#betcha some of u got stumped reading that

[girl-named-matty]

Sebastian: English is a difficult language. It can be understood through tough thorough thought, though. Ominis: You need to stop.

[lousylark]

blue lace

(part 6. Read the previous part here, read the first part here. This is a bite-sized part because halfway through is where I decided to switch the story from being in past-tense to present-tense, so sorry about that lol. But the chapter is really long anyway so breaking it into two parts should be fine.)

- 

Spring 7th. Maurice’s Inn. Morning. 

When Klaus stepped outside that morning, the world seemed noticeably lighter. 

As he locked the door of his home behind him, he took a deep breath in through the nose. The air felt wet, though not in an unpleasant way; rather, it foretold the arrival of Spring — and not a moment too soon, seeing as a week had gone by since the dawn of the New Year. 

On his walk to town, he was surprised to find that most of the snow had melted overnight. Perhaps the farmers would finally be able to plant — he’d heard grumblings around town of a possible slow-down in the local economy thanks to spring’s late arrival. 

In fact, the weather was so nice that he didn’t even miss his heavier jacket. Since Minori had yet to return his winter coat, he’d been wearing a lighter jacket the past several days. Not, of course, that he minded too much. He had seen her wearing it two days ago while walking through town and hadn’t failed to notice the charming way she tucked her nose inside the collar to hide her face from the cold. 

Such were dangerous thoughts, however, and he pushed them away, deep into the crevices of his heart, as he stepped into the lobby of Maurice’s Inn. 

“Klaus!” Maurice greeted even before he had closed the door behind him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Klaus tipped his hat. “I have a meeting with some of your guests, actually.” 

“Ah, I see.” Maurice leaned on the counter on his elbows. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

He started to take off his coat. “No, I —“ And then he paused. He was a little thirsty. “Actually, yes, thank you, Maurice.” 

Maurice grinned. “Good man. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared through a door behind the counter, which, Klaus assumed, led to his family’s personal living space. 

Klaus took his time in taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack. He took a deep breath in through the nose. The Inn smelled of fresh flowers and cinnamon, with a dash of chai and green tea. He looked to the welcome desk: a vase of fresh daisies sat atop the wooden counter. He wondered who had managed to find such lovely flowers amidst the recent winter weather. He had always wanted to try a flower-and-chai scented perfume. Maybe the Inn would be his inspiration.

A loud pair of feet clunked down the stairs. He looked up to find Melanie, the younger of Maurice’s two daughters, clad in a rain jacket and boots. 

Her eyes widened when she saw him. She froze on the stairwell, surprised. “Hi Mr. Shultz!”

He nodded at her. “Good morning, Melanie. How are you?”

Her grin could singlehandedly light up a theater — not unlike her father. 

“Great!” she chirped, practically flying down the rest of the stairs until she was at the bottom step. She draped herself over the railing — strangely lavishly for her next words: “I’m going to hunt for worms with Lutz.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Worms?”

She nodded. “It’s the perfect weather to find them — all muddy. You know?”

“Indeed,” he said, “but why worms?”

“Otmar said he’d teach us to fish when the river thawed,” she explained hastily. “But we gotta find bait, first.”

“Ah. You’d best get to it, then. I hear worms are easiest to find in the morning.”

Her eyebrows practically rose to her hairline. “Really? I didn’t know that!” 

She raced past him toward the door, swinging it open. A pleasantly warm breeze blew into the lobby. 

Before she left, she looked up at him, still grinning, and said, “Thanks, Mr. Shultz. I owe you one!”

The door slammed behind her. Though he chuckled at her youthful excitement, Klaus couldn’t help but wonder when we’d gotten so old that the youngsters of the town had started calling him ‘Mr. Shultz” rather than Klaus. It was a thought he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to ponder.

Thankfully, Maurice came back with a glass of water, providing him with a distraction.

“Here you go, Klaus,” he said, and Klaus approached to grab the water. “Sorry it’s a mug, not a glass. I haven’t had time to do the dishes the past few days.”

“Not a problem, Maurice,” he replied, raising the glass to his lips. “I’m less likely to spill with the handle, anyway.” 

Maurice’s eyes sparkled. “You’re always findin’ that silver lining, aren’t you? Well, I’ll leave you to your meeting.” As Klaus started toward the staircase, he added, “Just yell if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do, Maurice,” he said. “Thank you.” 

Raeger’s Restaurant. Morning. 

After finishing her morning chores, Minori found herself once again sitting at the counter of Raeger’s restaurant. Her sketchbook was open to a blank page — well, blank, minus the drop of coffee she’d accidentally spilled in the corner. 

