Feminine 101

If you have not already done so, or if you are new, I recommend starting with Chapter 1. This is a linear story and will make a lot more sense read as a whole. Please leave a like, comment, or subscribe to my blog to get notifications when a new chapter is published. If I get 100 views on a single post of One More Life, I will self-publish a digital and printed copy with an exclusive Epilogue. If you only missed the last post, you can read Chapter 14 here.

Sweat poured from the young man’s brow as he worked the bellows. Paul’s eyes stung from the smoke and heat, but he merely blinked away the discomfort, his focus unwavering. He pulled the glowing metal from the forge with the heavy tongs. Hoisting the hammer, he brought it down in rhythmic blows until the white faded to orange, then red, then gray. He plunged it into the coals again working the bellows once more. The master had been away, but it was of no consequence. He was quite capable of running the workshop alone. 

.

He’d been an apprentice for years, but the real learning had settled in only within the last six months. A change had come over him, a zeal to achieve unlike any ambition before. At nineteen years old, he’d proven himself able to excel at any challenge the old smithy laid before him. His work was as accomplished as any smith in the country now and he would soon be able to start his own workshop. That was, of course, the aim. It always had been, since he’d begun as a boy. But until recently, he’d felt content to take the whole thing in stride. Owning a shop seemed even more work than simply being an apprentice even if it did mean he would be in charge. He blinked the sweat away, a pair of hauntingly beautiful eyes filling his mind. He smiled and pumped the bellows even more vigorously. 

.

In the history of the world, it was nothing new for a beauty to light a fire under a man. It was certainly not new for him. But six months ago, a new tailor had arrived and set up shop in town, accompanied by his family, most notably, his eldest daughter. The moment Paul had laid eyes on her long ebony locks lifted and teased by the breeze, her full pink lips, her knowing, blue eyes, he had known that no other woman could compare. He would only ever be satisfied with her.

.

Unfortunately for him, every other young man in the village had the same notions and Paul was far from the most eligible among their ranks. So he had thrown himself into his apprenticeship, with designs of reaching journeyman by the falling of the leaves. 

.

He had returned to a cadenced pounding on the anvil, the rough shape of a curved blade was slowly emerging from the iron. The sounds of an approaching cart told him that his master was returning, but he did not look away from his work. He knew the workspace was immaculate. He’d taken great pains to ensure that it was in better order than when Master Sigil had left. The scythe in his tongs was the last in a list of orders and repairs that he had diligently completed so the smithy need only approve the work, and rest from his journey. 

.

“Right where I left you, my boy!” Red-faced even when he was not working, the old man glanced around the workspace, noting the uncommon tidiness of it all. He arched an eyebrow, “One might think you had not moved for three days.”

.

Paul turned the blade and closed an eye as he peered down the length of it. Laying it on the anvil, he struck it once, then held it up again. “I scarcely have,” he murmured in response. Satisfied, he plunged the blade into the trough of water, standing clear of the cloud of steam that burst upward. Once cooled, he gently set it aside and then turned to heartily grasp Master Sigil’s hand. “Welcome home, sir.”

.

Sigil was looking around more closely now, seeing each item needing repaired or entirely new creations hanging in order from the hooks in the rafters. “It seems I have left things in good hands. I need not have returned at all, from the looks of things.” 

.

“I imagine your wife feels differently,” Paul quipped.

.

Sigil barked a good-natured laugh. He turned his eyes intently on the young man before him. Sigil remembered well the arrival of the tailor and his fetching daughter, had noticed the new eagerness with which Paul had attacked his work. He glanced at the blade lying on the anvil. “You’ll want to finish that up beforehand.”

.

“Before what, sir?” Paul’s brows furrowed quizzically. 

.

Sigil’s eyes twinkled knowingly, “Before you go see the tailor. I don’t think he’ll have any problem marrying his daughter to someone who’s become a journeyman so young.”

.

A wide grin broke on Paul’s face, color rising in his cheeks from pleasure and embarrassment in equal measures. “I certainly hope not, sir.” He turned back to the blade and began the final shaping process, peddling the grindstone with even greater fervor than before. The sun was sinking low on the horizon as he thumbed the blade delicately, feeling the fine edge catch on the tiny ridges of his finger. At last content that the quality was the best he could manage and worthy of his new journeyman title, he hung it on a hook and finished clearing up the forge for the night. 

.

In the well behind the forge, Paul washed himself with more vigor than ever and pulled on his Sunday clothes determined to be perfectly presentable. The walk down the street in the dusky light seemed to stretch on forever. In reality, it was closer to a hundred yards. But every step carried him closer to that which he’d pursued eagerly for months now. He’d scarcely spoken to her, and now doubt plagued him. What if her father rejected him? What if she rejected him? Doubts he had given no quarter, now bloomed in his mind as he walked down the dusty street. But suddenly, he was there, his hand poised to knock on the tailor’s door. Squashing the doubts that bid him flee, he let his fist fall on the door with a solid thump. 

.

The chatter behind the door fell silent and footsteps could be heard coming toward him. A wedge of light spilled widening onto the street as the door opened. A young boy stood silhouetted against the glow of the room. “Can I help you, sir?”

.

Paul swallowed a lump, “I would like a word with your father if he is not occupied.”

.

The boy called over his shoulder to his father who gazed toward the door curiously. A man with graying hair in his late thirties replaced the boy. When his eyes fell on Paul, understanding dawned and he waited.

.

The young blacksmith stood straight as an arrow, his eyes intent. He resisted the urge to lick his lips and ignored the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Sir, it is no secret that your daughter has drawn many eyes since you came here. I have attained the journeyman’s proficiency as a blacksmith and am prepared to begin my work as such,” He eyed the tailor meaningfully, “to begin building my own household.” 

.

The tailor considered the young man before him. The most recent edition in a long line of suitors, his directness was refreshing. He had seen the young man laboring ceaselessly over the forge, appreciating that he did not shy from hard work. The young man’s intensity was different. He sensed immediately that the young blacksmith had designs on no others, as had most of the swaggering young fools who had darkened his door during the last six months. There was a seriousness in his expression that echoed the tailor’s own.

.

“If you can win her approval, then you have mine,” he said finally. Stepping aside he gestured toward a door in the back of the shop, “She is in the garden. Follow me.” 

.

Paul fell in behind the tailor, suppressing the thrill of excitement and a shiver of doubt, as he walked to the back living area of the shop. The older man stopped in the door leading out back and indicated Paul should go forward alone. 

.

There she sat with her back toward him, bent over a pot of vegetables she was peeling. She seemed illuminated in the rising moonlight, framed against the shadowed fence beyond her. It felt like his heart skipped a beat. He was remembering a Sunday the week they had arrived. A feast was held and all the village had gathered to welcome their new tailor. There was a buzz of excitement as their community welcomed a new family, emphasized by the freshness of spring. It was the first time he had spoken with her, the first time she’d looked at his eyes as if he was an old acquaintance, the first time she had touched him. He was eating bread with honey on it, and she had reached to brush a crumb from his cheek. Such an innocent gesture, so unassuming. The touch was like lightning, and he knew. 

.

She paused as his feet scuffed on the doorstep, her hands stilled instinctively. 

“I’ve come for you.”

.

He could see her posture straighten as she laid aside her work. “I did not think that six months could ever feel so long.” She twisted on the rugged stool and graced him with a grin that could have made the surliest soul leap for joy. There were tears in her eyes as she stood and looked into his.

To continue reading Chapter 16, click here!

If you enjoyed this, wish to own a copy for your collection, and enjoy exclusive content, you can purchase the book here.

©2025 Noell, LLC