Cinderella Is Dead

by Kalynn Bayron

  “You’ve kept the money from me, haven’t you?” he bellows.

  Then comes a woman’s voice. “No! I would never!”

  “Every cent you make belongs to me.” There is a loud thump like someone ran into the door at the top of the stairs, and the door creaks open a few inches. I step up onto the landing and peek inside.

  “I know that—I swear, I work hard.” The seamstress cowers against the wall of the small upstairs room. Tears stain her face. Her husband stands over her, his fists clenched.

  “Then what is it? There’s so little money in this pouch I wonder why you even bother. Either you’re a terrible seamstress, or you’re keeping the money for yourself.” He flings the pouch at her, and it breaks open, sending a shower of coins tinkling to the floor.

  “Everyone is having a hard time,” the woman says. “The king has taxed us so steeply that we can scarcely afford grain. Others are suffering, too, but they need to make their girls ready for the ball. I take what they can afford to give. That’s every red cent, I swear it.”

  “You take what they can afford to give? What are we—a charity?”

  He raises his fist, and the woman winces as if he’s already struck her. I put my hand on the door, and the floorboard groans under my weight. I cringe as the man’s head whips around. He is short and stocky but his hands are massive.

  “I-I’m looking for the seamstress,” I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

  “Who the hell are you?” He sticks out his neck and glares at me.

  “My mother purchased some ribbons, but she left them here. Can you help me find them?” I look directly at the seamstress as I tuck the ribbons out of sight. “If you could, I would appreciate it.” The man steps in front of the woman, blocking my view. I scowl at him.

  “Watch yourself before I send you up to the palace to be forfeited,” the man snaps.

  He can do it. Any head of household could. The only person who can disagree is another head of household. Money, power, class, all those things come into play, but the founding tenet of our laws is that women, no matter their standing, are at the mercy of the fickle whims of men. That’s how little control I have over my own life. I continue to glare at him as he shuffles off to an adjoining room. The seamstress scrambles to her feet and comes rushing out the door, swiping at her eyes.

  “Your son—” She grabs me by the elbow and leads me to the main room of the workshop before I have a chance to finish my sentence.

  She bends down, pulls the boy out from under the table, and wraps her arms around him, all the while glancing nervously toward the back staircase. Her son melts into her, grasping her tightly and sobbing. Tears well up in my eyes, and I have a hard time figuring out if it is my anger or my absolute heartbreak for the seamstress and her son that is getting the better of me. The seamstress gently nuzzles her nose into his hair. She spots the bag of ribbons in my hand.

  “I see you’ve found your missing ribbons. I’m glad you remembered to come pick them up. You’ll look lovely.” If I hadn’t seen what just happened or the welt on her cheek, her tone would have convinced me that nothing was amiss.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude—or maybe I did—but I saw your son and heard your husband upstairs.” The woman’s body tenses as if she’s bracing for what I might say next.

  She stands, pulling her son up with her, and straightens out his clothes. He looks to be no more than seven or eight years old, but the bags under his eyes are those of a child who’s seen too much. She kisses him and points toward the room directly across from the main work area.

  “You go get something to eat. Breakfast is on the table.” She smiles at him, and he looks to the stairs and nods. He embraces her again. She looks down at the boy. “Papa knows best, my love. You will grow up to be a good man, just like him.” The boy doesn’t smile as he disappears into the other room. The seamstress straightens out her dress, avoiding my gaze.

  A sigh escapes me, and the seamstress glances over, her mouth turned down. “Don’t pity us. Please. That isn’t what we need.”

  “What do you need?” I ask. I step toward her. “You don’t have to— I mean— I could—”

  “What could you do?” The woman laughs lightly. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re one of those girls who thinks there’s a way out, aren’t you? That something will come along and make everything better.” She sighs and shakes her head like she’s angry. “I wish there were. I swear I do. I wish I could tell you to run, to hide, but it would never work.” Her voice is so low I have to lean in close to understand. “Nothing can be done. Not a damn thing.”

  I want to believe there might be a way out, but with every passing day, that feeling fades. I wonder when this woman gave up hoping.

  “You’ve got your ribbons, and I’ve got work to do. You’d best be off.”

  I hesitate. “You deserve more than this.” We all do.

  The woman pauses. I can see a small cut over her eye. Her lips part, on the verge of saying something, but she holds back.

  “Please go.”

  6

  I slowly walk out of the shop to find Luke standing next to the cart. “Everything all right?”

  “No,” I say, climbing up and taking a seat. “Let’s go.”

  Luke glances back at the shop and joins me in the cart. I’m sick to my stomach as the cart starts to move.

  “How many people do you think are poorly matched at the choosing ceremony?” I ask, numb. I try to wrap my head around what I just witnessed.

  “Like a clash of personalities?” Luke asks.

  “No. I mean like a man takes a wife and then mistreats her. Hits her.”

  Luke looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You didn’t know that sometimes happens?”

  “It happens all the time,” I say. “That’s my point. I can’t think of how terrible it is to have to deal with the king’s rules and then go home to have your husband beat you.”