She groaned, throwing her head against the book. 

“Still stumped about White Day?” Raeger asked. He stood behind the counter, cleaning out a coffee pitcher with a wet dish towel.

“Yeah,” she said, but the sound was muffled by her sketchbook. “It’s like my mind is…totally blank. I have no idea how to throw a White Day festival without it seeming overly cheesy, and I don’t want it to be focused solely on romance. It has to attract families, too.”

Raeger scoffed. “Come on, you don’t usually admit defeat so easily. You’ve gotta have something up your sleeve.” 

She finally lifted her head from the counter, leaning it on one hand. “Literally all I’ve got is “Under the Sea” and “White and Black” — you know, ‘cause it’s White Day?”

Raeger looked at her strangely — and then smiled lop-sidedly. 

“Yeah, those really are kinda weak,” he jibed.

She picked her sketchbook up off the counter and whacked him with it. He only laughed in response. 

“You’re so unhelpful,” she grumbled.

“Hey, come on, Nor,” he said, hopping up to sit on the counter next to her. “You’re usually full of ideas. What’s so different about this?”

She sighed. “I don’t know…”

“I don’t know,” he parroted — in a rather terrible impression of her voice, she thought. “It’s that crazy French lady that’s staying with Elise, isn’t it?”

She pouted. “No!” A pause. “Okay, maybe.” She threw her head against the sketchbook again. “I don’t know.” 

Raeger put a hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head. For a moment, looking into his sweet, puppy-dog eyes, she realized it wasn’t any wonder Lillie was so terribly besotted with him.

“You’ve never let someone get in your way before, Nor,” he said, his tone significantly gentler. “Not your stubborn cows, or Giorgio, or even Elise. Why is Madame Dupont any different?”

She sighed, averting her gaze. “I don’t know.”

The door to the restaurant opened. Otmar hobbled in. He looked particularly put-together today, with a bright blue rain jacket and big brown boots. 

“Hiya, kids,” he said through whistling dentures. 

“Hey, Otmar,” Minori said — but she couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

He tottered over to the counter, using his cane to propel himself onto one of the bar stools. “Why, what’s with the long face? Youngsters like you shouldn’t have any reason to look so sad.” 

Minori managed a half-smile. “I have to throw together a brand new festival by the end of the day, or else our Business Mentor is gonna roast me over an open fire.” 

He titled his head to one side like a Beagle asking for a treat. “You mean that slim lady with the high heels? And the…the hair?”

Minori nodded. “That’s the one.”

He whistled. “Her eyes are so icy I almost slipped and fell on my bum watchin’ her walk through town.”

Minori burst out laughing at that — she couldn’t help it.

Raeger hopped off the counter. “Hey, good work Otmar. That’s the first time she’s laughed this morning.”

“Always willing to help a friend in need,” Otmar said, flashing a toothy smile. “If anyone wants to help this friend in need, I can’t remember where I put my vitamins.”

“Did you check the drawer under the cash register?” Minori asked. “They were there last time.”

Otmar’s eyes lit up. “By golly, they were, weren’t they!”

She nodded — she didn’t know why, but her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. “U-Uh huh.”

Otmar somehow seemed to understand. He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and handed it to her. It looked slightly used, but she didn’t really mind in the moment. Raeger kindly turned back to his dish washing as the first tear rolled down her cheek.

“Now don’t you let that scary woman get to you, little lady,” Otmar said over the sound of her nose-blowing. “You’re a right bit stronger than her, y’see? Now what’s this festival you have ta plan?”

“It’s for White Day,” she explained — or rather, hiccuped. She had a nasty habit of crying when she was even just a bit frustrated. “We have to come up with…some sort of celebration that’ll make money.”

Otmar’s eyes lit up. “White Day? Well why didn’t ya say so!”

Raeger paused in his dishwashing. Minori, too, put the handkerchief down.

“What?” 

“Back in my youth,” Otmar explained, “this town’d have an annual White Day lunch auction.”

“A lunch auction?” Minori repeated.

He nodded. “A lunch auction.” 

She thought he was going to say more, but he simply stared at the far wall, eyes full of nostalgia.

Raeger took over. “Uh, Otmar?” he asked gently. “What’s a lunch auction?”

Otmar shook his head. “What? What was that? Munch oxen?”

“A lunch auction,” Minori clarified. 

