by Maggie Lee
Passing multiple booths and cabins, we stop at the outside of a barn. Arden steps from out of my hold and pulls a key from his pocket. He unlocks a master pad and opens the old wooden door. What are we doing here?
I wait for him to step inside and then follow, he starts lighting candles and then opening windows. Once there is light, I notice all of the different metal tools on display across the wall and an old blackened forge sits along one wall. I only know what it's for because of the education father required us to obtain about the old world. ‘As leaders, we should know our history’ is what he kept telling us as he and mom drag us to all of these different places. Being kids, we didn’t see the excitement that they held, but now, a little more grown I wish I had cherished those trips more. I loved the history classes we took, while June was more interested in science. Its funny how even with our paths laid out, and our futures predetermined that we actually fit into our roles so well.
"Do they have any blacksmiths that still use this old shop," I ask as I run my hand across what I believe to be called an anvil.
"That would be me, and many others. Where do you think the weapons come from for the army?" He pulls out a bag of coal and covers the metal plate with the little black chunks. Once they are evenly spread, he walks over to a pile of splintered wood and pulls a few pieces out, setting them atop the coal with a blackened piece of cloth. He reaches up and picks up a small rock of the ventilation hood that hangs above the forge, with quick force he uses his three fingered ring that he always wears to strike the small rock. Sparks fly and the charred cloth lights up instantly. He turns on a blower beneath the forge and the little bundle of sticks catches fire.
My eyes never leave him as he begins works through his process. Arden is so focused it’s kind of amazing to watch. This isn't what I imagined for our lunch activities, but I'm pleasantly surprised to see all of this. He continues adding coal and increasing the blower until the coals start to change colors towards the center of the pile.
"What should I make today?" he asks me, lifting up and inspecting a few difference shapes and sizes of metal from the shelf behind him.
"Depends! How long do we have to play here?" His eyes light up and there is genuine surprise when he looks to me. I don't think he expected me to be excited to be here.
"Well, we have lunch in about an hour to two. So, really only an hour to forge, then time to clean it up before." He finishes his statement, but I feel like there is more he wants to say, so I wait to answer.
After a few seconds pass, I decide he isn't going to continue, "Are we taking it to lunch? Or is it just something for you to make before we go?"
"We have to bring it to lunch, it will be something everyone looks over and possibly uses," he says, raking coals around on his forge and increasing the blower so it pushes more air through.
"Everyone. As in other people are eating with us?" I have to speak up to be heard over the blower and ventilation hood.
"Yes, it's Thanksgiving. You can't eat that alone," he answers gruffly because of raw focus rather than annoyance at my constant questions,
"I've never had Thanksgiving, I've only read about it before in books. We're going to celebrate with the settlers?" My voice comes out with less assurance than I wanted, but I can't hide the excitement of celebrating this dead tradition. I have read about it over the years and even taught my students a little on the subject, so experiencing one is a dream come true, although it may also be treasonous. If father know I was here, he would lose his mind. While it isn’t strictly against the law to hold a celebration for the old forgotten tradition, he would see it as trying to bring back the past and celebrating the religion and beliefs of another country.
"You don't mind?" He doesn't look up from raking the coals again.
"No, I'm thrilled. I've never had turkey, it isn't something my father likes."
"Your father doesn't like much." He states matter of factly.
I let out a huff in response and he picks up a piece of metal, putting it into the red hot coals.
“No, but I think he dislikes it in association with this exact holiday. How did you get him to agree to let me come here?”
“I told him I was taking you to meet my family, which he wasn’t thrilled about, but eventually decided was a good idea since he plans to invite them over soon for an official public meeting.” He’s right, my father would plan to meet them publicly soon. He will want a spectacle of it if he gets his way. Father is all about press when he wants to make a statement. Sadly, they are around all of the time and that ends with dead journalists for treasonous offenses.
I shake off the bad thoughts of my father and focus on Arden. While letting the metal heat up, he puts on an apron and grabs a set of gloves from his back pocket. I never even noticed he had those on him. Grabbing a pair of long tongs, he pulls the bright glowing metal out and makes his way towards me.
"Back up, darling, and please grab a pair of the eye ware from beside the door." I move around the room looking for glasses. After checking obvious buckets, I don’t find any, so I wait till I get his attention.
Between the thuds of him pounding into the metal, he says, "Hanging by the door. Check the box under the candle."
I open the lid to the box and grab out a pair of safety glasses, and slide them on my eyes. The heat from the forge isn't near what I thought it would be, but then I remember the exhaust hood he has over his forge. How efficient. At least we won't die of smoke inhalation or burn to a crisp.
"So what are you making?" I ask, curious if he will let the conversation flow.
He stops hammering as the glow starts to fade from his piece of metal and returns it to the forge.
"A carving set for the turkey. I'm thinking a very basic knife and fork." He answers and my eyes widen. He can make a knife and fork in that time? Isn't it a lot of work?
He continues the pattern of moving the metal in and out of the forge as he hammers it flat. People come and go, entering to watch him for a bit and the audience of people who stay through the whole thing surprises me. It’s warm in here, so with the chilly weather I can't blame them for flocking to the room with a fire.
