Angele Ch. 01

"You know, Angele, there are plenty of young men in this town that would proudly take you as their bride..." he trailed off when he saw her face go into the stone mask she always seemed to don when one of those very 'young men' he was talking about tried to convince her to court with them. "Now, Angele, they can't all be that bad."

"Well, maybe not. Almost all of them do not want to wait, though. Even more of them detest the idea of trying to help take care of Papa with me. All of them say I should not be reading. Why is it such a problem? Where is the harm in me reading?" Angele demanded. She had begun ranting before she had even realized it. Noticing it now, she tried to calm herself. "I apologize, Monsieur! I did not mean to let my emotions get the better of me." He was shaking his head and holding up his hands before she could even finish.

"Do not trouble yourself. I do not see any reason you should not read either," he assured her. He picked up a book she had never seen in his shop before now. Its covers and spine were wrapped in a violet colored cloth, and it was rather thick. "Now, I know this won't help any of your troubles, but I just got this a few days ago. I finished reading it only last night and I have a feeling that you would really enjoy this one. It's actually written about a lady who is much like yourself."

This intrigued Angele. "It's written about a girl?" she asked, clearly surprised. She had never heard of a story where the main character was a female. They just weren't written that way. Unconsciously, Angele reached for the beautiful book. Pierre handed it to her, bestowing her with a loving smile as if she was one of his own children. She didn't see, however, for she was looking at the front cover with wonder. She ran her fingers over the golden foil that had been pressed into the fabric. It made a delicate looking rose. Angele had never seen anything like it.

"I wanted you to have it," Pierre said in a very soft voice. Angele's eyes shot up and she gaped at him. For one short second there was silence, then she started shaking her head fervently.

"Oh, Monsieur Pierre, I could never afford a book of this quality. The covering alone looks as if it was done as a masterwork! It might be the only one there is!" Though she was holding the book out for him to take back, Pierre made no move to retrieve it from her. Not knowing what to do, Angele placed the masterpiece on the counter beside them. Pierre picked it back up and, sighing, handed it back to her.

"Fifille, you don't understand. I'm not asking you to buy it. I'm bestowing it to you. Think of it as an early gift for the day of our beloved Lord's birth. I think you will enjoy it, and it may bring you some peace of mind." Watching her trace the outline of the foil rose with her fingertips, Pierre could not help but feel the love of a father towards Angele. Clearing his throat, he turned back to go behind the counter. "Now you better run along home. You never know when your father may need you," he said, trying to sound as impartial as a neighbor would.

"Thank you," Pierre heard Angele whisper shortly followed by the sound of the door latching. Looking at the arched rafters of his shop and home, he sent a silent prayer to the Lord above. If nothing else, I wish for young Angele to find happiness. I know marriage and a family don't seem all that important to her but, Lord, please send her someone who can at least understand her passions and joys.

As Angele was walking out, she started to leaf through her new book. The calligraphy in which it was written was beautiful. Suddenly she found an illustration a few pages in. It was a beautiful scene of a young lady holding an open parasol with one hand and an open book in the other as she walked down a dirt street. Angele stopped walking. She had never seen a book with pictures in it before. Looking back at the shop, she again started to try to assess the worth of such a masterwork. She was so distracted she didn't even see Samil stroll up to her.

Being a man of 26 years, Samil was too accustomed to women noticing his every move. And why shouldn't I be noticed, he often thought. Standing six foot three inches, Samil was the tallest of any of the men in town. The muscles of his chest always bulged against his tunic and his arms were so powerful women just seemed to want to touch them any chance they got. Every woman... except Angele. His blue eyes narrowed on the book in her hands. Again with the reading?! he thought as his irritation rose. He didn't understand what a woman would find of any interest in the written word.

Starting to turn back towards home, Angele noticed a very tall shadow on the ground in front of her. Groaning silently, she turned to face the already fuming Samil. "Bonjour, Samil..." He was glaring at her gift from Pierre with obvious detest. Trying to defuse the situation, Angele closed the novel and dropped it into her apron pocket. Instantly she realized this was the wrong move. Samil's eyes widened as he took in her bloody apron and dress.