“I haven’t been to a lunch auction in years!” he cried. His eyes glimmered with excitement. “A lunch auction is when all the little ladies anonymously make a lunch — but really they put ‘em in a pretty bag or tie ‘em up real special so their beaus know which lunch is theirs. And then they auction off the lunches. Whichever little lad is willing to pay the most gets to eat lunch with the lady who made it!”

Minori raised an eyebrow. “So it’s like…auctioning off a date?”

“You betcha,” he said, nodding. “It died down over the years ‘cause payin’ for a lady’s time became more…frowned upon, ya see.” He paused, clicking his teeth together. “But I bet’cha could tweak it and make it socially acceptable for the maidens and their misters here in town.”

The gears started turning in her mind. There were a lot of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in town — and famous ones for that matter, like Elise and Raeger, whose participation would certainly draw a crowd, even from Norchester. And not only that, but the preparation on the board’s end would be minimal: all they had to do was arrange somewhere for the event to take place (the Trade Depot), find an auctioneer (Mistel would be perfect!), and advertise with flyers or a radio program (which Kassie had already offered to do as soon as she had the idea). Check, check, and —

“Minori?” Raeger asked, nudging her. “You alright?”

She grabbed her sketchbook and a pen. “Otmar, can you tell me more about this lunch auction? What kind of space did you use? What were the decorations like? The auctioning process? The entry guidelines?”

Otmar blinked. Raeger only laughed. 

Maurice’s Inn — Licorice’s Room. Mid-morning. 

Klaus waited patiently as Licorice and Kamil glanced over the journal. 

They had been sitting there for several minutes, both quietly reading the pages he’d marked that covered what he believed to be the flower he was looking for, Mundavi Meum. He was getting nervous — his knee bounced, his eye twitched. He focused on another of Marian’s anti-dissociating tricks: name a food that starts with every letter of the alphabet. 

Apple, Banana, Clementine. That was easy enough. 

They kept reading. He put a hand on his knee to keep it from bouncing. 

…Gourd, Honey…Jasmine? Did herbs count as food?

He glanced up. Both were still reading. Licorice smelled like daisies. He wondered if she’d been the one to put the vase of daisies on the counter downstairs. 

…Milk. Which made him think of cows, which made him think of a farm, which made him think of — 

Kamil hummed, pulling Klaus out of his mental whirlwind.

“Sorry, Klaus,” he said, sinking back into his chair with a resigned sigh. “I’ve never heard of this flower before.”

He felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, and then it sank deep to his stomach. So that was it, then.

Licorice, however, kept her eyes on the page. “I have,” she said, her voice soft even in the quiet room.

Klaus almost dropped his mug of water, the one Maurice had given him. As a precaution, he set it down on the floor before asking, “You have?” He really hadn’t been expecting this.

Licorice nodded. “Do you have a piece of paper? Something to write on?”

He fumbled with the button on the pocket of his sports coat, but managed to produce a receipt from Raeger’s restaurant and a pen. He handed them to Licorice.

She scratched a few notes on the piece of paper. The silence made his chest ache.

Finally, she said, “You’re missing a word. The Latin name of the flower is Mundavi Cor Meum — ‘Separate From My Heart’ is the literal translation.” She paused to return the receipt and the pen. “But it’s much more commonly referred to as ‘Blue Lace.’”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. He didn’t even glance at the paper — he was too fixated on every word she said. “Blue Lace?” 

She nodded. “The name is based on its appearance. The petals are extremely delicate, and it’s rare for a flower to be royal blue.” 

“Blue Lace,” he breathed. The name was like a benediction. “Incredible.”

Licorice nodded — but her eyes remained guarded. “It’s a wonder of nature, but I…I’m afraid I’ve never seen the flower in person, Klaus. It’s incredibly difficult to grow, as you’ll see from the instructions I wrote for you, and thus exceedingly rare. It also wilts exceptionally soon after harvesting.”

“But it exists,” he said. “Yes?”

She took a deep breath and held it, contemplating the answer. Then, her chest deflated, and she replied, “Yes. Technically. In very rare circumstances, and not often in the wild. It must be cultivated and cared for with the gentlest of hands.” She glanced at Kamil. “I’m not even sure either of us have the skill to plant it, let alone see it to harvest.”

“No matter,” he said, waving a hand. “I have faith.”

“Faith won’t water your flowers, Klaus,” Kamil pointed out, albeit gently. “If Licorice doesn’t think she can plant it, it’s a real long shot.” 

Licorice’s cheeks turned pink at the subtle compliment. Nonetheless, she said, “Kamil’s right. It would be really, really difficult —“

“But what of its healing properties?” Klaus asked. He felt only a little guilty for so blatantly interrupting her. “Surely the turnout is worth the risk?”

