Sweet Little Lovely: A Gothic Romance

Sweet Little Lovely

He kept his eye on the hourglass and carefully counted each tick of the nearby clock. He dared not look at the mechanism itself, of course, lest he find himself irrecoverably distracted. Nevertheless, he knew the operation by heart and repeated the actions to himself in sequence as he listened. The iron weights suspended from the body of the clock drove the center wheel. The center wheel drove the third wheel pinion. The third wheel drove the fourth, and the fourth drove the escape wheel. The escape wheel drove the escapement, which regulated the turning of the gears and was itself regulated by the motion of the pendulum. An adequately lubricated mechanism with a correctly weighted pendulum would produce exactly three hundred evenly-sounded ticks by the time the small hourglass ran out.

"Boy, are you listening?"

"One moment, father …."

Without another word, his father snatched the hourglass from the counter and gave his mane a hearty ruffling – just a bit more hearty than he would have liked, truth be told. "A customer needs assistance, son! You can work on the clock later."

As if roused from a heavy sleep, he found himself looking into the smirking, mustachioed face of his father. Carefully smoothing down his tousled mane, he looked about the shop as his bearings returned and was met with a number of knowing smiles and playfully rolled eyes.

"Yes, father. I'm sorry I –"

"Never mind that, just go help Mrs. Winterlocks with her bags."

"Right!"

With stumbling haste, he made his way around the counter and across the shop to where the venerable Mrs. Winterlocks stood in her wide, pink summer hat, waiting beside a well-stocked shelf of various feeds and grains.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am. Same as always?" he asked, already lifting a heavy bag of chicken feed from the lowest shelf.

"Same as always, Marvelous," she answered.

After delicately balancing the bag of feed on his back, holding it carefully in place with his magic, he led the way outside, making sure to hold the door open for the older pony lest he should once again raise his father's ire. The two had only just stepped away from the door when the sound of hoofbeats and clattering cartwheels drew their eyes to the dusty roadway ahead.

"Well, well, well! Good morning, Mr. Carver!" Mrs. Winterlocks greeted over the ruckus as the cart settled into the grass.

"And a good morning to you two, as well!" came the reply, tinted with Mr. Carver's thickly foreign accent and toothy grin.

"Finally decided to visit, eh? It's not good for a body to sit at home all the time, you know."

"An old fella like me won't die from a lack of conversation, madam. That condition only afflicts the mares."

"Oh, hush!" she laughed.

With that, she turned away, and the pair was soon approaching her own small cart on the opposite side of the road. "You know, Marvelous," Mrs. Winterlocks began quietly, "my granddaughter has been going on and on about the box social the Longhorns are holding next weekend. I expect that you and your brother will be attending as well?"

"Yes, ma'am. Well, that is, I will be. Grand considers the whole thing a bit too juvenile, it seems."

"Is that so? And I wonder, is there any young lady in particular that you're hoping to meet?" she asked with the sort of knowing smirk one can only earn through years of proper gossip.

It was lost on Marvelous however. At that moment, his head was turned about to watch Mr. Carver help his daughter down from the back of their cart.

As it happened, Mr. Carver was less famous for his undeniably fine cabinetmaking than for his undeniably beautiful daughter, Little Lovely. Her long, golden mane was the envy of all the girls in the village, and it was said that in the rare event that a pony could catch a glimpse of her at night, he would see her snow white coat glowing like the moon itself. Little Lovely was well known throughout the town as the prettiest unicorn in the countryside, and also, as the mare who had the eye of Marvelous, the handsomest stallion in the countryside.

"I'm sorry, did you say something, ma'am?" he asked, still turned in the opposite direction, staring quite obviously at Little Lovely as she gathered the frills of her long, black dress in her hooves and shakily stepped into the grass.

Mrs. Winterlocks could only laugh. "Oh, Marvelous, we'll see you married yet. And I'm sure there'll be quite a few young mares crying themselves to sleep that night, my granddaughter included."

"Married?" he remarked, finally turning back with a disbelieving smile as he guided the heavy bag from his back and onto the bed of the cart. "Have you been speaking with mother again, Mrs. Winterlocks?"

"You can't blame her, child," she said with a wink. "A mare can only stay a mother for so long before she finds herself possessed with the funny urge to be a grandmother."

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Marvelous returned to the shop to find his mother and father already conversing pleasantly with Mr. Carver – no doubt taking his large once-a-month order for the old farm – while his big sister, Splendid, waited on the little filly quietly slurping a root-beer float at the counter.

