To be fair to Seamarshes -when it came to a healthy economy, the little seaside settlement fared better than many similar-sized
villages that Peggy Powler had visited. Now, peering into the large glass-plated window of their local store, the quietude that the
Willards enjoyed nearer the shore seemed to belong to a place far-removed from the fairly-busy main-street of the Seamarshes
the little Witch was now viewing.
The money undoubtedly came from the Nosy-Gulper industry and agricultural farming of the well-nourished soil in the region.
Albeit still a rustic-style of gathering the tasty fish, Peggy believed this traditional way of acquiring the source of the popular
cuisine had become essential in maintaining its status as a rare -and ergo expensive food.
From the produce-filled flatbed wagons Peggy had observed trundling into Seamarshes, it was obvious trading was healthy here
and with it, a devoted small community who wanted to keep it that way. If an example was needed, the principal thoroughfare
was still unpaved and showed some effects of the past winter, but over all, Seamarshes was tidy in a quaint -well scrubbed fashion.
.................................................................
After leaving the Willard's homestead, the straw-chewing Witch had ambled into downtown Seamarshes for no other reason as
to tick the visit off in her 'to-do' holiday list. When she'd first walked down the track to the cliff-captured hamlet, Peggy had veered
off down -what could be considered a deer track, to get her to the place she wanted to experience the most. That of the seashore.
The breeze from the Great Sea had brought a rejuvenation Peggy sorely needed and standing amongst the softly clashing reeds,
she felt that if her spirit had been spluttering before, it now glowed like well-fuelled lantern.
But at this precise moment, it was the dark-red silk dress hanging in the store window that caught Peggy's eye, the way it flowed
made the Last Witch of Underhill think of her mother again. With the rowdy noise of barkers promising with a wink of their eye and
a twinkle of a gold tooth, her mother would be there, inviting unsure customers into her Carnival marquee to have their futures told.
With a swish of the same sleek material, her flamboyant gait would leave any onlooker with the idea that the plush-dressed fortune
-teller enjoyed a comfortable existence amongst the travelling fairground folk.
Sadly, this was far from the truth. Growing up, Peggy had often gone without meals and if it hadn't been for Mr Volcano -the fire
-breathing entertainer who ran the logistics of the Carnival, the skinny girl in the dark-green dress would have gone to bed hungry
many times. Even now, watching the reflections of passers-by in the window, Peggy could still taste the jaw-jarring taffy that the
benevolent man would affably toss her way from time to time.
Sighing through her nose at the warm memories, the wandering half-Fae let the mild wave of an affluent community wash over as
she turned her mind back to this morning's puzzler, Clem Willard and his doldrums about a pebble. Returning from her dawn-dip
to the Willard's scaffolded home, Peggy had found the young man standing beside the water-barrel where he kept his dead fish
and gazing forlornly into the palm of his hand.
"If it's yer' fortune yer' wantin' readin', Ah' can tell yer' it fur' nowt" Peggy joked as she passed beneath the house and headed for
the wooden ladder. She wished to thank the elderly couple for their hospitality and relate that she'd be on her way without their
generous offer to take breakfast with them. The bantam spell-worker wanted that solitude that comes with taking a break from
one's calling whilst visiting new ground.
The coolness from Peggy's recent bathing magnified the lack of sun under the Willard's abode and maybe the lack of the young
man's virginal blitheness didn't help the temperature either. "Er, no Ma'am..." Clem answered as he held up a ordinary-looking
stone between his fingers for better scrutiny, "...it's my past I'm still struggling with" he mumbled absently and moved his focus
to the contents of the water-filled cask.
Peggy glanced his way and wondered what his concern could be, maybe something he'd found in the his catch that could have
a bearing of the sale to the buyer known as Mister Fawkes? Stepping out into the morning sunlight, Clem's concerns about fish
and rocks faded as the little Witch focused on not going a clatter down the wooden rungs of the ladder.
.................................................................
It would be only when the poncho-wearing thaumaturge had set her bare foot along the lane towards Seamarshes retail area,
had Clem's question lured Peggy's idle curiosity and now here before the large window of Silas Mann's General Store, she felt
the need to revisit the query. "Miss Powler...?" the fair-haired lad had asked as trotted in the small plume of dust his parents
recent guest had made. "...I have... can I ask you something?" Clem ventured as he closed the space between them.
It was a simple weather and tide-worn pebble, a smooth stone that had been honed by the Great Sea and deposited on a shore.
Clem's eyes told he was holding a lot back as he asked the small squinting woman looking up at him how such a commonplace
rock can change from being an emerald the day before. Peggy Powler -sage of the fantastic and unearthly, shrugged and advised
the young man to avoid charlatans when they offer him riches in the future. With that said, the smiling little Witch reached up on
her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. Gems turning into pebbles, indeed.
.................................................................
"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" the well-endowed middle-aged lady chirped towards the scruffy-looking woman idling at the General
Store's front window and with the salutation, Peggy came out of wool-gathering and peered in the direction the comment had
come.
