Encounters : part 1 - Neighbors

Within two weeks in Farshield with Aunt Anne, Bianca was gradually getting used to the town and its people. She would wake up very early in the morning, clean the house, and help fetch water from the well in the backyard of the inn. Then she helped Aunt Anne patiently cook and prepare the foods and drinks she sold at the inn.

Getting along with people had never been that difficult for her as she was kind and cheerful.

She had already gotten herself acquainted with their neighbors, whom Aunt Anne made no effort to introduce her to.

Aunt Anne, she had come to notice, was not the sociable type and never got along with her neighbors. She was the lonely type of woman who minded her business despite the whispers about her. Aunt Anne was unmarried, and Bianca often wondered why such a pretty and kind woman like her never married.

Fang Man Inn stood secluded on its own, just like her, so Bianca had to make her way to get to know the neighbors who lived near them.

Mr. and Mrs. Bakers were the old couple next door to the inn whom she helped draw water from the well sometimes, as they were not that strong anymore to do it. They were an old and lovely couple who never got tired of talking about their love story. They had been married for 50 years and still adored each other. Bianca found it extremely endearing. It felt good to see people who still had such pure love for each other in this changing world of theirs.

Some mornings, before she began work with Aunt Anne, she sneaked into their cottage after helping them fetch water. She loved the cozy and love-filled house of theirs, littered with paintings, objects, writings, and souvenirs of their past, as she enjoyed the hot tea Mrs. Bakers would make for her.

Two lovers of art joined together, what do you expect?

Seated on a chair at their dining table that always had a book displayed on it, they would venture into stories of their past.

One she heard often was how they met and fell in love. As the story went, Mr. Baker had been an apprentice for Mrs. Baker's father, who was a carpenter. He said he had fallen in love with her at first sight, but hers blossomed with time as she found out he was a genuine and sweet gentleman.

Her father had been against it as he had planned to betroth her to a wealthy man. But they fought for their love even when the man had offered Mr. Baker a good amount of money. He had refused profusely. Mrs. Baker's father, seeing their love and resilience, gave up the fight and gave them his blessing.

"So you see, my dear, money can never buy love. You should have that in mind," Mrs. Baker said.

She had pondered it and felt that noble and entitled people ruled the world these days and could manipulate anything in their favor. She had seen the craziness people displayed by seeing a rich person. It was sad but true. She had witnessed how many girls in their village were married off forcefully to men they barely knew or loved just because they were rich.

If one's parents could give them up to people because of the favor they would get in return, then money ruled the world. She only concluded the Bakers were a few people who had been lucky enough to witness and experience firsthand true love.

She and her parents had tried to live well in love and affection, but she wasn't stupid enough not to know that some of the arguments her parents had were because of the lack of funds in their household. Her mother wasn't a selfish woman, but sometimes the conditions of their poor living overwhelmed her. Did she love her husband? Yes, she did, but sometimes... love wasn't enough. It was more than the feelings. Especially when life struggles hit.

One incident of that had been when she couldn't complete her schooling one term just because of lack of funds. Her mother had been embittered because her daughter was left behind among the other girls of her age who graduated that year and left the village to find better jobs at the city while some were betrothed to eligible men.

Money is an essential part of life, but one shouldn't chase it at the expense of the important things worth living for.

Many rich people lacked love in their marriages and households despite their wealth. She had seen that in a few people she knew, like Aunty Grace, her mother's younger sister who got married to a wealthy man in a faraway town. People had warned her to go slow and observe the kind of man she was going to live with, but the riches blinded her into the marriage.

Some months later, news came that she was being maltreated immensely. And even though people made effort to help her leave the marriage she refused. Few months later she was reported dead. Her so-called husband couldn't testify as to what happened to her, and a few weeks later, he was married to another. What could a poor family like theirs do in this case? The case died with her as they couldn't fight an elite man like him. A tragic story that traumatized her to the core even though she was twelve then.

The next was Mr. Curtis and his seven sons living a few blocks away from them on the left.

Mr. Curtis was a blacksmith and had all his sons working in the same shop as him. She was bemused by the fact that it was the only job they did. Many of them were old enough to be married, but they were not. She felt they were suffocating and draining the old man by living under his roof.

Aunty Anne shunned her to stay away from them because people felt they were a disappointment to their father and the society at large.

"You don't want to be acquainted or betrothed to such men, do you?" Aunty Anne had asked her the day she saw her talking to one of them.

Oh, Aunty Anne.

She smiled in turn and said nothing. She had no thought of the kind of man she would be marrying, that is if there was any for her.

People were so much into the noble and elite these days that she was doubtful she might be lucky in that area. She had neither the grace nor the etiquettes of a proper lady, which was what society demanded in general. The soft, submissive, and well-mannered lady with the basic womanly skills and the ideal body type. She didn't think she had any of that.

But, if at all she was considering any man, she would want him to have the qualities she saw in her father. She felt seen and understood with him, so she definitely wanted someone who would bring back that spark of self back to life.

At the inn, she got along with the business and its customers, who were mostly men. She was heedful, as many of the men could be rough and vulgar sometimes.

It wasn't everything Aunt Anne allowed her to do; sometimes, she just sat pretty and got busy with one of the books she borrowed from the local library down the road. Aunty Anne had noticed she loved to read and introduced her to the library and librarian downtown. An old, friendly man with large spectacles that reminded her of the old physician at the village. How much she missed these people and the village itself, though she was beginning to love this place.

She made sure to write letters to her mother and Liam every month, as it was hard for messages to be delivered to the village. She wrote to them each time, describing her experiences.

One fateful evening, Bianca was seated alone at the counter in the inn as Aunty Anne had left to get groceries from the market. The rain was drizzling as she looked out of the window, watching how the raindrops slid down the window surface. From her perspective, Farshield had a large amount of rainfall. It was no wonder why everywhere was green and fresh, but whenever it was sunny, it burned everywhere in turn. It was like when it rained, it did heavily, and whenever the sun shone, it was so bright and harsh.

Today, it was drizzling enough to seep into one's clothes. She shivered in the drizzle of cold as she looked through the window, anticipating Aunty Anne's return. She had been gone for many hours, and it bothered her.

The pub was empty because everyone had retired to their homes. It was quite late, but it wasn't a big problem since they lived at the inn themselves. Right now, all she wanted was for Aunty Anne to return.

She was lost in thought, oblivious to the fine carriage that pulled up in front of the pub. It was when the bell hanging on the entrance door jingled, startling her, that she noticed a man in a hooded cloak walk through the door.

She had forgotten to turn the sign at the door indicating they were closed, which could have prevented the strange person from entering.