Blue Rose and Raven: Chapter Four

Marius' brave action incurs the attention of an unsavory character upon his family, meanwhile the mysteries of Amersot deepen.

Like I said before, I didn’t behold myself to superstition or fairy tales. If training as a painter under Duchanne taught me, it’s that half of the mystique of painting is in preparation. A painting starts like everything else: as an idea. It could start with the way the light catches on a lake or a request by a client to be portrayed a certain way. After the idea has taken root, then the comes searching for an interesting composition. If the painting is going to be a portrait, then the subject needs to be framed in a way that keeps the audience’s attention on what the artist wants them to see. After that, then comes understanding the subject. That’s when countless rough sketches and studies in paint come in, drawing something again and again and again until you have a clearer idea of what’s going to be depicted. Only after all of that comes the actual painting, which can many hours of careful observation, addition, and correction. Few people understand that painting is for the patient. If a patron wants rushed work, then they’ll get a rushed painting. I learned this lesson early on in my lessons with Duchanne, who chastised me whenever I rushed to finish a painting as fast as possible. “Can you properly listen to someone speaking when you’re galloping past them?” He once said. “Look carefully and thoughtfully. And remember, if you need to correct something, you can paint over it later. Speed comes from experience. You can afford to slow down.”

            What I wanted to do wasn’t some magic or ability that made me superior over other man. When Mother’s society friends who happened to visit for luncheons or even my own brothers asked how my mind worked when I painted, I told them simply that I focused my efforts into interpreting what I saw and translated it to paint. I compared it to translating one language to another: a bridge between two forms of thinking, nothing more. They told me it was an astonishing gift. I just told them I took lessons.

            Looking back on my times painting, I suppose I can see the trance I find myself in when engrossed in my work to be a form of magic. In between observing the subject and placing strokes, I would lose track of time for long stretches as the rest of the world faded from attention, not unlike the way the corner of one’s vision clouds during a severe fever. I lost awareness of anything besides my desire to explore and express what I felt inside in another form. My eyes and hand acted as one in translating my thoughts to physical form, a rarity considering how uncoordinated and awkward I felt as a child. I was in total control on the canvas and paper. Nothing could wrest the authority of the artist.

            Of course, reality had set in for us. There was no changing our present situation with a simple brush stroke or bit of paint thinner. Reality had its own hand at the brush, and it was not always so charitable. And things were about to become much worse for us.

 

            The next morning, I awoke to everyone sitting on the floor eating bread and cheese. Elaine greeted me with a smile. Beside sat Caesar pulling on Eloise’s ears. The dog barely acknowledged the child as she slept, jowls melting into the floor. Camille had an eye on her son to make sure Caesar didn’t do too much damage to the pup. I sat down and joined my family, and we ate in silence for a while until Mother finally spoke.

            “We will be able to set up a small office in the village to begin trading again,” She declared. “We need to get word to our suppliers on our present condition and see if our ships survived, if at all. But once that’s been settled, we should have a bit more money coming in very soon,” She held her chin high, hiding the fact that her eyes were ringed with dark circles. “I may have to leave for long periods, so August will manage the office in my absence.”

            “I found a carpenter who needs an assistant,” Connie said. “He mentioned he’ll pay extra for additional work.”

            “That’s great news!” I exclaimed.

            “And I may be able to talk the old man into a bit of extra work if you’re interested, little brother,” Connie added with a wink. “But we’ll have to wait for that in due time. And he allowed me to take some excess furniture from the storehouse so we can eat at an actual table!”

            “At least we’re landing on our feet,” I said. “It looks like we’ll weather this.”

            An uneasy silence fell on the group suddenly. It was as if the air drained from the room like a balloon. I felt myself shrink in embarrassment. What did I say?

            “Until we can negotiate to get our fleet in working order, money is going to be tight all around,” Mother said gravely. “We’ll all have to pitch in any way we can. That means no unnecessary expenses.”

            “I can help you if you need it,” Elaine interjected. “Grandma’s a very talented cook. She can make a lot with very little. And I think your youngest is very fond of Eloise.”

            Mother smiled. “Much appreciated, Elaine. It’s good to know we’ve made a good impression.”

            As if on cue, there was a loud banging on the door. We all turned at once, startled. There was a gulf of quiet, then the banging came again. We all looked at each other, silently daring each other to answer. Begrudgingly, I stood up. “I’ll get it,” I mumbled. My short walk to the front door felt like miles as the banging increased in volume and frequency. Finally, my hand clutched the doorknob, and I opened the door.

