Emerald awoke one crisp morning in her little cottage to a terrific bang. She arose in a hurry, and hastened to see what had caused the noise. She gasped, then quickly drew her coverlet more tightly about her shoulders. The front window of the cottage had crumbled and collapsed, leaving glass in Emerald’s birdbath, not to mention a gaping hole in her home, into which cold air quickly funneled.
“What am I to do?” Emerald thought aloud. “For I am not handy with heavy tools and glass blowing, and besides that, this is not my home…I am but a tenant!”
From outside the window came a voice: “Speak to the owner.”
Emerald peeked her head out, suspiciously. An old man with a pack slung over his back smiled at her, continuing his walk down her path.
“Speak to the gentleman you rent from,” he suggested, turning away. “He is a great man.” And with that, he disappeared from view behind a large flowering plant.
Emerald smiled to herself. The universe had given her an answer, just at her moment of confusion. Perhaps she was not so doomed after all.
After carefully cleaning the mess in the birdbath and singing a light air to attract her friends back to their perch, Emerald strolled down the path which took her into town, to the home of her landlord, Sir Peter Prique. She climbed the steep steps leading to his manor, then knocked confidently. She heard noises within, but no answer to the door. She knocked again. No reply came from the house. She looked in the window. There, she could see a man in a long hunting jacket, pacing back and forth. Emerald drew up her courage and rapped upon the window.
In an instant the door was opened, and the man she had spied smiled down on her. It was none other than Sir Prique himself. Emerald curtsied prettily and her landlord’s face darkened slightly, though the smile never left his lips.
“How may I assist you, Miss Emerald?”
Emerald noticed he did not invite her in, as a good gentleman was required to, but quickly drove the thought from her mind, so as not to lose her nerve.
“Good Sir, I’m afraid there’s been a bit of wall rot, I suppose they call it, and my forward window is quite in ruins. I do wonder if you could replace it for me. The cottage is growing quite frigid already.”
“Of course, my dear!” he replied. He placed his hand firmly on her shoulder, turning her back toward the path. “We’ll have that done for you straight away. And perhaps a little rose-tint this time?”
Emerald, under the weight of Sir Prique’s push, stepped carefully down the steps.
“Yes, wonderful,” she replied. “But surely rose-tinted glass is too fine for a little abode like…”
“Not at all!” Sir Prique laughed. “It will be seen to.” And in two steps, he bolted back inside the house and slammed the door shut.
“Good day,” Emerald said to the closed door.
A week later, the window had not been fixed. Not a soul had passed her way, not even the gardener, who was scheduled by Sir Prique to come every other day. Even Juniper didn’t make her usual visits this week, for some mysterious reason. Emerald felt quite despondent, and more than that, quite cold. The wind blew in terrific gusts through the window at night, and this week had been a particularly rainy one, forcing Emerald to move all of her furniture out of the way of the soggy blasts.
Finally, she decided to pay another visit to her landlord, to see what had been keeping the workers. She gathered a thick wool cloak around her, then hurried down to town, ducking raindrops as she went.
Emerald stepped up to the door of Sir Peter Prique and rapped upon it. To her surprise, he appeared at once. She stooped to curtsey, but was interrupted mid-dip by his strong grip on her arm pulling her up and into the house. The door shut behind her as she gasped and rearranged her coiffure.
“What are you doing here?!?” Sir Prique bellowed.
“Well, sir, the window has not been mended and -” Emerald gulped to hold back shocked tears.
“And what, little girl? I’ve done you a great favor, letting you rent my cottage after the disappearance of your parents. And now an even greater honor, agreeing to your ridiculous requests for maintenance, for even fancier decorations than you may have had in your manor!”
Emerald’s chin rose at that.
“Sir Prique, I ask only that which is owed to me. I pay for shelter, and shelter I intend to receive.”
Sir Prique’s face grew quite red and his hands clenched at his sides.
“You will receive nothing! You complain it is not done fast enough for your taste? It will not be done at all!”
And with that, the dastardly Peter Prique grabbed Emerald by her golden hair with one hand, opened the great oak door with the other, and shoved her down the stairs.
Emerald collapsed in a heap, sobbing. She could hear from behind her, the sounds of the door being shut and bolted, and the window shutters all being snapped into place. Her hem was ripped and her bodice soiled by mud. Humiliated and helpless, she ran all the way home to her chilled little cottage.
When she awoke in the morning, she felt more lost than ever. As if in a dream, she dressed and ambled down the road to the home of her good friend Juniper.
