The Baker's Daughter (Working Title) | #Wattys2018

Chapter Four

The journey over the hill to the small village that lay just beyond felt infinitely different without Faithful Tom by her side. Gregory was pleasant enough, but he didn't exude the same feeling of safety that her Uncle did. He did, however, remain just as quiet as Tom did, only occasionally breaking the silence by whistling a lively tune.

The day was neither hot nor cold, the type of temperature that Rosalinda relished in. She turned her head this way and that, taking in the world around her that was only just beginning to awaken after the long, cold months, allowing the gentle swaying of the cart as it trundled over uneven ground and the ambient sounds of young birds tweeting to wash over her. she felt refreshed to be back on the road.

"What is your favourite kind of day?" She asked her companion, feeling the sudden urge to strike up a conversation with him.

"I'm 'fraid I don't understand what you're askin' me, Miss." Gregory returned, giving Rosalinda a sidelong glance.

"Do you like Hot days? Cold days? Days like today?" She pressed, turning to face him. The stable boy looked slightly taken aback at her question but gave it some thought nonetheless.

"I s'ppose I like Hot days," he finally answered slowly, as if still in thought. "But the horses suffer sometimes."

Rosalinda gave a small smile. Of course, the stable boy's first priority was the horses.

The Cobb's bakery cart was known well enough in the small village, and over the years, Rosalinda's face had become a familiar sight. As the cart passed over the worn dust road that cut the village in half, people would approach to greet her, which she returned with a smile. Her years of exploring the village had gotten her acquainted with quite a few of the villagers, particularly one small boy, Eight years her junior, who she had first bumped into while exploring the outskirts of the woods surrounding the village years ago.

He was a hunter's son, she had learned, and as his Father had ventured into the woods to hunt for their food, he had instructed his son, too prone to scaring off the pray with untrained footsteps, to stay on the edge of the woods where he wouldn't be chasing off their supper. He was a cheeky thing, and had followed Rosalinda through the undergrowth eagerly, desperate to inspect the newcomer. Rosalinda had whirled around to face her small shadow, a small smile gracing her features.

"Young boy, one day you shall put yourself in danger if you continue to follow strangers!" She playfully scolded him. The boy had stood his ground defiantly.

"What could a girl do to me?" He had huffed, observing her with large brown eyes.

"A girl could do just as much as any man." She'd told him with a smile, a light breeze picking up a strand of her red hair and pulled it away from her face.

"I don't believe you." He had replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Suit yourself." Rosalinda had replied before turning away to continue her exploring.

She had walked on, all the time aware that her little shadow was back, only now he was attempting to quieten his footsteps.

Tom had called out then, his business for the day with Mr. Oliver finished. She had hurried back, the little boy still in tow, and when she had arrived at the cart, Tom had questioned the little boy.

"Who are you, boy?" He'd said, stepping forward to examine the boy. The boy, seeing the man's size, shrunk into the shrubbery.

"Jack." Jack had replied, his voice now sounding a lot less defiant.