–This chapter happens after Mary meets Arnold in the morning–

  Mary stood in front of the narrow mirror in her room, leaning closer as she gently tended to her cheek.

  The mirror was old, its surface slightly warped, reflecting her face with a vague distortion that made her eyes look larger than usual.

  She dabbed carefully at the plum-coloured shadow on her cheek, as if afraid that pressing too hard would make the mark bloom again with fresh pain.

  Her brown hair had been loosened from its usual braid and tumbled freely over her shoulders. She arranged the strands forward so they framed her face, allowing it to drape naturally over her cheek and conceal the lingering discoloration.

  “Oh, the shame of it.” she muttered.

  She stared at her reflection, her cheeks warming. Who would have thought she would be found out so easily? And by a stranger, no less! Someone she had known for less than a day!

  Mary reached for a small pot resting on the table. Her fingertip came away with a sheen of cool, dark green balm, its surface thick and glossy.

  She carefully applied it to her cheek, spreading it gently over the skin.

  “So cool! Mister Otto’s herbal is so cool!”

  It was the herbal oil that Mister Otto had given her.

  Mister Otto was a peculiar man, but he had a kind heart.

  The elderly shopkeeper was not so much taller than Mary herself. His back was hunched, which made him lean heavily on his cane when he moved about his shop. Yet his eyes were always lively and amused.

  “I wonder where he hails from.”

  Mary actually did not know where he had come from, or when he had first appeared in the village. It felt as though he had always been here, as natural a part of Winterin as the pub or the church bell.

  “Heehee, thank you, handsome elder.”

  Otto had happily handed her this oil after she had praised him the first time they met, complimenting his strange, foreign-looking robes.

  The elderly shopkeeper seemed to enjoy the flattery, and had since gifted her many small things: a sweet-smelling sachet, a polished river stone, a handful of dried berries,... each time they met.

  And of course, she happily accepted them.

  “A free meal is the best!”

  The oil had a distinct scent of nature, of crushed leaves and damp earth, and it also worked quite flawlessly, especially when she compared it to the goose grease she usually used in the village.

  That was why his so-called magical herbs were so sought after here.

  And yet, Arnold had seen through her careful ruse, which was a surprise even to herself.

  ‘How did he notice it?’

  The oil should have hidden the mark quite well. She had even taken the extra measure to loosen her hair to hide the mark.

  But still…

  Master Arnold. That young master who had appeared out of nowhere in their village.

  At first, she was a little shy around him. He looked strange, carried himself differently from the boys she had grown up with. And there was something in his gaze that made her instinctively keep her distance.

  But as time passed, as they spoke and walked together, she realized he was all bark and no bite.

  Arnold was actually very thoughtful on the inside. He was careful with his words, attentive to how she reacted, and looked out for her without making a show of it. He even carried her basket without a word.

  Even when he spoke bluntly, there was no malice in it.

  Although his bandaged appearance was a bit frightening at times, what of it? Mary never felt afraid of him.

  In fact, he reminded her of her Pa.

  ‘A boy calling me his friend? What could he possibly mean?’

  The thought alone made her blush.

  No boy had ever said that to her so plainly before.

  Boys and girls were usually kept apart. They played separately, lived in divided worlds until they were old enough.

  The few boys who had tried to approach her were often chased off by her pa’s temper before anything could come of it.

  Arnold was a new face. He probably had never met her pa. So he hadn’t been chased away by pa, just yet.

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  “He’s considerate. He’s smart, too,” Mary counted on her fingers.

  He knew how to speak to the little ones, how to make them laugh without belittling them.

  “And he’s clearly wealthy.”

  Judging by his fine clothes, his manners, and the way he handled coins with casual ease, as if coins were little more than tools.

  ‘It shouldn’t be like that, right? heehee.’

  Mary shook her head, trying to scatter the thoughts away. But no matter how she tried, the implication clung stubbornly to her mind.

  “Oh dear, what is a girl to do when she is so sought-after!”

  She laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Mary leaned closer to the mirror again. The mark on her cheek had almost disappeared under the balm's work.

  “If Pa knew of this, he would surely raise a terrible fuss,” she sighed.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the morning, to how everything had happened.

  —

  Early this morning, near the church school, Vine stood directly in front of Mary with her arms crossed.