People start pulling up wooden seats and after some time of me basically leaning against a wooden work bench, someone brings me a chair. I don't know any of the people coming in and out, but everyone seems to know my name. Multiple ladies offer for me to join them in the serving hall, but I turn them down, not wanting to miss a single thing Arden does.
It takes some time, but the square bar of steel shapes into a handle and blade. It’s mesmerizing as he smoothly works it into shape and I'm deeply impressed. Maybe, because of how we met, I hadn’t expected much out of Arden. With each passing day, he was surprising me. Every time I think I’ve seen all of him, he shows me another side. His puzzle keeps breaking into more pieces, and it feels like I’ve barely even got the outer edges pieced together at this point. I’m embarrassed to admit, I honestly didn't expect him to be more than the warlord of weapons my father made him out to be.
"We have about thirty minutes before lunch. Everyone needs to wash up and gather their contributions." The voice comes from a frail elder as she enters the doorway, and startles me when everyone instantly starts moving about like she asked. I keep put as I take in her tiny size. Her voice was full of authority that doesn’t match her size at all. The crowd is larger than I realized as I watch them all amble from the room with a purpose, slowly passing by her as they go. When it’s just her and us in the room she gives me a smile before turning on her heel and walking away using a wooden cane I didn’t notice she had.
"The knife should be about done heat treating, can you pull it from the brick oven. Use a pair of tongs and be very careful please. Do not burn yourself." He points to a row of tongs and I select the smallest set.
They fit in my hands awkwardly. It takes me a couple tries to get the knife in my grip with the tongs, but once I have it I look to him for approval. His natural ability to just
work with them like an extension of his hand impresses me, because just keeping the knife steady after pulling it out is a feat.
"Alright, lay it in the pan of warm oil that I have over here. Don't touch anything or get too close to the forge. You will light up like a firework in that thick dress, and shit, I forgot to make you put gloves on." I do as he says and then move back carefully, hanging the tongs back where I got them from.
He motions for me to come over and pulls out a full apron the covers my dress. “I’m going to pull the fork out, I want you to help me hammer in the splits that separate the forks tines.”
He lays the metal down on the anvil before handing me the tongs that he’s been using. I take them, unsure what to do next, but he guides me through the process of holding them. When he hands me the hammer, he moves around me and places a small chisel against the flattened metal.
“Just hit the chisel with one good swing, make the split, and then I will adjust for the second.” I do as he asks and hit the chisel as hard as I can and it makes a decent dent, but doesn’t split it, so I have to do it a few times. The second one goes smoother and it looks fork like. I give him back the tongs and step back, but he stops me before I get far from him. He holds up a finger and I wait while he puts the fork back into the forge.
He helps me out of the large apron, our hands brush and I feel the familiar tingles across my skin at his touch. We linger for a moment and I want to kiss him, but he turns away from me before we can explore the moment. He grabs a big wooden block wire brush and starts to scrape off scale and black from the fork once it’s out of the forge.
"Can you bring me the bees wax jar from over there?"
My eyes follow in the direction he’s pointing and I see a mason jar sitting on a shelf. He goes through the process of cleaning and waxing the tools he just made and before I know it, the little old lady is back, herding us out of the barn.
Chapter 8.
We follow behind her when she takes the lead and Arden puts a hand on my back, guiding me along. "Where are we going?"
He takes so long to answer me that I'm almost sure he didn't hear my whisper.
"Lunch."
I purse my lips and give him a dramatic head nod. My little display of exasperation gets a chuckle as we enter into a long room with dozens of picnic tables lined in rows. Most of the tables are full, people of all ages scattered everywhere. I hesitate and his hand rubs my back before pushing us to a table with men that all kind of look like Arden. Dark and dangerous, with scruffy well-kept beards. They could easily all be related to one another.
"Have a seat, I will get us drinks," he says before steering off in another direction.
I freeze, worrying about joining a table of men I don't know, all alone. Thankfully a lady of the group stops me, “Hello dear. Your dress is absolutely lovely!”
I smile at the sweet lady, who looks to be in her mid-thirties as she carries a small sleeping infant tightly against her chest.
“Thank you ma’am. I appreciate that.” I give her a small curtsy by habit.
“You’re just missing your tiara, Princess.” She smiled to me as she walked away.
I cringe a little at someone realizing who I am and that I’m out without a tiara on. Once she’s out of sight, I move to make my way to the table I was directed to earlier, but a small force hits me from behind and I hear a young child giggling as another small force smashes into the back of my dress and almost knocks my legs out from under me. I reach back to grab the children before they bounce off of me, but their arms wrap around me and I almost lose my balance again.
Strong hands steady me by my elbows and I grab a hold of the chest of whoever has me. Luckily, it's Arden and I haven't accosted a stranger.
"You alright?"
I answer him with a nod, and let go, turning around to make sure the younglings didn't get hurt.
Two tiny girls, with dark brown hair and golden brown eyes look up at me nervously I smile down at them and ask, "Are you alright darlings?"
