Rosemary Thorne's Arc

Chapter 20 of 24

Rosemary woke Thursday morning with the fitted bodice still in her mind and a colder problem in its place. The dress would come. The village would not fit in her cottage. After the banns on Sunday, half the village would walk out to see the bride's house. Neighbors always did. Her kitchen held four chairs. The parlor held a table and a churn. There was no room to pour cider for thirty, no bench to sit an old woman down. She had spent every coin on the carter's boots for Damien and the cream owed to the gnome. She could not host them. She could not stop them coming. She walked to the village before the bakery opened. The green at the edge of the market was empty. In the middle stood the park gazebo, white lattice and open sides, the roof pitched high enough to shed rain. It had held summer dances when she was small. Nobody had used it since spring. The rail was clean. The floor was swept. Someone still tended it. She went to Mabel Crumb at the bakery. Mabel was pulling loaves onto the counter with a peel. Flour dusted her forearms. She looked up and did not smile, but she did not turn away either. "I need the gazebo on Sunday," Rosemary said. "After the banns. Cider and bread for anyone who walks up. I can't do it at the cottage." Mabel set the peel down. "You've no money." "No." "And you're asking me to bake for it." "I'm asking you to sell me the bread on credit against my garden. Apples in autumn. Honey when the hive takes. I'll write it down and sign." Mabel wiped her hands on her apron. She looked at Rosemary a long moment. "The gazebo belongs to the parish. You'd need the warden's word." "Will he give it?" "He will if I ask him." Mabel picked up the peel again. "Bring me the paper tonight. I'll do the bread at cost. The cider you get from the carter — he owes his man wages and he'll take the trade." Rosemary's hands shook on the counter. "Why." "Because a shabby wedding sets a village talking again," Mabel said. "And I am tired of talking about you." Rosemary walked home with the promise in her chest and a debt in her ledger she would spend a year paying. She stopped at the green and looked at the gazebo again. It would hold thirty standing. It would hold the eyes of the village off her small kitchen. Damien was in the yard when she came through the gate. She told him where they would stand on Sunday afternoon. He nodded once and went back to the wood, and she sat on the step and began writing the note of credit before her courage cooled.