Work Text:
Freya likes to think she’s a good girl.
It’s self-aggrandising, she knows, but she puts a lot of effort into being ‘good’. There comes a time in everyone’s life where they sit down with themselves and decide what kind of person they want to be – and Freya wants to be a good person.
She’s about fifteen when she realises that sabotaging Elise – the other errand girl, her so-called competition – isn’t the sort of thing a good person might do. She wouldn’t feel proud to tell her father what she did. She certainly wouldn’t be praised by the townsfolk for doing something so ill-intended.
Rather, she should apologise – but therein lies the issue. Elise hasn’t technically noticed that Freya was the one who broke those eggs, or messed with her laundry – from what she’s heard, Elise is convinced this is just another run of bad luck, or worse, that the older folk in Kieferberg are messing with her on purpose.
If anything, that makes it worse, truthfully – knowing that Elise is hard done by the other townsfolk, and yet Freya’s the one who’s done wrong by her. It would make sense for it to be the other way around, wouldn’t it? She’s sure Elise is having a hard time – she must do her part to right it.
…so she says, but doing is harder than thinking. Instead, Freya finds herself lingering on the boundaries as Elise works, watching and waiting, hiding behind pillars and corners, just out of sight. It’s hard to catch her alone – Freya’s not quite brave enough to admit fault in front of an audience. She can only imagine what the rest of Kieferberg might have to say about it. Besides, wouldn’t apologising in front of everyone be self-serving? No, it’s best to find a quiet moment.
Elise has been fetching eggs – if the feathers and straw all over her dress are any indicator – and the carton she’s holding is full of them.
“Honestly, girl, you expect me to pay for this? Three of them are broken – never mind the fact you could only carry a dozen.”
Old Jochen’s walking stick slams into Elise’s shin; the girl visibly flinches. Oh, not again. The older folk are liberal with punishments – a scathing tongue alone if you’re lucky, a beating if you’re not.
“I’m sorry, Old Jo—”
“Sorry? Sorry isn’t going to stop you from wasting eggs, now, is it? Never get a woman to do a man’s job, I’ve always said.”
Frustration flickers in Elise’s eyes, and Freya feels for her. It’s not fair, it’s not. Freya knows they townsfolk are a whole lot sweeter to her than they are to poor Elise. For a moment, it looks like she might tear up. Freya thinks to step in – she can smooth things over, make things better, and then apologise and clear the air.
Then, Elise takes a deep breath, and composes herself.
“I’m sorry for my inadequacy today. Please – let me try again next time. I promise I’ll do a much better job.”
Old Jochen harrumphs, but returns to leaning on his stick, finally taking the carton of eggs out of her hands.
“With the paltry amount you’ve brought me, I’ll need more eggs in three days. Figure it out, or I’ll have Freya do it for you. Here, take your tiffel.”
He slams the door behind him – and the moment he does, Elise visibly relaxes.
“Stupid old geezer,” she mutters, before waltzing off, hands behind her head. “Stupid eggs.”
The opportunity is gone before Freya can unglue herself from the wall she’s been hiding behind. For some inexplicable reason, a foul feeling rises in her chest – an ugly one. It seems Elise never needed her at all.
It’s… frustrating. If Freya had to put up with all she had, she’d have been in tears by now. Why can Elise walk that off so easily? He hit her, she – ugh.
Freya doesn’t know what to do with this feeling. She doesn’t know what to do at all.
She’s sixteen when she can put a name to the feeling broiling in her breast – jealousy. It bothers her – though she’s sure whether she’s upset that she’s jealous in the first place, or that Elise is so…
Elise is hard-headed yet graceful, stern with her words and yet polite. She refuses to take insult from the townsfolk of Kieferberg who would otherwise look to kick her while she’s down. She’s entirely different from Freya – completely.
It feels like a fool’s errand to compare them. Freya doesn’t have to stand up for herself, because there’s no-one she’d need to stand up for herself from. Freya is polite too, yes, but that’s because it’s expected; it’s normal. Any good errand girl would be just as polite.
Maybe it’s that past comparison that makes it so hard for them to speak to each other – Freya tries to greet her in the square when they pass each other by in brief; Elise is too busy rushing towards Miss Lisbeth’s house with a pallet full of apples to notice. She’s always working hard – always. In the evenings, Freya’s called home for dinner before Elise is done with cleaning. There’s scarcely a moment to chat. There’s a part of her that would feel guilty, too, for taking up her time when she’s clearly got enough on her plate.