            A tall mustachioed man dressed in fine clothes and a wide-brimmed feathered hat towered over me. His sharp blue eyes stared down into me. A small ponytail like a horse’s backside poked up from under his hat. Instantly I recognized him: the strong jawline, eyes with a lack of any recognizable warmth or love. This was Alexandre Benoit, the father. Instantly he flashed his fakest smile, a wall of sparkling white teeth. He resembled a snarling wolf more than a man. “Bonjour, monsieur. Very nice to meet you.” He held out a many-ringed hand, seemingly expecting a kiss. “Benoit,” His name rolled off his tongue like a slug: slick and slimy.

            I gently squeezed his hand and released. “Bonjour. What can we do for you, sir?” I asked, guarded.

            He took a big step inside, pushing past me. “Are your parents home? I need to speak to them about something. I hope you don’t mind.” He strode inside a few more paces inside. His rudeness made August’s eyes bulge.

            “May I ask what this is about?” Mother demanded, standing up. I could hear the anger in her voice which she restrained just barely. It was a skill she no doubt honed from dealing with many of braggart like this man.

            “Ah, Madame Elise!” Benoit lifted his hat to her. “Welcome to Amersot! I heard through the grapevine of your family’s recent misfortune. The Dufresne family in such dire straits. A real shame. My condolences.”

            Mother said nothing. “What do you want, M. Benoit?” She said with barely concealed distaste.

            “I mean no disrespect, Madame, really,” He replied. “I just meant to welcome you to the neighborhood. In fact, I meant to let you know about certain…rules as to which we live by here.” His tone became deadly calm, losing any trace of mirth. “My son informed me of an altercation involving a young man last night. My Alex is a very sensitive young man, you see. He doesn’t do well with ruffians.” His eyes lazily slid to me, then to my family. “I wouldn’t want this town to be spoiled by an unsavory element. Especially your boys growing up without a father. Quite a shame what happened to your husband, by the way.” He added, words venomous. “I truly hope you’re coping.”

            My nose pulsed in pain. August’s jaw locked. Connie was tense, wound like a spring. Even Camille’s eyes were raging with fiery retribution. Elaine’s expression was placid, her face resembling a mask she was used to wearing. Mother’s face was also a mask: one of pleasantry. But underneath I could feel her fuming at the mention of Father. “The last thing we want is to appear unsavory, M. Benoit.”

            “Good!” Benoit chirped. “In that case, I merely ask you to keep your wits about you as you settle into our community. And please, keep an eye on your youngest. I’d hate for him to get into any more scraps.” He flashed a queasy smile at me. He tipped his hat to us. “Now I’ll be on my way. A pleasure meeting you Madame, and your lovely family,” He slunk out of the house, slamming the door behind. The sounds of a horse snorting and hooves clopping started up outside, then faded into the wind and chirping of birds.

            “What a beastly man,” Camille huffed, then turned to me. “And blaming you of all people for your broken nose!”

            “He’s done much worse,” Elaine said. “Julius could burn this entire village down and his father could find a reason to blame everyone else.” Her face twisted in disgust. “Their bloodline is horrid.”

            “It is not his blood that makes him horrid. It is his actions.” Mother said. “He should know better than teach his son these things, but he doesn’t. So disappointing that few people understand that.”

            Elaine nodded in agreement. “I am glad, then, to know that you are all so kind.” She stood up and collected her boots and cloak. Shortly after, Eloise pulled herself away from Caesar’s vice grip on her ears and followed her owner. “I should be heading home now. Thank you very much for hosting me.”

            “Could I walk with you?” I asked. “To return the favor of yesterday.”

            Elaine thought for a moment. “Of course,” she said with a smile. I ran to grab my coat.

            Her house was located on the other side of town across the square. The location of our house was farther than I realized, and considering it led down a forest path, I better understood Elaine’s decision to stay with us for the night. Walking through the woods in the dark was a dangerous prospect, one that was not evident when in town. As we walked, the town rose with the sun. Stores opened, shutters creaked open, and windows slide up. Horses and donkeys begrudgingly dragged wagons across the cobblestones. Chimneys puffed black smoke and that sharp burning scent of firewood into the air.

             “How is your nose?” Elaine asked after a while.

            I rubbed my nose and sniffed. “Better. I’ve never been punched in the face before. It was a new experience.” Struck by sudden shame, I looked to my shoes. “I’m sorry for not being more help to you then,” I said, crestfallen.

            “What else could you have done?” Elaine replied.

            I shrugged. “Maybe I could have hit him back? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right for him to get off without a mark while he swatted your dog and hit me in the nose.”

