The town streets that connected every corner of the frozen Ravela were silent in the thinning air. Sundays in the white—clad season are not as busy as the days of the previous season, where residents bustle about going about their business. Almost all the shops are closed and the square is quite deserted. The uphill streets that cut through the small stone-walled buildings in the corner of town are deserted. Occasionally, people could be seen walking along the city streets, but they soon disappeared as soon as they encountered a curve or a narrow alley hiding between the walls of adjoining buildings. There was no activity in the fields, farms, or guilds.
There was almost nothing to do in this small town, except for praying in the small church not too far from the center of the crowd. People rushed back to their homes as soon as the mass was over, as if their bodies would soon turn into icicles if they didn't warm up in front of the fireplace.
The horse-drawn carriage that my sister Thérèse and I were riding in shook slightly as it began to leave the crush of shops that stood along the main road. The country roads that cut through the small fields that lay along the way to our house did have a rougher surface than the village streets, so the time seemed to go by a little longer. In Ravela, time does move more slowly in winter, so I didn't realize that I was already late getting home. Even so, the train wheels weren't turning any faster.
I kept looking out at the snowfields outside, which stretched across my birthplace as far as the eye could see. The vineyards and fields that used to provide bountiful harvests were now sleeping under the soothing snow. My mind drifted, drifting somewhere, until it finally landed and was immersed in a pile of compacted snow. Falling asleep under the comforting blanket of snow doesn't seem so bad. Not bad for me who had endured an endless winter. Ah, once again my mind drifted back.
"Ah, damn. I think we're late," muttered Thérèse who glanced at the pocket watch in her hand.
"Late? What for?" I asked confused. Lunchtime had passed about an hour ago, and dinner was still a long way off.
Thérèse frowned. Her eyebrows were knitted together. "You didn't know?"
I shook my head slowly. "The one-year commemoration of Mother's death? But that passed three days ago."
"There's a town meeting today. We might still make it on time, as long as we don't redress and change our dresses," she hissed. From the look on her face, I could see her saying inwardly "why do you think I still haven't returned after the memorial service for Mom's death is over?" But I didn't want to mention it. It didn't seem like Thérèse had any intention of saying it either.
"Ah, that town meeting. I'm not coming."
Thérèse's eyebrows interlocked again. "Again? You must come, Rossie. You're the daughter of the respected Favre family after all. You've already become the talk of the town. At least show your face in front of the guests."
That gray feeling came at once as Thérèse's sour gaze assaulted me, but I—finally—was able to force a smile despite the bitter taste. "I'm sorry, but I can't."
Thérèse snorted, but she said nothing more.
"Besides," I added, "I don't have a good enough reason to refuse those nobles' invitation to chat. You know they're so... boring and... a little annoying."
"You can just refuse. Refuse if you want to, but do it in an elegant way," interrupted Thérèse who waved her hand in the air.
"Like when you doused Earl Henriette with champagne when he asked you to dance? I wonder why he still wants you to be his wife after that incident," I teased with a small chuckle.
That dark-haired woman laughed as she gently tapped her hand on my thigh while continuing to grumble. In the end, we laughed amidst the shaking of the galloping horse-drawn carriage. It was a great relief to find myself still able to laugh in the midst of all the turmoil I had felt and was feeling.
We stopped talking when we saw a magnificent mansion up ahead. The old gray mansion looked frozen in the cold air. Its black trapezoidal roof was covered in white ice crystals that had fallen throughout the day. The large windows lined up in neat rows with antique-looking frames occasionally reflected the shadows of the mansion's residents passing by. Although it was called a mansion, our house was smaller than the other mansions or castles owned by nobles on the outskirts of Ravela.
I saw that two horse-drawn carriages had just parked in front of my house. As soon as the passengers disembarked, the carriages galloped slowly across the yard, which was dotted with thistles and snow-covered grass, and then left after dropping off a well-dressed old man and a couple with extravagant jewelry and velvet clothes.
The carriage stopped right in front of the house. The carriage driver opened the door for us and made sure our footing wasn't slippery enough to make us slip.
"Come on, Rossie." Thérèse led me into the house.
A middle-aged man in a neat tailcoat appeared, opening the door for us. "Welcome, Miladies." Simon, our butler, bowed respectfully.
Just before we walked into the house, a dashing man in luxurious dark clothes came and intercepted us. His eyes were so sharp, yet I could feel the worry in the clear gleam of his eyes. Raymond was always like that if I came home late.
"Where have you been?" Raymond asked tersely.
"Sorry. After mass, I went to visit Mr. Gusteau, the herbalist." I explained.