The only time she does manage to catch her is at Sunday Mass – Elise slinks into the church like an alley cat, scanning the pews for a discreetly empty seat before settling for sitting right next to Freya.
“Good morning, Elise!” Freya says, with all the cheer she can muster. Elise looks slightly taken aback – like she wasn’t expecting Freya of all people to greet her (and why would she?), but she scratches her cheek and offers an awkward smile.
“Oh, uh, good morning, Freya.”
It’s a start. Elise makes herself scarce or lingers behind to talk to Lebkuchen; Freya’s aware enough of things to know that Lebkuchen might be Elise’s only real friend in this town. She opens her mouth when Lebkuchen wanders over and starts poking fun at Elise – then closes it, deciding there’s no need for her to join in. There’s just no need.
Her gaze follows Elise around town, though. She notices when Elise is getting scolded; she notices when someone’s begrudging thanking her. Yesterday, she fetched laundry for Mister Wilhem, and cleaned Wilma’s inn. Today, she’s gathering apples for Miss Linda, and the adults have paid her to babysit the children for an afternoon.
Woodchopping is the activity Elise seems least suited for – it’s hard, physical work, and Elise rarely complains, but Freya can see she’s struggling. She catches her afterwards, accidentally-on-purpose, in conversation.
“Oh, Elise! Finishing up for today?” she says, and tries to keep as much cheer in her voice as she can. She wants to say – hey, that looked rough, are you okay? – but wouldn’t that come off as rude? Freya’s not trying to take her work from her – not at all. She settles for – “You look tired.”
“Oh, Freya. Hey,” Elise gives her a wan smile. “Uh, yeah, heading home, I guess.”
Freya glances down at Elise’s hand, twitching uncomfortably. A painful-looking gash runs across her palm. It’s not deep, but it can’t be comfortable.
“Oh no, your hand,” instinct takes over, and she grabs it, cradling Elise’s palm in hers. “What happened?”
“I was grabbing eggs for Miss Lisbeth the other day, and one of the chickens got me. It’s not that big a deal, seriously.” Elise looks – uncomfortable. Freya can’t be sure whether it’s because of her wound, and because of her – her.
“Oh, that must be so painful – if you’re struggling with work, I—”
“I don’t need you to do my work for me, Freya.” Elise’s voice cuts her off, though regret immediately flashes in her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean –”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Freya grimaces, “I didn’t mean to be rude.” Still, there has to be something—
“Look, it’s – you don’t have to feel bad for me, okay?” Elise shuffles her feet, like she’d rather be anywhere else. “I’m doing just fine, y’know.”
“I know, I – oh!” An idea flashes through her head – she can help. “Wait right here, okay? Don’t move a muscle!”
“Ah, Freya—”
Freya dashes off in the direction of her house – darts up the stairs and rifles through her bedside drawers to find it. She’s dabbled a little in ointment-making recently, so – well, it might not be any good, but her father had said it helped his cut the other day – so!
She makes it back to Elise entirely out of breath – thankfully, she had actually waited. A part of Freya was afraid she’d just leave. It’s not like she’d blame her.
“Here,” Freya says, panting a little, “this—this should help. With your cut,” she adds. Elise looks rather confused, but takes the ointment from her regardless.
“Oh, uh. Thanks, Freya. See you later, then?”
Freya beams. Oh, she did it. She managed it, thank goodness. “No worries at all! Bye bye!”
The jealousy in her chest twists and turns as Elise walks away. It’s foul, this sense of satisfaction she has just from getting the one-up on Elise. Isn’t it gross to think of it like that? And yet, she feels good. Sated. Like she’s won some battle she’s made up in her own head.
Freya frowns, and trudges home. She’s hopeless. How can she be a good person like this?
Perhaps it’s a little crude of her, but as it turns out, the easiest way to make amends with Elise is to give her things. It’s not easy to figure out what she might like – and it’s harder still to make her accept it. The ointment was one thing – something small, something she needed – but anything else is another matter entirely.
As it turns out, Elise is frustratingly prideful.
“Spare apples? No, I don’t need any, thanks. You should hand them out the kids.”
