WPO 3

Chapter 3

The Asher couple reportedly adopted a relative’s child as their son because they had no children of their own for a long time. Since they were not owners who paid much attention to the white mansion tucked away in Olga anyway, they had decided on adoption while thinking of their future.

“You’ve long since passed adulthood. After your upcoming birthday, you’ll be nineteen.”

“Then… do you have something like a fiancé?”

The cart pulled by two donkeys advanced unsteadily, as if drunk. Along the path between the farms of different owners, flowering trees lined up in rows, splendid as if white lace had been wrapped around their branches. The boy’s question—his ears and nape turning bright red whenever our eyes met—was amusing.

“I haven’t decided yet. If it had been decided for me, my mind would have been more at ease.”

“Indeed, people from the big city do think differently.”

If I had heard similar words at a tea time in Sidore, I might have narrowed my eyes and asked if they were mocking me. But this was admiration spoken by the Asher couple’s innocent adopted son. While staying in Olga, it would be advantageous in many ways to build a friendship with the boy.

“Do you know where the academy is?”

“You’ll be attending the academy?”

“Because it’s lonely. And I need about one more year of schooling before I can enroll in Minnestri’s finest girls’ school.”

I had merely recited my life plan briefly, yet the boy’s brown eyes seemed to sparkle intensely. Just from the name of being the eldest daughter of the Moremon family, the boy treated me with reverence. It was quite different from the treatment I had received in Sidore, where subtle contempt had been natural ever since my aunt’s marriage. If Mother were to attend social gatherings in Olga, she might be able to relax her shoulders for the first time in a while. The boy subtly loosened the donkey reins onto his thigh and glanced sideways at me.

“What you see on the left over there is land owned by Mr. Randolf. Behind the barley field, he has a small vineyard as well. When the barley sowing season comes, all the boys in the village go to Mr. Randolf’s farm. He pays decent wages.”

“Then what about the vineyard on the hillside?”

“You know Olga very well, Miss. Have you been here before?”

I had only observed carefully while riding the carriage, but the boy looked as if he might leap with joy. I did not want to crush the boy’s expectations with premature pretension. I took a deep breath of the apricot-sweet wind and shook my head.

“This is my first time in Olga. I’ve always lived on the outskirts of Sidore. So… what was your name again?”

“My real name is a bit long, so everyone shortens it and calls me Mick.”

“Mick. That’s a fitting name. So the Asher couple aren’t from Minnestri.”

“Ah… that’s what I heard.”

Not revealing one’s full name and instead introducing oneself with an abbreviation or nickname was a strong indication that the person had entered Minnestri by applying for asylum. Around Great-Grandfather’s time, the famous Eight-Year Religious War had ended, leaving nine countries in ruins. Minnestri had not participated in the war and suffered little damage, but tens of thousands of refugees had been steadily crossing over both before and after the Eight-Year War.

Refugees scattered across various regions often changed their names to familiar nicknames out of fear of being discriminated against for their origins. I thought that Great-Grandfather had truly done a great many things. Not only did he keep a mistress at the villa, but he must have hired refugees as caretakers to keep the secret.

“Though our roots are different… my mother and father are truly Minnestri people. Their hometown is Olga, too.”

“Mick. I have no thoughts about the Asher couple’s or your origins. My father and mother are indifferent to that sort of thing as well. Besides, how would I get by in Olga without your help?”

Only then did an awkward smile bloom on Mick’s face, which had been anxious about possibly saying the wrong thing.

“The owner of the vineyard on the hill you saw is one of the wealthiest people in Olga. The owner is Mr. Loughton. He has four daughters and three sons, I think. They’re famous for having nasty personalities, and the second daughter, Trilla, is probably about your age, Miss.”

Following the hill path past a grimy chicken coop, a vineyard carved out of the hillside spread out as wide as the horizon—a spectacular sight, they said. The household’s servants reportedly hunt down thieves who sneak into the vineyard with hounds, but the family’s dogs were so utterly without discipline that even the village boys who came to visit on errands ended up in sorry states.

“That’s why it’s best not to get entangled with the Loughton sisters. The father, mother, and siblings all band together as one group.”

Mick’s vivid information was being painted over the scenery I had been watching through the palm-sized carriage window. The unexpected gossip about the neighbors had a buoyant quality to it. Since we weren’t acquainted, there was less guilt. If Mother were sitting beside me, she would have scolded Mick for speaking vulgarly. But I had never been close to the Moremon family’s noble traditions.

“Do the Loughton sisters attend the Olga Academy too?”

“Of course.”