  “I understand,” Luke says.

  “How could you? You aren’t being beaten in front of your own child. You’re not being forced to go to the palace for the ball. You’re what—twenty? And you say you’ve never been to a ball. We don’t have that luxury.”

  Luke stares at me in silence. He pulls the horse into a slow trot, and we meander in the general direction of my house.

  “Is there a reason you’re going so slow?” I ask.

  He smiles warmly. “Just hoping to get to know you a little more before, well—”

  “Before the ball?” I ask. “Before some man decides I’d make a pretty prize and everything in my life is changed forever?”

  Luke looks a little taken aback. His big brown eyes dart around like he’s rehearsing what he is about to say. “You’re a rare person, Sophia.”

  “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean,” I say, still skeptical of his intentions.

  He continues to guide the cart along the road as others pass us. We come to a rise in the road, and Luke brings the cart to a full stop.

  My heart ticks up. “What are you doing? Why are we stopping?”

  Luke looks out over the wide swath of land to the east. The sun is high above the horizon now, casting an orange glow through the wispy clouds and across the apple orchards. The trees there are every shade of russet and gold as the land prepares to sleep for the winter.

  He glances at me with his brow furrowed, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “I wonder if I might share something with you.” He is calm, soft-spoken. He seems very serious, and my curiosity is piqued. But I keep my guard up. Just in case.

  “All right. What is it?”

  He doesn’t speak right away. He gazes off, biting his bottom lip.

  “I’ve been mentally calculating how I’m going to get away from you if you try anything,” I say. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to hurt me, so I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “Hurt you?” He looks puzzled. “Why would I want to do that?”

  I give
an exaggerated look around. “Because this is Lille. That’s what happens here.”

  “I can’t blame you for feeling that way, but not everyone is like that.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes for a second. I know that. My father is a good man, Liv’s father is a good man, and even Luke’s father seems like a good man. But these good men aren’t making the rules. These decent men are turning a blind eye to indecent acts. “If you’re not one of the men who would jump at the first chance to put a woman in her place, then I’m not talking about you.”

  He hesitates for a moment before sighing. “That’s fair.”

  A high-pitched whistle sounds from behind me, and I turn to see two young men strutting up to us, their chests pushed out, smirking.

  “Shit,” Luke says under his breath. He moves closer to me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just some people from school.”

  “Luke!” one of the young men shouts. He is smiling wide, but Luke isn’t. “What are you up to on this beautiful fall morning?”

  “Just out for a ride.” Luke’s tone is biting, angry.

  “Out for a ride? With a girl?” the taller man asks. The ring in his voice makes me pause, and he looks me over. His beady brown eyes remind me of the glass marbles the children on my street play with.

  “Do I know you?” I ask.

  The man’s head snaps up. “Not yet, but maybe we can do something about that.”

  “Shut up, Morris,” says Luke.

  “Morris?” I ask, glancing up at Luke. “What a lovely name. Sounds a lot like moron.” This time Luke smiles wide.

  “You’ve got a smart mouth,” Morris says, glaring at me.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Luke inches closer to me. His body has gone rigid, and his fists are clenched.

  Morris smiles, but it makes me uncomfortable. There’s nothing kind about it.

  “Are you claiming this wretch at the ball?” Morris asks.

  Luke bristles. “Why does it matter to you?”

  I cross my arms. I hate this kind of talk, especially when I’m sitting right here.

  “She doesn’t seem like your type,” Morris says, grinning as if he’s said something hilarious.

  I’ve missed something. Fear clouds Luke’s eyes.

  Morris looks back and forth between us. “Oh. Oh!” He claps his hand on the other man’s back, and they laugh. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  Luke looks down at the reins gathered in his lap. Morris steps forward and takes my hand. I try to pull away, but he has me by the wrist and holds it tight. “Luke here has all kinds of secrets. You should ask him about them sometime.” He looks at Luke. “What was that young fellow’s name? Was it Lou—”

  Before he can finish, Luke’s fist connects with Morris’s right cheek, sending spittle and at least two teeth flying from his mouth. He lets go of me and stumbles back, clutching his jaw. The other man stands still, stunned. Luke hops out of the cart as Morris clutches his face.

  “If you ever so much as breathe a syllable of his name in my presence, I will make you regret it,” Luke says. “Consider this your only warning.”

  Morris’s face is ruddy, dripping with sweat, his mouth bloody. He tenses, like he’s going to attack Luke again, though I can’t understand how he thinks that will be a good idea.

  “Don’t do it,” his friend says to him, reading his expression. “Let’s get out of here.” He takes Morris by the arm and pulls him away until they disappear down the road. Luke hops back into the cart.

  Morris’s broken teeth lie like pearls in the cracks of the cobbled street. “Should we pick those up and return them to him?” I ask. “Maybe put them on a string he can wear around his neck?”

  Luke chuckles, massaging his hand and straightening out his shirt. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” I say. I would pay money to see despicable men get socked in the jaw. “Morris was trying to get under your skin. Why does he dislike you so much?”

