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Chapter 8
Isabelle kicked the table leg, and then wished she hadn't. The girl was sewing a short jacket from the dark blue velvet she had found in the chest. The body of the jacket fit perfectly, but Isabelle had just realized that she had cut out one of the sleeves wrong. Now her foot hurt and she had to figure out how to fix her jacket.
Isabelle's stomach growled; she had also forgotten to cook supper. She slammed some chopped onions and sausage on a heavy skillet and stuck it in the midst of the fire. It would cook quickly. Isabelle dug some bread out of the pantry; it was dry and a little crusty, but still edible. Isabelle folded her sewing up and set it on one of the shelves. It needed a good dusting.
"No day but today," she muttered to herself as she pulled out a rag and wiped down the shelves. When Isabelle was finished, she swept the floor. When she went to sweep the ashes in the fireplace, she discovered that the sausage was burnt. She crashed the pan onto the table near the bread. Isabelle swept the ashes out of the fireplace and to the kitchen door with a vengeance. She met Trestan there.
"I'll take care of those," the man offered, reaching for the broom.
"Don't bother," she snapped. "The food is ready."
The two sat and ate their dismal meal; Trestan was heroically uncomplaining, although he did not eat with his usual gusto. When they were finished, Isabelle tipped the remains of the meal into the fire. Isabelle was usually never one to waste food, but she was feeling so terrible that she just wanted to throw it away.
"The weather matches your mood," Trestan remarked casually.
Isabelle simply stopped and stared at him. "What?"
"It's snowing," the man said. "You didn't notice?"
Isabelle raced to the nearest window in the hallway. She could not see the fountain in the plaza or the other wing of the castle. There was nothing to see but swirling, white snow. Isabelle's eyes filled with tears; she wiped them away before Trestan could see them. A small part of Isabelle had hoped that she could return home before winter came. It was a foolish hope, but it still hurt to be denied it. She shuffled back into the kitchen.
"Well?" Isabelle snipped. Trestan shrugged as if waiting for her to say something.
"Why does everything always seem to go wrong at once?" Isabelle said through clenched teeth. She wished that she could throw a tantrum and get everything that she wanted, or at least something that she wanted. Life would be so much better if it worked that way.
"I guess it is just the way that the world has to work," Trestan shrugged, ignoring Isabelle's grumpiness. He stacked the plates on the shelf next to the half-finished jacket. A spool of thread fell to the floor. He picked it up, spinning the spool in his hand to put the thread back onto it. Isabelle held her hand out, waiting for him to hand it to her.
"You can do it faster, can't you?" The man asked wryly.
Isabelle didn't reply. Instead she wrapped the thread deftly onto the spool and set it on the shelf.
"Brava," he laughed. When Isabelle did not join in, he stopped abruptly. "What is bothering you?" Trestan asked bluntly.
"I want to be home," Isabelle blurted. "I miss mama, and papa, and Marie, and Antoine, and Jeanne. Even if there is nothing but them to come home to, no suitors or offers for my hand after having disappeared for several months. I want to have a future instead of this stupid curse. I simply want things to be all right…" She wiped her eyes, then continued intensely. "Oh, I don't know! I feel so useless here. I hate being stuck in traction, just waiting for something to happen."
Trestan stared into the fire for a long time, deep in thought. Isabelle was embarrassed that she had let down her guard and let him know how homesick she truly felt. Why did what Trestan thought matter to her so much? She sighed; at least it had felt good to vent her feelings.
The man spoke at last. "Isabelle, you are not useless; you have just been bored. But I have been so glad to have you here. Without another person to talk to, I would have gone insane here, by myself all winter. Now, for the first time in my life, I am not alone. I am very grateful that you are here."
"Thank you, Trestan," Isabelle said, attempting a weak smile. "I am happy that you are here too."
The next morning, Isabelle was in a much better mood. Trestan piled more firewood near the hearth to replenish their supply as Isabelle made bread. "Trestan," she asked, elbow deep in the dough, "What day is it?"
"December eighteenth," The bear replied immediately. "Why do you ask?"
"I wondered how long it has been since I arrived here," she said simply.