“A new apron? Mm, Granny sewed this one for me, so I’m pretty attached to it…”
“You shouldn’t be giving something like that to me. If you’ve really got that much beef chuck left over, you should involve the whole village around.”
It’s really difficult to try to be kind when the person in question isn’t interested in your kindness. Something like food should be a given – it’s not like Elise has anyone else at home to help her – and yet, the only person she’ll accept food from is Lebkuchen.
It makes a disappointing amount of sense. Her Granny runs a bakery; there’s bound to be a few leftovers every day. And yet – that jealousy simmers in Freya’s ribcage. She’s invited Elise over for dinner, she’s tried – and yet, she just can’t seem to reach out to her like Lebkuchen does.
It’s good that Elise has someone looking out for her – Lord knows the rest of Kieferberg isn’t. She’s the last to be thought of when Guido’s cabbages yield more than he needs; when Miss Lisbeth’s goats are particularly flush with milk for cheese. It’s good that Lebkuchen is there for her.
Freya just wishes she could do a little more. The little things she makes aren’t particularly good – half-baked ointments and creams, little embroidered socks and scarves and cardigans – but they’re all she has. All Elise will accept, in any case.
It should make her feel proud that these things that only she can do are what’s getting through to her, and it does – but nonetheless, she wishes she could support Elise in a way that mattered.
She’s delivering apples to Dorothea and Finn, on the outskirts of town, when she catches them again. Lebkuchen sits on her childhood swing, hanging from the big, big tree right by the bakery. She can’t hear what they’re saying – it’s late enough that the crickets are out – but she can see them. She doesn’t see Elise laugh, unless it’s the two of them. Lebkuchen, too, looks at ease.
Freya tears her gaze away, delivers the apples, and retreats to her room. She barely spares her father a word as she passes him in the living room – instead, she buries herself in her room, and hides under her covers. It’s childish – she knows it is – but what else can she do? She can’t do anything about these wretched, evil feelings blooming in her chest. Jealousy – it’s so silly, and yet…
Her father knocks on the door. Freya stays tucked in the quiet darkness of her covers. He can’t see her selfish face if she’s under here – she doesn’t want to talk. She just needs this feeling to go away.
Instead of the covers being ripped away, she hears the gentle clink of a plate being placed on the ground, and the sound of fading footsteps as her door is shut.
…Apple Strudel. They don’t have dessert often, but sometimes there’s enough for a little treat. Freya knows in her heart that she doesn’t deserve it, but nonetheless, it’s comfort enough to let her fall asleep.
Elise’s face is perilously close to her own. Freya doesn’t know where she came from, but – this is strange. This is too strange.
“You always ignore me, Freya –” Elise pouts, walking forwards again. Freya’s back hits a brick wall. “I wish you’d pay a little more attention to me.”
“Attention? B-but I—” Freya’s voice catches in her throat. Elise’s eyes look troubled, she looks – upset, but not really.
“You’re always busy with work, or with the others,” Elise continues, closing the distance further. Freya can feel her breath on her face, her – involuntarily, she flushes. “Don’t you care about me?”
“Elise!? I don’t not care about you, but—”
“Well,” Elise breathes, leaning in just – a bit – more – “I care about you.”
Freya’s head hits her floorboards before Elise can make contact. She takes her bearings – she’s in her room, the plate from last night is still next to her, her bedcovers are half-removed, and, of course – most importantly – Elise isn’t here.
Her heart is racing faster than it ever has before. She feels like she’s run all the way back from Primeldorf; the heat in her cheeks has no other explanation.
But it does, doesn’t it? This is what she’s been missing all along. Freya wasn’t jealous – she never was. No, this – this is good, this is wonderful, even. All this time spent worrying about something, when really, she didn’t even know her own heart. How silly – how utterly silly. How wonderful. Freya could spend all day rolling about in her bed, but she – no, she needs to get this off her chest (is she meant to stop thinking about her? How could she?).
She marches down the stairs to the twinkle of daylight. Her father is sitting in the kitchen, drinking his morning tea.
“Dad,” Freya wastes no time. Not anymore. “I think I’m in love.”
Her father almost spits out his tea, choking and thumping his chest with a closed fist.
“With – with who?”
Freya beams. With someone wonderful, of course.
“I think I’m in love with Elise Liedl.”