance instructor. It was then she realized what dance was and it was then she fell in love with it.
No one else in town knew how to dance (really dance like the people in the ballroom) or would dance with her. They had all called it a waste of time and Brittany had danced on her own. She abandoned the practice of her violin in favor of twirling around outside while her father played.
Brittany collapses onto the edge of the fountain, wiping her hand across her forehead in mock exhaustion.
"Brittany," a little red headed girl whines. "Come on, the game isn't over."
"Oh but dear Caroline," Brittany says, placing her hands on her knees. "I'm far too tired and have errands to run."
The children groan as Brittany stands. She pats Caroline on the head. "I'll be back tomorrow, I promise." Brittany crosses a finger over her heart and waves at the group of children as she moves up the road, towards the general goods store on the corner.
/
"I heard they were caught behind her fathers hay bales," the baker's wife whispers conspiratorially.
"No," the butcher's wife gasps, placing a hand over her mouth (if only to hide her excitement). "How would they expect not to be caught? Silly things." She picks up small piece of bread she's sharing with her friend and takes a bite of it.
"I also have some news on...well it's more fun when you guess," the baker's wife says, voice higher.
"Don't hold out on me or make me play your games, just tell," the butcher's wife begs.
Morning gossip, in her opinion, is the best part about her day.
"Jesse St. James," begins the baker's wife, drawing the name out. "Apparently, he's looking for a girl."
The butcher's wife fans herself and smiles coyly. "Jesse St. James. If only I had a daughter," she sighs, thinking of her four sons. "Then she could marry him and I'd be able to look at him whenever."
"Judy," the baker's wife says, scandalized. "He is handsome." She pauses, as if conjuring a picture of the boy in her head. "You'll never guess who I heard he's in pursuit of..." She singsongs the last word, trying to pique the curiosity of her friend.
"Is it one of those nice Smith children? He has such lovely daughters," the butcher's wife muses. She can see them in her minds eye, with their lovely blonde hair and green eyes; classic beauties.
"No, but he is chasing after a most peculiar blonde," the baker's wife snort. "And I don't mean courting, I heard he's close to asking for her hand."
"You don't mean," the butcher's wife says, piecing it together.
Besides the Smithies children, there is only one other girl in the town of marrying age with blonde hair. "You don't mean the Pierce girl, do you? Maurice Pierce's daughter?" She asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"The one and only," the baker's wife says, biting off a piece of the bread and chewing slowly. "She is beautiful."
"She is," the butcher's wife concedes. "But has he had a conversation with the girl? She spends more time playing with children and spinning around than anything else. The one or two times I have talked to her she seems so distant."
"Well, she isn't the brightest, but look at her father," the baker's wife reasons. "He's trying to sell instruments for a living in this poor little town. He'd be lucky to have Jesse take the girl off his hands, it can't be easy having to support her on the few wages he earns."
The butchers wife nods in agreement. "Jesse St. James and Brittany S. Pierce. Brittany St. James. Awful ring to it."
The baker's wife laughs haughtily. "Did I tell you about the tailors son?"
"No, you did not!"
/
Brittany is leaning against the side of the bakery, listening to the gossiping woman. She can feel her bottom lip trembling, a sure sign of tears-soon-to-come. She shakes her head. She clutches the coins in the pocket of her apron and holds her head high. Mustering up the courage, she saunters past the women who hush each other as soon as she comes into their line of sight. She doesn't say a word, but tries to keeps the lilt in her step she always has.
She's never heard anyone say such mean things about her before.
/
The twine is less expensive than anticipated. The leftover coins jangle happily in her pocket as she makes her way back to the center of town.
Are those women right? Is she a burden? The questions keep surfacing in her mind. Brittany's father never says anything about it to her. They always seemed to have enough, food, water, clothing. They laugh a lot, smile a lot. There is always music playing and a roof over her head.
That seems like it is more than enough.