Licorice tilted her head to one side. “Healing properties?”

Klaus stood from his chair. He was too restless; he needed to move. 

“Mundavi — Blue Lace,” he corrected himself, pacing the room, “is known only in legend to chemists of my line of work. The scent of the flower is said to have…unimaginable healing properties,” he explained. “If I could harvest the flower and concoct a perfume from its aroma, I could —“ 

He stopped himself. Swallowed. Reeled himself back in.

“I could do a lot of good,” he finished. He looked back and forth between Licorice and Kamil. “You truly know nothing of the legend?”

Licorice shook her head. Kamil, too, looked at a loss. 

Klaus collapsed back into his chair. He pinched his nose between two fingers.

“Very well,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ll start with this: do you know where I could find the seeds to grow this flower?” 

Licorice shook her head. “That’s a question for Kamil, not me. I don’t have contacts like that.” 

Klaus, thus, looked to Kamil. With his sweater vest and newsies cap, he reminded Klaus a little of his younger self. He hoped for Kamil’s sake, however, that this was not the case. 

“I can see what I can do,” Kamil said. “But it might take days, even weeks, if I find anyone at all.”

Klaus nodded. “I understand. It’s taken me years to get even to this point.”

Licorice’s eyes widened. “Y-Years?”

“Years,” he affirmed. 

He supposed that was the moment when the gravity of his search finally sunk in for Kamil and Licorice: their eyes darkened with sadness, though both looked at him with a new degree of understanding. Klaus wondered, briefly, if they were related, or even just a couple: their mannerisms were unorthodoxly similar. He sometimes saw Lillie and Raeger do the same thing. Perhaps it was the result of being friends since childhood. 

“I’ll find the seeds for you, Klaus,” Kamil said, his voice low with sincerity. “I promise.”

Klaus chuckled dryly. 

“When you get to be my age, you won’t believe in promises anymore,” he said, a hint of bitterness to his tone. His gaze softened, however. “But I do appreciate the sentiment.” He tucked Licorice’s notes into his journal to look at later. “Thank you, both of you, for your help. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Elise’s Manor. Lunch. 

Nadi was oddly muscular for a landscaper.

Seeing as the weather had finally warmed up, Elise had decided to do some work on the porch instead of in her office. Occupying her favorite porch-swing — the one with the pink floral seat cushion — she had spent the majority of the morning balancing accounts and writing letters to her contacts in Norchester. Nadi had emerged from the mansion some ten minutes ago, claiming he was going to check the soil acidity and moisture now that the snow had melted. 

She hadn’t been able to focus since then. Every time she tried to start a task, her gaze would be pulled back out to the field. She didn’t usually pay attention to Nadi’s work, but she found herself suddenly engaged by the way he would get on his hands and knees and stick his hands straight into the mud. Then, he would pull his hands out and wipe them on his shirt before writing some notes down on a nearby sheet of paper. 

All the while, the fresh Spring sun shone down on his white hair. Today it was pulled back in an unruly ponytail; the strands that still clung to the base of his neck stood out like branches of birchwood against his dark skin. 

And then there were the muscles. He donned a simple cream working tunic that tied with elastic around the waist. When he leaned over to check the soil, she could see the muscles in his back and shoulders through the thin material. She’d never noticed them before.

“Elise.”

She snapped her gaze away from Nadi. Madame stood in the front doorway some feet away. 

Since the incident in the parlor, they had managed…cordiality. Nothing more, nothing less. Elise had not forgotten her resentment, and her knuckles were still bruised, but for now, she was biding her time until she could unravel whatever horrendous scheme Madame had in mind. Until then, she would wait patiently to strike. 

“Bonjour Madame,” she said, shifting the papers in her lap so she could cross her legs in the porch swing. “Ça va?” 

Madame moved from the doorway toward a chair opposite Elise. “Today is the third day since the meeting, and our Agricultural Representative has yet to present any ideas for a possible White Day festival.”

As Madame sat down, Elise let out a sigh. “Her name is Minori, Madame.” 

“Minor details, p’tite,” she said, crossing her legs and looking out to the field. “Without a festival, we risk —“ 

She abruptly cut off. Elise tried to follow her gaze — she was staring at Nadi.

“Is something the matter, Madame?” she asked. 

Madame scowled. “I’ve never seen any Prince of Silk Country playing in the dirt.”

Elise moved her hand delicately to her collarbone in a show of surprise. “Why, Madame! He has kindly asked to help my servants with landscaping this Spring. ’Tis not unheard of for the nobility to take up such hobbies.”

