Pearl production was progressing smoothly. Slimes were handling everything from catching freshwater black mussels to making, inserting, and removing cores, caring for the mollusks, and cleaning the pearls. About a hundred lake pearls were produced each day and delivered to the slime duke’s castle.
We had more than enough pearls at this point, but the rest of the work had to be done by humans. Cultured pearls differed very slightly in size, color, and shape, and only a master craftsman could identify the differences between them. So we hired one from a jewelry workshop in the capital and entrusted the pearls to him. Since we wanted to open a jewelry store in Triste in the future, we had him teach the trade to a few dozen of our residents as well.
No matter how much I watched him sort the pearls and drill holes into them so that they could be used in jewelry, I didn’t think I’d be able to replicate the work. The craftsman processed each pearl quickly, without leaving a single scratch. On a complete necklace, the fifty or so pearls all had to be the same size, color, and shape.
The beauty of the finished piece couldn’t be described in words. “This is a necklace made with Triste’s pearls?” I asked, awed.
The craftsman grinned. “These pearls are incredible. The hardness, shine, size—everything is perfect.”
Along with necklaces, the larger pearls were incorporated into tiaras, earrings, and other eye-catching jewelry. The designs had been commissioned from a popular artisan in the capital whom Mrs. Molière was good friends with. Each one was beautifully refined and detailed, and the craftsman reproduced them with care.
Some pearls were called “seed pearls” because they were very small. These had various applications. Similar to larger pearls, they could be used in jewelry, but in this unique situation, they were going to be sewn into my wedding gown. I had no idea how the craftsman managed to drill holes into such tiny pearls, but I couldn’t thank him enough.
It was well into winter now. Snowy days brought a dusting of white over the land, but it quickly melted away. The ice covering the many lakes in the region never froze overly thick, perhaps because of the slimes living there.
I didn’t know if I was imagining it, but it seemed colder here than in the capital. This morning, I could see my breath, and as I walked through the garden, needle ice crunched under my shoes.
Mrs. Molière came to Triste on this freezing winter day, and as soon as she spotted her sister, she hugged her.
My mother-in-law squeaked. “Wh-What’s brought this on?”
“Thank you for the wonderful gift, Maria! I love it so much!”
It had been Mrs. Molière’s birthday the other day, and my mother-in-law had sent her the tea set decorated with violets.
“I adore Triste’s violets, so the moment I opened the box, I burst into tears,” she continued. “Whenever I see it, I feel as if I’ve returned to my homeland. I use it every day. I know I’ve written about it more than enough in my letters, but I can’t help but want to thank you again in person.”
“I’m glad you like it,” said my mother-in-law. “But it was Miss Francette who came up with the idea.”
“Oh! Is that so?” Mrs. Molière hugged me as well. “Thank you, Miss Francette!”
“Um, all I did was make a suggestion,” I said, feeling awkward about the attention.
“Now, now, you’re making Miss Francette uncomfortable,” my mother-in-law said, coming to my aid. Though she maintained a cool demeanor, her ears were slightly flushed. She must’ve been happy that her gift had been well received.
After gushing over the tea set some more, Mrs. Molière said, “Oh, right. Miss Francette, I heard that you were having difficulty deciding on wedding favors. Have you settled on anything yet?”
“No, not so far,” I replied.
At a wedding ceremony, the bride and groom shared their happiness with the guests in the form of small gifts. In Triste, it was customary to give bonbonnières filled with sweets. However, bonbonnières had become a staple Triste souvenir that anyone could buy at the Lakeside Duck Bakery. Because of that, I wanted to choose something else.
“How about teacups with a violet motif, filled with sweets?” Mrs. Molière suggested.
“That might work!” I replied. Teacups and sweets—we could delight both adults and children with those. “I’ll discuss it with Gabriel as soon as I can. Thank you, Mrs. Molière!”
“Oh, it was nothing.”
The matter of wedding favors had been settled surprisingly easily. We continued to discuss recent events for a bit but not at length, as we didn’t have the time to enjoy a leisurely chat. Our main goal was to decorate my wedding outfit.
“Now, let’s make Miss Francette’s dress!” Mrs. Molière declared.
At last, it was time to sew the pearls into the wedding gown. My mother-in-law put on arm covers so that her dress sleeves wouldn’t get in the way.
“Oh, those are lovely, Maria,” said Mrs. Molière.
“I know. I remembered my nanny used to wear some, so I had a tailor in the village make these for me.” My mother-in-law had also prepared arm covers for me and Mrs. Molière. “We don’t have much time before the wedding. Let’s finish this posthaste!”
“Yes!” Mrs. Molière and I replied.
In the workroom, my mother-in-law had put up a handwritten sign that read “Chitchat prohibited! Move your hands, not your mouth!” Since the pearl cultivation had taken longer than expected, there was less time to work on the dress. We couldn’t afford to engage in idle chatter.
“I’ll have to watch myself,” Mrs. Molière murmured softly.
I kept my mouth tightly shut to avoid saying anything by accident.