chasseuseartisane
The markets were as familiar as her home or the woods she’d roamed through as a child. She had been there more often than she’d go hunting with her papa, after all. She would spend hours standing by her maman’s side, practicing her stitches, and listening to her mother’s clear voice ring out with laughter as she talked to the customers. Years later, it was her who laughed and talked to customers, but not so much these days. These days, she was wary of people.
It could seem like chaos to those who weren’t used to the noise, but to Marie, it was as comforting as the silence of her home outside the walls of Paris. Even though the days were long, they didn’t exhaust her. Her tiredness was not from work. Arriving in the early morning, before all the stalls were properly set up, there were the usual shouts of greeting between vendors. Most were like her, and had been there for years. With them, she could feel more like herself. They lived honest, simple lives.
Her neighbour was not one she had known as a child, but there was still the bond of friendship, or so Marie liked to think. “Bonjour.” She grabbed a parcel off the top of her baskets and held it out. “Here. Your clothes are finished. I am sorry it took so long. You must be the only person in Paris who asks for simple designs of me these days.” But there was still a unique beauty to be found in what Sedemi chose to wear, one that marked her as different. As someone who took pride in her own individuality, she admired it.
It was warm, the morning had left Sedemi with a slight heat in her cheeks after unpacking the cart onto her makeshift stall. Nothing here was permeant. She used upturned fruit boxes and handwoven baskets to present her goods to the market. Rumour had it that they were planning to build a grand roof over the market, but Sedemi didn’t like to believe talk. Sedemi glanced up as the chatter of morning greetings thickened, none other than Marie herself. She smiled, eager to greet her friend with honest niceties.
“Morning.” Sedemi took the parcel and held it close to her chest. “No, please do not apologise. I am patient to wait. You know this.” She stepped back far enough so that she could tuck the package securely into her chart out of sight. Eager to go home and try the clothes on, knowing full well that with Marie’s skill they’d fit perfectly and suit her well. Sedemi took three silver and a pear from her stall, offered all four to Marie.
“The rest of your money, please accept this gift. You have done so much for me, I can never repay you truly for the kindness you have shown me.” In France she might be a free woman, but Sedemi couldn’t help the jitter of nerves. Fear that she’d be found out and sent back. More than anything she wanted to go home but she was sure there was no longer a home to go too. Instead, she made small snippets of that life here in Paris. Her requests to Marie for skirts and trousers interwoven with patches of fabric she’d scavenged was just one of those small ones.
Far too early in the morning for anyone to begin arriving yet, they had time to chat. “Do you need help unpacking? I am quite finished and two pairs of hands will have it done quicker than one.” She hummed, brushed off her apron that covered her skirts. It was one of the few times she wore a dress. For the people of Paris didn’t like her much at all if she showed up in what they presumed were men’s attire. “How are you today, Marie?” She hummed, when given permission, began to help shift the baskets ready for display.