            “You’re right. It isn’t fair. But that doesn’t mean you should be like him.” She picked up a stick and brandished it like a sword. “Boys and their swords,” she said dismissively. “They think they’re so amazing. They put jewels and gold and all kinds of trinkets on them. And what are swords meant for anyway? To hurt and wound and kill.” She took the stick in her hands and with little exertion snapped it in half. “And they forget that they can break so easily.”

            I was confused. “What are you getting at?”

            “You don’t have to hurt someone to show you’re strong.” Elaine tossed one of the snapped branches to Eloise who began chewing it. “You came to help me and Eloise. That is strength. You’re no warrior. But you don’t need to be.” Her arm wrapped around mine. “Just keep that heart of yours burning bright.” Eloise seemed to agree as the dog’s bulky body squeezed between us.

            We walked in silence for the rest of the way, arms chained together. I mulled over her words the whole time, unsure of what to make of them. I didn’t feel strong after yesterday. But something about Elaine told me she wouldn’t lie about these things.

Elaine’s home was a cottage like ours. This one was in much better shape, thankfully. The roof was clean and fixed. The tiny yard was well-kept and filled with flowers. The windows were all intact and clean. A tiny pillar of smoke grew from the chimney and the air was filled with the pleasant smell of cooking food. A shape moved in the window, then moved to the door. From the house stepped an elderly woman dressed in a brightly colored dress covered in an apron. Her hair was tied back in a dusty gray bun. Her wrinkled face’s expression was less than inviting. She was brandishing a rolling pin covered in flour over her head like a battleax.

“Elaine DeRose, where have you been?!” The old woman cried out. “You had me worried all night!” Her gray eyes snapped to me. “Who are you?” She snapped.

“Marius, Madame,” I said, meekly waving. “Pleased to meet you.” The old woman’s eyes narrowed at me.

“It’s alright, Mamé, he’s a friend. He stopped Julius from whipping Eloise yesterday. It was getting late, so his family let me stay at his house.” Elaine said, shielding me from her angry grandmother. “They were very gracious hosts.”

“Julius?” Grandma’s expression softened. She lowered her rolling pin. “The little brute.” She mumbled to herself, then looked at me. “I haven’t seen you before. Where are you from?”

Shaking off momentary fear, I collected myself and bowed. “I arrived here yesterday from outside of Paris. My family is destitute, and we had a cottage out here.” I motioned to Elaine. “I mean you and your granddaughter no harm. I was just walking her home.”

            “Hmm,” Grandma’s eyebrow raised. “You live in that little house on the other side of town, then? I thought that thing was abandoned.” She clucked her tongue. “No matter. A little wart like Julius or his friends wouldn’t walk Elaine home after whipping her dog, so I must assume you are not of his type.”

            “Why would I hurt a dog? That’s cruel.” I said in disgust.

            “It is,” Grandma said flatly. She turned to Elaine. “Come inside. I have breakfast.” She turned back to me. “As for you, time will tell if I can trust you with my little cabbage. I have my eye on you, young Marius. But first�"” She held up a single finger. “In the spirit of hospitality, I will send you home with some pastries.”

           

I never expected to go home with a basketful of pastries, but here we are. The old woman seemed ready to beat me senseless in a heartbeat. But no one can say no to food, and Grandma DeRose delivered. The basket hanging from my wrist was covered with a small blanket, and under the blanket were a veritable treasure trove of fine-smelling baked goods: Eclairs, baguettes, croissants, at least two kinds of tarts. All golden-brown and cooked to perfection, just like what we’d enjoyed back home. I helped myself to a croissant but stayed myself from taking any more. What mystified me, though, was a particular detail about the pastries. While M. DeRose was sending me off with the basket, I asked her if she had a bakery.

“I do it here and there. I would never charge money for something I do from the heart,” She answered. She pulled up the blanket and quickly peeked under the blanket. “And thankfully you had my older batch. They keep for a very long time.”

“How old are these, exactly?” I asked, nervous.

“Oh, about two weeks. Don’t worry, they’ll stay fresh for a while.” She said, patting my head.

Two-week-old pastries. But they were warm and fresh as if they’d just gotten out of the oven and tasted as good.

            I’d outgrown fairy stories a long time ago. I didn’t believe in magic. But this wasn’t possible. Yet here I was with a basket of pastries that were sitting out for weeks and never went bad. And this elderly woman just gave them to me as a parting gift. There was something else to this place, whatever it was.

Author's Note

This is a rough draft. Otherwise let me know if it's enjoyable or interesting to read.