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Heart of the Beholder 10 34%
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10

THE CONTINUOUS RHYTHM OF WASHING clothes was calming for Bridgette in the early light. She set herself up in a quiet corner by the communal well so she didn’t have to make pointless small talk with anyone. After a long night of crying and not sleeping, Bridgette only felt up to blending in with her surroundings and pretending she was invisible.

Birdie hadn’t known what to say or do when Bridgette had entered the cottage with tear-stained cheeks and no explanation. An unsettling quiet had continued through until the morning. Bridgette was glad she had the excuse to leave and be by herself. If only she could wash away the events from the last few days.

Someone set their bucket next to Bridgette’s. “Hey,” Alice said as she sat down.

“Hey,” Bridgette said quietly as she moved on to the next piece of clothing, scrubbing it with a small bar of soap.

Alice’s family had servants to do the laundry during the week, but on the weekends, Alice volunteered to do it herself and walk an extra half hour so she and Bridgette could visit while they did chores. After the eventful week, Bridgette had given little thought to their Sunday morning tradition. Bridgette was honestly surprised Alice had come, considering the last words they had said to each other.

Your best will never be good enough.

And those words mixed so well with others she had been told before coming to Cold Stone Hollow.

Fool girl. You are such a waste.

Bridgette closed her eyes and focused on breathing. It had been somewhat peaceful not having those words echo in her mind the last few months. Lord Thornwood’s outburst seemed to have shattered the cage holding the painful memories at bay; now they bombarded her morning and night.

“So, Jack came by The Golden Pear yesterday. He said you were dressed as a maid. Does that mean they hired you?” Alice said as if there wasn’t any hurt between them.

“Yes, they did hire me,” Bridgettte said, focusing on a stain on one of Birdie’s dresses.

“Well, you didn’t come by and tell me, so I had no idea if you got it or not. Do you enjoy it?” Alice asked as she scrubbed her own laundry.

“It is hard work, but satisfying,” Bridgette managed to answer.

“Is Lord Thornwood handsome?” Alice asked with a smile.

“I have no idea,” Bridgette responded numbly.

“Have you not met him yet?” Alice asked skeptically.

“I have met him. He just wears a hooded cloak all the time,” Bridgette sighed.

“Does he sound handsome?” she pried.

No, he sounds like a lonely troll who hides under a bridge and wants to suck the joy out of every happy thing that crosses his path, Bridgette said in her mind. She would hold her tongue as she didn’t want to give Alice any indication she had been right about Bridgette’s abilities to hold onto work. “I don’t know, Alice. I just try my best to do my job and hope it is enough so I get paid. That is the reason I go there, not to determine the physical appearance of Lord Thornwood.” Bridgette wrung out Birdie’s dress and set it on top of her clean pile.

“How dreadfully boring that sounds,” Alice complained, as if she didn’t catch the annoyance in Bridgette’s voice. “Do they pay you well at least?”

Bridgette thought about the three gold coins she had put in the little can hidden in the small cupboard at the cottage. “Yes, they do.” Well, they did. I am not going back and probably won’t find anything else like it, so I am ruined, she added in her mind.

“Well then, I am happy for you,” Alice said with a genuine smile as she scrubbed.

It almost made Bridgette forget Alice’s hurtful words and that she wasn’t planning on going back to the manor.

“Thank you.”

Alice sighed, but it sounded happy. “I met someone.”

Bridgette’s brows lifted. “Oh?”

She smiled with a dreamy look in her eye. “Yes, he came to the restaurant and was very flirtatious. He is handsome, and I suspect very rich. He didn’t stay in town long, but he said he would come back and ask for me.”

Bridgette scrunched her nose. Alice looked absolutely ridiculous with her fluttering eyelashes and flushed cheeks. “Well then, I am happy for you,” Bridgette said, echoing Alice.

Alice must have heard the underlying tone that time, because she looked at Bridgette with a frown. “You need to have fun sometimes. You can’t just be all work all the time. I think Jack might be fond of you.”

Bridgette kicked her bucket over, and the soapy water pooled out around both of them. That was better than dumping it on Alice’s head, Bridgette silently reasoned with herself.

“Are you okay?” Alice asked, looking completely oblivious to what she just said.

Bridgette stood and put her wet clothes in the now empty bucket. “Yep, I just realized I need to get going.” She grunted as she lifted the laundry and fresh water buckets.

“Oh, okay,” Alice said. “I will put a bug in Jack’s ear about you.”

“Thank you, but please don’t,” Bridgette said, not trying to hide her frustration. She turned her back to Alice.

“You will never marry if you keep going on like that,” Alice said.

