The Fates' Design

Chapter 2

Though there would still be hours of daylight, Brigitte knew it best to be home earlier than later. She had gotten lost in the woods more than once, despite her familiarity with the area, for the longer she lingered the further she roamed, beyond what she'd mapped in her head. Rummaging in her knapsack, she pulled out her mother's book and leafed through the pages until she found a match for the mushrooms she saw before her. Checking and double-checking the edibility of the roots, she plucked them from the ground and moved on.

When Brigitte arrived home, there seemed a strange air about it; nothing looked out of place and yet there was the slightest tinge of unrest as she passed through the threshold. She noticed an errant bag laid near the washbasin, a crumpled towel on the floor, and last of all, the tell-tale worn shoes fermenting by the fireplace. "Not her again." Brigitte could hardly stand her aunt – of course she was as polite as she could bear, since Helena was her mother's sister, but the woman teetered upon insanity. Strict, demanding, and completely overbearing, it seemed improbable she could have come from the same genetic heritage as the gentle spirit that was her mother.

Removing the mushrooms and placing them upon the table, Brigitte tucked her bag underneath her bed and began preparing dinner. A mushroom stew was nothing fancy but it was more difficult to procure meat than to scavenge the forest. Once she had set the kettle in the fireplace, she walked around the back of the one-room cottage to gather water from the well and collect the firewood for the evening. The rhythmic thudding of her father's axe paused as he wiped his forehead, placing the blade on the stump. "So what did you find today?"

"Nothing much. I studied, and I had to visit Mama again. But I did grab some mushrooms for dinner."

"Ah, now that's a good girl."

Brigitte briefly smiled, as she loved hearing her father's praises. She turned to go fetch the water and her father went back to his work, but her uneasiness got the better of her and she faced her father again. "Papa, what exactly is Aunt Helena doing here?"

Her father faltered as he swung his axe over his shoulder, slowly laying it down and motioning for Brigitte to come to him. He placed his rough hands on her shoulders, looking her intently in the eye. "Now, you know the past few months have been hard on us. It's hard enough for me to have good work without having to raise a young lady."

"But, Papa, I already know about being a lady. I-"

"Do ladies interrupt their father?"

"No, Papa," Brigitte sighed.

He relaxed his grip on her and backed away. "And that's why your aunt is here. To help you mature so you don't have to work all your life like your mother and me."

"What if I want to do what Mama did? What if I want to help people? I know so much already but there's so much more to discover!" Brigitte pleaded. She knew what was expected – appear sophisticated enough to marry up, or at least marry a pastor so she could have her own parish and not be a burden on her father. The last few months had taught her how to keep up a home, as best as she could for her age. Surely her father didn't want her gone.

Her father looked down at the grass stems quivering in the wind. He didn't truly wish his daughter to leave him, but she deserved a better life than he could offer, and her mother's profession wasn't much in the way of earning respect, and certainly not a husband. At best, she'd be known as helpful witch. At worst, she could be burned as a sorceress. "Please, do this for me. It is what's best."

Brigitte couldn't help but feel sympathetic, reaching out for his hands. "Alright, Papa. I will become a lady." They both smiled at this, though she could not resist adding, "Well, as much can be expected of a woodsman's daughter." Her father lightly chuckled and mussed her hair, glancing at her briefly before picking up a few logs of firewood for her. She went to the well and retrieved two buckets.

As she poured the water into the kettle, and her father started the fire, he couldn't help but feel pride in all she had accomplished without her mother. Her meals had greatly improved in the past two months as she ventured into the forest and made new discoveries. Though not thoroughly savvy she was better at navigating the market now and even managed to bargain for some meat every now and then. And now, though she strongly wanted to help others – just like her mother, rest her soul – she was sacrificing it to ease her father's troubles. He knew just the thing to encourage her.

Brigitte was stirring in the spices when she heard her father address her.

"Brigitte, you know how thankful I am for your efforts in keeping this house in order." He could see she wanted to interject but she held her tongue, already trying to placate herself. "But how could I expect you to become a lady in such a dress?"

"What do you mean? This is just fine. Mama and I made it and – "

She gasped as her father pulled out a forest green gown from the oak chest at the foot of his bed. The ladle rested on the side of the kettle as Brigitte approached the gown, reaching out for the fabric. Her father stepped back with the gown in hand.

"Now, if you don't want this, it's fine. It is for a lady, after all."

"But it's so lovely. May I have it, Papa? Please?"

He smiled down at her, pushing the dress forward so her fingers could relish the texture. Velvety and smooth and cool, the gown was more luxurious than anything her family owned. Confused, she drew back her hand and gazed quizzically up at her father. "Where did you get this? You'd never be able to afford it."

"It was your mother's and it was made to be yours, once you came of age. I suppose that time is now."

Brigitte giddily flung her arms around her father, knocking him back a step and he dropped the dress to return the embrace. "Oh, thank you, thank you. I'll take good care of it, I promise."

"I know you will. Now, I'll finish the stew while you wash up. You know how your aunt is. She should be home any moment now. Go, go."

Brigitte picked up the dress and stored it in her own small chest, carefully folding it and setting it on top of everything else. Though she normally dreaded the sight of her aunt, her mother's gown inspired her to try to do her best. She rushed outside to fetch another pail of water, scrubbing herself until she imagined herself gleaming as the moon. She even tried to brush her hair, but her unruly curls bounced and settled in their own way. She felt presentable and radiant and confident enough to begin her tutelage under her aunt.

But Aunt Helena had plans of her own.