Side Story 21: The Man from Burford
“I’m fine.”
Before he could ask, Erna gave an answer.
"There's nothing wrong with my health, I've been eating well, and the baby is comfortable. As long as I don't overdo it, there shouldn't be any problems."
Health, diet, and baby today.
Before going out, Bjorn always asked the same questions. If he was unsure about even one thing, permission wouldn't be granted, so he had to be meticulous in his confirmation.
“So, have a good trip.”
Erna smiled reassuringly and pointed in the direction of the telegraph office.
Erna knew full well that Bjorn's primary reason for visiting downtown Burford was to conduct business. And she was no longer disappointed or hurt by that fact.
Just as she had her own life, he had his own. And just as he respected his wife's life, Erna respected her husband's. After all, Dneister's dealings were supposed to be fair.
“Lisa Brill.”
Bjorn, who had been quietly observing his wife, turned his gaze to the maid. Lisa, who had been glancing around the town square where the festival was in full swing, flinched and lowered her head.
“I’ll leave Erna to you.”
Opening his pocket watch to check the time, Bjorn gave a calm command.
An hour at most.
It wouldn't take that long, but sending a pregnant wife to a festival alone wasn't exactly a comfortable thing, even with other servants by her side. But if it were that maid, it would be a different story.
“Baby Dneister too.”
Bjorn added a brief word expressing his complete confidence in Lisa Brill.
“Uh... yes!”
Lisa, who had been looking at him with a bewildered expression, nodded with a strong answer.
“Don’t worry, Prince. I will be by her side to protect he.”
Lisa Brill, with her eyes filled with determination, looked so resolute that she could easily be compared to a three-necked gatekeeper of hell.
Bjorn smiled lightly, gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek, and then left for the telegraph office.
As his figure disappeared into the festival crowd, Lisa, her heart pounding with excitement, looked at Erna. Lisa Brill's masterpiece, smiling beneath a lace parasol, was as beautiful today as ever.
“Just trust me, Your Highness!”
Now the maid's position is right in front of me.
Lisa Brill's life, having climbed one more rung on the ladder of desire, became as splendidly beautiful as that of the Grand Duchess of Schwerin.
If May Day in Burford was a festival of flowers, October Day was a festival of wine.
Erna sat under the awning of an outdoor cafe, munching on honeyed almonds, and watched the lively autumn festival unfold in the square.
The stalls selling beer and wine produced in Burford were packed with drinkers from midday. The smell of sausages and barbecue sizzling on large grills drifted through the air. Around the central stage, people were busily rolling oak barrels. The first person to cross the finish line won first place. It was a bit awkward, but everyone was laughing and having fun, which was a delight to watch.
"What's wrong, Your Highness? Is there anything you'd like to eat? Or perhaps something you'd like to see?"
As their eyes met, Lisa asked Erna an eager question.
“No. That’s enough, Lisa.”
Erna shook her head and smiled. She'd already had her fill of the various snacks Lisa had bought for her, and she'd enjoyed the dancing and singing.
“Everyone, go and enjoy the festival. I can wait here for Bjorn.”
Erna gave a gentle invitation to the servants of the Grand Duke's residence who were tied up by her side.
“No. We will stay by your side, Your Highness.”
Their gazes wavered for a moment, but they ultimately expressed a firm refusal. While they fully understood the Grand Duchess's sincere consideration, they knew that if they succumbed to it, they would be met with a fiery slap from the Prince, who was not a particularly good-natured person. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to call him a slap in the face, since the angrier he got, the colder he became.
At the Grand Duchess's side, they faithfully carried out their assigned duties. They kept a close watch to prevent any drunkards from approaching, and if they saw anyone smoking nearby, they dealt with them before they could light up. Occasionally, they encountered a drunken man who hurled abuse, but this was no real problem. Whatever they said was nothing compared to the verbal abuse their master gave them with his eyes.
As the afternoon wore on, the square began to become more lively.