“Good,” Bridgette said, and walked away without looking back.

brIDGETTE MADE GOOD TIME WITH the chores. She was once again relieved to have the excuse not to be at the cottage, and ran to the market. With the security of the three gold pieces from Edgar, they had a little extra money to spend. A delicious-looking bunch of strawberries caught her eye and made her stomach rumble. It had been a while since she’d had any kind of berry. She had to convince herself it was okay and that she could spend the money, but as she carried her goods back to the cottage, she kept thinking about how she should have saved the coin because she wasn’t going back to the manor.

Birdie was ecstatic about the berries. It made Bridgette feel better when the woman was her energetic self instead of awkwardly standing in silence, waiting for Bridgette to say something. Bridgette made shepherd's pie for dinner, her mother’s favorite, with fresh veggies and meat from her errands. If only she could make the seeds she planted grow into vegetables, then she would save money on food, but no matter how much she tended to her sad garden, the plants always shriveled and died.

After Birdie and Bridgette finished their supper, Birdie went outside to enjoy her bowl of strawberries with the birds. Bridgette brought a bowl of supper into the bedroom for her mother, who was asleep as usual. Bridgette left the plate on the makeshift nightstand, and moved the other stool by the window so she could sit and watch Birdie and her mom at the same time. She popped a small strawberry in her mouth and moaned at the satisfaction of it. She was grateful for a small piece of joy in the season of life she was living.

“Bridgette?”

Bridgette jumped to her feet. “Mama?” She hurried over and helped her mother sit up. Clara’s eyes were bright and clear. Bridgette’s eyes blurred with tears. “Are you hungry? I made your favorite.”

Clara smiled warmly. “I thought I smelled something good.”

Bridgette fed her mother small bites and enjoyed watching her be able to eat it with no struggle. It was a miracle, but Bridgette knew not to get her hopes up. There had been times before when Clara got random bouts of energy, but they never seemed to last long, so Bridgette would savor it while it lasted.

When the plate was empty, Clara smiled tiredly and said, “You are growing up so fast, I can’t believe it.”

Bridgette laced her fingers through her mother’s and smiled sadly. “I haven’t had much of a choice, I am afraid.”

Clara’s eyes darkened; Bridgette knew far too well what memories she was recalling. “Oh, Bridgette, my dear girl,” she sobbed.

“Shhh, it's okay,” Bridgette said, sitting on the bed so she could put her arms around her mother. “We are safe.”

“I feel like I have failed you as a mother. You have been forced to provide for us, and all I have done is lie in this bed.” She started to cough.

Bridgette poured a glass of water and helped Clara drink. The coughing subsided.

“How are you doing it? How can you take care of me and make sure we have the money to survive?”

Bridgette paced away from her mother and took a seat on the stool at the window. “You remember Birdie, right?” she asked as she found the woman outside sitting on the ground covered in birds. Bridgette smiled.

“Oh, yes, Birdie, that is right. Sometimes I wonder if she is a figment of a dream,” Clara said weakly.

“Yes, Birdie is a great help during the day while I work,” Bridgette said, then looked down at her hands in her lap. “I-I was working at a restaurant—I don’t know if you remember that—but I was fired.”

“Oh, Bridgette,” her mother said.

“But it is okay, because I found a better position, and they pay so much better,” Bridgette said.

“That is wonderful,” Clara said.

“I was so excited because it would mean I can save up for a physician that specializes in the lungs and can fix you, but I—” Bridgette’s lip trembled. “I actually think I messed it up.” A sob came out unexpectedly, and Bridgette hid her face in her hands.

“Bridgette, come here.”

Bridgette hurried to her mother’s waiting arms and sobbed into her neck. She cried out all of her emotions she had been bottling up for so long. She cried for being fired from The Golden Pear. She cried for not having enough money to help her mother now. She cried for the mean things people said. She cried for the goose that was hurt, but now healing. She cried for Birdie and how she was misunderstood by most. She cried for the fear she felt when Lord Thornwood yelled about the portrait on the wall. She cried for the exhaustion she felt. She cried, and Clara held her. Finally, Bridgette lifted her head and dried her tears.

“How do you feel now?” Clara asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Bridgette’s ear.

“Better,” Bridgette said.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what has made my Bridgette so sad,” Clara said gently.

Bridgette told her mother about everything that happened that week. Her mother said all the right things in all the right places. She laughed at Bridgette’s mishaps, but never made her feel like an idiot. She vocally expressed her disapproval of Jack and his behavior. She was also very intrigued by Lord Thornwood.

“I don’t know what to do, Mama,” Bridgette said. “This position was perfect, better than I could have ever expected. We need the money, but I just don’t know how I could go back.”

