The year 772 was an exceptionally good year. The fall harvest from the farm paid very well. Genevieve tried not to imagine her elf and fairy friends had anything to do with that, but they might have. “So, the army is buying up all the food,” Genevieve surmised.

“Who cares,” Gisela said.

“As long as we get the money,” Ursula said. “I need a new dress.” She looked at her mother.

“I wonder who they are going to war with,” Genevieve said out loud.

“Not our concern,” Mother Ingrid responded before she had a second thought. “Unless they come this way.” She seemed to be thinking hard. “Clean up the kitchen,” she told Genevieve and wandered off to do some heavy thinking.

In the end, Mother Ingrid hired an older couple who were in fact gnomes, or house elves, or brownies of some sort depending on who was describing them, not that Mother Ingrid or the girls ever suspected. Honestly, it was all Genevieve could get based on what Mother Ingrid was willing to pay. The old man, Otl would clean up the barn and the grounds. The old woman, Matthild would keep the kitchen and cook. Genevieve still had the housecleaning and the laundry and such, but the old woman helped a bit and that was some relief. In truth, the old man and the old woman were especially kind to Genevieve, at least when Mother Ingrid and the girls were not around, but that was easy because Genevieve, despite everything, had grown into a kind and caring person—very Cinderella-like.

Around the beginning of March in the following year of 773, Genevieve, in good Cinderella fashion, was cleaning out the big kitchen fireplace which backed up to the fireplace in the sitting room. They used the same chimney. The kitchen fireplace was nearly always lit for cooking purposes, but when there was no fire in either, as was the case when Genevieve had to clean them out, what was said in one room would echo into the other, not loudly, but discernable if you were in the actual fireplace. Mother Ingrid could easily be heard.

“Genevieve will be eighteen soon enough, and there are some in town who will make sure she takes full possession of the house and property.”

“But Mother,” Ursula whined. “What does that mean for us?”

“It means no more shopping,” Gisela answered. “No more jewels, or clothes, or fine things for us.”

“Oh,” Ursula let out a small wail. She sounded like she did not like that idea. “But Mother, if we were married we could have husbands who could provide for us.”

“If I could find you husbands… I thought to place you in an advantageous position but that is not going to happen…” Mother Ingrid did not explain.

“Maybe if Genevieve married.” Gisela was thinking. “Maybe her husband could take her away and we could have this place for ourselves.”

“No!” Mother Ingrid practically shouted. “I have had three proposals for Genevieve’s hand, two knights and one baron, and I turned them all down. I even tried to say the eldest needs to marry first and turn the baron to Ursula, but he wanted no part of that.”

“But Mother.” Gisela had some brains but she tended to get stuck on her own idea. “If Genevieve married…”

“No,” Mother Ingrid said more softly in her calm-the-distraught-child voice. “Genevieve would have a son and lay claim to all this county forever. No. She will die an old maid as far as I am concerned, and before twenty-one, if possible.”

“Why twenty-one?” Ursula asked. It sounded like Ursula was trying to think. The poor girl would just give herself a headache.

“Because, even if she inherits the manor house at eighteen, I still control the tenant properties, the income, and taxes until she is twenty-one. She may have to have an accident before she takes it all,” Mother Ingrid said, without spelling out what kind of accident she had in mind.

Genevieve heard footsteps away from the fireplace and rushed to the water basin where she could clean her face and hands up to the elbows. She pushed her blonde locks behind her ears and grabbed a cloth and the wood oil jug and hurried to the dining room. “Genevieve,” she heard Mother Ingrid yell up the stairs assuming Genevieve was up there making the beds.

Genevieve glanced at the kitchen door where she saw Matthild stick her head into the dining room. She had come back in from doing the morning dishes and mouthed the words, “I’ll finish the fireplace.” Genevieve nodded her thanks as an impatient Mother Ingrid called again.

“Genevieve.”

“Here, Mother,” Genevieve responded sweetly and came from the dining room door into the entrance hall.

Mother Ingrid paused to look at the sitting room and back at the dining room as if judging the distance and wondering if maybe Genevieve overheard. She pretended Genevieve had not heard, and Genevieve betrayed no emotions to indicate otherwise. “You need to go into town and get a dozen eggs,” Mother Ingrid said and went back into the sitting room without another thought.

Genevieve brushed herself off and took her shawl from the hook. It was not the warmest shawl, just better than nothing. She looked down at her slippers. Boots would be nice for slushing through the snow that still clung to the roadway, but she did not have any boots. She borrowed Gisela’s big boots once and got in big trouble. She imagined her feet would be half-frozen by the time she got to town.

Genevieve followed Mother Ingrid into the sitting room and stuck her hand out. She said nothing. Mother Ingrid all but growled but went to the bureau in the corner where she kept a few coins in the top drawer. No one knew where Mother Ingrid kept her main stash of money.

“That is all there is,” she said as she put a few pitiful pennies in Genevieve’s hand. “You need to bargain better.”

Genevieve kept her hand out and frowned at the meagre funds. She would be lucky to get two eggs for that little. She put the coins in the pocket of her dress and went to the door without argument. She would figure something out, or she would get a beating.

Genevieve waded through the thin layer of snow to the front gate and only once shrugged her shawl up tighter around her neck. Her mind focused on what she heard. She would never be allowed to marry. She would never be allowed to have children of her own. She stiffened her lips, not just from the cold, and her shoulders began to droop but pulled back up against the wind. Her warmest outfit was not much help when the cold wind blew. She stopped at the gate when a group of men rode up and stopped on the other side of the fence. The old man out front made a comment.

“This is the place. I am fairly sure. It was thirteen years ago, you understand.”

Genevieve looked up and looked closely at the face. There seemed something familiar about the face, and Margueritte, her immediate past life blurted out the name. “Bernard.”

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MONDAY

King Charles (Charlemagne) arrives and surprises Genevieve. Until then, Happy Reading

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