Foolish
The lord pushed his way into the house with fanfare, voice loud and preceding him as he instructed the servant following him to dump the scraps of wood near the fireplace to be dealt with later.
“-they expect to craft something out of such cheap material? The fools!”
A young stable-boy appeared in the foyer. “Welcome back, sir. I’ll take the horses back around the-”
“No need to be in such a hurry, Lewis.” The master of the house replied, “Now, tell me. What do you know about love?”
Lewis blinked and looked back at his eccentric master. The man had situated himself on a settee in the parlour; he had not taken off his hat, decorated with a colourful plumage of feathers. Although he was but a mere stable-boy, Lewis had found himself in the master’s company a lot lately. The master was strangely fond of him, and liked to call him into his study to talk. Or rather, so that he had an audience whenever he spouted his great lectures on any topic that took his fancy.
Lewis opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as the noble went on. “Ah, of course you wouldn’t know! You are an uneducated servant after all!”
“Now, listen up. I’ll explain to you the theory of love and how it works.” Here the man took a long pause as if building up anticipation for his riveting lesson. “Love is when a man spends ridiculous amounts of money on incredibly expensive gifts and items of the highest possible calibre to present to a charming lady in the hope that she will accept his proposal of courtship.”
The lord gave his servant a sudden piercing look. “Do you understand, Lewis?”
“Yes, but-”
“Exactly!” His master burst out, “I’m glad you understand where I’m coming from! That fool of a carpenter! Why, I was a fool to even think of commissioning from him! Love is not presented with cheap wood and rusty screws! Love must be shiny pearls and polished silver and Rococo furniture and marbled busts!”
“So!” The master abruptly stood up. “I’m going out to find a proper carpenter- one who understands what love is. Go down to the kitchen and tell that silly maid who can only peel potatoes that I expect dinner waiting when I return.”
“Yes, sir. Oh, what about the-”
“Oh, these silly wooden scraps?” The noble followed his servant’s gaze to the heap piled near the fireplace. “Barely even suitable for decent firewood!”
Lewis thought of the kitchen maid who could only peel potatoes.
“Then may I-”
The master of the house was already leaving, his back disappearing down the front corridor. “Feel free to do as you wish.”
---
Anya was a kitchen maid who could only peel potatoes. It wasn’t that she didn’t try her hardest; she was just incapable of all other cooking duties. As such, her tasks were limited to scullery duty and peeling potatoes. The years of hard work had left her fingers worn out, wrinkled and almost permanently browned from the dirt of the potatoes.
She sat on her tiny wooden stool in the kitchen now, peeling potatoes with a small knife, potato skins falling onto the newspapers under her feet. She almost slipped and cut herself as she heard a noise in the back doorway.
“Who is it?” She called out.
The stable-boy appeared in the doorway, the dim light shining onto his face. “It’s just me, Anya.”
She relaxed visibly. “Oh, it’s just you, Lewis.”
He stood still without speaking for a short moment, face twisted in thought. She went back to peeling potatoes.
“…can I sit down?”
“Go ahead.”
He pulled out another wooden stool from the back corner and situated himself against the wall, watched her work.
“Oh right, the master wants his dinner by the time he comes back.” Lewis remembered.
“I’ll tell Ma’am when she comes back from the market.”
They sat in silence. Lewis looked at her worn hands working and looked down at his own calloused ones. He thought of his master’s past remarks on fine silk gloves for proper ladies and the smooth handshake of a gentleman.
“I heard you and the master having another hearty discussion before. What was it about this time?” Anya spoke up.
“…Nothing really.” He said. “Nothing that uneducated and poor servants like ourselves would understand.”
“He does make us feel rather foolish, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah…” Lewis suddenly perked up. “By the way, Anya, would you happen to have a penknife or a small knife you don’t need that I could borrow for a little while?”
She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t ask him why. Digging in the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a small tarnished blade and held it out to him. “It’s broken though, the handle snapped off this morning and I was planning to throw it out.”
He reached out to take it.
“It’ll do.” he said. “It’ll be just fine.”
---
“Lewis, do you think that perhaps this silk imported from India simply is not sleek enough to touch? Perhaps the roses I sent her the other day did not have enough petals, or God forbid- their thorns pierced her fair skin?”
“Perhaps-”
“No! No, that’s exactly it! What good are roses without a fine valet to present them to her? I knew delivering them to arrive at her doorstep was a terrible idea. And diamond studs from France are in fashion right now, I simply must commission a special set just for her…”
“…”
“Oh, Lewis. Could you prepare my carriage and call the coachman for an outing this evening?”
“Yes, right away, sir.”
