Jewels, expensive-looking heirlooms, some medicines and spirits. There was a thief in the area; Harry Moser's wife had gotten a peek at him, and a rendering was put up on the town board.
He was handsome, if the likeness was true. A strong jaw, sharp eyes beneath a dark brow, bearded. The day of St. Valentine drew near, when any man or woman without the warmth of another body in their bed was a thing to pity. I'd gone five years without that joy, since my husband's death, and I was damned by the sad cow eyes my fellows sent my way. To lie with a widow was taboo, moreso when she was young and childless, as I am.
My mother was one of then many who loved to recite the trite, "You can do anything you put your mind to," and I was impressionable as a child. With her voice in my ear, colored slightly mocking and sing-song by my experiences, I put my mind to catching a thief.
T'was not difficult. The man on the board looked like no one I knew in our small town, and there were few places a traveller might stop before venturing on, as they did. I visited these places: the tavern, the merchants' row, the pawn broker's stall, and spoke loudly to my peers of my pearls, my silk skirts, my grandmother's silver, and I left my window unlatched by night.
He did not come the night of the first day, nor the second. I despaired, I admit. A woman has needs, and mine have built steadily. I worried that I would be left to satisfy myself for the rest of my lonesome life, gasping in the dark on my own fingers. Most called my hands graceful, and usually I agreed, but in the dark their slenderness was hateful.
But I fretted for nothing. My thief was simply concerned with timing. The third day was Valentine's Day.
I heard the old hinges shrill in my dreams, ringing through the fairytale rivers and fields, but slept on for the moment. He was elbow deep in my mother's hope chest when I did wake, alerted by wind blowing my things off the dresser top in a noisy clatter. The thief whirled, cursing quietly, and my bed squeaked at my movement.
I didn't speak, when he looked at me, eyes indistinguishable in the low light. I barely moved, heart beating in my throat.
That same wind caught the window, still hanging open.