The Dreamer and the Hunter - A Beauty and the Beast Story

Evening Tradition

At exactly six o'clock there came a knock at the cottage door.  Maurice jumped up to answer it.

"Ah, Captain," he said, shaking the man's hand.  "So glad to have you join us again.  Please do come in."

"My pleasure Maurice."

"Belle," Maurice called.  "Our guest has arrived."

There was no mistaking or missing Gaston's booming voice. Belle peeked her head out of the kitchen in greeting.  Again, Gaston could see a spoon in one hand, and her book in the other. 

"Good evening Belle." He smiled.  He then thrust a large bouquet of flowers, much like the last, into her hands.  "For you."

"T-thank you." She arranged them in a vase on the table.

Dinner was soon ready and they were once again seated, much like the night before, only this time Belle's book was on the kitchen counter, out of reach.

Dinner passed by slowly, but with her father doing most of the talking it was manageable. She was more than happy though to collect the dishes and carry them away into the kitchen.  It was like a breath of fresh air.

"Will you join us for a cup of after-dinner tea?" Maurice asked Gaston.

"Sounds lovely."

Belle suppressed a sigh.  It was almost over...

"So Captain," Maurice said while the kettle boiled and Belle washed the dishes.  "You've talked so much of the war  – how did you come to be in it in the first place?"

"Oh." Gaston gave a little shrug.  "It was my father's doing.  He was a rewarded veteran himself, and he wanted the same for me.  Trained me hard, saw that I rose quickly through the ranks."

Father.  This caught Belle's ear.  She had never heard Gaston mention family. 

Maurice was curious too.  "Ah, I see. Now your father–"

"Died, suddenly," Gaston jumped in.  "Quite a few years back now, soon after I joined the army actually.  Left me the tavern, his name, and a reputation to uphold."

"Oh, well I'm very sorry to hear that."

Gaston brushed away the apology. When Belle came in with the teacups, she found that their guest looked rather uncomfortable: his hand was clenched into a fist on the table, which he lowered to hide in his lap.  She got the sense that it was not his father's death that made him so suddenly tense.

Maurice must have sensed this too.   "Shall we move into the sitting room?"

Belle went over to the china cabinet and withdrew a little chipped teacup.  It had been Elene's. When she brought the kettle in she was alarmed to see her father bringing out her mother's music box and settling down to work on it, as he did every evening.

"Papa," she cried.  Inviting Gaston for dinner was one thing, but having him intrude on their evening tradition was quite another.

Maurice noticed her alarm.  "I thought Gaston could join us tonight."

Now Gaston looked curious.  "Join you?"

"Yes, our tradition.  Every night we sit by the fire, me tinkering away while Belle reads aloud."

Reads.  The word jumped out at Gaston immediately.  "Oh, I'm not sure – I've intruded enough into your hospitality for one night–"

"Yes, he's right." Belle couldn't help herself.

"Oh nonsense.  Please, we are delighted to have you as our guest."

The old man was sure insistent.  Gaston gave in.  "Very well." If anything, he got to spend more time in Belle's presence.

Belle sighed, but filled each of their cups with tea and settled herself down in a chair before the fire with her book. Maurice sat at a little table with the music box and his tools, and Gaston sat on the couch. He looked funny sitting there, out of place, such a big, loud man in the little, quiet cottage.

Belle cleared her throat and began to read and immediately began to feel better. Pretty soon she was lost in the story, almost forgetting that Gaston was sitting there on her couch.

Gaston watched her, looking so comfortable and at ease. While she read she slipped off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her on the chair, relaxed. He also couldn't help but pay attention to what she was reading – she had a lovely voice, he'd known that from just talking to her. But now, listening to her read, her voice became even more – enchanting.

But she was reading. Reading of all things. And always doing so. He really did not understand it, her infatuation with books. They were just stacks of paper with word combinations so complicated it was almost impossible to understand them. However, hearing her read aloud, he felt as though he understood...

He was so mesmerized that he almost didn't realize when it was over. She had become quiet and was closing her book. There was silence.

"That was lovely my dear," said Maurice. "Wasn't it Gaston?"

"Yes," he blurted. Belle rolled her eyes.

Maurice put away his tools and Belle collected the teacups. Then they saw Gaston out.

"Oh Papa," Belle cried once the door had closed behind him.  "Was that really necessary?"

"I thought it would be nice for him to have a glimpse into our life."

"An intrusion more like," she mumbled.

"He complimented your reading."

"Only because he had to. He doesn't really care about books or reading or inventing." Or us, she added mentally. Only himself.

(There's Belle with her mother's chipped teacup ;) Chip is so cute! Hope you enjoyed - thanks for reading! 😊)