𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐕𝐈 : 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭

If being difficult and well-fortified were symptoms of your upbringing, lateness was a symptom of Mr. Kirstein's.

Lady and Voltaire were saddled and anxious to leave, and Carrot made plenty of turns around the pasture before Mr. Kirstein's blurry silhouette approached the stables. Whatever held him up in the house worried you. The only acceptable reasons he took such an unreasonable amount of time to grab a few minor things were because he sliced his hand and fainted cutting the mangos, fell in the well fetching water, or smothered himself when shoving a blanket in a bag.

But as he came into view, you noted how Mr. Kirstein wore a suit for once, including a thick jacket, despite the balmy temperature. The midnight fabric's fineness and fittedness were terribly impractical for riding and much too dressy for the tavern. His bangs, usually feathered to the side, appeared slicked back and glossy over his crown. The only part of his appearance that retained his usual roughness was the stubble kissing the edge of his jaw.

Although you were painfully sober, you inwardly admitted that Mr. Kirstein looked handsome when cleaned up and in proper attire.

You followed him in wonder as he lugged half the house out to meet you. He heavily packed the two sacks dangling over his broad, firm shoulders and easily carried both. However, the rope tying the burlaps' tops appeared so taut that it might snap from the excess weight at any moment. He also cradled the bottom of a third, much smaller sack in his arms like a rotisserie chicken.

"Are you planning to move out into the woods?" you questioned, genuinely confused as to why he needed so much for a short trip.

"I have only brought necessities for the afternoon–water, fruit, fans, blankets, pillows, cards, books, papers, pencils, paints, brushes... other things."

"All that for a few hours? I'm surprised you didn't try to sneak Lucy in while... you... were..."

Your voice puttered out as the bag Mr. Kirstein rocked in his arms shifted several times. The muffled meow that followed some burlap-pawing illuminated you as to what 'other things' might constitute. An expectant hand gave him the beckoning sign, and Mr. Kirstein begrudgingly passed the bag to you. Reaching into the strategically un-tied gunny sack, you found your sweet Lucy happily stowed away at the lowest seam. Sliding your hand under her velvety tummy, you raised her from the bag and discarded it onto the dirt.

"She was supposed to be a surprise," he grumbled as he glanced to the side, obviously disappointed he was caught stashing a stowaway so quickly.

"You realize you can't bring her, don't you?"

Mr. Kirstein appeared offended. "Why not?"

"We might see her as just another baby, but most will see her as an animal that belongs outside. I highly doubt Hannes will let her eat with us."

"Then we will go somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else to eat. Where do you think we are? Manhattan? Philadelphia? Boston , even? A town as small as ours is lucky to have a tavern that serves mostly edible food."

"She is still too little to be left alone. Either she stays with me or—"

"Or we drop her off with Mrs. Yeager. You won't have to abandon her for over an hour or two. Is that acceptable?"

" Tu es un vrai rabat-joie... " Mr. Kirstein muttered as he stepped closer to you to reclaim his daughter. Once she slipped from your grip, lavender slammed into your sinuses. You spent enough time with Mr. Kirstein, the horses, and Lucy to know it was not a natural fragrance on any of the aforementioned beasts.

"Are you wearing perfume?" you asked.

"Of course not."

"I smell lavender oil. I tap some under my nose whenever I can't sleep and mix it in my water when I wash. I know what that smell is."