The Schwerin Palace servants, who spotted the Prince making his way through the crowd toward the outdoor café, finally took a breath and stepped back from the table where the Grand Duchess was seated. Pinpointing his wife's whereabouts at a glance, the Prince approached with long, wide strides and took the seat opposite her.
“Bjorn! You came quickly.”
Erna turned her head following the sound, and a bright smile spread across her face.
Bjorn smiled back, lightly raising his hand to summon the waiter. Soon, Letzen's finest wine, Burford, was placed on their table.
Erna sipped the grape juice placed before her and looked at her husband, who was holding a glass of wine. Seeing the deep red wine touch his lips made her feel a bit embarrassed. It was quite amusing to be shy in front of the father of a child growing inside her, but she didn't want to deny the tickling feeling in her chest.
What should we do together now?
Erna looked at her husband with eyes filled with cautious excitement and thought about various romantic events.
Maybe he'd hate it if they were blowing bubbles together, thinking it was child's play. Still, she thinks he'd probably give in if she insisted. It would be nice to hold hands and watch the show.
But what on earth are you trying to do?
Erna stared at the stage in the center of the square, where people were busily moving about, with narrowed eyes. Bjorn's gaze was also directed to the same spot.
No way.
Erna swallowed dryly, feeling a slightly ominous premonition.
The stage somehow didn't seem suitable for a performance. They began moving a large oak barrel to the center of the stage, where a long table was placed. Judging by the weight, which made the sturdy men groan, it was clear that it wasn't the empty barrel they'd been rolling earlier.
“What are you preparing?”
Bjorn called the waiter and asked a calm question.
“There will soon be a festival competition to determine the best man in Burford.”
“Didn’t you pick the best man in the spring?”
"At the Spring Festival, they choose the man who best uses his strength, and at the Autumn Festival, they choose the man who best drinks. Since ancient times, men have always been about strength and alcohol."
Bjorn looked at him with narrowed eyes, chuckling heartily. Why did they select the best man every season? At this rate, the entire Burford would be overflowing with the best men.
"It's a competition where the husband drinks, and the wife stacks his glasses. The couple who drinks the most and stacks the highest wins. No matter how good the husband is at drinking, if the wife can't stack the highest, it's all for naught. You could call this a competition to determine the best couple in Burford."
In the spring, he carries his wife on his back and runs, and in the fall, he drinks and piles up with his wife.
At this point, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call Burford a city of wives, though the direction is a bit odd.
"If you're interested, please give it a try. We'll be accepting entries until just before the competition starts. Hey, that's the prize, so it's something any man would do."
He pointed with his fingertip to a corner of the stage. This time, instead of crops, there were crates stacked high, filled with liquor.
“The couple who wins first place can ride in the flower float and march.”
As he lowered his gaze below the stage where his fingertips had moved, he saw a large cart made of woven oak barrels. It was lavishly decorated with colorful flowers, a sight that Erna would have found quite appealing.
"No, I do not want."
Erna, who met Bjorn's eyes, shook her head and gave a more resolute answer than last spring.
“Think of our baby.”
Erna believed that even the most betting-loving man wouldn't force his wife, who was carrying his child, to build a tower of glasses. And fortunately, Bjorn nodded in agreement, living up to her expectations.
“Oh, my. Your wife is pregnant.”
The waiter expressed his regret with a look of regret. But Bjorn, with a calm expression, found an alternative.
“Is it possible to have someone come to the event as a proxy?”
His gaze was fixed on the gatekeeper of hell, who was craning her neck behind his wife and leaning over a stall selling sausages.
“Are you by any chance that young man from last spring?”
The man next to him glanced at Bjorn with a sharp glare. Bjorn offered a modest smile, a gesture of courtesy to his competitor with a surprisingly good memory.
"Right? No matter how I looked at you, you looked familiar. But why did your wife change? Did you remarry or something?"
