Cloaks and Roses: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast

Isabelle

***

Isabelle Baudin woke before her father, as usual. She braided her hair, tied a blue ribbon to match her dress, and left the house, a basket on her arm.

Since her mother passed, it was her job to collect the eggs and milk and make breakfast before her father woke up. 

Her father was trying to keep her life as normal as possible, and he was doing an admirable job...but Isabelle was much busier than she had been when her mother was alive.

She felt a pang of longing as she looked at the dead rose bush in front of the house. It was the most beautiful thing about their home, and it had thrived under her mother's touch. It died when her mother did and hadn't produced a flower since, despite Isabelle's many attempts to revive it.

As she fed the chickens and collected the eggs, she wondered what her father would do when she was married.

She hadn't had suitors, but several men had been eyeing her now that she was of age. They'd eyed her before she was of age- she wasn't vain, but she knew she was very beautiful- but they could never approach her. 

She supposed the fact that she wanted an education, had no time for things like balls and frivolous parties, and was quite outspoken would keep them away for now.

As she headed to the barn to milk the cow, she heard a twig snap. She spun around, almost dropping the basket of eggs, and looked in the direction of the noise.

Her little farmhouse was at the edge of the woods. The woods were technically her father's property. They may have been farmers, but they owned a lot of land. That's what got Isabelle invited to so many balls and parties- owning land got one far in the small-town French social ladder.

Isabelle squinted into the trees, but saw nothing. She grabbed the pail on the peg on the barn door and headed inside to get the milk.

She had just filled the pail and was petting the new calf she'd named Monique when her father called for her.

"Belle!"

She quickly grabbed the pail and basket and hurried to the door.

The front door was open, which was odd. She closed it and followed the sound of her father's voice to the kitchen. He wasn't alone.

There was a tall man in a thick black cloak, the hood drawn over his face. She moved to get a better look at him, and saw that he had a black scarf covering everything but his eyes. They were so dark they were almost black, but there were gold flecks near his irises. They were the most mesmerizing eyes she'd ever seen. 

Her eyes were quickly drawn from his, however.

His leg was bleeding.

She rushed to the counter and set her load down. Her father moved to prepare breakfast and ordered her to tend to him. She was better at these things; her mother had been amazing with medicine and had taught Isabelle everything she knew. Isabelle wanted to go to be a doctor.

She cautiously approached the man and moved to push his hood back.

He grabbed her arm. "Do not remove it, please. Only tend to the wound."

She retracted her arm, shocked at his behavior. Why didn't he want to be seen?

Nevertheless, she collected the things she would need and got to work, wishing she had some rosewater to work with- she couldn't make any because she had no roses.

The wound had to be cleaned and stitched, a poultice spread over the stitches. She quickly got over the fact that the wound was on his upper thigh and treated it like she would treat any other injury, hoping it wasn't awkward for him.