Vermilion ~ Sixteen: Carpenter

[annarti.livejournal.com]

The carpenter was working outside today, carving autumn leaf designs into the centre panel of what would become a low tea table. He always loved working with such beautiful wood grain, where the natural patterns in the wood guided his hand on their own, showing him where the curve of a leaf or the twist of a twig should go.

His peaceful afternoon splintered when his daughter came running down the street in a flurry of tears. He hastily set his design and tools aside as the girl flung herself into his arms, bawling the whole time, ‘I’m sorry, Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!’

‘Shh, hush now,’ he said as he gathered her into his lap. ‘Hush now, and tell me just what you’ve gotten yourself into.’

He caught a flash of red from the corner of his eye, and looked up with a sinking feeling of dread.

‘What have you done?’ he murmured, more harshly than he had intended.

The little girl clung to him as though she were drowning and he the only driftwood keeping her afloat.

For a long while, the sound of her sobs, slowly abating, were the only sound. Master Vermilion stood a few paces back from the carpenter’s decking, his face the unreadable mask of nobility, but in one normally so open and jovial, his passive silence spoke volumes.

‘What has she done, Master?’ the carpenter had to ask. Anxiety was clawing at his chest, a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

‘I’ll let her tell you,’ he said, voice stern. Whatever she had done, clearly Master Vermilion blamed the father as much as the child. As well he might, the carpenter thought.

He unhooked his daughter’s arms from around his neck. Her face was raw and red, smeared with tears, snot and unending guilt.

‘I-I-I tried to…’ Her face crumbled again as she tried to get the words out. She glanced back at Master Vermilion for support, but she certainly wasn’t going to find any there. ‘I tried to steal from Master Candlewood,’ she blurted in a terrified run of words. ‘I’m sorry, Father! I never meant it! I was going to give it back, I—’

Vermilion cleared his throat, making her cringe, cut off her words and fall again into her father’s chest.

The carpenter couldn’t hug her back this time. He stared at the young master in horror, numb all over and as unable to form words as his daughter. All he could do was stare. Even his mind had gone numb, unable to see beyond this moment. His daughter, his daughter, a thief? And not of just anyone, but of the heir to their castle?

The carpenter’s wife, who had been peeling potatoes inside for dinner, bustled out wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘What’s all the commotion, then? Oh! Master Candlewood, what a surprise!’ But her smile faltered when she recognised the expression—or lack thereof—on the young master’s face, took in her bawling daughter and numb husband. ‘What’s all this, then?’ she asked, trying to keep the chirp in her voice.

‘She was caught trying to steal from Master Candlewood,’ the carpenter replied, his voice hollow and wooden.

His wife froze, turned briefly to the young master, then reached out and abruptly slapped her daughter on the back of the head. ‘Inside, young miss, right now! In your room, shut the door, and you can wait until your father and I decide what to do with you.’

The child ran bawling into the house and slammed her bedroom door behind her.

The sudden noise jolted the carpenter from his stupor. He rubbed his face with both hands, scratched at his stubbled and itching jaw and looked with profound guilt at the young master. ‘Oh, Master Candlewood. Whatever must you think of us?’

‘None too highly, I’ll admit,’ the heir told them, and the carpenter cringed at both his words and his tone. ‘She says it was a game that some of the other children in town were playing at. None of my guests will wish to come into town after this incident.’

The carpenter went cold as the full ramifications of his daughter’s actions dawned on him. To the guests, Candlewood must seem like a town of thieves.

The master sighed heavily and slid his hands into his pockets. ‘I’d say more, but I have a party to entertain.’ He paused for a moment but didn’t turn to leave just yet. ‘I’ll ask you, along with the other parents, to the castle next week.’

‘Of course, Master Candlewood.’ The carpenter stood to bow as the young heir departed, then turned to his wife.

Where he was petrified, she was fuming.

‘Where did she get that idea?’ she snapped as soon as Vermilion had disappeared up the street. The carpenter had the distinct impression she was blaming him. ‘It certainly hasn’t been from anything I’ve said.’

‘Nor me,’ the carpenter added, shaking his head and pretending not to hear her accusatory tone.

She snorted and pulled up a chair. ‘It’s those new friends she’s been hanging around.’ The ones the carpenter had been encouraging her to make friends with, her unspoken words emphasised. ‘Their parents are never around and they just let the children run wild all day. It’s a small wonder, really, that they come up with such things to entertain themselves.’

The carpenter shook his head. ‘Not our daughter,’ he murmured. He took up his carving again, knowing it would help him to think as he worked. ‘She knows moral values, she knows the castle provides for us as much as we provide for them.’

‘He said it was a game!’ his wife spurted. ‘Games to me as a child were hide and seek, climbing trees and running around playing chasey. Stealing?’

He sighed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. He blew the curled wood shaving from his work. ‘Maybe we should talk with the other parents before Vermilion calls us in.’

‘And their offspring,’ his wife muttered. ‘In the meantime, I’ll go and have a word with the young miss.’

‘Not yet,’ the carpenter warned with a shake of his head. ‘Let her think on it for a while. I have the impression Vermilion gave her something to think about. She’ll come out in her own time.’

She nodded and settled back in her chair, but she wasn’t relaxed for long. ‘What’s Master Vermilion going to do to us?’ she asked quietly.

The carpenter shook his head as a flash of numbness spread from his heart and left his skin tingling with pins and needles. ‘I don’t know. That’s what scares me the most.’ He swallowed, held his hand away from his carving until it could settle again. ‘With any luck, he’ll have smoothed things over with his guests and they’ll have forgotten all about it by the end of the week.’

‘Vermilion won’t have.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll just have to hold our breaths and see what happens.’

Comments

[ladylight.livejournal.com]

Well, he seems about as vindictive as a golden retriever puppy, so I think you'll be fine, guys.

Then again ...

RED COAT.

[annarti.livejournal.com]

He has a bit of an issue with taking a hard line, yes >>