They looked at Lisa, who was standing blankly next to Bjorn, with wide, surprised eyes.
"My wife is pregnant. Here's the substitute, and my wife is over there."
Bjorn gestured downstage. The participants who looked there began to complain, their faces flushed with disgust.
“Oh! That’s not it! That’s not it!”
"That's right. When you run, you bring your feather-like wife with you and win first place, but when you stack glasses, she's a substitute who seems to be showing off her strength. There's no such thing! Absolutely not!"
The backlash quickly spread throughout the stage.
What's with the fact that he appears like a ghost only during festivals, never to be seen again? This is pure trickery, really. Amidst a barrage of protests, the balding man in charge of the event approached with a puzzled expression. It was at that very moment that Lisa's eyes lit up.
“Wow, country people are so rude. How rude!”
Everyone's attention, which had suddenly become quiet at that loud shout, was focused on Lisa.
"You don't even understand the feelings of a husband who wants to give his pregnant wife a flower cart ride. Oh my. You're so rude. You keep making fun of the father in front of the baby. You really are a loser, Buford."
Lisa looked at the faces of each of the participants who had raised their complaints and shouted forcefully.
Of course, she understood their discontent. Lisa herself, though she'd been dragged out by surprise, wasn't sure why she was doing this with the Poison Mushroom Prince.
But even if she cursed, it was the Prince who did it. Above all, wasn't this for Erna? No matter how she looked at it, it seemed crazy, but if she could put Her Highness and the baby on the festival float, it wasn't something she couldn't do once.
“The baby is about to cry in her stomach. He's so sad he's going to cry.”
As Lisa became serious and started to act like a fool, the men started to murmur, looking at each other.
“I don’t know how they can be so obsessed with a mother with a baby, of all people.”
The mumbling, intended to be heard, continued, covering the participants' discontent. As the discontent finally subsided, the bald man who had been approaching them also slowly retreated.
Bjorn looked at Lisa with renewed admiration.
Well done, my maid.
You're the best, our maid.
“I’m fine.”
Before he could ask, Erna gave an answer.
"There's nothing wrong with my health, I've been eating well, and the baby is comfortable. As long as I don't overdo it, there shouldn't be any problems."
Health, diet, and baby today.
Before going out, Bjorn always asked the same questions. If he was unsure about even one thing, permission wouldn't be granted, so he had to be meticulous in his confirmation.
“So, have a good trip.”
Erna smiled reassuringly and pointed in the direction of the telegraph office.
Erna knew full well that Bjorn's primary reason for visiting downtown Burford was to conduct business. And she was no longer disappointed or hurt by that fact.
Just as she had her own life, he had his own. And just as he respected his wife's life, Erna respected her husband's. After all, Dneister's dealings were supposed to be fair.
“Lisa Brill.”
Bjorn, who had been quietly observing his wife, turned his gaze to the maid. Lisa, who had been glancing around the town square where the festival was in full swing, flinched and lowered her head.
“I’ll leave Erna to you.”
Opening his pocket watch to check the time, Bjorn gave a calm command.
An hour at most.
It wouldn't take that long, but sending a pregnant wife to a festival alone wasn't exactly a comfortable thing, even with other servants by her side. But if it were that maid, it would be a different story.
“Baby Dneister too.”
Bjorn added a brief word expressing his complete confidence in Lisa Brill.
“Uh... yes!”
Lisa, who had been looking at him with a bewildered expression, nodded with a strong answer.
“Don’t worry, Prince. I will be by her side to protect he.”
Lisa Brill, with her eyes filled with determination, looked so resolute that she could easily be compared to a three-necked gatekeeper of hell.
Bjorn smiled lightly, gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek, and then left for the telegraph office.
As his figure disappeared into the festival crowd, Lisa, her heart pounding with excitement, looked at Erna. Lisa Brill's masterpiece, smiling beneath a lace parasol, was as beautiful today as ever.
“Just trust me, Your Highness!”
