Chapter 3

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Autumn in Coriander Village, some time ago.

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Stephane placed five sacks of grain in the middle of the circle, hefting the one by one on his shoulders.  It was his gift to the town.

The Festival of Harvest was a rather moody festival this year.  When Stephane announced his donation to the town, there were whisperings among other townspeople.  But the Elder, knowing better than to squander a generous gift, stood on the dais in the middle of the Village Square.  He wore green robes (for fertility, which was a rather ironic symbol) and his beard covered his entire mouth such that it appeared that the hair itself made sounds.  "Thank you, farmer Stephane for this great gift to us.  We are grateful to you  to help us in the time of hardship and need."

Stephane smiled and bowed toward the Elder.  "It is my pleasure to share what I've sown from the ground..."

"Planted with magic," muttered a person in the crowd.

Stephane ignored the comment.  "... with those who are not as fortunate.  We thank God for..."

"More like the devil," the same voice said.

Stephane, beginning to feel the tinges of annoyance creep up on him, began to rush his speech.  "... for the harvest that I have sown and that I can share with my fellow townsmen, and I hope that he will see it fit to bless them with plentiful harvests in the future."  Stephane let out his last sentence in a breath, not wanting to keep the townspeople waiting, and feeling very irritated at the way he and his family were being persecuted.  He left the dais in an obvious huff and went to Isabelle's side. 

She wrapped an arm casually around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.  "Stephane, /mon cher/... don't let them get to you."

"They think we're in league with the devil.  That this harvest is the devil's work."  Stephane's disappointment was evident.  He glanced up at the dais again, where the Elder was talking about the tough times, and rambling about how God would help them through.  He noticed that, a number of times, the Elder moved his hands over the grain, asking God to offer his divine protection over the grain; telling God to keep this grain safe from the influence of the devil; begging God to have mercy on them as they ate this grain.  Although most of the gazes were up toward the Elder, Stephane felt the occasional glance of contempt toward him.

So much for selling any grain... no one would buy this "cursed grain" from him.  Besides, if he tried to sell anything, the other villagers would vilify him as greedy.

-=-=-=-

Isabelle expertly flicked her needle and thread in and out through the fabric she was working on, glancing down at a drawing she made on a slate.  "This cloth is absolutely wonderful.  We must get more of it from the traders who go into Crell Monferaigne," she said, projecting her voice to Stephane.

Stephane shrugged, glancing at her work.  She was making a scarf and a hood for formal occasions.  "It's hard to get that cloth nowadays... it's very expensive."

Isabelle didn't glance up.  "I want to one day make a matching coat... don't you think that would be nice?  A whole set of winter garb for Colette.  The navy blue is positively royal, and this is very good wool."

"I don't think we can afford it..."

"/Nigaud/.  We have a lot of grain in a starving village.  We could sell some of it to the town.  We need something to do this winter.  Without any cloth I won't be able to sew."

Stephane picked up a knife from the sword rack sitting next to the wall and began to play with it, absently twirling it with his wrists.  "I'm going to give some wheat to the innkeeper..."

"Giving?  Always giving away!"  Isabelle lifted her dark eyes.  "We've given quite a bit, don't you think?  For a starving village who gets free food from a lucky family, they're sure unappreciative, don't you think?"

"Well..." Stephane started.  "I don't want to get into conflict any more than you do.  Imagine what everyone would say if we decided to sell our grain for money.  Especially with the reputation that you have now."

Isabelle put down her needle and cloth.  "My reputation, hmm?"  She let her voice hang in the air for a moment.  "Though maybe it'll avoid conflict if we don't sell grain... you'd think that they'd thank us better.  As it is, I think that those of them who are mean to us shouldn't get anything at all."

Stephane gave Isabelle a sidelong glance.  "Well, things aren't fair, are they?  I just don't want them to raze our house, or hurt us..."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and went back to her sewing.  "They'll curse our grain and claim that I magicked the ground and used devil's magic to grow wheat, but of course, they'll eat it nonetheless."

"I'll not be responsible for starving this town to death."

"Is that truly your responsibility?"

Stephane paused.  His knife went to rest on the table.  "Well... as a good citizen, it is.  Don't you think?"

Isabelle snorted.  "But who needs those other people?  They're useless to us..."

Stephane lifted an eyebrow.  "I'm sorry?"  He rarely heard any sort of bitterness out of Isabelle.

She muttered something below her breath.  Then she rose her voice so she could be heard.  "They're not nice... that's what I meant.  I think we should just sell it and get some extra money.  Maybe we can send Colette to school in the city.  It's not our job to pamper the other people in town."

"No!  That's ridiculous.  I'm going to help these people... we're better than that to be selfish and cunning."  Stephane motioned to the sacks leaning against the wall.  "Those will go to the town because we certainly won't be able to eat it all ourselves, and I will not have us getting rich at the expense of other's suffering.  Imagine what they say about us already.  They'll only say more."

Isabelle stared at Stephane for a moment, thinking of challenging him.  Only a woman of her caliber would think of responding to Stephane, challenging his authority.  But she kept her tongue and simply shrugged, shaking her head, letting him know her disagreement with the situation.  Her eyes pierced his, as if she could read him like a book.  Stephane shrank back for a moment, feeling a little dazed, but then recovered quickly enough and stood up to load the sacks into his cart.

