Depravity, A Beauty and the Beast Novel(35)

For the next several days, I stayed away from the estate, not out of fear, but because Father forbade me to return. I struggled to find anything in the area outside of the estate’s boundaries. Though the fish were plentiful, I knew Bryn and Blye grew tired of them. Bryn tried cajoling me into another trip to the baker; but with nothing to trade and her unwillingness to part with a coin, I left her angry while I went to fish.

During this time, we entertained several more suitors, which both of my sisters rejected out of hand. Father nodded each time, accepting their answer; but I read the concern etched in his expression. Then one day, with solemn acceptance, he said we should begin packing our belongings to leave the next morning. None of us questioned him, but we all wondered how we would live in the tiny two-room house.



In the morning, Father walked to the smith to borrow the wagon he’d used last time. Into it, we packed the rest of the books, Father’s bed and my sisters’ bed, our trunks, cookware, and the last of our food. The desk, table, and remaining bed stayed with the house to entice the next schoolmaster. While we worked, a crow cawed at us incessantly.

When we had everything loaded, Bryn and Blye climbed onto the bench seat with Father while I sat on the backend of the wagon. The crow quieted as Father clucked the team forward, and I wondered what he would tell the beast.

We pulled onto the main road of town, and I noticed the butcher outside his door and gave a wave of farewell. The baker watched from the shadows of his porch, but I pretended not to notice. Sara stood near the quiet anvil at the smithy, looking down at the ground. I wondered what would become of her husband’s dealings with the baker, knowing the blunt silver had already run out for her.

Clearing the village, the wagon jostled ponderously north until the road curved near the estate. There the woods remained eerily dark and quiet until it too passed from sight. Riding in a wagon, even if it was a butt-bruising ride, ensured a more pleasant second trip to Water-On-The-Bridge.

Arriving well before lunch, Father took a circumspect route to our new home, avoiding the main thoroughfare with its questionable businesses. We worked together to unload our belongings, cramming them into the main room of the very small house. Then Father drove the wagon back to the smith. While he was gone, Blye packed her precious dress and walked to the dressmaker, who agreed to hire her but could not offer her lodging.

Bryn and I put together Father’s bed in the main room and set up their bed in the single, private room. With effort, we also managed to wedge in the three trunks. When we finished, I eyed our house with dismay.

The kitchen came equipped with a stove and dry sink like our prior cottage. Near the stove sat a table for two with two chairs. Not three feet from that, Father’s bed sat against the back wall between the door to the backyard and the door to our room. A fireplace, cleverly set on an interior wall, worked to heat the main room and the room beyond. Before the fire, a worn stuffed chair would welcome a weary scholar. To the right of the fireplace, just before a window set into the front of the house, sat a desk and several shelves that already brimmed with Father’s books. To the right of that was the front door, bringing my slow turning tour to an end.

In all honesty, this house was meant for a single man or a married couple. Father had no room for any of us.

Excusing myself, I went for a walk to check the market district. Better to learn costs and who would be willing to trade right away. By dusk, I’d determined the only thing we’d changed was the size of our house. But, at least, I didn’t have to worry about the baker or the smith’s sons.

Sighing, I returned to our new home empty-handed. Father already pored over his books, and a very watery version of stew waited for me.



We celebrated Father’s first week of pay by purchasing meat and flour. After not eating anything the prior day, all of us looked forward to the meat pie Bryn fixed. As I bit into my portion of the meat pie and gravy dripped down my chin, I thought nothing could have tasted better. However, too soon those supplies ran out, and we were back to going hungry. I noticed Father’s neckcloth seemed a bit longer and the shirt that Blye had just tailored for him a little looser. My own dress gaped a bit from my waist now.

What really bothered me was Blye’s success at the dress shop. She would come home talking excitedly about her customers, but never about her pay. After two weeks of living in the Water, she came home with a new dress, saying she needed to look the part to work at such an upscale shop. She gave her old dress to Bryn, who accepted it with a smile of thanks and a comment that a second dress would be handy.

That day, I put on my bag and left the village to forage. The nearby country had been picked fairly clean, so I headed in the direction I knew. Not far after passing over the bridge, I stopped until a curious wave of dizziness passed.