Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 28 - A Night of Many Emotions

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The feeling of a dress of rough cotton or wool, brown or grey or even a kind of dark, burnt-looking orange, was one that I was well used to. It especially came to the fore when I was sewing - to feel the beautiful, soft as butter silk in my arms made me feel especially envious of the woman who would eventually wear it.

The idea that I would wear a dress like the ones I made instead of the ones I wore seemed an awful waste. I'd never in my life worn anything prettier than my purple shawl, and that was goodness only knew how old. It was so long that I'd actually fashioned something for myself that it  was a strange thing, spending hours doing something purely for my own benefit. My hands shook as I made the first cut of the expensive silk, nearly making a wrong cut.

When I finally slipped on my new dress though, I shivered with delight at the feeling of the layered silk draped across my body. I'd made it myself, of course, and tried it on already on numerous occasions, but this was the first time I could wear it without anxiously waiting for it to tear at the hems or to be pricked by hundreds of needles.

I wanted it to be purple, but not the same purple as my best shawl, which was such a precise shade of deep, royal purple that I hadn't bothered to find a matching shade for my dress. Instead it was a light lavender, very simple with only minimal embroidery - but I felt like a queen. It swept down in four layers to my ankles, cleverly concealing the soft but ugly leather of my boots - and when I put it on, I could not help but twirl around my bedroom like a child's spinning top, feeling the skirts whirl out and rustle softly, brushing against my legs when I halted abruptly. Instead of bunching up my shawl and covering my hair, I draped it over my shoulders instead, to show off my hair, coiled and plaited and pinned into place by Amira's expert fingers into braids.

For once I was grateful that Miss Derwin did not own a looking glass big enough for me to see all of myself in, else I would have missed the Harvest Feast entirely, admiring my dress and the feel of the cool silk on my skin. I could linger no longer, though - Malbeth was waiting for me.

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"Truly, Harmindon's finest," Malbeth teased as we set off.

"Do you mean the dress, or me?" I shot back. Malbeth smiled at my boldness.

"I'd rather leave it to your imagination."

The streets were thronged with people. Little children carried armfuls of firewood for bonfires, getting in the way of burly men setting out heavy trestle tables. Women dashed to and fro with rather stresses expressions, heaving along massive jugs of sweet-smelling cider and baskets of bread. Cheerful chatter and calls of welcome rang through the air, and there was a decidedly festive atmosphere in the hustle and bustle. In the far distance beyond the mountains the first stars were beginning to make an appearance, and the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon, turning the sky the colour of my dress. In an hour or two there would be a rare sunset that rivalled those in Harmindon.

I was used to speaking softly to Malbeth, so as not to wake the townspeople in the early morning. In this crowd, though, this was impossible. It was strange at first to speak with such an unusually raised voice, but as there were so many people nobody looked twice when I asked ridiculous questions, and so I relaxed slightly.

"What are they?"

"They're pumpkins, a kind of vegetable. You get very nice soup from it, this time of the year."

"Really?" I wondered aloud, wrinkling my nose at the suspiciously large, orange vegetable. Malbeth was so used to my lack of knowledge that all he did was grin slightly. "And what are these tiny things?" I ran my hand through an abandoned sack of tiny seeds.