Should she be looking for a suitor, though? A husband? The idea makes her nose scrunch up. More than anything, Brittany just wants a friend, someone to talk to. No one ever takes her seriously.
"Brittany," says an oily voice behind her.
She should have known. He always seems to find her whenever she's in town. He always wants to talk to her, follow her around, ask her opinion about him and his looks and his skill as a hunter and his recent decorating of the tavern. "Jesse," Brittany says, trying to mock his tone.
"I was hoping to find you here," he says, sauntering closer, failing to pick up on her obvious disinterest.
"Oh?" Brittany feigns interest.
"Yes, I saw you dancing with those children earlier. I think you'd be much more suited to dance with me." He smiles at her, a half smile that Brittany knows is trying not to be a smirk. He offers out his hand.
She stares at it for a long time, wondering if she should take it or not.
"It's just a hand," David says, laughing at Brittany's hesitation.
"That's so nice of you, Jesse," Brittany says, choosing carefully what to say. "I need to get home to my cats, though." She holds up the twine.
Jesse's face falters slightly at the comment. "What?" He asks, clearly confused.
She stares at him for a while, not understanding why he didn't catch the joke. "My father needs my help."
"And twine," says Jesse.
"Well, yes," Brittany says. She looks at the twine in her hands. "He's going to a music festival."
"They have those?" Jesse asks in quiet incredulity.
Brittany giggles at the look on his face. "Yes. He's going to sell and give lessons and if it goes well he may start giving lessons here."
"Crazy old Maurice," David says behind Jesse. "Give lessons? What a waste."
Jesse laughs at David's words. "Music lessons? Where does he think he is? No one here can afford lessons."
"My father is the best," Brittany says indignantly. Her brow creases and she glares at Jesse. "He's good at what he does."
Jesse stifles his laughter. "Of course he is. David doesn't know what he's talking about. How about I come by later and we can talk about this more?" His demeanor changes immediately, he shoots a glare at David.
Brittany scrunches her face up at him. "No." She shakes her head and turns to leave, trying not to run. She wants to get as far away from Jesse as possible. All of her encounters with Jesse end the same way.
/
"Don't make fun of her father, you moron," Jesse snaps as he watches Brittany's retreating figure.
"Sorry," David mumbles. "Doesn't look like she's interested anyway."
"Are you crazy?" Jesse questions, turning his gaze on David. "She's playing coy. When the ladies play coy it means they want you to try harder. We've been doing this game for a while now. She's ready."
"Ready for what?" David asks, looking around the square, as if the answer is standing in plain sight.
"Ready to become Mrs. St. James," Jesse states, straightening his shirt.
/
As Brittany walks, the words from the butcher's wife, the baker's wife and David echo inside of her head. A waste, no money, burden. She shakes her head. She knows she can't be that much of a burden. She helps with the few animals they own, she cooks and cleans along with her father. She helps with the instruments and runs errands. She does her share.
She knows the other girls her age in town are starting to marry, settle down.
She's never even met a boy she likes, all of them remind her of Jesse. They saunter around like roosters. When they aren't the center of attention they act like children. She's been watching the women in her village since they settled in it years ago, how they marry and have lots of children and stop doing anything else.
She doesn't want that. Brittany wants a friend, someone to share her day with, laugh with. She wants someone who will take her seriously.
She walks silently, the skip in her step from the morning gone now. She wonders how long her father will let her stay with him until he forces her to marry. The idea is terrifying. She doesn't think he will force her to marry, he's never talked about it before. She doesn't really want to talk to him about it now, anyway. She sighs heavily and wishes her mother was around, even for just one conversation.
She walks with a head full of heavy thoughts. As she approaches her cottage, though, she can hear music. It wafts on the breeze and hits Brittany square in the chest. The music of her father picking at one of his many guitars. The sound makes her smile wide, returns the skip to her step. It's the sound of home and warmth and acceptance. The sound of her father, her childhood, her late mother.