When Lewis tightened the reins around the horse, he winced from the pain in his tender palm. Looking down at his open right hand, he inspected the open cuts that ran all over it. Then he remembered the small piece of wood carefully hidden in the pocket of his slacks and it didn’t seem to hurt so much anymore.
---
“What was it today?” Anya asked, peeling her never-ending pile of potatoes again.
“Today it was a string of pearls, an antique brooch and a fan of peacock feathers ordered from overseas. The master is worried that his lady dislikes goods from foreign countries as she refuses to return his letters.”
Anya let out a soft laugh. Lewis stared at her in wonder for a moment, his face suddenly warming up before turning away quickly to hide his blush.
“I don’t think he understands- the master, does he?” She said.
This comment made Lewis doubt himself very much. Suddenly the weight in his back pocket seemed very heavy.
“…maybe we really are as foolish as he thinks?” He murmured, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his vest.
Anya lifted up her head and looked at him. “I don’t think so.” she said quietly.
Her gaze made him uncomfortable again and he turned his face away, tried to quieten the sound his heart made.
They were silent.
He took a long labored breath and tried to gather up his courage. He lifted up a hand and ran it self-consciously through his cropped brown hair as he coughed, tried to find the right words.
But Anya didn’t give him a chance to speak. “What on earth happened to your hand?” She was on her feet, grabbing his bandaged hand and inspecting it, her face full of worry.
“It’s nothing!” He tried to pull it away from her, but her grip was strong; she was intent on pulling off the bandages to see the damage.
She was so close right now, Lewis felt like there was electricity running across his skin. This wasn’t the way he had planned it. He reached into his back pocket with his left hand and held out a clumsily wrapped object.
“…I made something for you.”
She looked between his injured hand and the present he was offering.
It was a clumsily carved wooden heart. Its edges were splintered and rough, made up of hundreds of odd cuts.
“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “It’s nowhere near good enough, I just-”
“Oh Lewis.” She said.
She didn’t say anything after that, just pulled his hand to her, unwrapped the crude bandages and looked at the cuts and bruises and splinters that now adorned his hand. Her touch was gentle and caring, he watched as she carefully removed the splinters.
When she was done, she didn’t let go of his hand.
He couldn’t find any words to explain how he was feeling, didn’t know whether she would let him kiss her or not.
But she looked up at him, and laughed her gentle laugh again.
And they sat together in the corner of the kitchen, and laughed about how foolish their lord’s idea of love was.
“-they expect to craft something out of such cheap material? The fools!”
A young stable-boy appeared in the foyer. “Welcome back, sir. I’ll take the horses back around the-”
“No need to be in such a hurry, Lewis.” The master of the house replied, “Now, tell me. What do you know about love?”
Lewis blinked and looked back at his eccentric master. The man had situated himself on a settee in the parlour; he had not taken off his hat, decorated with a colourful plumage of feathers. Although he was but a mere stable-boy, Lewis had found himself in the master’s company a lot lately. The master was strangely fond of him, and liked to call him into his study to talk. Or rather, so that he had an audience whenever he spouted his great lectures on any topic that took his fancy.
Lewis opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as the noble went on. “Ah, of course you wouldn’t know! You are an uneducated servant after all!”
“Now, listen up. I’ll explain to you the theory of love and how it works.” Here the man took a long pause as if building up anticipation for his riveting lesson. “Love is when a man spends ridiculous amounts of money on incredibly expensive gifts and items of the highest possible calibre to present to a charming lady in the hope that she will accept his proposal of courtship.”
The lord gave his servant a sudden piercing look. “Do you understand, Lewis?”
“Yes, but-”
“Exactly!” His master burst out, “I’m glad you understand where I’m coming from! That fool of a carpenter! Why, I was a fool to even think of commissioning from him! Love is not presented with cheap wood and rusty screws! Love must be shiny pearls and polished silver and Rococo furniture and marbled busts!”
“So!” The master abruptly stood up. “I’m going out to find a proper carpenter- one who understands what love is. Go down to the kitchen and tell that silly maid who can only peel potatoes that I expect dinner waiting when I return.”
“Yes, sir. Oh, what about the-”
“Oh, these silly wooden scraps?” The noble followed his servant’s gaze to the heap piled near the fireplace. “Barely even suitable for decent firewood!”
Lewis thought of the kitchen maid who could only peel potatoes.
“Then may I-”
The master of the house was already leaving, his back disappearing down the front corridor. “Feel free to do as you wish.”
---
Anya was a kitchen maid who could only peel potatoes. It wasn’t that she didn’t try her hardest; she was just incapable of all other cooking duties. As such, her tasks were limited to scullery duty and peeling potatoes. The years of hard work had left her fingers worn out, wrinkled and almost permanently browned from the dirt of the potatoes.
