The morning sun bathed the fields of Evermere in golden light, yet the usual sense of peace felt brittle, like thin ice about to crack. Violet stood in the middle of their barren farmland, gripping the edge of her skirt as she surveyed the damage. Rows of wilted crops stretched before her—victims of the merciless swarm of locusts that had descended upon their village just days before.

Her father, Henry, stood beside her, his calloused hands resting on his hips. His usual strong, steady presence seemed weighed down by the burden of loss.

"We’ll recover," he muttered, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

Violet clenched her fists. This wasn’t just about one bad harvest. It was about survival. Their farm had always provided just enough to get by, but without this season’s yield, their savings would dwindle. The village, too, was suffering. Everyone was on edge, whispering of debts and desperate measures.

That evening, as she helped her mother sort through what little was salvageable, Violet’s thoughts drifted to Ny. Gretel, the traveling merchant. The woman had once told her:

"Raw goods can fail you, child. But knowledge? Skill? That is wealth no locust can devour."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Knowledge. Skills. Violet had spent years reading whatever books she could find on trade and business, yet she had never dared to use that knowledge. Until now.

She rushed to her small wooden shelf, pulling out a leather-bound notebook filled with ideas she had scribbled down over the years.

"If we can’t sell crops… what if we sell something made from them?" she murmured, flipping through the pages.

Her eyes landed on a sketch—jars of preserved fruit, their colors rich and inviting. An idea sparked.

The next morning, she hurried to Theo’s smithy, the scent of burning coal and hot iron thick in the air.

"Theo, I need your help."

Her childhood friend wiped sweat from his brow, eyeing her with curiosity. "With what? Are we finally running away to become pirates?"

She shot him a glare. "I’m serious."

She explained her plan—using what little fruit they had left to make preserves and selling them at the market. But she needed proper jars, and Theo, with his knack for metalwork, could help secure the lids.

He smirked. "So you’re finally taking that business brain of yours for a spin, huh?"

"Will you help me or not?"

"Of course." He tapped his hammer against the anvil. "But you owe me a lifetime supply of whatever you’re making."

Violet let out a breath, half relieved, half nervous.

This was only the beginning. But if she was going to save her family—and perhaps the entire village—then she had to take this chance.

No turning back now.

To be Continue...