Marigold Bellamy's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

She spent two days learning the inn though she still hadn’t picked out a room. The place was certainly old, but it was clear her ancestors had put care into it. Stained glass, pure cedar doors, and rugs from all over the continent were her favorite features. That morning she sat at the kitchen table with every coin she had sat in front of her. She counted them twice. The number did not change. There was enough for food and little else. A roof needed mending. The porch steps sagged. The inn she dreamed of could not open without money. Determining the best way to get it was a temporary job, she gathered her bag and walked into the smaller sunroom to the back. It seemed to be Olga’s favorite place. Thankfully she was able to learn a bit about her these last few days. Theodore seemed to be avoiding her. Which was fine, he was quite rude. "I'm going into town," Mari was excited. "Someone there must have a job, I know you mentioned the gardens provide a lot but I wanna get this place up and running. I’ll need some lumbar, tools, and a lot of help.” Olga set down her cup. Frown lines appearing on her forehead showing a level of worry. "The people in Lyle may not greet you kindly," she stated. Turning her head to the side as if signaling she wouldn’t elaborate. "Well, I have to try, besides, no one knows me personally.” Olga pressed her lips thin and nodded. Mari followed the cobblestone road past the ivy wall that marked the end of the estate. After walking an hour through the trees, a worn stone sign welcomed her to Lyle, the friendliest town in all of Verdant. It read. She smiled at that. Perhaps this will be a great place to live. It didn’t take long to find the market, a tall wooden hall, trimmed in deep red. Stalls crowded the floor. Voices rose and fell. It was lively. Almost the entire population was human, though she noticed a half pixie woman. Human ears, but the typical pretty white wings. Halfway through the market a smell hit her nose. Cumin and dried pepper. It smelled like Solmar. She followed it to a stall where a man in a red cloak poured a dark spice into a sack. He was in his fifties, olive-skinned, with a trimmed grey beard. His dark eyes appeared friendly. "That smell is from home," Mari smiled at him. "Solmar." The man looked up. "It was my mother's home. I'm Garris." He pinched a little spice and held it out. "The southern coast. Red Salt, close to the sea." Mari breathed it in. "I grew up in the dry inland. We used this in everything." For a moment she wasn't a stranger with empty pockets. She was just a girl who knew the taste of home. Garris studied her. "You came a long way. I don't know your face." "I inherited a manor less than half a days walk from here. I mean to make it an inn." She hesitated, then offered her hand. "Marigold Bellamy." Garris's hand paused in the air. His easy warmth did not leave his face, but it tightened. People at the next stall turned their heads. A woman gathered her basket and stepped back. "Bellamy," Garris said. He took her hand anyway, firm. "I'm glad to meet you. That's the truth." He lowered his voice. "You must understand that after Irene, not everyone here will be." "Irene?" Mari had never heard the name. "Who is that?" Garris let go. "Not my story to tell." He wrapped a small sack of spice and pressed it into her hands. "No charge and welcome. Truly.” Mari walked home with no coin and a name she couldn't shake. Someone named Irene. Whatever Irene had done, the town still remembered. She couldn’t let it get to her though. She still had no job and would have to come back to town tomorrow.