Samil's jaw dropped open as he visibly started looking her over for any wounds that would have caused such a mess. Before he could start to make a scene though, Angele held up her bandaged hand. "I am perfectly in good health with the exception of my hand," she stated. Unable to help herself, she sarcastically added, "Thank you for asking."

"Well, it isn't as if you gave me the chance to inquire!" Samil's voice came out in what was almost a growl from his agitation. His voice, still gruff from the early morning, was enough to send any other girl she knew into a puddle at his feet. She honestly didn't see the appeal. "How exactly did you come by these injuries, ma cherie?" he demanded. His tone chafed against her already raw nerves and something in her just snapped.

"Why do you always have to be like this?!" she demanded in a shrill tone. No longer did Angele care about what the village heard or knew. Every one always found out everything anyways. What was the point? "Why is it any of your concern what happened to my hand?! You do not own me! Nor do you even have any chance at having a claim on me ever!" Since childhood, Angele had had to deal with Samil overshadowing all her actions as if he needed to see her every move. That was over today, Angele vowed. If I have to make a fool out of him in front of the entire town, I will! But before she could say another word, Samil had placed a hand over her mouth and with the other had grabbed her injury hand.

"I will remind you to respect me in public, Angele, mon amour," he whispered to her with a firm little squeeze on her damaged hand. He studied her reaction as she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. "Have we come to an understanding?" he asked congenially. When he received no answer outside of a glare, Samil lessened his grip and gave her back the right to speak. As soon as she could, Angele ripped her hand from his.

"One day, I will find the proper man to marry," she furiously spat at Samil, "and when that day comes..." She trailed off, her anger burning out quickly into despair. Not wanting to show her fears to Samil, Angele imagined what her perfect suitor would do. "When that day comes, he will show you how a true gentleman behaves whether by his actions towards me or rather his fist to your jaw."

Eyes that had turned as hard as diamonds bore into her as he loomed over her. For the first time in her life, Angele actually found herself frightened of Samil. "If any man ever even thinks about taking you from me," he said quiet and furious through gritted teeth, "he will find himself answering to God himself soon after." There was not a trace of triviality in his voice. Shocked, Angele took an instinctive step back away from him not realizing she was right in front of the fountain of the fairy queen. Samil, due to his temper, didn't notice either.

Something had changed in his eyes though. Instead of being the cold ice of anger, suddenly they seemed to hold a flame that was burning so intensely that it frightened Angele more than his recent statement had. She looked around desperately, but the only people in the streets, it seemed, were Samil's friends and servants. As he murmured her name, Samil moved as though he was about to pull her close. Angele panicked. She leaned back as far as she could.

"Angele! No!" but it was too late. Angele lost her balance and landed right in the ice cold water from the fountain. Everything, all the supplies for her injury, her corset, her petticoats, her dress, her apron, and, most important to her, the new novel she had been given, was doused. To make things worse, Samil's lackeys were laughing and leering. Samil, himself, looked as if he was torn between concern and laughter. Angry tears started trailing down her face blending in with the rest of the filthy water from the fountain.

Angele stood with every bit of grace and pride she could muster. She furiously shoved at Samil with her good hand to try to get room to get out of the algae muck. Not only did he not move but it seemed he barely even apprehended what she was trying to accomplish. Finally, as if he just recalled the ability of how to be a gentleman, Samil offered his hand to help Angele regain her footing on dry ground. One look at her face told him his courtesy only served to anger her further.

"The day I take your hand will be the day I go to my grave!" Angele all but screamed at him. "Now everything to take care of my injured hand has been ruined. Even with that being the case though I will proceed home. I cannot tolerate the sight of you any more this day. If my hand gets worse, it is you who is to blame!" she stated. Stepping out of the fountain, Angele took off running towards her home.

As Samil started to follow her, Gervaise caught his arm. Shaking his servants hand off, Samil turned to see all his friends watching her retreating figure with lustfully appreciation. It only took one scornful look, however, for him to get his point across. Off-Limits!!

