The Stepsister's Tale

by Tracy Barrett

  Jane leaned back against a branch. She closed her eyes, and against her dark eyelids, ladies in bright dresses twirled and bowed, twirled and bowed, around a small fairy princess dressed in white, with sparkling feet.

  What was that? Her eyes popped open, and she sat up with a gasp. She rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep in this piercing cold. She looked around, wondering what had woken her. She saw nothing.

  Then she heard it again. A crackling sound. Someone—or something—was moving in the underbrush by the road. Her hand groped for a stick, a rock, anything to defend herself with. Nothing but mud. The crackling came again, and this time, it was nearer.

  Jane couldn’t keep silent. “Ella?” she called uncertainly, and instantly regretted the impulse that had led her to break the silence.

  Nothing answered. Then, “Jane?” someone said in a hoarse whisper.

  She squeezed her arms across her chest as she felt her heart leap. “Who is it?” she asked. She broke a branch off the tree and held it up in front of her. Whoever or whatever it was, they were not going to take her easily.

  “It’s me.” The words were louder, and Jane’s head whirled as she recognized Will’s voice. His face, pale in the moonlight, peered out from the darkness along the road. He looked left, then right, and then stepped out cautiously. “The girl—that little one that lives with you, she’s in our house.”

  “In your house? How did she get there?”

  Will ignored her question. “She can’t tell us how she came to be in the woods, so I came out to see if anyone was looking for her. What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Suddenly it seemed so foolish, the way she had run after Isabella. What could she do to help her? But she knew she would do it again.

  “Well, you’d best come with me.” Will’s voice was firm. “Father will know what to do.” He strode off down the road. She stood with difficulty and took one hobbling step and then another after him. He looked around, and concern crossed his face, visible even in the moonlight. “Where are your shoes?” She didn’t know how to explain, but before she could even try, he sat down and pulled the stout boots off his feet. “Put these on,” he commanded.

  “Oh, but you—”

  “I’ll be all right. I’m more used to it than you are, and we’re not going far.” He yanked off his thick socks. “Sit down.” She sat on a rock. It was such a relief to be told what to do and not have to decide. Will picked up one of her feet, very gently, and slid the big, blessedly warm sock onto it and then the boot. He repeated the action with her other foot.

  “Can you stand?” He held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up. “All right?” he asked huskily. He cleared his throat.

  Jane saw that his eyes sparkled even in the moonlight. He looked at her with a worried frown, and she realized that she hadn’t answered his question.

  “Yes, it’s all right,” she said hurriedly, and took a tentative step. She winced.

  “Do you need to rest a little more?” he asked. “I think you should warm yourself at the fire, but if you want to sit a little longer—”

  “I can walk,” she said.

  “Good. Come with me.” He moved slowly, a supporting arm around her waist, and Jane gritted her teeth and hobbled as well as she could. They were on a path strewn with pine needles, a path that Jane didn’t recognize. After a short time Will stopped, his grip on her tightening to warn her from blundering on ahead. He peered warily to his right, to his left, and then nodded and stepped forward. She realized that they were crossing a road, scored with ruts in the mud, and she picked her way carefully across them, her feet sliding painfully in the too-large boots. A flash of orange caught her eye, and she saw the little coach that Isabella had been so proud of lying on its side, one of its wheels shattered against a large rock.

  She realized that Will had not said if Isabella was hurt when they had found her. What if she had been injured—or even killed—when the coach overturned? She wanted to ask but was afraid of the answer.

  They continued on quietly, Jane gritting her teeth, and as soon as they arrived at the other side of the road and were in the sheltering woods again, Will relaxed visibly. “It’s safe to talk now. Here, sit down and rest for a moment.” He helped her down onto a fallen tree and then sat next to her. The relief of getting off her feet was immediate.

  The sky was lightening in the east. “They’ll be wondering where you are,” Jane ventured after a moment.

  “Can’t be helped,” Will said. “You need to rest.” He put his warm hand over hers. She didn’t pull away, as she knew Mamma would expect her to, but after a moment dared to raise her eyes.

  He looked at her intently, and as she gazed back, wondering what he saw that kept his eyes fixed on her, he leaned forward and kissed her. It felt as though that kiss was something she had been waiting for, and the warm thrill of it made her forget, for a moment at least, the pain in her feet and the worry over Isabella and the fear of the men on horseback racing over the countryside in search of her stepsister. She reached up and touched Will’s cheek, the way she had at the fair, and then kissed him back.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about what I said that day at the fair. I just had to make sure those girls wouldn’t tell my mother. She’s...” She hesitated. She’s not well? She doesn’t understand? “Her mind—there’s something wrong with her mind. I have to protect her. It’s not because I was ashamed of you.”

  He drew her closer with his warm arm. “I think I was angry because you were saying the things I was thinking. I don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

  “Because I’m a Montjoy? Will, that doesn’t—”

  “No, silly. Not because of your name. Because you’re so pretty and fine, and I’m so rough.” She pushed herself out of his embrace. She hadn’t expected mockery, not from him, not now, but to be called pretty and fine, in her faded finery, and after the way those girls had looked at her... “What do you mean, my fine looks?” He appeared confused. “Are you trying to tell me that I look pretty like—” she forced the words out “—like Isabella?”

