Chapter Text
The world was never a fair place, Marigold came to realize.
It wasn’t fair when her farther left at her birth to chase drink.
It wasn’t fair when mother had to work night and day to feed her and Rowan, her twin brother.
And it certainly was not fair now, as she races home from town hearing her brother has fallen in the fields.
She panted as she ran, mud and grassy debris splattering over her clothes in her desperate attempt to get home any faster. Her feet carried her as fast as they could, and she could see their small family cottage come into view as she hurried.
She could see the doctor’s carriage in their field, and the front door open. She came to a dramatic stop as she leaned against the doorway, gasping for air. Her vision was blurry and all she could hear was blood pumping fiercely through her body as her heart worked in overdrive to fuel that mad dash home.
“Marigold?”
She tried to focus her sight, landing on her mother in front of her, a worried look on her face as she reached out to her daughter.
“Sit, sit. You need some water.”
Marigold tried to shake her mother off, not worrying about anything trivial like getting a drink right now. She couldn’t say no to her mother, however, and did as she asked, sitting at the round table that sat in the middle of the house, trying to catch her breath. Her mother poured water from a pitcher into a wooden cup, and contrary to Marigold’s initial protest, she gulped it down quickly, with her mother quickly pouring her more.
As she slowly controlled her breathing, she was finally able to turn her attention to the reason for her hurried race home that left her in such a state: Rowan.
The doctor was standing over him, checking him with multiple tools that Marigold didn’t recognize. They looked so strange and almost futuristic, but maybe that’s just because she grew up sheltered on the farm. As the doctor pulled away, she finally caught a look at her brother, lying in the cot. He seemed clammy and pale, his normally sun kissed skin, much like her own, was ashen. His eyebrows pinched in discomfort, sweat visible on his forehead. Marigold’s stomach twisted at the sight.
As soon as the doctor packed up, she rushed forth to Rowan’s side, while her mother listened to the doctor’s findings.
“Marigold...?” Her brother said weakly, peering at her from squinted eyes.
She nodded, grasping his hand in her own and petting his head to console him. “Yes, it’s me.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you and mama.”
She clicked her tongue at him, shaking her head, “Hush with that, we’ll always be worry worts.”
That was true. She and her mother always worried over her brother. He was sickly growing up, coming up with bouts of asthmatic attacks from weak lungs. The doctor always said that’s what made him sickly. This was different, she could tell from her mother’s expression. Something was wrong.
“What happened, Rowan?”
His face was sunken, and his breath was hard and labored. She squeezed his hand as he gathered the strength to begin.
“I... fainted in the field while you were out in the market,” he explained, taking pauses between his sentences, “Mama found me and brought me inside before fetching for the doctor.”
Marigold was distraught as she listened. Her brother was almost gasping; just speaking was exacerbating his weak lungs, and she urged him to rest. His body lulled off to sleep quickly after. She got up slowly, letting his hand go and laying it gently on the bed.
Her mother was just seeing the doctor off, and Marigold followed outside, waving on and wishing the man well as he rode off. After a moment of silence, her mother spoke up, hand on her face in despair.
“They say your brother has pneumonia. S-some sort of lung infection.”
Her mother fidgeted with her hands, the wind blowing a chill through them both as they stood there with the news heavy in the air.
“He needs medicine.” Her mother stated without further explanation. Marigold knew what this meant. Medicine meant money. Money, they did not have.
Her mother’s shoulder shook, and she could hear the soft cry of a distraught parent that seemingly could do nothing for their suffering child. Her own tears had begun falling, and her mother held her close in her chest, cooing over her daughter. Even now, her mother still did what all mothers do: comfort their children. Despite any trial or tribulation, she still reached out to soothe her. Marigold wept audibly now, holding onto her mother, her heart distressed. She should have been the one comforting her mother, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she clung to her mom as they both cried it out in the field, the chilling air clinging to their skin, down to their bones.
Marigold sat quietly at the dining table as her mother stood over the hearth, stirring a pot of stew. She stared at the fire as it crackled, cinders popping out near her mother's feet.
“I’ll get a job.”
Her mother froze, hand still like a statue over the spoon.
“What?”
“I’ll get a job, to help pay for Rowan’s treatment.” She repeated, her voice firm and unwavering. She wouldn’t listen to any protest from her family, she knew she had to do this.
Her mother was silent, and the air was thick. She could see her mother turn her face back to the pot, trying to seem strong, but Marigold knew her mother was distraught at the reality of what she said. They did need the money, and Marigold was the only one who could do it.
“I-I’ll help you wash up for an interview.” Her mother’s voice uneven, her sadness was evident. It made Marigold’s heart clench. The last thing her mother ever wanted was for her family to be separated, and now she had to help send her only daughter off to find work.
A soft cry could faintly be heard over the roar of the fire. Marigold pretended not to notice, for her mother’s sake.
Dinner was enjoyed silently, with them huddled next to Rowan’s cot that was in the corner away from the hearth, to not aggravate his fever. Mother fed her brother tenderly and they ate what could be their last dinner together for a long time, Marigold realized.
The next morning, Marigold was having her body scrubbed vigorously by her mother. Not a speck of dirt was permitted to remain. She needed to make a good first impression, her mother had told her.
