The Clockmaker's Daughter

Chapter 1

“Good morning Belle!”

“Good morning,” Belle skipped up the shop steps with her basket full of groceries. She loved stopping at the baker’s last, his shop now filled with the scent of fresh baked bread.

“What can I get for you today?” the baker asked, preparing the paper.

“Two baguettes and…”

“And one bun filled with chocolate, fresh from the oven,” he finished for her, handing her her normal breakfast order, already waiting.

Belle tipped her head, packing away the bread before skipping down the steps again. It was a beautiful day with warm sun and the cool scent of spring and its flowers wafting in their small village in the heart of Provence. The town itself revived with the melting winter frost, budding with the fresh herbs and flowers, buzzing with the bees. The warmth of the sun rejuvenated Belle’s skin, filling her with childish giddiness. She detoured onto the road trailing up the hill, leading out to the bay. There at the peak was the vast blue stretch of sky and sea spilling out before her. She breathed the cool salty air deeply, gazing dreamily out beyond the horizon.

Her mind filled with the stories of distant, far off lands full of adventure and excitement. Perhaps it was the restlessness of entering into womanhood, perhaps it was the lingering effects of winter moods. Whatever it was, it infected her heart. She longed to know more, see more, taste and experience more, beyond the confines of her sweet little village. As she turned back into village, she saw her friends, Marie and Corinne, gossiping at the fountain.

“Did you hear how serious the illness is?” Marie asked.

“No, but it can’t be good, given the King’s age,” Corinne said.

“And we still don’t know about the prince …”

“What’s this?” Belle asked, walking up.

“Papa brought news from town,” Corinne said, “The king is sick.”

“And we were wondering what was going to happen if the king dies!” Marie whispered dramatically.

"Marie!" Corinne whispered sharply.

“Well the prince would just become King,” Belle said.

“But no one has seen the prince in five years!” Marie continued.

“What? How come?” Belle asked.

Marie and Corinne shared a look.

“Well, no one knows for sure,” Corinne whispered, drawing Bella in close, “but Papa said that five years ago there was a horrible fire at the prince’s palace.”

“Since then no one has seen the prince or the princess for that matter. It could be that they’ve been hiding that he’s been dead this whole time! That there actually is no heir to the throne!” Marie continued.

“Why wouldn’t they hold a funeral if that was true? To honour the prince’s memory?” Belle asked.

“Because it’s just a rumour,” Corinne replied. “The only thing we do know is that no one has seen the prince or the princess in five years. A lot of mystery behind that. Papa said the whole town was whispering about it, worried what would become of us all when the King dies.”

“If he dies,” Belle corrected. “We should pray for the King’s speedy recovery rather than worry about secrets we have no control over.”

“Doesn’t it worry you though?” Marie asked. “It’s quite a big secret! And this is our lives we’re talking about. Who will become King if not the prince? What if we were to get some foreigner?!”

Belle looked wistfully out to the hill that hid that magnificent view of the ocean.

“If things got bad,” she said quietly, “we could always…”

“Commandeer a boat and sail off on some grand adventure like in one of your books?” Corinne finished for her. “For a second I thought you were actually becoming sensible as well, Belle, but it seems like both of you have your heads in places they don’t belong — Marie’s in the dirt of conspiracy and Belle’s stuck up in the clouds. Belle is right. There’s no point in losing our heads over something we can’t control. But that’s not to say that we should be wasting our time on fantasy. What the both of you should be thinking about are your gardens and wares. Kings come and go, but money is what buys us bread.”

With the final word, Corinne turned away in a huff, standing tall and chin held up high. Belle and Marie glanced at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Sensible Corinne, always ruining our fun,” Belle said. “What else are we to do in this village but to let our imaginations run wild?”

“Still, she is our source of information,” Marie said. “Without her bringing in news, how are we to spin our gossip?”

Marie and Belle kissed each other, parting ways each to their own home. Belle followed the dirt path, still damp from the morning dew, enjoying the fresh golden green shoots of young grass sprouting in the fields.

At home, she set aside the groceries to tend to her own garden. The lavender bushes were beginning to bud, and the rest of the herbs were growing strong. However, only the rosemary was hardy enough to endure the winter that she could now trim a few fresh sprigs for lunch. Just a little bit of patience, soon they would have fresh herbs to enjoy rather than their dried ones.

Her face fell when she checked the rose bushes in their pots. A rot was setting in that had spread all the way down to the root. She would have to dig them up and try again. Roses were such fickle, sensitive flowers, she could never quite get the bushes to last. Still, she was determined. She longed to see big, beautiful blooms filling her garden, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.

Belle returned home to prepare coffee and lunch. Once ready, she called her father from the bottom of the stair.

“Papa! Coffee is ready!”

Leon swaggered down the stairs at his daughter’s call. He once was a young handsome man, but the years had added weight to his belly. However, recently he was feeling more and more like a young man. Every passing day, when he descended into the kitchen, he saw more of the beauty of his late wife blooming in his daughter. It brought youthful vigour back into his slowing, stiff bones. It hadn’t been an easy life, but it was full and it was peaceful. He ate his simple lunch, drank his hearty coffee with his lovely daughter, and was content.

“Ah, I shall go to town tomorrow,” he announced, “to sell my clocks.”

“To town?” Belle asked.

“I’ve gotten better,” he said. “I’ve made those bigger ones, with the more intricate carving. No one here has any use for something so fancy so I thought I’d try selling in town.”

“Oh do Papa!” she rushed to the other side of the table, hugging her father. “They’re so beautiful, I’m sure you’ll sell them all! Can I come with you?”

“To town?” he laughed. “What business do you have in town?”

“None yet!” she said. “But how would I ever get any business if I never go? Oh please Papa, I so long to see the world outside of our small village.”

“If you’re so set on it,” he patted her arm, “then one day I shall bring you to town with me. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow is the first day I am to sell.”
Despite his promise, Belle couldn’t help but sigh, turning to glance out the window. Leon laughed.

“Come now, my dear,” he said. “How about this, I’ll buy you anything you want with the sales I make in town. What do you say to that? What would you like?”

Belle thought for a moment.

“Roses.”