  His lips twitched, and she started to rise, but he grabbed her arm. “No, of course not. She’s pretty—of course she is, anyone with eyes can see that—but in the way a kitten is pretty, or a wildflower. But you—no, you have something different.” She felt herself turn even redder as his gaze wandered over her. “You have that lovely thick hair, and your face shows who you are inside, strong and fearless. Your mouth isn’t like her little pink one, true, but it’s wide only because you laugh and talk. Your hands are rough because you work with them, and take care of people with them. You’ll still be beautifully yourself when that pretty kitten has grown up to be a nice-enough cat and the wildflower has faded.”

  Jane put her fingers to her cheek as though to feel the shape of her own face. Was Will telling the truth? But before she could question him, he had wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her, once on each cheek, and then on the mouth, where he lingered until her head swam.

  With an effort she pushed herself away. “Let’s go. They’ll be wondering where you are.”

  Soon they emerged into a clearing, where a small house stood, smoke curling from its chimney. “Oh!” Jane realized where she was. She had never before approached the Foresters’ house from this direction and hadn’t recognized the path. She heard a familiar whicker. Tied to a tree, looking tired and bedraggled, stood Mouse. For an instant, dread chilled her even more than the cold that was making her shake. “Will—”

  But he wasn’t listening to her as he pushed open the door. His mother, still in her nightdress, her hair pulled back in a braid, held up her hand for silence and pointed at a little form curled up on the hearth rug. A pale brown ringlet escaped from the rough blanket around what had to be a sleeping Isabella. Jane’s kne
es went weak with relief.

  “What were you doing out there in the cold, dressed like that?” the woman asked in a low voice, and then, a little louder, “And what happened to your shoes?” Jane sank down on a stool without answering and pulled off Will’s boots. Her arms were shaking so that she could hardly manage. “Keep the socks on,” Mistress Forester said. “Hold your toes closer to the fire.” The woman knelt in front of Jane and rubbed a foot briskly. Jane yelped and tried to jerk away as pains like hot needles jumped through her toes, but the woman held her ankle and continued. “That means the blood is flowing still.” She moved to the other foot and did the same. “I don’t think it’s cold enough for frostbite, but it’s best to make sure.” She removed the socks, rubbed soothing salve on Jane’s feet, wrapped them well in bandages, and then slid them into a pair of soft slippers. The relief made Jane suddenly sleepy.

  A tap on her shoulder made her look up. It was Annie, holding a steaming cup out to her. Jane took it carefully and sipped at the herb tea. Soon she stopped shivering and had to fight against the urge to fall asleep in the sudden warmth and comfort. Will sat in the shadow of the huge mantel. She ducked her head to hide a smile; she imagined he was trying to keep his face hidden in the darkness, the way she wished she could do.

  “Tell us what happened, child,” Annie’s mother said. “We couldn’t get anything sensible out of the little one.”

  Jane tore her eyes away from where Will sat and told them the events of that awful night, ending with “After Isabella ran away, the prince ordered his men to follow her and bring her back.” Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what that meant. She had been so caught up in worry over Isabella that she hadn’t thought what would happen if the king’s men couldn’t find her. If they had taken all the livestock belonging to the people of the woods merely out of greed, how far would they go when urged on by the anger of that prince, who had been humiliated in front of a crowd of partygoers? Would he tell them to burn down houses, or even kill people?

  “Oh—Will...” she stammered, but he ran out the door, calling to his father as he went. Jane heard the sound of a cow being urged out of its stall, and then Mouse’s soft whicker. Will must have been taking them to some hiding place deep in the woods.

  She shot to her feet as another thought occurred to her. The prince must even now be on his way to her own house. “I have to leave.” Her voice felt thick. “I have to get home and tell Mamma. They’ll be there soon—I know they will.” She sat down again and pulled off the slippers.

  “Wear these,” the woman said, handing her a pair of stout clogs. She didn’t try to dissuade Jane from leaving, for which she was grateful.

  “No.” They both turned toward the hearth, where Isabella was now sitting up, her pale hair fluffy around her face.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Jane paused.

  Isabella stood, wrapping the blanket around her small form. “It’s my fault they’re coming.” Her voice, although as high and thin as always, was resolute. “I’ll go back to the prince and tell him I’ll marry him. That way he’ll leave everyone alone.”

  Jane knew that once she would have told Isabella to go ahead. She would manage to run the house without having to worry about the girl sitting in the hearth, with one less mouth to feed, one less person to pretend for. Once, Jane had wanted things to turn back the way they were before the golden-haired girl came, bringing all the change that had happened since then.

  The way they were? a little voice whispered inside her. With the house falling down, and Mamma pretending not to see it, and you and Maude working yourselves to death, and Mamma pretending not to see that either? Is that really what you want?

  She took a breath, knowing that whether she spoke or remained silent, she would regret it. Then the words slid out. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you. We’ll go home and face him together, with Maude and Mamma.”

