Page 6 of The Curse of Indy Moore
“Indy.” Carline smiled, her lips full and pressed. “Let us eat in the dining room.”
I had no appetite, but I would not be rude to the host that spared me from being something else’s dinner.
I followed Carline into the rather outdated kitchen. She had neither a stove nor a fridge, settling to cook with a pot over a second fireplace. We cooked the same, seeing as the money we could spare was spent on a fridge. Aunt Agnes always spoke animatedly about getting a stove one day, perhaps after the girls got older and could get jobs of their own.
Carline’s withered fingers grasped a tray containing two bowls, a block of cheese, and two fresh rolls.
“Let me.” I set aside the rag to retrieve the tray in her stead.
She angled her shoulder against my chest. “Nonsense, dearie. You are the guest.”
“An unexpected one.”
“But appreciated.” Carline sat the tray on a table in the dining room.
Dresses adorned the walls there, too, their skirts bedazzled by gems and pearls. They were pretty. They were ridiculous. Nonsensical outfits meant to be worn once, then discarded. Attire I could never afford, beauty that had me thinking of my stained dress and how proud I had been. Compared to these, the dress was nothing to be impressed by, thus I was further reminded of my foolishness.
Rotating my right wrist, I sat at the table and settled Dolly beside my plate. The plush cushion under my rump eased the discomfort of my aching limbs. Though we brought our dinner to the table, Carline also used the space as a workshop. A basket full of thread teetered on the windowsill next to a pair of scissors, and a string ofpearls laid forgotten on the floor in the corner. She had a cupboard, one door slightly ajar to reveal rolls of cloth within. Their colors were eye-catching, calling for one to adore and desire them.
Carline had yet to eat. Worried whether she waited for me or for conversation, I offered a polite smile and said, “Thank you for the meal and saving me from those wolves.”
“There is nothing to thank, dear. I am relieved you are safe.”
I took to cutting the rolls in half and buttering them for the both of us. “Are you a dressmaker by trade?”
Carline claimed to be a new resident, but it was rare for one to move to Westshire. Baxter was the first new resident in about seven years, and he was the talk of the town for months. I would understand relocating to a city like our neighbor, Cavehallow, but being alone in the woodlands was a bizarre choice.
There were rumors of illegal passings between our kingdom of Sidore and our less-than-friendly northern neighbor, Arestat, as the woodlands provided an excellent path from one kingdom to the other. Priests of Arestat brought war to Sidore countless times in their attempts to spread their theocracy. Being alone in the woodlands wasn’t necessarily dangerous. However, one wouldn’t consider an isolated cottage in the woods to be a homely location, considering how easily one could be mistreated or lost.
“What makes you ask that?” Carline pressed a hand over her laughing lips, as if embarrassed. “No, I enjoy the art of fabrication, that’s all. Dresses and jewelry to don myself from time to time. We all deserve such extravagance, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would not know. I like what I am wearing well enough.”
After handing Carline her roll, I twirled a spoon in my soup full of chunks of meat, carrots, and thick noodles, engulfed by the scent of thyme and garlic. Meals this heavy and rich were rare, the herbs overpowering in the best of ways. There was so much, too much even, but my appetite returned and I wanted to consume every morsel until my stomach ached.
“Do you? What one wears says much about how they perceive themselves and others,” she challenged.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
She settled her elbows on the table, hands steepled. Her nails were sharpened to fine points. “Events, my dear, dates, funerals, weddings. Do you not wear what is deemed appropriate? It proves you care to consider the meaning of your clothes, who you may wear them for, and why. My word, have you never been on a date?”
I swallowed hard, recalling the disappointed scowls on my partner’s faces when I wore patched pants to our dates or worn boots.
“I have been on plenty of dates,” I replied bitterly.
“Then I imagine they didn’t go well,” she said, making me cough. “I do hope you do not take offense. I mean nothing cruel by it.” She rose, and her fingers ran over the breasts of the dresses, one by one. “I, myself, prefer red. A rich color, elegant and divine.” She detached a red gown from its string to present. “What about you?”
“I don’t know. That one is quite pretty,” I muttered.
There was no reason to dress in silk and velvet. They were uselessly expensive. I had dresses at home. They were good enough to wear into town, even if a past partner said I looked a mess. Even if that partner left me for someone with money, like Father had left us. I repeated I was better off without people like her and my father, that she was cruel for the sake of it and my father was a fool. I looked fine. I didn’t stand out, but that was not a bad thing. And yet, I couldn’t stop my hands from running over the fabric of my skirt, wishing I could be like a gem in the rock, waiting to be uncovered.
“Stand up. Take a better look,” Carline suggested.
I would have said no if I hadn’t invaded her home. Setting aside my meal, I picked up Dolly because, for some reason, I didn’t want her too far from me. She and I had to return home together.
I met Carline, who pressed the dress to my chest. The sleeves hung low on the shoulders, and the train dragged on the floor. A silver gem rested between the breasts, lines of silver interlocking to form a corset. The smooth fabric caught in my fingers,unlike the coarse overalls and weathered skirts that lay under my bed. The garment was beautifully constructed for one who wasn’t a dressmaker by occupation.
“Pretty,” Carline whispered. “Ridiculous.”
