Once lived an old lady. She would always be nice. To everyone. No matter, who. But deep inside she lacked something. Infinitely hungry. For a golden needle. That one special leather cased book. Shiny red silks. Or an antique music box with a hand carved ballerina slowly dancing inside.
The old lady had a gift. A gift of speech. So sweet and relaxing was her voice, she`d persuade an angry drunk into making bouquets of wild flowers to cheer his tired wife up.
While all the men in her beautiful family would hunt. Women usually shared stories. Silent voices and cheerful giggles theyd share gathered around a crackling fireplace. Theyd sew and crochet pillow casings and blankets. Younger girls kept silent. The elder women mostly discussed all of the many little colorful events happening in small town of Hornwood. Sometimes theyd talk about other people, families. Probably a natural course of any conversation, even to this day. Theyd praise the Queens dressmaker. Gasp over the winemakers son. They`d look at all the younger ladies and wisely remind them everyday. How that golden needle shall never appear out of thin air. Work a little harder everyday, so you could dress a princess someday, not so far away.
Every word the older women spoke, dwelled the girls towards a shiny land of dreams and happiness. They`d sound like honest lightness and pure wisdom.
The youngest old ladies daughter raised her hand once. – I think I should help the shoemakers daughter? She seems so pretty and so sweet. Yet all alone she always sits.
-Yes. Yes, my dear. A true friend always helps.
And so the youngest daughter befriended the shy girl. Trully nice she was. And kind. Helpful. Though no matter how hard the old ladie`s daughter tried, the shoe girl kept to herself. Oh and that sad look on her face.
So she went to her mother seeking advice. The old lady started laughing. Barely did she ever laugh so loud. But this time she just… Exploded with laughter. -Maybe she just does not like you in particular, sweetheart? No worries. People, after all, are a little different. I will have your cousing talk her into a forest gathering. Maybe she needs. Older friends. Some children mature more quickly, love.
And so a quiet girl met a boy. He was the sweetest. Always offering a jacket before it got cold. For a few weeks this newly found thing seemed like heavens. Love, is it? Is there a different name for this particular mind state. She could hardly concentrate on work. Or accounting books. Father got quite angry. You are too young, sweetie.
The boy came to the shoe store one day. He brought flowers. And while the father was patiently working in the backroom. He tried to kiss the girl away. She pushed him back and said its not okay. He pulled her harder by the waist. She started screaming for her dad to save the day. And so her father quickly came upstairs. He bruised the spolt brats face for months to bear. An hour later came the town`s police. They confiscated every shoe there is.
A few months later the old lady made a deal with a dressmaker. -I never thought he was a drunk. Ive heard theyre heading East, poor girl, well hopefully she`ll somehow make it. Sad days and stories all around, but my middle girl just got engaged to that good looking coffee merchant that just came to town.
Greta Oldenburg
2021