  Isabella folded the blanket without answering. She turned to Annie’s mother and dropped as perfect a curtsey as the one she had performed in the ballroom the night before. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, and before Jane could utter another word, she was out the door.

  Chapter 25

  Jane caught up with Isabella before the first turning in the path. “Why didn’t they find you on that first part of the road, before it split to the village road and the town road?” Jane asked. “The king’s men, I mean. There were so many of them!”

  “I hid,” Isabella answered without slowing down or even glancing at her. “I drove into a barn. My carriage barely squeezed through the door. I waited there until they went past me. I don’t think it occurred to them that a whole carriage could fit in a barn, and they didn’t even stop. Another time, when I thought I heard horses coming, I hid in a grove of trees. I thought they would see my white dress, but they never did, just like I was invisible. I think I was, Jane! Then I saw them go up the hill, and I kept on toward the village, but we hit a rock or a rut or something, and the carriage wheel broke. I wasn’t hurt, so I unhitched Mouse. I would have ridden her, but she was limping.”

  “How did you find that house—the Foresters’, I mean?”

  “I didn’t find it by myself. A fairy led me to it.”

  “A fairy? They don’t do that. They lead people away from safety, not to it.”

  “This one did,” Isabella answered. “It was a fairy. It was a girl fairy, with long, curly hair. She was tall, even taller than your mother, and after my carriage wheel broke she appeared in the road, and she took Mouse’s bridle and led us down a path to where there were lots of trees to hide in. We waited while the soldiers went past. I know she was a fairy,” she went on, forestalling the next logical question, “because she didn’t speak. Fairies don’t know how to talk like people. And then she took me to the little house.”

  Jane ducked her head and smiled as she picked her way around a mud puddle. She wondered how Annie would like being taken for a fairy. Not much, she thought.

  They walked more and more slowly; both were tired, and Jane suspected that Isabella’s feet hurt as much as hers. The weak dawn sun barely brightened their way through the thick trees, and more than once they stumbled on a rock or a tree root.

  “Why did you help me?” Isabella’s voice was strained. “Back there at the palace, I mean. Why did you help me run away?”

  “Why wouldn’t I help you? You couldn’t get away by yourself, and once I saw how awful that prince was, I knew you could never marry him.”

  “Yes, but you must have known that helping me would put you in danger. Why would you do that when you don’t even like me?”

  “But I do like you,” Jane said. She felt she needed to be truthful, so she added, “I didn’t at first. Not when you came, and you wouldn’t do any work, and you acted so spiteful to Maude and me, and you thought you were above us—”

  “Me? But it was you, not me! You thought I was stupid because I didn’t know how to do the things that you do, and you know how to take care of things, and everybody likes you, and you’re so pretty even with your worn-out clothes.”

  “I never thought you were stupid. I thought you were... Never mind. It’s over now.” She would have to get used to the notion that she was pretty.

  They paused at the gate. Jane looked up at the drive. All appeared quiet. She saw no horses, no soldiers. Just as the thought And no prince formed in her mind, she caught the thud of hooves behind them. With a wild cry, Isabella fled into the barn. Forgetting her half-frozen feet, Jane grabbed the edges of her skirt and lifted the hem to her knees, and ran to the house as she had never run before, cutting across the grass, stumbling but never falling. Part of her seethed at Isabella’s desertion—seethed, because she had thought that the girl had finally started to take responsibility for her own actions—even as another part of her burned with shame at her own complicity in Isabella’s ap
pearance at the ball.

  She flung herself at the heavy front door, and as it grated open, Mamma and Maude burst from the South Parlor. “See, Mamma—see, I told you she’d be back,” Maude babbled as Mamma enveloped Jane in her arms, still covered in slippery blue-and-white silk.

  Much as she longed to relax into those arms, she knew she couldn’t. “Mamma, they’re coming,” she said, and Mamma stepped back.

  “They won’t hurt you,” Mamma said, and the determination in her tone made Jane stand up straighter. “No matter what happens, I won’t let anyone hurt my girls.” She glanced around. The cold look in her eye reminded Jane of a mother hen spreading her wings over her chicks when a hawk flies overhead. “Where’s Isabella?” A trumpet blast pierced the air before Jane could tell her that she had deserted them, leaving them to clean up her mess, just like the girl she had been before and not the new Isabella that Jane had thought she had started to know.

  Mamma pulled herself up straight. “Come, girls.” She strode, tall and proud, cold command glittering in her eyes, to the door. Once more she was Lady Margaret Halsey, heir to a long line of proud barons and fierce soldiers, and Jane and Maude trotted to keep up with her as she threw open the huge door.

  But even the newer, stronger Mamma drew back at the sight that greeted them. The prince, his face impassive, was seated on his white horse in the drive. With him were half a dozen men, one of them raising a long horn to his lips again. “There is no need,” Mamma said sharply. “We heard you. We are all here.”

  The prince’s stony blue eyes ran over them quickly. “All? Are you sure this is all of you?”

  “I have two living daughters,” Mamma said. “Jane and Maude. You see them before you.”