Welcome to Wednesday’s Words, where I share a snippet from a story using yesterday’s word from the New York Times Game WORDLE. Yesterday’s WORDLE was HANDY.
FROM CHAPTER THREE…
I lounged on the sofa, reading from my guidebook. “According to this, Luc’s hometown celebration of The Festival of Lights is world renowned.”
Mitzi responded from her bedroom, her voice floating through the open door. “Washington law permits a missing person's spouse and other certain family members—such as a parent or child—to submit a petition to the court requesting that a missing person be presumed dead if that person has not been seen or heard from for five or more years.” She paused for a long moment. “I bet it’s different in France, though.”
Uninterested in French law, I pretended she hadn’t spoken and read out loud from my handy guidebook.
“In the charming French town of Sainte-Claire, nestled amidst rolling hills and vineyards, the Festival of Lights unfolds with enchantment and splendor. As the festival approaches, the town's streets come alive with vibrant decorations. Elaborate displays of colorful lights adorn the facades of historic buildings, creating a whimsical ambiance that captivates both residents and visitors alike. The soft glow of lanterns and fairy lights illuminates the cobblestone pathways, casting a warm and inviting glow on the town.” I set the guidebook on my chest and closed my eyes, letting my imagination run wild. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“Who? Luc?” Mitzi asked.
He’s a person, not an it, I thought, but didn’t say. My eyes fluttered open. “You don’t think it’s creepy his wife disappeared?”
“I think it’s creepy of her. Not him,” Mitzi said with conviction.
“We know nothing about him.”
“But we will…” Mitzi said in a tone that held a promise.
I returned to my guidebook, and tried to mimic Tabitha White, a host of a popular TV travel series.
“The festival kicks off with a grand procession through the main square. Locals dressed in traditional attire, adorned with twinkling lights, march to the lively tunes of a local band. Floats and carriages, creatively decorated with illuminated sculptures and floral arrangements, add to the spectacle. The air is filled with the tantalizing scents of freshly baked pastries and roasted chestnuts from street vendors, enticing everyone to indulge in the festive treats.”
When Mitzi didn’t respond, I decided to read silently.
In the town's central square, a magnificent centerpiece takes shape—a towering structure meticulously constructed from wood and adorned with thousands of intricately designed lanterns. As night falls, the square is bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, casting a spellbinding ambiance.
Mitzi interrupted my reading. “It says here that his wife went to stay at her mother’s shortly after her mother’s death to settle the estate, and no one ever heard from her again.” Mitzi made a sympathetic crooning sound. “Luc, as the sole surviving family member, inherited all the land and property. He owns lavender fields.” She paused. “He must be very rich.”
I closed my eyes in frustration. I loved Mitzi, but her snobbery was grating. “Who cares? After tonight, we’ll probably never see him again.”
“You said that last night,” Mitzi said.
The guidebook fell off my chest and onto the floor. I picked it up and read the page it had fallen open to.
On the third Sunday in July, the sun-kissed fields of Verdantcourt, a quaint village in Provence, France, come alive with the vibrant and aromatic celebration known as the Lavender Parade. This annual event pays homage to the region's cherished lavender fields and the bountiful harvest they yield.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the scene. The dawn breaks. The air carries the gentle perfume of lavender. Anticipation grips me as the villagers, dressed in flamboyant, colorful traditional clothes gather along main street. Children run through the crowd, darting in and out of the crowd. Laughter and chatter echo off the weathered stone walls.
A lone drum begins to beat. Seconds later, a flute joins in. Soon, a marching band parades by, their trumpets lifted toward a bright blue sky. Horses come next, their manes intricately braided and adorned with garlands of fresh lavender. Riders, dressed in lavender-themed costumes, proudly guide the horses along the street, their hooves clattering on the cobblestones.
Dancers, their flowing garments reflecting the vibrant colors of lavender, gracefully move to traditional Provençal music.
“Anna!” Mitzi shook my shoulder and my eyes fluttered open. “Wake up! It’s almost time to go!”
I glanced out the window at the dark sky before checking my watch. “It’s only four,” I said with wonder.
“It’s almost the shortest day of the year,” Mitzi reminded me.
She looked pretty in her pink jacket with the faux silver fur trim on the hood and sleeves. Her false lashes batted at me.
Evening makeup.
Mitzi had different makeup for different occasions.
Office makeup.
Church makeup.
Tonight’s makeup was high drama: a bit of shimmer, bright eyes that popped, and bold lips. A tinge of jealousy rippled through me before I remembered my pledge to never remarry. I wasn’t interested in Luc. How could I be? Why would I be?
I scurried off the sofa and darted to the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” Mitzi called after me.
“What a question,” I called through the door. “What does one do in the bathroom?”
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Mitzi warned.
I grabbed my makeup bag, dusted my cheeks with blush, and reapplied mascara. My eyes didn’t pop and my lips weren’t bold.
A knock sounded on the condo’s door signaling that my beauty moment had been cut short. I checked to make sure I didn’t have any lipstick on my teeth before joining Mitzi in the hall.
Luc stood in the doorway, devastatingly handsome in a blue turtleneck sweater that matched his eyes and a black leather jacket. Mitzi simpered at him, but his gaze lingered on me.
“Shall we?” he asked.