by K C Norrie
****
It was the first market day they had attended since his father's death. They had few vegetables to sell, and only enough money to purchase the ingredients for a small batch of the meat pies. It didn't matter. Gabel had other plans. He brought along a few extra items he hadn't told his mother about as she would most likely disapprove. He had repaired and painted an old table with his father's whitewash and borrowed his mother's best white porcelain bowl. She probably thought he would try to sell them.
Now at the market, he set up the white table beside the meager vegetables. He placed the white bowl on the center of the white-washed table and filled it with water. Then he placed a hand-painted sign that read, "Fortunes Told." There was a moon and a few stars for effect, and a price that Gabel thought most people could pay. He himself wore a thin blanket he had fashioned into a robe, tied on at the waist with rope. He tied a cloth to cover his hair the way he'd seen gypsies do, and then he sat down on his stool to wait.
He knew he needed none of the extra stuff. He didn't need the robe, or the scarf or the white table with the white bowl of water to tell fortunes, but he felt some effects were needed. It would be the effects that would compel people stop and pay.
He didn't have long to wait. A few girls stepped up first. He had each of them gaze into the bowl. Both girls were in love with the same boy. He could tell because that color was the same around both girls. The boy had caused them some pain; he could see that hurt color as well. He could also tell they had been friends a long time; they carried bits of each other in their auras. He told them what he saw.
"You have been friends a long time." They both looked at each other and nodded, already amazed. "The boy you think of is a not good for either of you. He loves only himself."
The girls were speechless.
Did I tell them too much truth? Gabel thought to himself.
"You will find happiness only if you let him go," he continued. This was speculation, but good advice under the circumstances. He overheard them as they left.
"How did he know?"
While he didn't have a line of people waiting, that first day, the flow of customers was fairly steady.
He told a married couple that "she" was pregnant with a healthy son; a woman to go visit her mother as soon as possible; and advised a man to sell his farm.
"How did you know?" was asked over and over. People walked away amazed, but everything was there for Gabel to see. Their colors always bled a little into the future.
The man with the farm had really wanted to sell it. Gabel could see by his color. He had recently lost his wife and his daughter had been asking him to come live with her family. What held him back was his not knowing what his wife would have wanted. Gabel only helped him come to a decision.
The woman had been putting off seeing her mother, but Gabel could see a death to face coming soon for her, so he told her to go immediately.
The couple with the coming baby was easy. She wore the color of a healthy pregnancy and it was obviously a boy. Their ear to ear grins said they were happy with the telling.
Most people had uneventful destinies, at least for the near future. Gabel told them they had many blessings and would continue to prosper throughout the year. Because such vague futures could cause him to be considered a fraud, he added personal information that no one else would have known, like birth dates. Birth dates came easily to him. Gabel didn't know why, but there was a formula to it. There were literally tens of thousands of colors and Gabel had somehow learned to both read them fluently, and to use them.
On that first day, only one person, a young woman, had a tragic future laying in wait for her, and Gabel refused to tell her of it. Instead he told her, clouds were in the reading's way and refused to take her money.
The meager supply of vegetables had all sold and so had the meat pies.
Gabel had earned more than double what they normally made on market day. He and his mother had more than enough money to get by until the next market.
His mother shopped for supplies while Gabel finished up with his customers. She brought back a proper robe and headscarf for him, and his own white bowl.
****
The Chateau la Montagne was a small Chateau that sat high enough up on the mountain behind Saint Ange, to overlook the entire village. A wealthy family named Montrell owned and resided in it for as long as anyone in the village could remember. While the Montrells did not integrate with any of the village affairs, their own personal affairs were of the greatest interest to the villagers.
When Monsieur and Madame Montrell finally produced a son after years of trying, it thrilled both them and the village. Silas Marcus Montrell was born an angry and demanding infant, but that was no matter at all for the Montrells. They met every need. They granted every demand. They accepted every black mood where Silas could not be pleased or quieted, as part of his personality.
When Silas's sister was born four years later, a nanny explained to Silas that his sister, Darlena Marie, was a gift to him from heaven, and he was to be her protector. Silas wanted to give the infant back, saying that he did not want her.
But no matter how he pleaded, his sister stayed on. His mother rocked her to sleep in his rocking chair. His father walked through the Chateau halls with her over his shoulder. When Silas asked to be rocked or walked, he was told, "You are much too big for that."
His black moods often exiled him to the nursery to sit alone with one of the young maids while Darlena took away more of his parents and his things.
If Silas was the dark, then Darlena was the light.
She learned to smile, to walk and laugh. Silas ignored her. If he so much as glanced at her, she would stop what she was doing and smile. There was no doubt this smile was just for him, but Silas was so cold he would turn and walk out of the room.
