The Feather

Her face was moist, as if covered by a gossamer layer of morning dew, while she tended the work before her. It had to be letter perfect. Only the best would do. This was, after all, a promise kept. A gift for a gift. She sat back after adding the final flourishes and wiped away the sweat with the sleeve of her worn and tattered dress. Her critical gaze swept over the final draft of the story she had written…

~~~~THE FEATHER~~~~

She had been a stranger. A small person of no importance. A new face amongst many who had known each other for a very long time. So it was she had felt comfortable being visible, but invisible. She didn’t have to hide here since no one knew her. No one would recognize her, and even better no one could run to the authorities and hand her over. She was safe here. Safe, that is, until -he- appeared.

She knew immediately he was a person of importance. It was evident in the momentary pause in conversations throughout the inn when he set foot inside. A missed beat, and then it all continued as if nothing had happened. Except for the eyes. It seemed all eyes followed him as he made his way through the crowd. She was fascinated by this and found herself unable to take her eyes off of him. Then the fatal mistake.

The feather, yellow as a canary, stuck in his fine hat. Gloriously waving at her like some red flag. All she could do was stare. He must have felt himself being unabashedly gawked at because the next thing she knew he was standing in front of her, speaking to her. Heaven help her, though, for she couldn’t understand a word he was saying at first. It was like he was speaking from underwater, all muffled and garbled. When she finally found her senses again, there were no saving graces. No sooner did she finally spit out her name than she practically demanded the feather from him.

Fear should have struck her dead at that moment. She almost prayed it would once she realized what she had done. Yet he seemed to find it everyday normal to have someone demand a fine feather like his. He inquired to why she would want his feather, and after answering him, she was astonished as he plucked the feather from his hat and held it before her with a smile on his face. It was hers, but for a price. A price? Dread filled her, knotting the pit of her stomach. But dread was soon replaced with pure delight when he named his price. A story or poem written by her. The agreement made, the coveted feather now lay in her hands.

That’s when she suddenly became aware of all the eyes again. The drone of conversation still continued, but quick glances were being sent their way. It had all been seen. She was no longer a stranger amongst those who knew each other. They would recognize her now. Her, the one -he- had given the feather to. And with that recognition came the possibility, that someone, anyone would find out. Then they would come to get her. All because of a feather, a canary yellow feather grander than any feather she had ever seen before.

~~~~~

She nodded with satisfaction and rolled the parchment tightly up, tying it off with a piece of yellow ribbon. Appropriate she thought to herself, then picked up the quill she had used to write the story and with as neat and tidy a hand she could muster, she addressed it to him.

To Harper DeVir With many thanks, Gracie.

_She set the quill down. Tomorrow she would take her gift to the inn and leave it on the bar where she was certain someone would find it and pass it on to him.