"Master?" Samil looked down to see Gervaise still trying to get his attention. "More than likely Madame Angele is going to be very upset with you for several days. Though her father may be partial to you, he may not like the fact that you would be chasing after his daughter, who is soaking wet and crying. He's not all there, so his reaction may not be rational." Samil considered his servant and closest friend's words. Though Gervaise was not much to look at he had a very keen mind... most of the time at least. He only stood five foot one inch, so Gervaise had to make himself known somehow, Samil reasoned.

"You have some good points," Samil conceded. Turning back to watch after the girl he loved, he felt his heart sink. That could have gone better, Samil thought, rubbing the back of his neck as he always did when something was bothering him. He had watched Angele since the day she was brought into this world. His family had taken her in for the time when her foolish father had tried his hand at the sea and failed. His family had also helped while her father's leg was on the mend. In all these years, Samil had learned all Angele's joys and sorrows, excitements and disappointments. How could any other man be better suited for her than himself?

Every time she was around, though, Samil seemed to lose control of himself. He gets angered easily. His lust for her flares. His fear that she will learn to love another compounds it all. He can't seem to control any of it which is completely the opposite of any other time. Dropping his hand, Samil looked back in the direction of her house. All he wanted was to make her see that he was the best for her, for her to stop with this foolishness of taking care of her insane father. The man was turning into a danger. He is probably responsible for Angele's injury! Samil assumed. He slowly started walking back to his house not hearing all the greetings from the early-risers. That decides it, Samil concluded, the next time I find out Angele's alone, I'll convince her for sure!

Sobs were still escaping from her chest when Angele reached the beginnings of her father's property. Crying while running had not been working very well and especially not since her skirts were saturated with the muck from that fountain. Angele doubted anyone had cleaned that fountain in many seasons. She looked and smelled like a maid who had been in charge of taking care of a hog's pen. At that moment the one hog they owned decided to let out a very unhappy squeal signifying he was rather upset about not getting his morning rations. Looking around, she realized none of the animals had been fed due to her early trip to town.

Angele seized this opportunity to avoid her father's concern for a little longer. Instead of heading towards the house, she walked to the gate. She smiled slightly, unhitching the latch her father had made for her. It was rather simple, actually, but the great thing about it was that keys were not needed. She stepped on the bottom rung of the gate and pulled up what appeared to others as a decorative knob to swing the gate inward. They really didn't have to worry about theft as much as they had to worry about their livestock escaping or the occasional wolf. Thankfully, her father had not lost his talent in the art of firing a rifle. So, on the rare occasion that a predator had deemed their animals easy prey, her father had been able to provide a good new fur to one of the less fortunate families of the village.

After stepping into the field, Angele was almost instantly greeted by their one mare, Sophie. The gentle horse had been gifted to her father by one of the young men that once lived in town. His name had be Joseph which, at least to Angele, seemed like an odd name. His parents had moved to their little town in hopes to teach people about "The Good Book". Of course, this was the one book that the townsfolk didn't seem to have an issue with her reading. She was the only one in town, though to her knowledge, who had finished it. That is what brought about the horse. Joseph had wanted to take Angele as his bride and even went as far as trying to bribe her father with Sophie.

Shortly after the gift, however, Samil had publicly ridiculed Joseph horribly enough that Joseph took a swing at him. Angele's anger flared just at the thought of it. She threw Sophie's hay to the ground rather forcefully, the mare nickering at her defensively. Samil and his motley team had bruised and beat Joseph so bad that he had to remain in bed for over a week. Afterwards he didn't even want to talk to Angele as a friend or mentor. He withdrew his offer to her father and his family left town shortly thereafter.

Scattering some corn for the chickens, she starting trying to count the many suitors that might have actually had some potential; the ones Samil had taken the liberty of bullying. There had been at the very least a dozen who had suffered injustices by his hand over Angele. When would this ever end? If she were to ever find someone she found suitable, would they be able to put Samil in his place? I'm better off taking care of Papa, she thought to herself. Just then Angele smelled smoke!