She sat on her tiny wooden stool in the kitchen now, peeling potatoes with a small knife, potato skins falling onto the newspapers under her feet. She almost slipped and cut herself as she heard a noise in the back doorway.
“Who is it?” She called out.
The stable-boy appeared in the doorway, the dim light shining onto his face. “It’s just me, Anya.”
She relaxed visibly. “Oh, it’s just you, Lewis.”
He stood still without speaking for a short moment, face twisted in thought. She went back to peeling potatoes.
“…can I sit down?”
“Go ahead.”
He pulled out another wooden stool from the back corner and situated himself against the wall, watched her work.
“Oh right, the master wants his dinner by the time he comes back.” Lewis remembered.
“I’ll tell Ma’am when she comes back from the market.”
They sat in silence. Lewis looked at her worn hands working and looked down at his own calloused ones. He thought of his master’s past remarks on fine silk gloves for proper ladies and the smooth handshake of a gentleman.
“I heard you and the master having another hearty discussion before. What was it about this time?” Anya spoke up.
“…Nothing really.” He said. “Nothing that uneducated and poor servants like ourselves would understand.”
“He does make us feel rather foolish, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah…” Lewis suddenly perked up. “By the way, Anya, would you happen to have a penknife or a small knife you don’t need that I could borrow for a little while?”
She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t ask him why. Digging in the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a small tarnished blade and held it out to him. “It’s broken though, the handle snapped off this morning and I was planning to throw it out.”
He reached out to take it.
“It’ll do.” he said. “It’ll be just fine.”
---
“Lewis, do you think that perhaps this silk imported from India simply is not sleek enough to touch? Perhaps the roses I sent her the other day did not have enough petals, or God forbid- their thorns pierced her fair skin?”
“Perhaps-”
“No! No, that’s exactly it! What good are roses without a fine valet to present them to her? I knew delivering them to arrive at her doorstep was a terrible idea. And diamond studs from France are in fashion right now, I simply must commission a special set just for her…”
“…”
“Oh, Lewis. Could you prepare my carriage and call the coachman for an outing this evening?”
“Yes, right away, sir.”
When Lewis tightened the reins around the horse, he winced from the pain in his tender palm. Looking down at his open right hand, he inspected the open cuts that ran all over it. Then he remembered the small piece of wood carefully hidden in the pocket of his slacks and it didn’t seem to hurt so much anymore.
---
“What was it today?” Anya asked, peeling her never-ending pile of potatoes again.
“Today it was a string of pearls, an antique brooch and a fan of peacock feathers ordered from overseas. The master is worried that his lady dislikes goods from foreign countries as she refuses to return his letters.”
Anya let out a soft laugh. Lewis stared at her in wonder for a moment, his face suddenly warming up before turning away quickly to hide his blush.
“I don’t think he understands- the master, does he?” She said.
This comment made Lewis doubt himself very much. Suddenly the weight in his back pocket seemed very heavy.
“…maybe we really are as foolish as he thinks?” He murmured, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his vest.
Anya lifted up her head and looked at him. “I don’t think so.” she said quietly.
Her gaze made him uncomfortable again and he turned his face away, tried to quieten the sound his heart made.
They were silent.
He took a long labored breath and tried to gather up his courage. He lifted up a hand and ran it self-consciously through his cropped brown hair as he coughed, tried to find the right words.
But Anya didn’t give him a chance to speak. “What on earth happened to your hand?” She was on her feet, grabbing his bandaged hand and inspecting it, her face full of worry.
“It’s nothing!” He tried to pull it away from her, but her grip was strong; she was intent on pulling off the bandages to see the damage.
She was so close right now, Lewis felt like there was electricity running across his skin. This wasn’t the way he had planned it. He reached into his back pocket with his left hand and held out a clumsily wrapped object.
“…I made something for you.”
She looked between his injured hand and the present he was offering.
It was a clumsily carved wooden heart. Its edges were splintered and rough, made up of hundreds of odd cuts.
“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “It’s nowhere near good enough, I just-”
“Oh Lewis.” She said.
She didn’t say anything after that, just pulled his hand to her, unwrapped the crude bandages and looked at the cuts and bruises and splinters that now adorned his hand. Her touch was gentle and caring, he watched as she carefully removed the splinters.
When she was done, she didn’t let go of his hand.
He couldn’t find any words to explain how he was feeling, didn’t know whether she would let him kiss her or not.
But she looked up at him, and laughed her gentle laugh again.
And they sat together in the corner of the kitchen, and laughed about how foolish their lord’s idea of love was.
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