“I suppose you’re right. Did he bring that shirt with him?” Madame asked. “It would be terribly unflattering on anyone else, but it fits him well.” She crossed her arms. “A pity he’s from Silk Country, or I would dare say he’s a rather handsome young man.” 

Fire smoldered in Elise’s belly. “Madame,” she hissed. “C’est impoli. Il est un prince!” She hesitated, then added, “And more so, he is a person. You should not say such things.”

Madame barked out a laugh. “Oh, Elise. T’es un enfant.”

Elise’s shook her head. “Skin color holds no weight in contests for beauty,” she argued, echoing her mother’s words from when she was young — but the next words were her own: “But how one perceives race does aid in assessing one’s capacity for hatred.”

Madame, however, seemed unperturbed by the insult. “Please, ma petite. You cannot tell me truly that you find our Prince Nadi becoming.” 

Elise chewed on the inside of her cheek, remembering the way the sun lit up Nadi’s hair; the way his lips pursed when he was thinking hard; the muscles of his back when he got on his knees to check the soil — 

A long pause. Madame’s lips curled into an eerie smile. 

“Of course I do not,” Elise said quickly, attempting to deter her. “He is my guest — not eye candy.”

Madame leaned back into her chair with a satisfied sigh. “You see? ’Tis simply the way of things.”

Elise had at least seven cutting responses on the tip of her tongue, but they were interrupted by the front door opening.

Jenny, her servant, poked her head out onto the porch. “Excuse me, mistress. Would you care for some tea or cookies?” 

Elise sighed. She supposed this was as good a distraction from the direction of their conversation as any. Jenny, as always, had good timing. Perhaps she should consider giving her a raise. 

“Yes, Jenny. Thank you.”

“Hold the cookies,” Madame ordered, not even looking at Jenny.

Jenny glanced at Elise for approval. Elise sighed. 

“No cookies,” she affirmed, trying desperately to suppress the blush crawling up to her cheeks. 

Jenny nodded, and then disappeared back into the house. 

“There, now,” Madame hummed once she was gone. “N’ayez pas peur. We will restore your figure within the season, p’tite.” 

Elise didn’t respond. She returned her focus to the balance sheets in her lap, ignoring the shame boiling in the pit of her stomach. She would not let Madame hold this over her — not again, not after the years she’d spent undoing her curse. 

Madame didn’t seem to be done with her yet, however. “I asked Cook if we might have broiled fish and asparagus for dinner this evening.” She crossed her legs as if her next words were just an observation of the weather. “I suppose I could ask him to add a dollop of butter to the cod, if you’ll really feel remiss without it.”

Elise snapped. 

“Actually, I won’t be joining you for dinner this evening,” she said, gathering her papers and standing from the porch swing. “I have a social commitment I must attend.”

Madame raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? What social commitments could you possibly have in this tiny town?”

“A ladies’ gathering,” she replied, “with some of my dear friends. Once a season we meet to drink wine and eat cheese and —“ she took a tiny pause. What did girls her age talk about? “— discuss our favorite fashions, and such.” 

Madame peered at her suspiciously. “I was under the impression you didn’t waste your time on such frivolous matters, p’tite.” 

“Time spent schmoozing is never time wasted, Madame,” she countered. “Or wasn’t that what you always taught me?” She set her papers down on a little table nearby and started toward the porch steps.

Madame shook her head, smiling pointedly. “Only when the schmoozing actually benefits your political stance.”

Elise whirled around. “You have much to learn about Oak Tree Town politics, Madame. The girls I’ll be courting tonight carry a great deal of respect in this town.” She smiled thinly. “Perhaps you’d like to come? Iris is quite the fiction writer. You could commission her to whip up a little story to save your fashion enterprise. Imagine the headline: ‘Racist, Cold-Hearted Designer Nurses Small Town to Health.’” A pause so that she could bark a laugh. “Actually, I’m not even sure Iris’s skills could help you there.” 

Madame’s mouth popped open. Elise was fairly sure that if she hadn’t been standing several feet, safely away, she would have gotten slapped. 

But instead of an angry reprimanding, Madame just leaned back in her chair, her gaze sliding out to look where Nadi worked in the field. 

“Perhaps I’ll call your father while you’re at this gathering,” Madame commented too-nonchalantly. “He and I have a great deal to talk about.”

Elise smiled with no mirth. “Do give him my warmest regards.”

And then she flounced into the house, teeth gritted and ready to stuff a hundred cookies down her throat out of spite.