One day, Silas was in the nursery at an easel painting a picture. He was painting a tree with birds, but he didn't like the results. Fixing it made it worse. He got angry, ripped the paper from the easel, tore it up into tiny pieces and threw the pieces up into the air. Darlena exploded into laughter behind him. Silas, who expected a scolding, gathered the little bits of shredded paper and threw them up again. Darlena laughed harder. Silas tore more paper and threw it again. Over and over, Darlena laughed and Silas's anger vanished.
One by one the parents and the governess and the nanny and any staff within hearing distance peeked in and quietly sneaked away with a smile.
Silas realized here was someone who adored him, whatever he did.
He instantly loved her and became her protector as his nanny had told him when she was first born. What followed were many blissful years.
When Silas was sixteen and Darlena twelve, the blissful years ended.
Darlena started out with only a cough. A physician came and administered a medicine, which only helped a little. She grew weak and stayed in bed. A few swift months later she was dead. She died in her sleep.
The Chateau de Lamontagne became a house of mourning. The family and entire staff were broken-hearted.
Darlena had taken all the light with her leaving them in darkness. Silas who still succumbed to black moods, couldn't cope with this one. He hid his feelings deep inside where they couldn't be touched. It helped — for a quite a while.
****
Riene loved market days in Saint Ange. She liked to wait by the side of the road and watch the marketers as they arrived early in the morning to set up their stalls. They sold everything from fruits and vegetables to livestock to brightly colored combs and cloths.
Later she would go to Saint Paul's Cathedral with the bell tower and Father Pierre and the sisters would serve her porridge and bread in exchange for sweeping the floor. After the porridge, she would return to the market and find a family or interesting person to follow. She noted what they wore, the kinds of things they purchased and even listened to some conversations if she could get close enough. She would follow them until they either left the mar
ket or until the market closed.
When the market closed, Riene would make her way to another church, Saint Mary's Chapelle, this one all white with a tall thin steeple. Father David and the church parishioners would have a table of food ready to serve to the poor who came through the line. Everyone greeted Riene as she approached. She greeted back but considered herself only temporarily poor, just until she found her parents.
After the meal and some polite conversation, Riene would leave to find somewhere to sleep.
In good weather, she liked to sleep beneath the stars. There were several rooftops she favored. In bad weather she would seek refuge in one of the two churches.
From December until March, the weather was snowy and cold and Riene had to keep to the indoors which meant the churches.
Father Pierre's church had stained glass windows that reached up high on the walls and depicted scenes from the Bible. One depicted the baby Jesus in the manger surrounded by angels, Joseph and Mary, the wise men and shepherds all looking down at the infant in adoration.
Riene did not remember her parents, but she was sure they had adored her on the day she was born, whenever and wherever that was.
When she was much younger, the church had given her a home. Not these churches but a church far away somewhere else. They dressed her in itchy clothes and taught her manners and how to read Bible stories.
When she thought she had learned enough, she ran away to find her parents. She was sure she would find them. A child should naturally know their own mother on sight. And what mother would not know her own child?
Riene searched the faces of all the women as she wandered through that other long-ago village. It was much larger than this one; at least it seemed so in her memory. It was probably a city. She soon grew so lost she could not find her way back to the church. She couldn't go back, anyway; not until she found her parents.
Sister Margaret always told her she could do almost anything if she didn't give up. Riene decided she would not give up.
She clung to one long-ago memory of a pretty woman dancing with an older man. The woman was happy, carefree, twirling in her dress. Someone said "Riene!" and the woman turned her head looking in her direction, still smiling. That was all. The memory ended there.
She made up stories in her head about what may have happened. She was certain she was born in a Chateau such as the Chateau la Montagne that sat on the Saint Ange Mountains.
The dancing woman must have been her mother. The older man her grandfather or maybe even her father, but they had loved her.
Perhaps they only traveled to that busy village and Riene had wandered away, running fast, the way she had seen toddlers do. Perhaps it was a market day and Riene had grown tired and fell asleep in some other family's hay filled cart without them knowing, waking up somewhere else, far away. Perhaps that family had tried to help find her parents back then, but Riene frightened, had run away again.
There came a time when she didn't feel safe in that other place. She was just a child but had been both robbed and attacked. She fled to Saint Ange hiding in barns and hitching wagon rides all the way. Saint Ange was her home now.
****
Today Riene kept watch on a family with two little boys. The mother held each child's hand tightly as they wove up and down the stalls at the market. She followed them as they made their way around the market adding food items to a basket carried by the father. At one point the man handed the basket to his wife and picked up one boy and carried him on his back.
Watching and following people was what Riene considered her hobby. It gave her something to think about on days when there was no market or when she could not fall asleep at night. During the long cold winters, she would invent stories and imagine she was part of this or that family. She strived to become more like them. They walked a path she did not know.
She knew that people got married and had babies, but how? She watched and listened. She had a dream of coming to the market with her own family one day, if she could manage the particulars.