She climbs the few steps to the front door of the cottage, which is propped open. She twirls into the cottage, arms spread out. She hears the music stop. It's replaced by applause. "Brava, my dear," her father says.
She turns to him, smiling and dips into a curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir."
Her father gently sets the guitar down on the table and stands. "Is that my twine?"
"Oh," says Brittany, she had completely forgotten about her original reason for going into town. "Yes, your twine, the finest in all of the land," she teases, pulling it tight in front of him.
"Thank you, my dear," he says, taking the twine from her hands and kissing her gently on the forehead, the way he always does.
"And here," Brittany says, digging into the pocket of her white apron. "What's left." She holds her hand, palm up with a few small coins resting on it.
"Keep it," he says, waving a hand and grabbing his guitar off of the table.
"But father," Brittany protests.
He holds up a hand and she goes silent. "I am the man of the house and make the rules. You keep it, put away in that sack under your bed with the rest of your savings."
Brittany laughs at him. "That's supposed to be a secret, but thank you."
"A good father knows all," he whispers to her. "Come help me pack up the rest of this stuff and hook up Philippe."
Brittany nods, placing the change in the front pocket of her apron. It weighs heavier than it did before. It feels heavy like the things the gossiping women said, Jesse said. She follows her father out to the small stable built onto the side of their small cottage.
She helps him rearrange the instruments a few times, packing them in gently. She helps him throw the giant piece of cloth over everything and tie it down with the newly purchased twine.
"What's the matter?" He asks, fastening a knot.
"Nothing," Brittany replies automatically.
"You've been silent for a while now, what's on your mind?" He stands up and rests his elbows on the edge of the cart, staring at Brittany.
She sighs. "Am I a burden?"
She watches his face carefully, the way it scrunches slightly in confusion, the same way hers does. "Not at all. I find your company invaluable."
"But father, we don't make that much as is, should I be married?" Her words and fears jumble together.
He smiles warmly at her and reaches across the cart, she gives him his hand. "We are fine, we laugh and have food, so we're fine." He squeezes her hand and releases it gently. "As for marriage, that is something you can hold off on as long as you please." He fastens another knot then looks back up at her. "This isn't your way of telling me that Jesse fellow has proposed to you, is it? Because he didn't even ask me."
Brittany laughs. Jesse's advances are apparently hard to miss. "He's so annoying."
"Isn't he the most handsome man in town?" Brittany's father asks.
She smiles at him and sighs. "I guess."
"Well," he says, bending over and disappearing behind the cart. "You know, follow your heart and all that." He stands back up and smiles at her. "I think I'm ready."
Brittany frowns at him. "Let's go double check your pack."
/
When his pack is triple checked and he's bundled up for far colder weather than the day has predicted, Brittany allows him the climb up onto the front of the cart. She moves around him, checking the twine, checking the straps securing the cart to their horse Philippe. She stands back from the cart and tries to come up with an excuse to make her father wait until the morning to leave.
"It's getting late," Brittany says.
"The festival is closer than you think," Maurice says, adjusting the pack on his back.
"Why not wait until tomorrow?" Brittany asks, worry forcing her to frown.
"This music festival is a big opportunity for us," he says, voice filled with excitement. "They invited musicians and composers and other makers like me."
"I know, but what if you get lost? You've never been to it before," Brittany argues, but he cuts her off.
"I know the path, the old one that goes past the lake," Maurice replies. "You know the path."
"I do, but not at night and your eyes aren't what they used to be," Brittany says, biting at her lower lip. Her father is all she has in the world, she won't ever stop worrying about him.
"Now you are simply making things up," he says. "Now, get inside and leave me be."
She pouts her lips. "I'm going to miss you," she says, climbing up the cart and kissing him on the cheek.
"I already miss you," he replies, smiling down at her.
"Be safe," she says as he urges Philippe forward.
"I will, my dear. I'll be back before you know it," he says, calling louder as he moves down the path. "Don't worry."
Brittany watches him until his figure is a speck on the horizon and then disappears completely.