didn’t give a damn about nature or its course or their
opinions. He just couldn’t bear the thought of some swain
taking away his only, precious daughter. As far as he was
concerned, no matter how old she got, Petal would always
be that little girl who laughed and squealed when he
bounced her lightly on his knee.
So he said, “Dash it all, I don’t care what anyone thinks!
I don’t like what’s happening!” And he took to chasing off
the young men with a knobby walking stick he kept handy
near his loom. “Stay away!” he would cry as he came
running out of his cottage toward the fence. The young man
of the moment, startled by the attack, would leave Petal
standing by the gate and flee. “And tell your boorish friends
to stay clear, too!”
Petal was always very embarrassed by this display.
“Daddy, why can’t they visit me?” she’d ask, near tears. “I’m
old enough!”
“Because!” answered Aron, his face red, his knuckles
white as he clenched his walking stick. “Just – just
because!” And then he’d storm back into the cottage.
Well, “because” wasn’t good enough for Petal, and she
continued to encourage her suitors. A wink from her was
enough to draw them back like bees to a bright, fragrant
flower – though none of them dared actually enter the gate.
From his loom – which, incidentally, was a clever, if
noisy, contraption operated by various levers and pedals –
the stern weaver could look out his window and see the way
his daughter was behaving. And he saw the effect it had on
her callers, who were growing ever bolder, some even
venturing to open the gate. Apparently, waving a stick at
them was no longer enough to drive them away (which was
just as well since Aron was getting tired of running out
every other moment). So, finally, he decided there was only
one thing left to do: He would have to take Petal away from
Gateway.
This he did. He piled his loom and other possessions
high on a wagon, put Petal on the seat next to him, and off
they went, pulled by a tired, old ox, which he borrowed
from a neighbor. Petal sighed deeply as she waved farewell
to all her would-be lovers, who lined up along the road in
front of their own cottages to see her off. They waved back,
their hearts heavy.
Aron took Petal far away. The road became unpaved
and overgrown, and eventually it led to the Forest of
Wayreth. There, Aron had to leave behind most of his
possessions for the time being because there was no path
between the trees wide enough to allow the wagon to pass.
He would have to make several trips, but he loaded up his
goods on his back, took Petal by her slender hand, and off
they went through the sunless forest.
When he had gone far enough – that is to say, when he
became too exhausted to continue – Aron put down his load
and said, “Here! Here is where we shall live!” And right on
that bosky spot, he built a new cottage of sticks and thatch.
He included a small room for Petal, a larger one for himself,
and a still bigger one for the cooking hearth, table, chairs,
and, of course, his loom, which he had the ox drag through
the forest before he returned the beast to its owner.
Convinced at last that his daughter was now where no
young man would find her, or at least where she’d be too far
away to be worth the bother, Aron resumed his weaving.
Such a location among the reputedly magical woods was
inconvenient for him, for he had to make long trips to his
customers in Gateway, but it was worth the peace of mind
that came from knowing that his daughter was safe from
anyone who would dare try to take her from him.
As for Petal, she cried for days and days. She wanted to
go back to Gateway. She wanted to flirt with her suitors.
But Aron said, “You’ll get used to it here. Soon, things
will be back the way they were before all this foolishness