  “A word with you, Miss Mary Smith.”

  The girl still wore her usual beautiful long dress, a fine wool of a soft lilac colour, with a delicate silver locket she always carried on her neck to assert her status to everyone.

  Her chestnut hair, lustrous and silky, flowed down like a wave with little to no blemish of dust. It was immaculately clean.

  She was undeniably beautiful, with long-lashed eyes and cheeks the colour of pink roses, if not for the mask of jealous fury that now twisted her pretty features.

  ‘A wild rose,’ Mary often called her in her thoughts. Pretty, but prickly.

  Two other girls hovered behind Vine, giggling behind their hands.

  They were Vine’s friends, but sometimes, it was almost as if they were her attendants, always following closely behind her, agreeing with her in every word.

  Mary wasn’t ignorant of it. She understood well enough. They clung to Vine because of her status, hoping some of it would rub off on them.

  “You brazen thing,” Vine snapped, “You are to keep away from my Bennet!” as she raised her hand suddenly.

  Before Mary could even process the words—

  *Slap.*

  “!”

  The sound cracked loudly through the air, followed almost immediately by muffled giggles from behind Vine.

  “Ahhh!”

  Mary stumbled and fell to the ground, her basket slipping from her grasp.

  Flowers spilled across the dirt, scattered like fallen stars on the dusty ground, bits of knitted fabric tumbling out after them.

  A few children stood a short distance away. They watched with wide eyes, some stepping forward instinctively, only to stop themselves. Concern flickered across their faces, but none of them dared to intervene.

  “...”

  Of course, they dared not.

  Vine’s family owned the main plant nursery of the village. In terms of wealth and standing, she was second only to Bennet’s family.

  That was why the two of them could walk together openly, talk freely, and never worry about consequences.

  But Mary? She was just the daughter of a humble lumberman.

  Her Pa was respected, yes. Villagers admired his strength and his honest labor. But respect was not the same as power. It didn’t let her stand on equal footing with families like Vine’s.

  “But,” Mary whispered from the ground, “I only asked for a spare chalkboard…” Her voice trembled despite her effort to keep it steady.

  She had only asked Bennet for a spare chalkboard for the new student. That was all. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Vine tossed her long tresses over her shoulder. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and turned away, the other girls following in her wake like ladies-in-waiting.

  “If I see you near him again, do not expect such leniency next time!” Vine shot her the last warning before disappearing out of sight.

  “…”

  Mary lifted a hand to her cheek.

  It stung, hot, but it wasn’t unbearable.

  She clenched her teeth.

  ‘Hehe.’

  She was strong. So she wouldn’t cry.

  Compared to the hardships Pa endured every day, swinging his axe from dawn till dusk, this was nothing.

  A mere sting.

  She pushed herself up from the ground and brushed the dirt from her dress.

  A few children hurried over, gathering the fallen flowers and knitted pieces, carefully placing them back into her basket.

  “Mary!”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Of course I am!” Mary said brightly and smiled.

  She accepted the helping hands of her so-called ‘friends,’ who now fussed over her with concern.

  ‘They were likely the ones who told Vine.’

  The thought didn’t surprise her.

  Girls loved gossiping, and it was not as if she could stop them from talking.

  Still, Mary wouldn’t mind. She was not that petty! She would forgive them!

  “Thank you kindly!”

  As she straightened, her gaze caught something else.

  At the corner of her eye, she met the unreadable gaze of Father Victor, who watched from the rectory window. The priest stood still, hands folded with a calm expression.

  Mary had noticed him from the start. The Father had been standing there for some time. He had witnessed the entire exchange between her and Vine, yet he had not moved to intervene.

  Mary flinched as their eyes met.

  She quickly lowered her gaze, closed her eyes, took the basket, and hurried away from the church grounds.

  “Mary,” The gentle voice echoed behind her.

  ‘Oh no.’

  Father Victor spoke gently as he opened the church door, his white cassock a stark contrast against the church's shadow.

  “We must have a word.”

  His voice was calm, yet…Mary found it hard to refuse him.

  Defiance against a respectable priest of the Church was not an option for her.

  “Y… yes, Father.” Mary swallowed her saliva.

  She lowered her head and nodded, following Father Victor back into the White church.