“First impressions start with appearances.” her mother stated. She was right, of course, as her mother always was. Your best chance to get the best paying job was to show up and make a good first impression; and that included being clean, well groomed, and frankly looking like a proper lady. It felt a bit foreign to Marigold. She kept clean and manicured, but she never wore such extravagant clothes before. Her mother had pulled out her best dress, one she held onto from when she got married. It was a very simple blue dress, with ruffled sleeves at the elbows. There was intricate stitching in the dress, carving patterns in the hems of the collar and the sleeves. Marigold was used to wearing her farm clothes that her mother made herself. Just a plain dress with half sleeves and a white smock that held pockets to carry the eggs from the chickens. But this? This was sophisticated, made by an expert. She was amazed.
“You look beautiful, my sunshine.”
Her mom beamed at her. She brushed and styled her hair neatly on top of her head, tenderly polished boots with carefully groomed hands. They spent all of the early morning getting her ready to go out to the square, the larger hub of business past their village. It would take her a couple hours on foot, so they started long before the sun fully rose.
With a final swipe over her face with a wetted thumb, her mother walked Marigold to the edge of their farm. With a saddened gesture, her mother waved her goodbye as she headed into town, towards to, hopefully, a job.
Marigold cried on her walk to town. She kept a sober face all morning, trying to be brave and strong for her mother but really, she was distraught. She couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her family, for who knows how long! She sniffled, wiping her tears with a handkerchief as she trekked down the dirt paved road. By the time she made it to the square, she cried herself dry, and she composed herself, holding her head up high remembering what the whole point of the day was: to get a job for her brother, so he could get better.
However, that was easier said than done.
Marigold was having a hard time finding someone looking for work that would take an inexperienced farm girl. Most either wanted someone that had years under their belt, or a prettier girl to be the face of their store. Marigold felt defeated.
Was she not a pretty girl? She knew she didn’t look like other girls. She was tall, towering over the other ladies and even most of the men, as did her mom. Her skin was tanned, and her face covered in freckles from countless hours out in the field working. She wasn’t...refined. She was plain, apparently. She huffed in frustration.
All morning and no luck, and she was starting to get worried. What if she couldn’t find anyone willing to hire her? What would she tell her family? She’d fail them, and she couldn’t possibly face her mother or brother like that.
It was afternoon now, the hot noon sun started to move towards the horizon, and she was starting to feel defeated. Most of the potential clientele have retired, satisfied in their search. Which unfortunately, did not include her.
She was about to get up, to walk home with her head hung low when a tap on her shoulder disturbed her.
Her eyes fell on a very dapper, slender man. He was sophisticated, a golden petticoat, shiny hair that was pulled back neatly. His entire outfit screamed elegance and frankly it left Marigold a gaste. She never saw someone so...rich looking, she thought.
“You are looking for work, am i correct to assume?” He spoke with a distinct accent of a much higher realm of living than this tiny village.
She nodded her head after an embarrassingly long moment she spent staring with her mouth open. “Y-yes! I’m Marigold.”
“Ah, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Marigold. Lumiere, at your service.”
He bowed, taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss on it. He was charming.
“Lumiere, cease this nonsense, we’re on a tight schedule,” a voice behind him said. A shorter, rounder man that was staring down at a pocket watch while tapping his foot. He was dressed equally as fancy as his counterpart, golden cloth beaming off of them.
“Oh, Cogsworth! That’s just what I am doing,” The slender man turned back, pointing his hand towards Marigold, “This young lady is looking for work, and we just so happen to be looking for a new maid.”
Marigold’s eyes widened. “A maid?”
“Yes! We have a need for a maid to help around our lord’s manor. We can pay handsomely, should you consider it.”
Cogsworth huffed to himself but kept quiet as he listened to Lumiere try to sweet talk to the girl into accepting the position. They had been petitioning all morning, and all morning they were turned away by the villagers who had disdain for the manor they served. He had little hope that this attempt would work, either.
“Yes! Yes, I can do it.” Marigold exclaimed, her eyes wide and her smile wider. She shook Lumiere’s hand vigorously in excitement, shaking the man with her strength.
“You will? Wonderful!” Lumiere straightened his coat, fixing himself back into perfect position following Marigold’s very excited acceptance.
“We can come collect you at noon, I imagine you need to go tell your family, yes?” He bemused.
Marigold just nodded, and quickly took off, forgetting manners of the upper-class she never really learned. She was just overjoyed she found someone willing to hire her.
“Yes! Yes, you won’t regret it. I’ll work very hard!” She yelled as she raced down the dirty path that led out of the town, her feet finding their way back home faster than ever before.
“We shall see you tomorrow!” Lumiere yelled back, waving a gloved hand as she disappeared into the distance. Cogsworth scoffed.
“She was the most unsophisticated woman we met so far, and you offered her the job?” he questioned.
Lumiere just waved his judgement off. “She was also the only one willing to take the position, my dear fellow. We mustn't be picky,” he brushed himself off, fixing his hair, “besides, I have a feeling that the lord will like her.”
“Well, only time will tell if you are right. And pray that you are,” the shorter man peered over his mustache, “The lord’s patience will grow thin with how much you are pushing him by hiring all these beautiful young ladies, just for them to run away after a day.”
Lumiere did not respond. He just hummed as they walked back to the carriage. He can only hope that this last-ditch attempt will be worth it.