He gave a smile and a nod as he passed Mr. Smelter, who was currently shopping about among the fishhooks, and quietly took his place by his parents. He did his best to remain discreet whenever he stole a glance at Little Lovely as she silently browsed the shelves of glassware and lace and assorted other household odds-and-ends.

"Three gallons of lacquer, three pints of formalin, and a gallon of linseed oil,” recited his father, “I suppose we can expect to see quite a few new pieces the next time you drop by, eh, Carver?"

"Indeed. I've a perfect idea for a lady's hope chest – something dramatic, very intricate. Oh, and that reminds me," he said, "add one quart of midnight blue paint to that list as well, if you please."

His mother shook her head as she drew her quill along the page. "It simply won't do to have you carry all of this back yourself, Mr. Carver." She glanced in Marvelous' direction with a clever glint in her eye. "We'll have one of the boys deliver it later today."

Just then, a shattering crash froze everyone in place.

Very deliberately, Splendid began rearranging the cases of candy on the wall behind the counter, the heavy sliding of the boxes the only interruption to the sudden silence.

Marvelous delicately approached Little Lovely, who stood over a pile of white and gold shards that had once been a very expensive teacup. Her hoof was still raised in the air, shaking with tremors.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry," she whispered. "I d-didn't …"

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about," he replied, gingerly lifting the pile of pieces from the floor. He met her sad, gray eyes with a smile, but she remained inconsolable, her body still trembling weakly in a series of short spasms.

Mr. Carver cleared his throat. "I'm very sorry about this."

Marvelous was quick to reply. "No, really, I'll have it repaired by tomorrow. It'll be no trouble at all."

"That's right, Marvelous is … well, marvelous with those sorts of delicate jobs, Carver. Besides, it was only an accident." His father offered a friendly smile. "It's just as the boy said, don't worry yourself over it."

"That's very kind of you to say. I thank you all, very much." He turned to his daughter. "Come, it's time we were headed home."

Little Lovely followed her father to the door of the shop, her head still held low in embarrassment, her legs trembling every so often and nearly causing her to stumble.

The shop remained quiet for just a moment after they had gone, shuffling hooves and sighs only adding to the somber mood. With extra care, Marvelous laid out the pieces of the broken teacup upon the counter.

"That poor girl," his mother said, finally speaking up. "Will she ever get better, do you suppose?"

"It's rather unlikely, I'm sorry to say," replied his sister, straightening her eyeglasses as she climbed the small stepladder in the corner and collected a nearly empty jar of peppermints. "I've looked into it, and I've become fairly convinced the little thing has some sort of neurological disorder." Splendid was a nurse for the local clinic, and being the only member of the family to have attended university, tended to be the authority on such matters.

His mother nodded sadly. "It's a shame." She ran a gentle hoof over her son's wavy mane. "Marvelous, don't you do anything foolish, now. She's a nice girl, and I don't want to see the little dear with a broken heart."

"You break her heart, I'll break your head, boy," his father added with a laugh. "But you know better than that, am I right?"

"Of course, father," he replied with a bit of a blush. "Little Lovely is a fine young lady, regardless of some … physical problem, and I intend to always treat her accordingly, whatever our future dealings may be."

He ignored the quiet snickering from his sister and tried to focus on the shattered cup. In truth, fixing it up would be a fairly simple job and he hoped to finish it quickly, as he was looking forward to a certain delivery later that day.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Mr. Carver's farm was rather small, and a farm in only the most technical sense. It had been, until a few years before, the sole possession of the Longhorn family, as was most of the farmland in the town. Eventually, hard times had come around and the family had decided to split the land into parcels to rent out individually. The low cost of the acreage made the land very attractive to poor immigrants and travelers looking to put down roots. It was likely that very thing that had brought Mr. Carver to the town, he and his daughter having only just arrived about one year before.

Unfortunately, the limited duration of their presence, combined with their notably reclusive nature, had given Marvelous very little opportunity to converse properly with the young focus of his attentions, a fact of which he was excessively aware and quite eager to change.

As he and his brother-in-law, Golden, approached the edge of the old farm pulling the cartload behind them, they found Mr. Carver awaiting their arrival.

"Hello, boys!" he greeted. "Prompt delivery, I see." He looked over the contents of the cart, cans of paint and varnish and chemicals, along with a few pieces of solid stock; it was a heavy load, but could have easily been pulled by one pony alone. "The workshop is just this way, in the outbuilding over there," he added. "Marvelous, why don't you join Little Lovely on the verandah? She's just made some lemonade."

