Rochelle L. Sharpe

Chapter Seven: An elf, a baker and a suit maker.

Olen pulls the sleigh up outside of a stone building. It has two large windows beside a wooden door painted a dark grey. Above it, a small sign reads ‘Suit Maker. Men’s fine tailoring by Fredson S. Threader’. Well, if that’s not a suitable last name for a suit maker, I don’t know what is.

A row of stone buildings line both sides of the street. Crowds of people flow in and out of them. It seems people on this world are just as eager to get their Christmas shopping done as people from mine.

Gas lamps line the streets, not yet lit, and I feel very much like I’m in a Dicken’s novel.

Poplyn is the first one to hop out of the sleigh, landing with a crunch in the snow. I allow Hemlin to go next, following him out.

Olen goes off to park the sleigh wherever it is you park your sleigh while you shop.

Hemlin bends toward Poplyn. “You be good and you can have some brambleberry pie.”

The little elf’s eyes light up. “I promise!”

It seems pies really are the key to the little elf’s heart.

A bell dings as we enter the store. There is a small entry way and Hemlin stomps the snow from his boots on a black mat, so I do the same.

We pass through another grey door, another bell dinging above.  

The store is a large open space, with tables spread out with material on them. Shelves line the walls. Not too different from a shop back home, except for the lack of music.

When I look at the wall behind the counter, I gape. There’s a large portrait of Ashlyn hanging on it. A small gold crown encircles her hair, which is tied back in an elegant bun. She smiles a Mona Lisa smile, sorrow filling her eyes. I swallow, unable to look away. She is beautiful, and I wish I could pull the girl in the painting into my arms and hold her until all that sorrow fades.

“Mr Baker!”

The loud exclamation pulls me out of my thoughts. I blink and see a man, who I can only assume is Fredson S. Threader, walking toward us with a large smile and open hands.

So, Hemlin’s last name is Baker. I’m starting to see a similarity here. Perhaps everyone’s last name on this world are based off their profession?

Threader goes to the window and turns over a sign that says private appointment in session and then locks the second door. Poplyn stays by the door, guarding it.

Threader turns to face us, his eyes roaming over me. “This must be the gentlemen accompanying Lady Sorrows to your ceremony.”

“It is indeed,” Hemlin tells him. “Samuel Evans. Samuel, this is Mr. Threader.”

He gives a little bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Evans. Let’s get you out of this coat and into your suit.”

He tugs my coat off without waiting for me to do it myself and hands it to Hemlin.

“You have a suit ready?” I asked, surprised. “You don’t even know my size.”

He taps the side of his nose and winks. “There is a reason I am the best tailor in the province.”

He leads me to a small room at the back of the store.

I expect him to leave me to get dressed, but he stays, insisting on showing me how to dress properly.

Once done, Threader allows me to look in the mirror. I’m not a vain man. I like to look nice, sure, but I don’t put too much effort into my appearance. Still, I’m gobsmacked by what I see. “I look like a prince!”

“Indeed,” Threader says with smug satisfaction. “To stand by Lady Sorrows, one must dress the part.”

He has dressed me in black woollen pants, calf high boots, with an emerald sash around my waist and double-breasted coat that’s long in the back and sits above the sash in the front. It is black to match the rest of the suit with an emerald front panel threaded with gold swirls and accentuated with gold buttons.

 “Thank the Light you have rare green eyes,” Threader says.

What was Ashlyn going to think seeing me like this? Would she like it? Would it be enough for her to see me as more than just the farmer next door?

I clear my throat. “Thank you, Threader.”

“My pleasure, Sir.”

“How much do I owe you?” I ask, not sure how I’m going to pay. They certainly won’t take credit card. I wonder if there’s a place that I can exchange Earth money for Eroanian money? I need some, not only to pay for the suit but to be able to buy Ashlyn’s present.

“Lady Swan is covering the cost, Sir.”

I nod. I don’t like it, but I appreciate the kind offer since I have no way to pay. I still need to find a way to get money to buy a present for Ashlyn though.

After I’m dressed in my usual clothes, we return to Hemlin.

He is dozing on a chair while Poplyn is still guarding the door diligently.

Threader clears his throat and Hemlin jerks up. “How did we go?”

“Very well, Mr Baker,” Threader says. “Sir Evans looks rather dashing in his new suit, if I do say so myself.”

Hemlin gets to his feet. “Very good.” Hemlin offers Threader his hand and they shake. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Threader.”

“I shall have the suits delivered to the respective premises on the morning of the ceremony,” Threader informs him.

“Very good.”

We say our goodbyes and Threader unlocks the door to let us out. When we get outside, Olen is waiting for us with the sleigh.

“How many people are coming to the wedding?” I ask Hemlin once we set off.

“Uniting ceremonies, as we call them here, are different from what I know of weddings on your world,” Hemlin explains. “The actual ceremony is small and intimate. There will be six of you. My brother as my witness, along with his wife. Ashlyn will be Lyndaria’s witness. And then you, Olen and Poplyn. The husband and wife then have seven days alone together, and at the end of seven days, there is a big celebration with all our friends and family.”

“Yeah, that is different, but it sounds like a nice way of doing it though.”

Poplyn narrows his eyes at me, his little lips pursing. He clearly wants to say something but doesn’t want to lose his brambleberry pie that he was promised.

I ignore the elf, looking back at Hemlin. “How did you and Lyndaria meet?”

A wistful smile spreads across his face. “The elusive Lady Swan rarely visited the village since moving into Hemlock Hollow just before Ashlyn left. I saw her walking past my bakery on one of the rare occasions she did visit and thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.” He chuckled. “I never imagined she would ever want a baker like me, even if my bakery did exceptionally well.”

I nod. Sometimes I wonder if Ashlyn will ever want to be more than friends with a simple farmer like me, she was engaged to a prince once after all.  

“She always had Olen buy the bread,” Hemlin went on, “so I got to know the lad. I hoped to talk to her at Services, but she would always leave straight after it was over, never staying to talk to anyone. As I said, I thought my chances low, so I didn’t pursue her.”

“What changed?”

“It was this time, year last, that I was making a special delivery to an old woman that lives further out from the village then even Lyndaria. Poplyn and Olen were skating on the pond, when Olen tripped over, breaking his ankle. I helped him home. I visited the lad daily to see how he was healing up, bringing different cakes and cookies each time.”

I grin. “Trying to woo her with sweets?”

Hemlin laughed. “A man has to play to his advantage.”

“Fair enough.”

“When Olen was well enough,” he continued, “and could walk again, I sent little cakes with notes back with him whenever he came in for bread. On one of those notes I asked Lyndaria if I could take her on a sleigh ride. She accepted. And continued to accept every time I asked, and here we are.”

“So, slow persistence was the key to winning her heart?”

“Helping the lad got her to see me, but yes, slow persistence after that got her to trust me enough to open her heart.”

I nod, thoughtful. It was similar with me and Ashlyn. She was guarded for the first six months we knew each other, until I helped her with Thistle. The unicorn had been scared by a snake and was running around the paddock for the world to see, which is how I accidentally discovered her existence. I helped Ashlyn capture her and calm her down before anyone else could see her. She finally trusted me enough to be friends after that, and I’ve certainly persisted slowly since then. Will she finally be ready to open her heart to me this Christmas and our story end happily like it has for Lyndaria and Hemlin?

I’m really praying so.  

(Stay tuned for chapter eight!)

© Rochelle L. Sharpe, 2025.