Clara looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, he didn’t actually fire you, did he?”

“No, but he was very angry with me. He didn’t even try to hide it,” Bridgette groaned. A noise at the window made both of them look up. With a gasp, Bridgette hurried to open the window, where a white bird was perched. “This is the bird. The bird I saw after I was hired at the manor.”

Bridgette slowly put out two fingers, and the bird bowed its head, inviting her to pet its soft, feathered body.

“What are the reasons keeping you from going back?” Clara asked.

“Well,” Bridgette began, still petting the bird, “I guess it would be because I don’t like it when people get mad at me, especially when they raise their voice. I know you understand why.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“I suppose.”

“And why would you go back?” Clara prompted.

“Well, the money, as I have said before. I would also like to see Edgar again. His cooking is impeccable, and he is so kind. The manor is majestic, and the little valley of wildflowers with the stream is a sight I will never tire of,” Bridgette said.

Clara smiled. “What?” Bridgette laughed.

“I think your list of reasons to go back far outweigh the reason not to,” she said.

“But I just don’t want to face the big bully again. OUCH!” Bridgette hissed and pulled her hand back, a little spot of blood swelled on her finger. “It bit me!” She sucked on her finger, and the bird hopped along the windowsill, looking innocent.

“Do you remember the goat we had when you were younger?” Clara asked.

“The one that would ram into me every time I stepped outside?” Bridgette laughed.

“Yes, you would get so mad at it because you wanted to help me in the garden, but he wouldn’t leave you alone. Do you remember what I told you then?”

“You told me that yelling at it would only make things worse and that I should try to show him some kindness and see what happens,” Bridgette said, smiling at the memory. Clara nodded. “I gave him a raspberry from my breakfast one morning, and he didn’t ram me, so then I named him Sir Raspberry and gave him all of my berries every morning. You got mad at me,” Bridgette teased.

“Yes, I told you to stop giving the goat your breakfast. So you did. And did the goat ram you again?” Clara asked with brows raised.

“No, he never hurt me again. He followed me everywhere, even when I didn’t have a treat for him.” Tears blurred Bridgette’s eyes again. “I was so sad when we had to sell him. I miss Sir Raspberry.”

“What if Lord Thornwood wasn’t mad at you? What if he was mad at the situation and you just happened to be there?”

“What are you saying?” Bridgette asked and tried to pet the bird again.

“I am saying, what if Lord Thornwood has a lot to deal with and is under a lot of pressure? He might be like Sir Raspberry, and when a cute young lady comes around, the smallest little mistake could set him off,” Clara said thoughtfully.

“Do you want me to bring Lord Thornwood berries and hope he jumps for joy?”

“Well, maybe not berries, but kindness.”

“How? He just sits in the dark all day,” Bridgette complained.

“What does he enjoy? Maybe he has a favorite meal or pastime,” Clara said.

“I don’t think you realize who you are talking about, Mama. He is so grumpy.”

“Remember the dress I made for you?”

“You mean the one that made the maid faint?” Bridgette said with a grin.

“That’s the one. She said it was atrocious, which was correct, because it made you have the stature of a man, and the skirt was way too short,” Clara said with a shake of her head.

“But it was such a pretty blue,” Bridgette cut in. “I am sure it would have looked lovely on a short, broad-shouldered, young woman.”

Clara looked at Bridgette with pride. “That’s my girl. You can always find something good in any situation. You never give up on anything or anyone.”

Bridgette blushed and looked away. “What if I am not like that anymore?”

“I don’t believe that for one second. Only for the fact that you get up every day and try to make things work. You haven’t given up yet,” Clara said.

“That’s because there is still a chance we could live a life that is beautiful.”

“Do you think Lord Thornwood has lost all his chances to have a beautiful life?”

Bridgette blew out a breath and patted the bird on the head. “I suppose not.”

“I can’t think of anyone better to show him kindness than you,” her mother said. “I don’t think you should settle for being yelled at, but I also don’t think you could walk away without trying everything you could to help.”

Bridgette smiled. “Alright, Mama. You win. I will try again.” The bird snuggled into Bridgette’s hand and sang a beautiful tune.

“Good girl.”

“It is only because I love you and because I want to honor Sir Raspberry,” Bridgette said.

“Of course,” Clara managed to say before starting another coughing fit. Bridgette got her mother more water and then helped her lie back down. It only took a minute for her eyes to grow heavy and her breaths to slow.

Bridgette fell asleep leaning against the side of the bed, holding her mother’s hand. When the sun rose the next morning, she lifted her head and saw the white bird still perched on the windowsill.

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