  Luke looks at me and shakes his head. “It’s … complicated.”

  “Morris said I’m not your type. It’s okay. I’m not offended. You’re not my type either.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but Luke frowns.

  “Oh, I know.”

  My skin pricks up.

  Luke sighs and leans back in his seat. He struggles with something, and with each passing moment, I grow more afraid of what it is.

  Luke looks thoughtful as he stares off. “Everything we do is measured against Cinderella’s story. But what happens if … well, let’s say—” He shifts around, fumbling with the reins. “Why is that story the only way of doing things?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I say. “But we should get going. My mother—”

  Luke glances over at me. “When my sister read that story as a child, I—”

  “Luke—” I start.

  “I remember thinking Prince Charming would make a good husband—for me.”

  “What?” I’m breathing so fast that little orbs of light dance around the edge of my vision.

  “Did you want to marry the prince? Or maybe the princess?” he asks.

  “Why are you asking me this?” My voice is barely a whisper, and my heart pounds. “I have to go.”

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I swear I’ll never say a word about any of this to anyone.” His face is tightly drawn, his eyes downcast. He struggles to find the words to continue. “It’s just that I—I know about you and Erin.”

  A sinking feeling overtakes me. “What about me and Erin?”

  “I overheard your mother talking to my mother.” He watches me carefully, reading my expression.

  “What did she say?” I can’t imagine my mother telling anyone about my feelings. She doesn’t even want to hear me talk about it.

  “She said she was afraid you couldn’t hide your feelings for Erin, that sometimes it was like you didn’t even want to.”

  The world has suddenly become unnaturally quiet. Carriages pass by us, but I don’t hear their wheels on the road. I don’t see anything but Luke’s face. It never occurred to me that my mother would confide in anyone other than my father.

  “Why would she do that?” I ask. “Why would she talk to your mother about me?”

  He angles his body toward me. “It’s true then?” An almost hopeful look spreads across his face.

  I don’t say anything, but my silence is confirmation enough for him.

  “I know what it’s like to feel as if everyone wants you to be something you’re not.” His eyes soften, and he sighs. “When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a boy named Louis. That’s who Morris was referring to. He was a light in a world that was so dark. So dark, Sophia. You can’t imagine—”

  “Yes I can,” I say without thinking. Being face-to-face with someone who might understand how I feel overwhelms me. I wait for him to continue.

  “He allowed me to envision what life could be like for me. When I was with him, nothing else mattered. We planned to flee, but when Morris and his brother, Édouard, found out about us, they told our classmates and of course the news reached Louis’s parents. They asked him if it was true, and he would not deny it. They took him to the palace as a forfeit. I never saw him again.” His eyes fill with tears.

  “They gave him up? Just like that?” It’s horrifyingly simple for some people to forfeit their own children. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times, but it never gets any easier to imagine. I reach out and put my hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”

  He blinks back tears. “My parents would have done the same to me if my sister hadn’t convinced them that our relationship was a phase that I’d grow out of. She knew it was a lie, and I think my parents did as well, but they chose to believe it rather than surrender me to the palace.”

  My heart shatters into a thousand pieces for what he has lost. What we’ve all lost.

  “People who don’t fit
nicely into the boxes the kings of Mersailles have defined are simply erased, as if our lives don’t matter.” Luke hangs his head. “Have you ever heard of a man marrying another man? A woman being in love with another woman? Of people who find their hearts lie somewhere in the middle or with neither?”

  “Only as a cautionary tale that ends with people imprisoned or dead.” I slump down against the seat, crushed by the hopeless feelings that always seem to find me.

  Luke picks up the reins, and we begin to move. “I can avoid the ball for as long as I choose,” he says. “And people wouldn’t think twice if I’m old and gray before I go out to the palace.” He shifts as if he is uncomfortable with what he said. “You don’t have that privilege, and my heart breaks for you and Erin and for all the rest of us who have to hide.”

  “All the rest of us?” I ask.

  Luke nods. “The kings that have ruled Mersailles would like you to believe that you’re alone, but it’s not true. People wear masks so they can fit in and stay safe. Can you blame them?”

  “No, I guess not,” I say. Isn’t that what I am doing? Hiding. Pretending. Just trying to stay safe.

  As we approach my house, the weight of our revelations bears down on us, and the feeling of utter despair is palpable. I climb out, taking the bag of ribbons from the bed of the cart.

  “What will you do?” Luke asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t feel like I have any choices.”

  “We should look for an out,” says Luke. “And at the first opportunity, we should run. As far away as possible.”

  “Do you think things are different past the towers?” I think of what might lie beyond the capital, beyond the farthest borders of Mersailles.

  “Maybe. For now, just try to stay safe. That’s all either one of us can do.” He reaches out and presses a few silver coins into the palm of my hand. “Your mother feels better when she pays me for driving the cart, but I’ve told her it’s not necessary. Maybe you should keep it. Prepare for your great escape.”

  I take the coins, even though I don’t think that there will be an escape. Not for Erin and me. Not for Luke or Liv or anyone else. We are all trapped here, our stories already written.