Mick’s expression, scowling as if he didn’t even want to mention them, was amusing. I thought it would be good to stay friendly with a boy who was well-informed about local affairs. I listened attentively to Mick’s kind explanations atop the cart that rattled as if my back would break.

Below the horse-head-shaped river bend where the farmhouses drew water was the parish district. There was apparently a chapel where the deeply devout residents of Olga gathered every week on the holiday. The people of Minnestri believed that their survival of the war that destroyed the nine neighboring countries was solely thanks to divine protection. However small the village, they built a chapel and brought in priests who had studied orthodox theology. Since Olga, where agriculture was the main industry, was sensitive to the weather, the amount donated to the chapel must have been considerable as well.

“Our villa is past all the farmhouses, so it might be a bit dull for you. Wild dogs roam around a lot too, so it’s best to come back before sunset. And don’t walk alone.”

The explanation continued that the owner of the farm growing apples and berries was good-natured, so it was fine to get friendly with them. Mick, who had been enthusiastically going on about how the berry farm’s daughters had kind hearts, turned beet-red only when he mentioned the name “Donica.” Even in tiny Olga, where one could see clear through to another family’s affairs just by crossing a bridge, it seemed the heat of youth burned hot.

“Mick, do you attend the academy too?”

“No. I help my parents with their work.”

“That’s a shame. It would have been better if I knew someone there.”

“Then I’ll introduce you to a close friend of mine who attends the academy. If it’s my request, they’ll help make sure you’re not uncomfortable, Miss.”

“Just hearing that is enough to make me grateful.”

Thanks to Mick’s kind way of speaking, the gloomy feelings that had been poking at me fell away. As we entered early summer and left behind the farmland with its monotonous colors, rooftops poked their heads out over the winding hill paths. The road, smoothed as if its stones had been worn down, calmed the cart wheels’ rampage.

Mick drove the donkey with practiced skill and pointed to the colorful rooftops. Blue roofs were for houses that caught fish from the sea, red roofs were for houses that picked apples—we had to pass the roofs painted so they could be distinguished at a glance before we could reach Olga’s central district.

“If you want to buy flour or sugar, that shop is good. If you tell Mr. Burgin you came from the white mansion, he’ll bring out the good goods for you.”

“Is there anywhere I might find a dressmaker or a fabric shop?”

When I asked what I was most curious about, Mick slowed the cart with a puzzled expression. As carriages began to appear, as if signaling we had entered the bustling central district, he seemed to focus on driving.

“I don’t know much about women’s clothing. The places I go aren’t refined enough to interest you, Miss. If you follow the main road up, you’ll reach Katree Square. That’s where people with money go to buy things for themselves.”

“So I have to go all the way to Katree Square….”

Judging by the distance we had covered by cart, it seemed it would be unreasonable to enjoy weekly outings the way Mother hoped. Mick, perhaps mistaking my silence for disappointment, hurriedly looked around and pointed out an alley bustling with customers.

“Girls usually play over there. It might not catch your eye, Miss, but it wouldn’t be bad for a look around.”

“I wasn’t scolding you. And I don’t only wear fashionable clothes.”

“But Miss, you….”

To attend social gatherings in the capital, one needed dozens of dresses befitting formal occasions. It was a place where people whispered that a family’s dignity was diminished if one did not dispose of dresses that had gone out of season or fashion and cut new cloth. Even for gatherings hosted by the same person, holding two meant needing two dresses. If you applied the principle strictly, there were few dresses one could keep with attachment for long.

“There aren’t many girls at the academy who dress as well as you, Miss.”

“Let’s go back, Mick.”

“Already?”

“Yes.”

Mick’s carefully added words made me want to turn back. The ladies who stared at Mick and me on the worn-out cart as if we were a spectacle, and the sturdy men making chimneys from cigarette smoke—I felt I had drawn too much unnecessary attention. Until I formally introduced myself at the chapel, it was better to maintain an air of mystery.

Mick, seemingly wanting to show me more of the central district’s interior, turned the cart around with a regretful face. We had been on our way up the vineyard hill path to see the charming rooftops.

On the wall that announced village news, there was a portrait of a missing person.

“Anyone who has sighted this gentleman must report through the parish chapel—”

“Is there anything else you’re curious about, Miss?”

“Um, no.”

If they had come all the way down from Katree to Olga to post notices on walls, the family must have been an influential noble house. It was common for nobles to depart on journeys without notice and then plaster posters across the country.

Gazing at the peaceful, uniquely hilly scenery of Olga, I lightly raised the corners of my mouth.

Today’s outing had truly been an excellent choice.