I'm thankful for the peaceful countryside after that storm. While I do feel bad for Roland, I can't say I feel the same for Lord Possessive. He seems to think he can do whatever he likes, and the worst part is, most of the time, he can. I don't know why I have become his latest target, but I make sure that any advances are met with disinterest. All the gifts he offers are returned.
Mom and Dad say, "Give him a chance," or, "He is a good man for you." At the end of the day, they respect my decision. I just wish they would drop it. I am happy where I am.
As I finally enter the port city again, I make my way to the shop to unload today's products. It's only a little flour, sugar, and some herbs, but it's heavy. It's a shame I had to leave in a hurry, because I usually bring Roland to help with heavy things. I'm a bit frail for my physique since I don't do much lifting, but it won't haul itself. I grab the first bag of flour and heave it over my shoulder. It digs in a bit, and I walk off balance from the weight. This bag is heavy and really amplifies my clumsiness.
I make my way into the storage shed and throw the bag down to the ground. I'll need someone to put this on the shelf tonight, since I can't do it myself. I finish unloading the sugar and finally the herbs I needed.
I unstrap Buttercup and lead her to the stable just next to the storage area. It means I don't have far to go when she needs to be hitched to the wagon later. Thankfully, she's now safely in place. I go inside after making sure she's taken care of and flip my sign from "closed" to "open."
As I do, I see my usual morning customers.
"Morning! Come on in and get the taste of spring," I say, smiling.
I turn around to start their usual orders when one of the elderly women asks, "Are you still doing the… you know what tonight?"
I nod. "Of course. All are welcome, even you."
She beams, grateful, and bows her head as she hands me her ration card for payment.
The rest of the morning flies by until the afternoon starts. I quickly grab a sandwich I made the day before and some of my tea that I just brewed — a simple floral blend to help me relax for the busy evening ahead. Once a week, I do this, and I can't let the morning rattle me.
Once I finish my lunch, I grab the last of my dishes for the day. The shop closes in the late afternoon, which gives me a bit of time to prepare for the evening's lesson. I unlock a shelf in the dining area and pull out the paper, pencils, and teaching books I keep there. I don't want to lose these, since so many people rely on the lessons I give. Reading and writing are essential in everyday life, but there are no systems in our "great" country to teach them. So I try to do what I can for the town, for both the elderly and the children alike.
I quickly set the tables with all the supplies as the children arrive. I smile, thankful to see all of them. The kids, giddy, take their seats.
"Okay, everyone who is ready for class?" I ask.
They all smile, and I engross myself in the lesson as the adults start coming in too. All are welcome, as long as they want to learn. When the lesson is over, I have them practice what they just learned. I go table to table, dropping off sweets and drinks. The children's laughter makes the adults smile as they learn.
It makes me smile, too, after a few hours the door opens again.
"Oh, someone must be a bit late. That's okay," I think to myself, once I behold a man.
He's clearly a traveler — his black hair and darker garb look worn and dirty from long journeys. He approaches the counter where I serve my customers. His red eyes meet mine, and he smiles.
"Hello. Is this place open for business?"