-=-=-=-

Isabelle took a long lock of her own dark hair, interleaved with the shining gold hair of Colette's.  The young child, bright-eyed, lips pursed into a little bit of an "o", watched as the shimmering strands were woven by Isabelle's long, graceful fingers into soft, silky loops.  She finished tying the loops together and then held up the bracelet to the sunlight, where the rays played on the mix of the dark and the light.

Colette reached up for the bracelet.  "Thank you, /maman/," she said.  She wondered why  /sa maman/ wanted to cut some of her long hair, but seeing the end result, a simple craft such as this made by loving hands, made her forget any questions she may have had.

Isabelle wrapped the other bracelet around her own wrist and held it for Colette to see. "We each have one.  It's to remind us of each other."

Her daughter gave her a winning smile and then gave her mother's knees a hug.

"/Petite enfant/, are you going to play with the kids now?" Isabelle asked in her soft voice.

Colette glanced down the road.  "They kids don't really play with me as much anymore.  Jessica says that her mommy calls me the Devil's Child.  She now sneaks out of her mommy's house to play with us.  Armand doesn't come out anymore.  I haven't seen him."  She took a deep breath.  "Why do they call you the Devil, /maman/?"

Isabelle's smile didn't fade from her face.  She reached out with her hand and then stroked Colette's hair, bringing it around her head, and resting her fingertips on the child's chin.  "Jessica's mom doesn't like me, so she says bad things about me.  She calls me the Devil because she thinks I am not doing anything good, even though I do nothing wrong.  They are envious of us... they think we are a threat to them.  They hate us."

"Why do they hate you?"

Isabelle's smile softened, and her eyes went distant.  "They think me too loud, too outspoken.  They think that I damn them with magic spells."  He words were slow and measured, but spoken without any lack of confidence on her part.  Her eyes then went to Colette, whose blue eyes stared back at her mother.  "They think that I am responsible for some bad trends in this village, as well..."

"What trends?" Colette asked.

"They think I sold Chantelle to the slave traders."

Colette stared at Isabelle, her face wrinkling in confusion.  "How is that so?"

"I think it's because Chantelle ran away with a slave trader.  They mistook it as..."  Isabelle lowered her head and let out a breath.  "I won't ever sell you away," she whispered, leading Colette to her lap by tugging on her small hands.  "Never."

"I love you, mommy."  Colette replied, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist.  "Don't worry about Chantelle."

Her omniscient appearance then crumbled and one could see the wrinkles and fine lines developing underneath her eyes.  She caressed her daughter's cheek.  "I love Chantelle very much.  I love you very much too, Colette, /petite enfant/.  Please play safe.  Go.  Your friends are waiting for you..."

The young girl released her grip on her mother and then stepped backwards, but the thought of play overtook her train of thought and she waved at her mother before disappearing outside of the door.

On the way to town, she saw Jessica's mother.  She was a narrow waif of a woman, tall, slender, with dark, straight hair that was starting to lose its lustre.  She was going to avoid her, since, after all, she didn't like her mother, but the woman called out her name.

"Colette!  Colette!  Jessica, Colette's coming down the road!"  She then came toward Colette at a slight jog, which appeared to be a difficult task given the thickness of her forest-green robes.  "Colette, how are you doing?"

"Fine," Colette replied, sounding curt but putting enough cheer into her voice not to offend the woman.

She nodded.  "Jessica's coming down the stairs to meet you."  Jessica's mother was going to turn, but then the woman stopped abruptly and stared at Colette so intently that  Colette found herself shrinking under the woman's harsh look.  "What's that on your wrist?" the woman snapped.

Colette clasped a hand on her wrist, hiding the ribbon of hair from the woman's greedy eyes.  "A bracelet," said the girl meekly.

Jessica's mother knelt down and grabbed Colette's wrist, yanking it into her sight so quickly that the girl let out a cry of brief pain.  "This is made of hair."  Her dark eyes went to Colette's.  "Who made this?  Who gave it to you?"

Colette's lip trembled.  Jessica's mother held her wrist too tightly, and it was beginning to hurt.  She tried to pull her hand out, but resistance only made Jessica's mom strengthen her grip.  She felt tears swelling in her eyes.

"Tell me!"

"/Ma... ma maman/..." Colette peeped.  A tear trickled down her face, causing some of her long, silky-blonde hair to cling to her cheek.

"Your /maman/...!  That witch!"  Jessica's mother threw away Colette's wrist as if it were a piece of dung and then stood, brushing her dress off.  "Did you know, Colette, that hair is a symbol of power...?  That, if you possess people's hair, that means that you hold a certain power over them?  Your mother knows this, and so she collects hair from people in order to control them!  You didn't know this, did you, Colette?  Your mother is a witch!  She is trying to spread upon you the curse by cutting her hair and keeping it close to you, and by trimming your hair and giving it to you.  Colette.  Come with me.  You should not stay around Isabelle anymore.  She's a bad influence."  She grabbed Colette's wrist and began to lead her toward the house.

"You're the witch!" Colette cried back, feeling tears corm at the corner of her eyes.  "You're mean to /ma maman/!  Go away!"  She tried to wrench her hand away but failed, letting out a pathetic cry.

A child's cry from the laneway cut short Jessica's mother's frenzied rant.  "Mom...?"

Olivia pulled Colette to her side and shifted her arm from the girl's wrist to around her shoulder.  "Jessica, go back inside.  Colette's going to come over to our house for a while and stay for supper.  Won't you, Colette?"

Colette felt her mouth quivering, trying to protest, but she could not speak and only nodded in the face of her eager, smiling friend.