As the guests arrived that evening, Rossiath greeted each of them politely. If the smile on her face seemed a little strained no one seemed to notice except her father, who watched her as he discussed business with a couple of the neighbors. He shook his head and smiled, noting the way she kept tugging at the dress her mother had insisted she wear. Turning back to the conversation, he was soon engrossed in a lively discussion over crop cycles and weather.
Rossiath moved between the people gathered, pausing now to listen as they talk about banalities. Several times she'd had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at some bit of gossip, merely nodding her head as she half listened to what was being said. Seeing her mother come out of the house carrying a large pan, she excused herself from the tedious discussion and headed purposefully in her direction.
“Mother, let me help you with that,” she said, taking the pan before her mother could open her mouth to argue. She turned, moving towards the table laden with food and set it down in the clearest spot she could find. “You really have outdone yourself this time. I hope everyone's hungry,” she said, eyeing the feast.
Rosabella beamed at the statement, and looked over the table with a practiced eye. As she rearranged a couple of the dishes to make an open space, she replied, “Even if there's food to spare, I've no doubt we've a few neighbors who will be happy to take some home. The Atersley boys, I know for sure, would be grateful for it as their mother's away tending an ailing relative, and neither can cook a bit.”
Seemingly satisfied with the presentation, Rosabella turned her attention to her daughter, reaching up to straighten the top of her dress where she'd been tugging. “You know,” she said in a thoughtful tone, “The youngest boy – Cander – is quite a nice young man, and about your age ...”
“No mother, just … no.” Rossiath replied, shaking her head. “I've seen him around town, a different girl on his arm each time. And Dellanae told me one that he's even been seen flirting with the servers down at the tavern.”
“Well, a fellow could change, with the right incentive,” her mother replied, but pursed her lips at this new information. “There,” she pronounced, stepping back to look over Rossiath's dress once more. “That's much better. Now go out and enjoy your evening. Everything's about ready, and I'll get your father to help bring the roast out.”
“Are you sure?” Rossiath asked, but her mother was already making her way back across the yard to the house. With a wry smile, she turned and, seeing a pair of newcomers walking up the road, headed up to the gate to greet them.
As she drew closer, she realized it was the man from earlier that day and she bit her lip, her step slowing as she approached him. 'How was she going to apologize for her apparent rudeness?' she thought to herself. Even as she tried to find something to explain her rushing off, he spotted her and lifted his hand in greeting. “Good evening Miss Rose,” he said, studying her face before turning to his companion – the man she'd seen him with earlier – who lifted his hat politely to her and mumbled a greeting.
“Good evening ...” she replied, then paused for a moment before continuing. “You seem to have me at a loss mister. You know my name, but we've never been introduced.”
“We haven't, at that, and I should apologize. My manners, it seems, have escaped somewhere recently. I am Gillis – Gillis Molyneux – and this is my uncle, Cale.” he replied. The man next to him nodded, “Pleased t' meet ye miss,” he said, though he sounded anything but pleased.
Extending her hand for them to shake, Rossiath smiled. “Mr. Gillis, Mr. Cale, welcome to the neighborhood. Why don't you come in and meet some of the folks. There's drinks near the well,” she motioned to a smaller table as she spoke, “fresh apple cider, or ale if you prefer. And dinner is almost ready. Please, make yourselves at home.” Having made the proper greeting, Rossiath turned and looked around, before heading back to were here friends stood, giggling to themselves.
As she moved away, Cale smacked Gillis in the arm with the back of his hand. “You're starin',” he said simply, having watched his nephew's eyes follow the girl across the yard, frowned disapprovingly.
Gillis turned his head towards his uncle and gave him a crooked grin. “Wasn't staring, just watching,” he replied, before turning and heading towards the drinks, his uncle shuffling along behind him tugging at the collar of his 'going out' clothes.
“Watchin', starin', same difference,” the older man grumbled as Gillis handed him a mug of ale. “An' yer not here for watchin' the girls, yer here t' get th' mill up and runnin'. Though why, of all th' fool things ye want t' do, buidin' a mill out here.” Cale shook his head before lifting his mug for a long swallow. “Well, least th' ale's decent. Food smells good too,” the man finished, grudgingly.
“I'm telling you,” Gillis replied after taking a sip of his of own ale, “I've done the research. That spot is the perfect location for a mill, both weather-wise and land. There's good trade routes along here as well. And,” he added, looking back, his eyes scanning the crowd until he spotted Rossiath talking with her parents who were gathering the guests to the table, “I like it here. Come on, let's go get something to eat.”
“Fool thing, all 'round I say,” Cale muttered, not missing where his nephew's attention had wandered. “Mark my words, it'll be nothin' but trouble.”