The little family she followed today, stopped in front of a sign that read "Fortunes Told." Behind the sign sat a white table with a white bowl. Behind the bowl sat a handsome boy. Riene had never seen a boy fortune teller before.
She had seen and watched the gypsy fortune tellers when they camped just outside of Saint Ange but never had the coin they asked for.
She'd watched the little mother and father sit down while an older woman, perhaps the fortune teller's mother, handed sweets to the little boys. The family was all smiles when they left his table. "How did he know?" she heard them exclaim as they passed close enough for her to hear. She didn't follow them any longer. She let them walk past her. Instead, she stayed to watch the fortune-teller and his mother, and listened to his customers as they each came away, repeating the same phrase. "How did he know?"
****
Several months later, Gabel had earned a reputation. Customers waited in line to hear their fortunes. Many came from outside villages as the word about him grew.
This was good for the Saint Ange businesses. The market swelled with extra customers and the surrounding vendors benefited. Some were grateful enough to bring gifts of thanks for Gabel and his mother.
One vendor brought a colorful Fortune Teller sign to replace the crude one Gabel had painted himself. It depicted moons and stars and other celestial images.
Another gave them a big red canopy; more than big enough to shelter their vending stall during rain.
Gabel took notice of a girl hovering near his stall on market days. She was more young- woman than a girl. Her feet were bare, and her clothes and hair were that of a beggar, but her colors were glorious and strong.
One day he caught her eye and bid her to sit down.
"Would you like your fortune told?" he asked her.
"I cannot pay," she answered.
"I will tell it to you at no cost."
She hesitated only seconds before sitting.
"What would you like to know?" he asked.
"Everything," she answered breathlessly.
****
It was a star-filled night at the Chateau La Montagne. While the stars illuminated the sky outside, the Grand Hall was illuminated inside with lanterns and candles, no expense spared. Silas's mother Madame Cari Montrell joined the dance floor with her husband Damas. It was the third such fete` they had hosted this summer and once again Silas stood awkwardly at the sidelines barely speaking to the young men and women close to his age. It wasn't just the dances; Silas barely took part in his life. He was a watcher. He sat on the sidelines and just watched as the days of his young life passed him by.
****
The boy's name was Gabel; the accent on the bel part. Riene said it in her mind a few times. She wouldn't tell him her name, but Gabel spelled it out for her. First name, then last name, and he watched as she felt her eyes grow wide. He told her, her birth date. She was sixteen years old and hadn't ever known that before today. He even told her where she was born. Then lastly and sadly, he told her that her parents were deceased. Gabel had not wanted to tell her this. She could tell by the expression on his face. But he must have thought it better if she knew. She did not remember them, and they had never been a part of her life as she knew it. So why did finding out they were dead make her so sad?
It was Gabel's mother who overheard and instantly stepped in; serving Riene a cold drink and making sure she sat while all the newly discovered information settled down.
"I am whole now," Riene thought as she walked away. "This morning I was less and now I am more."
Gabel did not understand what he had done.
It was still a shock to her. Her parents were dead. Her life's purpose vanished away. He had broken her and fixed her with just a few words. Magical words. Missing pieces of her plucked from the air and placed just so. Was he a wizard?
"I am a whole person now." It was bewildering.
"Hello," she practiced. "My name is Riene
Gardin. I am sixteen years old. I was born on November 22nd in Paris. My parents are both dead."
****
Gabel heard his mother introduce herself as Madame Bereitha to Riene. She shot Gabel a look of displeasure for upsetting the young woman, but Gabel barely noticed. He had told her that her parents were dead, so she would not continue to try to find them. Her colors changed in that instant, and now he was trying to sort out the extraordinary future he saw for her in the bowl.
****
As the months went by, Riene visited Gabel and his mother's stall often. They became friends. Gabel watched his mother, being first addressed as "Madame Bereitha," become simply "Bereitha when Riene spoke to her.
He watched hope grow in his mother's eyes as she looked to Riene as Gabel's future. It was a warm pink summer evening, and they were packing up to leave.
"Riene is destined to marry another," he spoke softly to her.
His heart broke as he watched the small dream die in his mother's eyes. He knew she'd been lonely since father died. The days between market days were never full the way they were back when he was still alive. At that moment the idea came to Gabel that they should sell the farm and move into town. The sale from the farm could buy a proper shop with living quarters above. He made the plans in his head as they drove the cart home.
But first, there was a storm coming. It had been building up for days now. Gabel looked up toward the mountains behind the Chateau at the odd colors that extended up into the sky. He was nearly eighteen now and had never seen such colors as these. It worried him that he didn't know what they meant.
****
Riene no longer followed people. She no longer imagined about them or their lives. Instead, she visited the fortune teller's mother Madame Bereitha, who taught her how to make the meat pies and paid her a franc for helping.
It was Madame Bereitha who suggested that Riene bring a reference from herself and maybe Father Pierre, to request employment in the Chateau la Montagne kitchens.