"Thank you, Mr. Carver. I think I'd like that very much," he replied as he unhitched himself from the cart. Golden sent him a conspiratorial smile before he turned away with Mr. Carver and started off toward the small, dusty workshop at the perimeter of the property.

The farmhouse itself was a simple plank building, colored a dull gray and marked here and there with small embellishments – attempts to introduce a bit of character to the otherwise drab exterior which were no doubt added over time by Mr. Carver himself.

One such embellishment was the well-polished, hoof-crafted porch swing hanging from the rafters of the verandah, upon which was seated the lovely daughter. Her eyes bounced back and forth from Marvelous to the floor, as though in one moment she were ecstatic to see him and in the next found herself ashamed at the thought of being so artlessly forthright.

"Good afternoon, Marvelous," she said quietly, having apparently settled on being bashful.

"Good afternoon," he answered.

She nearly leapt from the swing. "C-could I offer you s-some lemonade?" she asked, grasping the thick glass pitcher in her hooves and lifting it from its place on the small metal table at the edge of the balustrade.

"Yes, thank you."

He watched as she very slowly and cautiously filled a glass, leaning over the table in full concentration, her trembling hooves tightly gripping the sides of the pitcher as she poured. She smiled in obvious relief as she finally replaced the pitcher upon its stand.

With a sparkle of magic, he lifted the glass to his lips. It had the tang he'd been expecting, as well as a certain flowery sweetness. "Say, that's nice! And it seems there's something that I can't quite place."

"It must be the honey," she said. "We make it here on-on the farm."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she replied, "Papa's always fussing about with his bees."

She fidgeted nervously with a lock of her mane, moving it this way and that to the side of her horn, still unable to meet his gaze for more than a moment at a time. And yet, even in her too-old-fashioned dress, her legs before and behind covered with long, white stockings, her beauty was entrancing, and Marvelous found himself nearly as tongue-tied as she.

"I'm sorry," he said, eventually tearing his eyes away for long enough to collect his thoughts. "That is, I'm sorry we've not had a chance to really speak before now."

"Don't be," she said. "Papa and I … well, w-we do so rarely get out of the house, after all. It's entirely my fault."

"But I must confess, I've found myself wishing quite often that I should have the opportunity." He smiled. "If I may – I wonder, what sorts of things do you find to occupy your time?"

"I'm afraid I haven't m-much to-to tell,” she thoughtfully returned. “I do what I can around the house. Papa doesn't like me being outside too much …. I n-notice that you have an hourglass cutie mark?"

"Hm? Oh, yes," he said, looking back awkwardly at his own flank, "I'm a clockmaker – a horologist. Well, in addition to my other duties at the store, of course."

"Those are your clocks on the shop wall?"

"You've noticed them?"

"They're quite pretty," she said. "I m-much prefer them to the ones papa makes."

"Mr. Carver makes clocks as well? I shall have to ask to see his work someday. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to it already! There's nothing quite so exciting as seeing a beautiful mechanism in operation, after all."

"Yes, I do think I understand." She gave a vigorous nod, "I've felt the same thing when I've finished a new dress."

"Ah, so you make dresses, then?"

"I made this one!" she said with a smile and a flourish, showing off the delicate frills and folds of her dress. "It's nothing as interesting as your clocks, of course. I make all of my dresses. Papa's clothes, too. But mostly I sew dresses for my dolls. They're so small that I can use scraps of cloth, so it doesn't matter as much if I … make a mistake."

He quietly sipped his lemonade, the soft breeze blowing through his mane and carrying the sounds of clattering lumber over the sudden silence of the porch. Little Lovely returned to the swing, rubbing the tips of her hooves together, anxiously, but without the tremors that had marked her earlier movements.

She looked away, a crushing melancholy in her voice as she spoke. "Thank you, Marvelous. You've al-ways been especially k-kind to me. It's more than I could have hoped for." He felt his heart ache as she turned to him with a wavering smile. "So, thank you."

"The Longhorn family is having a box social next weekend."

Her eyes, a moment before on the very verge of tears, were now filled with confusion.

"Did you not know about it?"

"I … suppose I didn't."

"Well, I, for one, would like very much if you could be in attendance that night," he said with a wide grin.

She sniffled discreetly, and laughed as she rubbed a stocking covered hoof against the corner of her cheek. "I'll have to ask papa."