I get frantic nods, so I squat down and get face to face with them. Without warning, the smallest one dives into me, giving me a tight hug around the neck. This causes me to giggle into her soft hair. I wrap my arms around her, but have to readjust when the second dives in to join us.
"Mae and Ariabella, let go of the princess." I cringe at the word and release the already sulking children. They give him grumpy smiles before running off to play some more.
"They know I'm a princess? You've told these people?" I stand up slowly, hesitant.
"Hard to miss with the dress darling. I didn't tell them, but word has traveled through the country of our engagement." Word has traveled? I haven't told anyone, and it's only been a week or so. How in the world could it have traveled across the country?
"Let’s have a seat, it's almost time for the toasts and prayer." Arden guides me back to the table and I sit in silence while he greets the men. Despite the obvious relation to Arden, none of them compare to his features when I really look at them.
"Are you going to introduce us?" The eldest of the men sitting with us asks. He looks the most like Arden, with sharp masculine features and dark eyes, but his hair is greying at the temples. If he hadn’t told me that his parents have already passed I would think this man to possibly be his father.
"You couldn't give her a minute to settle in? This is Mackenzie, Princess of Schrielle." He pauses for a moment when he sees my very visible cringe at the word Princess. "Mackenzie, these are my brothers."
"Brothers?" I murmur without thought.
"Yes, I am the youngest of four. Our oldest here is Braxton," He points to the man with the greying temples, "He is a carpenter and actually has done a lot of work for your father over the years, you may have seen him around the castle."
The brother next to Braxton speaks up, "I'm Markus, middle brothers have the biggest—"
"I will cut your throat out across this table if you finish with that thought," Arden says with a deep gravelly tone and it sends shivers across my skin. Threats being a turn on? Count that as a new experience for me.
"Personality is all I was going to say, little brother. You couldn't think I would say something so crass in front of your new wife." His tone holds a feeling of ease and I'm suddenly sure of it that they are both joking with each other, even if everything Arden says feels serious.
"Fiancé," Arden and I both say in unison.
"Look at that, already completing each other's sentences," Markus says with a big smile.
Arden ignores him and motions to the next man. "This is Fletcher, but we all call him Fletch." He gives a small nod and I sense he's a little shy.
"Four boys, your mother must have been..." I pause, unsure on how to finish that sentence. Four boys. Poor lady. My one brother was a great deal to handle.
"She was the scariest lass around, tough and on a mission!" Marcus says in a horrible Scottish accent.
We all laugh at his comment, maybe all for different reasons, but it’s a group moment all the same. I peer around the room, trying to picture a man and woman who look like the boys being a part of this place. The crowd is large and despite the clothing being an expanse of a few decades, everyone here seems similar in different ways.
"They would be so happy you are here, and enjoying it," Arden whispers to me, and I hear a note of sadness that I hadn't from him before. “They were leaders in this community and would have been seated at the front with the 'Congressional'."
"Oh," I say a little bit lost as to where to go with conversation now. Luckily, a chorus of glass clinking spreads around the room before everyone falls into a hushed silence.
"Welcome to this year’s Thanksgiving. We want to welcome everyone here today and say a large thanks to the Congressional for all of their hard work in organizing this event. Today we have a full feast, everyone here brought something to the table, and for that we thank you!" With people suddenly seated, we have a straight view up to a stage with what looks like a swe
ethearts table at a wedding, only it’s filled with about fourteen men and women.
The elder speaker steps aside and a smaller women comes forward, placing a hand on his shoulder before speaking. "Welcome family. Today we celebrate one of the oldest traditions our world has. When our original pioneers settled here, they hosted a meal with the Natives. From that moment on, things went awry. Our Grand Union of the states has split back into our colonies. Only instead of the original thirteen, we are in five large groups. This country has fallen into old ways with leadership, but we are far better off than most here. Keeping these traditions and living the way our ancestors did keeps us rooted, forgetting our past is a surefire way to repeat it. So today we break bread, we enjoy a meal with our families around us, in a country where we are still free." A loud round of applause breaks out around us and we all clap. The strength in her voice was moving, and it's been a while since I have seen someone other than my own family lead a speech.
There are certain rules that as royals we follow and moving speeches is something we don't exactly make. Not something with the fire and passion she held. My father uses his violent words as a way to move people, not his tone. So this was a rarity for me. If I ever get the chance to be a voice for the public, then I want to do it how they have. With inspiration rather than fear. Arden looks to me as the next speaker comes up and starts a speech about the home made things across the banquet hall, "Are you alright? They don't mean any of that offensively, they just have lived a way for years and changing it seems crazy to them."
"Do you live like them? Do you believe in their ways? You're to be king," I whisper as quietly as possible to him.
He leans into me, moving my hair to whisper in my ear, "No, I believe in their practice, but not their ways."
I look back puzzled, what's the difference?
"I enjoy the simplicity they have, I don't need a factory to make weapons when I have my brothers and fellow blacksmiths. We can make weapons twice as strong as the surrounding country. Maybe they have more of them, but ours won't break with one use," he whispers back, and I see we've obtained the table’s attention.