Linette's Love

Chapter 3

Later that afternoon, I decide to take a walk and try to spot Morel again, but alas, once you start searching for boys, they disappear! It is like they don't want to find love. No matter, the city can't be that big so I will find him soon. 

I retire to my room early that night in preparation for more Morel-hunting tomorrow.

I am awoken the next day by my mother singing, which is never unusual as she has an angelic voice so loves to share it with the world. Also, she passed her talent onto me so once I am dressed, I go and join her. My father loves it when we sing together, so he also joins us downstairs and settles down onto his wooden chair, waiting for the song to finish, all the while smiling happily. When we finish, we look to him for approval. He nods and says,

"That's very nice, girls." We both grin at him, then at each other and take our own places at the table. We all tuck into our porridge topped with slices of the apples I bought yesterday. That reminds me of Morel.

                                                                                   *   *   *

After breakfast, I set out again to see if I can spot my angel on Earth. This time I do find him. He is sitting outside the baker's shop, tuning his lyre. Then he starts to play the song that my mother and I were just singing, so I smile and start to sing along. As soon as I sing the first note, he looks up and a light behind his eyes flicks on. 

"Oh, hi," he says. "Linette, isn't it? Yeah, the apple girl." I smile.

"Yes, that's me." He goes back to strumming the small wooden lyre and I carry on singing. The song finishes and he beckons me over, tapping the ground next to him. I raise my eyebrows and he sighs, rolling his eyes.

"Stay there," he says and places his lyre carefully on the floor, disappearing into the shop. A few minutes later, he emerges, holding two chairs. Confused, I ask "Do you live here?" He chuckles.

"No, I just pinched two of the baker's chairs. Or should I say, my father's chairs." I realize his sarcasm and giggle a little. Then it hits me.

"Hang on. So you're the baker's son?"

"That's me," he says, pointing at himself. I beam. Thank you, God.

"You're joining us for Christmas dinner, I hope?"

"Of course, I'd be honoured," he replies and follows it with a swift bow. I giggle, but when he stands straight again, I go to take a step forward and trip on my skirt. Luckily, his reflexes are quick and I manage to land slightly gracefully into his warm, strong arms, his hand carefully cradling my head. Our faces are rather close, our noses almost touching. I feel his warm breath on my cheek as I lose myself in those wonderful eyes of his. We are frozen like that for a few minutes before he slowly pulls me closer and presses his lips to mine. My eyelids flutter and where his lips are in contact with mine, I feel tingles. But they are good tingles. Tingles of love. I know we should not be doing this on the streets, in public, seeing as we are not even betrothed, but defiance bubbles up inside me and I kiss him back. His lips are soft and mould perfectly to mine. He tastes of sweet apples - everyone has them on their porridge on these winter days. Sparks fly behind my eyelids in the blackness, but I know he's still there. Each time I breathe in, the welcoming smell of freshly baked bread fills my nostrils and I kiss him harder. He is, by no doubt, the baker's son.

Finally, our lips part as we surface for air and his steady hands set me back on my feet. I smile at him as we wander back into the shadow of the shop and he flashes a cheeky one back. I realize that we have not yet sat down on the chairs Morel kindly brought out for me and him to sit on, so I smooth down my skirts and lower myself onto one of the chairs. He sinks into the other, and there is an awkward silence before he clears his throat, a smirk playing on his his lips.

"I guess we should make some beautiful music then." I nod in agreement and reach down to retrieve his lyre from the floor. I pass it to him and he gives me a grateful smile. He thinks for a moment, then starts to strum. The music that comes from the lyre is beautiful, and I hesitate for a moment, wondering if my voice is up to scratch, but then he looks up at me, encouragingly, and all my doubts float away on the wind.

Suddenly, my mouth is open and the sound of my singing compliments that of the lyre perfectly, the music twisting through the air. Quite a few passers-by turn their heads at the music. Some even creep forward and drop coins at our feet. Morel takes off his hat and drops it to the ground before more money is lost in the dirt, and to my surprise, more people toss in a coin or two. A delighted crowd starts to form and when we finish our first song, they give us a wondrous cheer. Morel stands and takes a bow, so I follow him, but with an elegant curtsy. The crowd disperses we are left standing together. Morel silently picks up his cap which is now teeming with coins.

"I suppose I don't get any because I'm a woman," I sigh. Morel looks shocked.

"You were part of the music so you deserve to get half." I know I have been amused a lot, but this delights me the most. Father will be so proud that I am earning, well, the start of a living. Morel turns back to the coins and starts to count them. Unfortunately, I am a girl so I have never been taught how to count money and I cannot help him. He places the last coin decisively and looks up triumphantly.

"We have 2 shillings and a sixpence. That means we each get a shilling and a thruppence." He hands me my half and I stare at the coins glittering on my hand in the disbelief, and thank Morel for his lyre accompaniment. He grins and moves in for another exchange of lips. I don't resist - how could I? His scent beckons me in and I willingly step forward into his embrace. Slowly, and reluctantly, we part and a bid him farewell. As I walk back home, the money safely held in my fist, a babble of joy forms inside me. After all these years, I have finally found somebody to love. And somebody who loves me in return.