Now the maid's position is right in front of me.
Lisa Brill's life, having climbed one more rung on the ladder of desire, became as splendidly beautiful as that of the Grand Duchess of Schwerin.
***
If May Day in Burford was a festival of flowers, October Day was a festival of wine.
Erna sat under the awning of an outdoor cafe, munching on honeyed almonds, and watched the lively autumn festival unfold in the square.
The stalls selling beer and wine produced in Burford were packed with drinkers from midday. The smell of sausages and barbecue sizzling on large grills drifted through the air. Around the central stage, people were busily rolling oak barrels. The first person to cross the finish line won first place. It was a bit awkward, but everyone was laughing and having fun, which was a delight to watch.
"What's wrong, Your Highness? Is there anything you'd like to eat? Or perhaps something you'd like to see?"
As their eyes met, Lisa asked Erna an eager question.
“No. That’s enough, Lisa.”
Erna shook her head and smiled. She'd already had her fill of the various snacks Lisa had bought for her, and she'd enjoyed the dancing and singing.
“Everyone, go and enjoy the festival. I can wait here for Bjorn.”
Erna gave a gentle invitation to the servants of the Grand Duke's residence who were tied up by her side.
“No. We will stay by your side, Your Highness.”
Their gazes wavered for a moment, but they ultimately expressed a firm refusal. While they fully understood the Grand Duchess's sincere consideration, they knew that if they succumbed to it, they would be met with a fiery slap from the Prince, who was not a particularly good-natured person. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to call him a slap in the face, since the angrier he got, the colder he became.
At the Grand Duchess's side, they faithfully carried out their assigned duties. They kept a close watch to prevent any drunkards from approaching, and if they saw anyone smoking nearby, they dealt with them before they could light up. Occasionally, they encountered a drunken man who hurled abuse, but this was no real problem. Whatever they said was nothing compared to the verbal abuse their master gave them with his eyes.
As the afternoon wore on, the square began to become more lively.
The Schwerin Palace servants, who spotted the Prince making his way through the crowd toward the outdoor café, finally took a breath and stepped back from the table where the Grand Duchess was seated. Pinpointing his wife's whereabouts at a glance, the Prince approached with long, wide strides and took the seat opposite her.
“Bjorn! You came quickly.”
Erna turned her head following the sound, and a bright smile spread across her face.
Bjorn smiled back, lightly raising his hand to summon the waiter. Soon, Letzen's finest wine, Burford, was placed on their table.
Erna sipped the grape juice placed before her and looked at her husband, who was holding a glass of wine. Seeing the deep red wine touch his lips made her feel a bit embarrassed. It was quite amusing to be shy in front of the father of a child growing inside her, but she didn't want to deny the tickling feeling in her chest.
What should we do together now?
Erna looked at her husband with eyes filled with cautious excitement and thought about various romantic events.
Maybe he'd hate it if they were blowing bubbles together, thinking it was child's play. Still, she thinks he'd probably give in if she insisted. It would be nice to hold hands and watch the show.
But what on earth are you trying to do?
Erna stared at the stage in the center of the square, where people were busily moving about, with narrowed eyes. Bjorn's gaze was also directed to the same spot.
No way.
Erna swallowed dryly, feeling a slightly ominous premonition.
The stage somehow didn't seem suitable for a performance. They began moving a large oak barrel to the center of the stage, where a long table was placed. Judging by the weight, which made the sturdy men groan, it was clear that it wasn't the empty barrel they'd been rolling earlier.
“What are you preparing?”
Bjorn called the waiter and asked a calm question.
“There will soon be a festival competition to determine the best man in Burford.”
“Didn’t you pick the best man in the spring?”
"At the Spring Festival, they choose the man who best uses his strength, and at the Autumn Festival, they choose the man who best drinks. Since ancient times, men have always been about strength and alcohol."
