Blacksmiths daughter

The Beginning

Gwendolyn closed the door of the forge behind her. She was a young woman of 19, with thick auburn hair tightly platted behind her back. She wore a simple blouse and black pants, both of which were blackened with soot. Her hands and face were, too, but she had a small smile playing on her lips. She was happy, the way you are simply happy because nothing is wrong.
Gwendolyn started to walk towards her house, which wasn't far. She had already prepared the soup in the morning and set it over the fire to simmer while her and her father worked. Now, she just needed to pick it up and bring it to the forge so her father and her could have a lunch break.
As she walked through the streets, many people looked at her with disapproving eyes. Girls her age shouldn't be working in a forge, she knew they were thinking. She should be finding a husband and caring for him, and giving him children. Not working like a boy with her dad.
But Gwendolyn didn't care. She loved working with her father to create things the townsfolk used everyday.
Gwendolyn reached her house and took the keys from her pocket, then unlocked the door and stepped inside. The fire had died down, of course, but when she opened the lid of the pot, she could feel it was still warm.
Gwendolyn took the pot from the fire and placed it on the table, then took out a small 'transporting bowl' her father had made. It was like a normal bowl, but there was a small metal lid that could close and keep the inside warm, as well as help it stay inside and not leak. Gwendolyn filled it with the carrot, turnip and beans soup, then repeated the process with another bowl. That done, she replaced the pot on the fire. Only pausing to grab two spoons and a small loaf of bread, Gwendolyn left the house.
She made sure to lock to door, then was walking on the streets.
As she left the house, she noticed with a frown a man leaning on the wall of her house, only a few meters away. He had messy brown hair and dirty clothes, and seemed to be approximately her age.
She had noticed him hanging around the house a few times already, watching, always watching her. He was never present when her father was there, and Gwendolyn had never told him.
Gwendolyn turned away and walked to the forge, sighing in relief when she turned a corner didn't feel the man's eyes on her anymore. She hastened her pace and soon reached the forge.
Gwendolyn slipped inside, knowing her father was still working by the loud clanking noises coming from inside.
As she looked around, Gwendolyn saw a scene that made her heart swell in happiness and pride every time she saw it.
Her father, tall and strong in his dark apron. His concentrated face bent over the iron he was working on, shiny with sweat and flickering in the orange-red light of the fire.
As Gwendolyn entered, her father beat the iron one last time before grabbing the unfinished piece with his thongs and plunging it in the water container next to him. The water steamed, bubbled loudly.
A thick cloud of steam rose up as her father looked up and saw her, and a smile illuminated his face.
"Gwen! Just in time!" he boomed. Gwendolyn smiled shyly at her father and moved to the table in a corner of the room. She put the bowls and loaf of bread on the table as well as the two spoons, and say down.
Her father had taken the iron out of the water. It was an unfinished piece for a wagon someone had broken and wanted repaired.
He walked to Gwendolyn and sat down, the chair creaking in protest under his bulk. He took a spoon and his bowl, and when he opened it he smelled the steam rising, and closed his eyes, smiling. "smells delicious, like always." he smiled again, and Gwendolyn blushed.
Then he tore a piece of bread for both and they started eating together. No words were spoken, the only noises were those of drinking, as it was a soup, and the spoons hitting the metal bowls.
When he was done, Gwendolyn's father lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank the end noisily. His eyes twinkled with delight as he looked at Gwendolyn over the edge of his bowl. When he put it down with a loud clang, he sighed in pleasure.
Gwendolyn laughed quietly. How happy she was, here with her father! "I wish I could stay here all my life!" she smiled at him.
That, though, seemed to sadden her father. His smile dropped and he looked down. Gwendolyn's smile slipped as well and she frowned slightly, putting out a hand to rest on her father's.
"what's wrong?" she asked quietly. Her father sighed and shook his head. "I have made this last as long as I could..." he murmured. Gwendolyn's frown deepened. "what?" there was an undertone of worry in her voice. Her father sighed once more and drew his hand away, making Gwendolyn take hers back in surprise.
"you are nineteen, Gwen. Almost all the women your age are married. You can't stay like that. You'll become an old maiden." Gwendolyn looked down and sighed. So it was about this.
"father, we already talked about this, when I was seventeen, when I was eighteen. I do not wish to marry. I want to stay here, with you." the blacksmith shook his head slowly.
"but what of when I become too old, too tired for this work? What will you do then?" Gwendolyn bit her lip. "I will take over the forge, as you have done from your father, and he from his. I am strong enough, and it will be years before that happens anyway." the man shook his head, harder this time. "people will not buy from you, not from a woman. Gwen, folk talk, mutter. A lot are shocked you haven't married yet. And we already are a subject of many rumors, since..." he broke off, not wanting to state it. Gwendolyn looked down, knowing what he meant.
It had happened a summer day, when she was 6. She had been playing in the backyard, knowing her mother was cooking in the house.
But when her father had come home for lunch, he had come to see her in the yard, pale. Where was her mother? There was no sign of a fight, nothing. As if she had simply disappeared.
For hours they had searched, until finally her father had found her, hidden in some bushes away from the village. Dead.
Gwendolyn shivered as she remembered her mother's face, distorted in some unknown pain. Pale. And a red burn on her right palm. Of something they would never know.
"I'm sorry Gwen. I didn't mean to..." her father reached out to touch her cheek gently. "all I want is the best to happen to you. People here will not accept you if you don't marry." but Gwendolyn was stubborn. She lifted her head to glare at her father. "I will not marry. I will leave this village if need be, but I will not marry." it was obvious from her voice that she was convinced, and would not change opinion. Her father looked down and drew his hand away.
"alright, for now. We will talk about it later, next year maybe..." he sighed, and stood up. "time to keep working then." His voice had gone back to its normal, strong self. Almost. Underneath it all, there was still a little bit of sadness.
Gwendolyn stood as well and gathered the empty bowls up. She would bring them back home and wash them, then probably go back and help her father in the forge.
Unknown by both, a dirty face, framed by messy brown hair moved away from the window, then started making its way towards the house.