"Twenty-eight days," Trestan said, then added, not meeting her eyes, "if I remember right."
"Plus eleven, since I left home makes…" Isabelle nearly proceeded with the calculation, and then paused, looking at the bear in surprise. "Why do you keep such an accurate count of the days?"
Trestan turned his back to her to stack the wood more neatly. "No reason," he muttered.
"December eighteenth," Isabelle repeated mournfully to herself. "What about Christmas?"
"We can have a Christmas, if you would like," Trestan offered.
"It will be wonderful," Isabelle beamed, "Merci."
That day, Trestan brought firewood inside from its place in the snowy courtyard and stacked it in the corridor that led to the kitchen. This created puddles that Isabelle would have to pick through to avoid soaking her glass slippered feet. Isabelle tied to mop them up, but as soon as she would clean up one puddle, another was formed. She scolded Trestan, but it did no good. Eventually, she gave up the task until the next day. Isabelle wondered what she should do for Trestan for Christmas. He had treated her with nothing but kindness; how could she repay him? Isabelle wandered in the rooms near where she had found the needle, searching for an answer.
Isabelle entered a room with walls of wooden paneling; there was a slight crack between the edges of two panels. The girl examined it more closely to see that one of the panels was a door. Isabelle swung it open and entered a corridor, treading past the cobwebs that lined its walls. There was a bend in the tunnel. Once beyond it, Isabelle could not see anything in the darkness. The girl retreated to the turn in the tunnel and kicked the slippers off of her feet.
Now as a wolf, her vision in the dark was much better. Isabelle continued on. After a little way, there was a cramped staircase that spiraled upwards. The wolf bounded up them. At the top, there was a door; Isabelle could not turn the knob without hands. She peevishly retrieved her slippers and put them on to become a human once more. Back again, the girl wrenched the door handle and finally opened it.
Isabelle stepped into the room with awe, all irritation forgotten. The opposite wall held three stained glass windows; the one in the center depicting a red rose on a golden background and the ones on either side green with diagonal black bars. Even better were the two candelabras that stood, one on each side of the windows. They were as tall as Isabelle and held twenty long wax candles each. Isabelle remembered how Trestan had mentioned wanting candles. The girl's first inclination was to give them to him now, but Isabelle decided to wait for Christmas. Trestan would be so pleased.
Isabelle scanned the rest of the room. On both sides of the door was a fresco, one side with a horse and a fox, the opposite with a hart and badger. They were painted in the same style as the picture of the wolf drinking at the fountain that she had found weeks before. The ceiling was also painted azure with blushing clouds dancing across it. The whole room was beautiful; Isabelle decided to show it to Trestan—after she had cleaned it. Isabelle fetched her broom, a bucket of water, and some rags from the kitchen and set to work.
The days until Christmas passed quickly. When Trestan had disappeared two days before Christmas to bring back a pheasant for their holiday dinner, Isabelle had gotten much cleaning done and started a embroidering a belt for him for a present. Isabelle cooked like the world was about to end; braided raisin bread, kidney pie, stuffed turnips, fried onions shaped like blossoms, egg soup, honey biscuits, and provincial pudding.
Once, when the girl's back was turned, Trestan snuck a walnut pastry off of the plate where they were cooling. Isabelle turned back around to face him. She was about to pick up the plate and take it to the pantry, when she realized one was missing.
Isabelle intended to scold him thoroughly. "Trestan…" she paused. When Marie or Antoine misbehaved, she always scolded them with their full names. Isabelle realized that she did not know last, or even middle, name. "Trestan," she scolded, even though there was still a smile in her eyes, "if you eat them all now, we shall have none left for Christmas."
"Now that is a dreadful prospect," Trestan said roguishly.
"Trestan," Isabelle shook her head, grinning.
"Conradi," he said with a respectful nod. The bear lumbered out of the room, hiding in his paw another biscuit.
Isabelle smiled and began to count her biscuits; the name Conradi was familiar, although she could not remember where it was from. Isabelle huffed as she noticed another biscuit missing, but she knew that Trestan Conradi would never admit to it.