Bjorn looked at him with narrowed eyes, chuckling heartily. Why did they select the best man every season? At this rate, the entire Burford would be overflowing with the best men.
"It's a competition where the husband drinks, and the wife stacks his glasses. The couple who drinks the most and stacks the highest wins. No matter how good the husband is at drinking, if the wife can't stack the highest, it's all for naught. You could call this a competition to determine the best couple in Burford."
In the spring, he carries his wife on his back and runs, and in the fall, he drinks and piles up with his wife.
At this point, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call Burford a city of wives, though the direction is a bit odd.
"If you're interested, please give it a try. We'll be accepting entries until just before the competition starts. Hey, that's the prize, so it's something any man would do."
He pointed with his fingertip to a corner of the stage. This time, instead of crops, there were crates stacked high, filled with liquor.
“The couple who wins first place can ride in the flower float and march.”
As he lowered his gaze below the stage where his fingertips had moved, he saw a large cart made of woven oak barrels. It was lavishly decorated with colorful flowers, a sight that Erna would have found quite appealing.
"No, I do not want."
Erna, who met Bjorn's eyes, shook her head and gave a more resolute answer than last spring.
“Think of our baby.”
Erna believed that even the most betting-loving man wouldn't force his wife, who was carrying his child, to build a tower of glasses. And fortunately, Bjorn nodded in agreement, living up to her expectations.
“Oh, my. Your wife is pregnant.”
The waiter expressed his regret with a look of regret. But Bjorn, with a calm expression, found an alternative.
“Is it possible to have someone come to the event as a proxy?”
His gaze was fixed on the gatekeeper of hell, who was craning her neck behind his wife and leaning over a stall selling sausages.
***
“Are you by any chance that young man from last spring?”
The man next to him glanced at Bjorn with a sharp glare. Bjorn offered a modest smile, a gesture of courtesy to his competitor with a surprisingly good memory.
"Right? No matter how I looked at you, you looked familiar. But why did your wife change? Did you remarry or something?"
They looked at Lisa, who was standing blankly next to Bjorn, with wide, surprised eyes.
"My wife is pregnant. Here's the substitute, and my wife is over there."
Bjorn gestured downstage. The participants who looked there began to complain, their faces flushed with disgust.
“Oh! That’s not it! That’s not it!”
"That's right. When you run, you bring your feather-like wife with you and win first place, but when you stack glasses, she's a substitute who seems to be showing off her strength. There's no such thing! Absolutely not!"
The backlash quickly spread throughout the stage.
What's with the fact that he appears like a ghost only during festivals, never to be seen again? This is pure trickery, really. Amidst a barrage of protests, the balding man in charge of the event approached with a puzzled expression. It was at that very moment that Lisa's eyes lit up.
“Wow, country people are so rude. How rude!”
Everyone's attention, which had suddenly become quiet at that loud shout, was focused on Lisa.
"You don't even understand the feelings of a husband who wants to give his pregnant wife a flower cart ride. Oh my. You're so rude. You keep making fun of the father in front of the baby. You really are a loser, Buford."
Lisa looked at the faces of each of the participants who had raised their complaints and shouted forcefully.
Of course, she understood their discontent. Lisa herself, though she'd been dragged out by surprise, wasn't sure why she was doing this with the Poison Mushroom Prince.
But even if she cursed, it was the Prince who did it. Above all, wasn't this for Erna? No matter how she looked at it, it seemed crazy, but if she could put Her Highness and the baby on the festival float, it wasn't something she couldn't do once.
“The baby is about to cry in her stomach. He's so sad he's going to cry.”
As Lisa became serious and started to act like a fool, the men started to murmur, looking at each other.
“I don’t know how they can be so obsessed with a mother with a baby, of all people.”
The mumbling, intended to be heard, continued, covering the participants' discontent. As the discontent finally subsided, the bald man who had been approaching them also slowly retreated.
Bjorn looked at Lisa with renewed admiration.
Well done, my maid.
You're the best, our maid.
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