Thérèse walked over to Raymond and took him by the arm, walking away from me. "The guests are arriving. We'd better join them soon."
Raymond resisted the body movements Thérèse forced on him. Even Thérèse's urges could no longer move the burly body of the only son in the family. Raymond stared into his elder sister's narrowed eyes, then he began to whisper, "Wait a minute."
Raymond's stern face twisted, then glanced at me doubtfully. Although his sharp glance looked amused, I knew he had something to say.
"Rosalynne. You'd better get back to your room." Raymond murmured in a heavy voice.
I can't really guess Raymond that easily. He was almost like Father. Rigid, cold, and stern. All of that was so clearly depicted on his stern jawed face with his forehead that always seemed to be scowling at almost every moment. However, he had a softer heart, even with his handsome face that seemed a bit severe.
"You didn't invite her to the meeting?" asked Thérèse, throwing Raymond's arm in the air.
Raymond sighed heavily. "Why don't you understand? You'd better go to the meeting room right away."
Thérèse smiled sarcastically, but her sharp little lips instantly pursed. She threw her head back proudly, then gave her brother a haughty look. "You dare to order me around? I know you're the successor of this family, but you should respect your elder sister! Besides, I am the wife of Earl Hanriette. You have to be polite to me!"
Raymond rolled his eyes, then gave Thérèse an annoyed look. "This is no time for jokes."
"Besides..." Thérèse turned to look at me sadly, then quickly threw Raymond a challenging glance. "Is this going to continue? Rossie is also the daughter of this family! She's also old enough to join the meeting. As the successor to the head of the family, you have to do something!"
"What should Raymond do as successor?" The heavy voice that echoed throughout the room stopped our body movements spontaneously. Silence fell over the entire lobby as if time had been stopped by the harsh tones.
Thérèse's beautiful eyes widened. Her glittering irises moved towards the direction where Raymond stood. Meanwhile Raymond, his face now visibly wilted, looked down in shame, looking helpless. His eyes were closed, disguising his deep regret.
No one glanced at Father and his secretary, Nicolas, who walked down to us who were stuck downstairs, until finally his muffled steps on the zigler carpet stopped at the second step from the bottom. No one dared, including me who began to sink into the piercing silence.
Thérèse and Raymond turned to face Father, the Earl Damien Favre, with much calmer faces. I was still downcast, not daring to look him directly in the face.
"Where have you been?" scolded Father in his flat, slightly depressing tone. Father's face, which had begun to fill with wrinkles, looked as cold as ever.
"From church. I'm sorry I'm late, Father," I replied softly, keeping my head down.
"Father, you see...." Thérèse tried to explain, but Father's hand raised in the air stopped her. Her annoyed face was enough to let me know that she was swearing inside.
"Does the fact that I didn't allow you to go to the meeting mean that you can do whatever you want?"
It was like being stabbed by thousands of ice needles. The pain that mingled with the cold that spread just as the needles hit the target felt so piercing, as if it had become a mandatory punishment for me who always did wrong even though I hadn't actually done anything. I knew that Father's words were directed only at me, and not at Thérèse who had come to see me. That was because it was only me—and my little sister—that Father had never allowed to join the town community. Even at the age of eighteen. He only allowed me to appear at banquets, formal occasions, or courtly events as a mere formality.
That's why I refused Thérèse's invitation. It was always like that. And it had to be that way.
The strange feeling that came over me caused a tightness in my chest, and the words that were about to come out were choked by the constriction in my throat. And just as they were escaping, they were scurrying around like withered leaves in a fall breeze. "I... I'm sorry, Father. I'll go straight to my room after this."
Dad's haughty, piercing gaze sought me out, but he quickly turned his attention to Thérèse and Raymond as if he didn't care about what I'd just said. For a long time, Father had never cared about me—and Alienor, my little sister.
"Thérèse, you're late too. You'd better hurry to the meeting room."
"I..." I stuttered, but there was an urge that kept me from finishing my sentence. "It's my fault. I'm sorry."
Father glanced over, but still remained quiet. He wasn't even interested in scolding me, or laughing at my clumsy, helpless self in front of him, or perhaps even in hissing in annoyance. All I saw was my absence in the reflection of her fading eyes, which were slowly hidden by the back of her body, which turned over with authority.
Thérèse and Raymond met each other's gaze. Both of them glanced at me with sad eyes.
"I'm fine," I whispered, throwing them a smile.
Thérèse and Raymond forced their faint smiles at me, then followed Father back up the stairs.
Nicolas, who was behind Father, turned to me and bowed, whispering softly. "Greetings, milady."