It was fleeting, for the female in who'd offered the greeting was now entering Silas Mann's establishment and would be out of
earshot before the little Witch could respond. Stepping forward to the entranceway, Peggy caught the beginnings of a conversation
just as the heavy ornate door closed. "Good day Sir, my name is Muriel Gump and it's about the red dress in the window..."
villages that Peggy Powler had visited. Now, peering into the large glass-plated window of their local store, the quietude that the
Willards enjoyed nearer the shore seemed to belong to a place far-removed from the fairly-busy main-street of the Seamarshes
the little Witch was now viewing.
The money undoubtedly came from the Nosy-Gulper industry and agricultural farming of the well-nourished soil in the region.
Albeit still a rustic-style of gathering the tasty fish, Peggy believed this traditional way of acquiring the source of the popular
cuisine had become essential in maintaining its status as a rare -and ergo expensive food.
From the produce-filled flatbed wagons Peggy had observed trundling into Seamarshes, it was obvious trading was healthy here
and with it, a devoted small community who wanted to keep it that way. If an example was needed, the principal thoroughfare
was still unpaved and showed some effects of the past winter, but over all, Seamarshes was tidy in a quaint -well scrubbed fashion.
.................................................................
After leaving the Willard's homestead, the straw-chewing Witch had ambled into downtown Seamarshes for no other reason as
to tick the visit off in her 'to-do' holiday list. When she'd first walked down the track to the cliff-captured hamlet, Peggy had veered
off down -what could be considered a deer track, to get her to the place she wanted to experience the most. That of the seashore.
The breeze from the Great Sea had brought a rejuvenation Peggy sorely needed and standing amongst the softly clashing reeds,
she felt that if her spirit had been spluttering before, it now glowed like well-fuelled lantern.
But at this precise moment, it was the dark-red silk dress hanging in the store window that caught Peggy's eye, the way it flowed
made the Last Witch of Underhill think of her mother again. With the rowdy noise of barkers promising with a wink of their eye and
a twinkle of a gold tooth, her mother would be there, inviting unsure customers into her Carnival marquee to have their futures told.
With a swish of the same sleek material, her flamboyant gait would leave any onlooker with the idea that the plush-dressed fortune
-teller enjoyed a comfortable existence amongst the travelling fairground folk.
Sadly, this was far from the truth. Growing up, Peggy had often gone without meals and if it hadn't been for Mr Volcano -the fire
-breathing entertainer who ran the logistics of the Carnival, the skinny girl in the dark-green dress would have gone to bed hungry
many times. Even now, watching the reflections of passers-by in the window, Peggy could still taste the jaw-jarring taffy that the
benevolent man would affably toss her way from time to time.
Sighing through her nose at the warm memories, the wandering half-Fae let the mild wave of an affluent community wash over as
she turned her mind back to this morning's puzzler, Clem Willard and his doldrums about a pebble. Returning from her dawn-dip
to the Willard's scaffolded home, Peggy had found the young man standing beside the water-barrel where he kept his dead fish
and gazing forlornly into the palm of his hand.
"If it's yer' fortune yer' wantin' readin', Ah' can tell yer' it fur' nowt" Peggy joked as she passed beneath the house and headed for
the wooden ladder. She wished to thank the elderly couple for their hospitality and relate that she'd be on her way without their
generous offer to take breakfast with them. The bantam spell-worker wanted that solitude that comes with taking a break from
one's calling whilst visiting new ground.
The coolness from Peggy's recent bathing magnified the lack of sun under the Willard's abode and maybe the lack of the young
man's virginal blitheness didn't help the temperature either. "Er, no Ma'am..." Clem answered as he held up a ordinary-looking
stone between his fingers for better scrutiny, "...it's my past I'm still struggling with" he mumbled absently and moved his focus
to the contents of the water-filled cask.
Peggy glanced his way and wondered what his concern could be, maybe something he'd found in the his catch that could have
a bearing of the sale to the buyer known as Mister Fawkes? Stepping out into the morning sunlight, Clem's concerns about fish
and rocks faded as the little Witch focused on not going a clatter down the wooden rungs of the ladder.
.................................................................
It would be only when the poncho-wearing thaumaturge had set her bare foot along the lane towards Seamarshes retail area,
had Clem's question lured Peggy's idle curiosity and now here before the large window of Silas Mann's General Store, she felt
the need to revisit the query. "Miss Powler...?" the fair-haired lad had asked as trotted in the small plume of dust his parents
recent guest had made. "...I have... can I ask you something?" Clem ventured as he closed the space between them.
It was a simple weather and tide-worn pebble, a smooth stone that had been honed by the Great Sea and deposited on a shore.
Clem's eyes told he was holding a lot back as he asked the small squinting woman looking up at him how such a commonplace
rock can change from being an emerald the day before. Peggy Powler -sage of the fantastic and unearthly, shrugged and advised
the young man to avoid charlatans when they offer him riches in the future. With that said, the smiling little Witch reached up on
her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. Gems turning into pebbles, indeed.
.................................................................
"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" the well-endowed middle-aged lady chirped towards the scruffy-looking woman idling at the General
Store's front window and with the salutation, Peggy came out of wool-gathering and peered in the direction the comment had
come.
It was fleeting, for the female in who'd offered the greeting was now entering Silas Mann's establishment and would be out of
earshot before the little Witch could respond. Stepping forward to the entranceway, Peggy caught the beginnings of a conversation
just as the heavy ornate door closed. "Good day Sir, my name is Muriel Gump and it's about the red dress in the window..."
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.