by Wendy Teller
She wondered about Ede. Did all men want sex before marriage? Certainly he did. Was Clara right? Did that make him a bad man? Maybe it did. Maybe Mother was right to forbid her seeing him. But no. If it was truly sinful would he tell her? Yes, he would tell her. He didn't believe in sin. No, that wasn't true. He did believe in sin, just, he didn't think that this was a sin.
Or something.
She wasn't sure.
She stopped at Mother's favorite potato merchant. They had sold out, so she had to find another vendor. She walked along the aisle of tents, stopping at each one that had potatoes, looking at the vegetables.
Did Ede believe that lust was sinful? He believed it was shameful, he had said so himself. Or maybe lust was not shameful, it was his visit with the lady of the night that was shameful.
She had to admire him, for telling her. She had to trust him, because he had opened his heart to her. He didn't have to. But he said he felt he had to. It was a brave thing to do.
She did trust him.
She did admire him.
Ella found potatoes that looked good and bargained with the farmer. She was not good at bargaining, at least that was what Cook said. But this time, she thought she had done a good job, and she let several coins drop into her pocket as a reward to herself. Mother would certainly scold her when she quoted a price higher than she actually paid, but how could she find out?
Besides, Ella thought it was only fair. Miklos got pocket money, but Father didn't think girls needed to have money. So she took a little when she went shopping. She never spent any, since Mother or Father would notice that she had something they hadn't provided. But at least she had the money. By now she had a little fortune, or so it seemed.
Now for the meat.
Ella hated the old meat vendor. He always called her My Little Sunshine and snickered, wiping his hands on his blood stained apron.
She found his tent, pleased that the old man was not there. In his stead, his son, a boy a little younger than she was, waited on customers.
"My Little Sunshine, what would you need?"
Ella stared at him. At least he didn't snicker. No he had a warm smile.
She made a quick decision and struck a good bargain. Maybe she should be easier on the young fellow. Maybe his father would be angry with him, angry he had not charged more. But maybe the boy got pocket money.
She let a few coins slide into her pocket and put the rest of the change in the leather purse. The young merchant wrapped the meat in paper and handed the bundle to her.
Mother had said she could get some berries if she found some nice ones. Ella walked along the stalls to where the poorer peasants sold their produce. They sat on the ground or on little benches, their plums and apricots, blueberries and peaches set in large baskets on the ground.
She walked to her favorite vendor, an old Croat woman. She liked buying from this old crone, not only because she had extraordinary fruit, but because it gave Ella a chance to practice her Croat.
Ella didn't have many words, but the old woman always helped her with the names of the produce and giggled as Ella tried to remember words.
Today she had raspberries, which Ella tasted. The burst of acid sweet filled her mouth as she bit down on the fruit. She bought a small bag, paying more for it than she probably should. Part of the price, Ella thought, paid for her Croat lesson.
Her shopping done, Ella returned to the bench where Clara sat waiting for her.
"You took forever!"
"Yes, well I had to search for potatoes. But now I'm here."
Clara pushed herself off the bench and started to head toward home.
"Do you think Maid really would steal napkins if Mother didn't lock the cabinets?"
Ella was happy that Clara was onto something other than sex and Ede.
"I don't know. Maybe, if she were poor enough."
"But Mother says she doesn't need anything, since she lives with us and eats with us. So she isn't really poor."
"Maybe she would like to buy something. A pretty blouse? To wear to church?"
"Maybe."
"Or maybe she has a poor mother that needs money."
"Oh. Maybe. Then Mother should give her money and then she wouldn't steal."
"Mother always feels short of money."
Ella thought of all the times Mother had complained, about the cost of food, of how much the dress maker charged, the need for new curtains. It seemed something new was always needed and Mother never had enough money.
"Why do you ask about Maid?"
"She just seems so nice and Mother is so mean to her. She has to ask Mother for clean linens when she changes the beds. Then Mother unlocks the closet, pulls out the clean linens and counts what is still in the closet. And Maid, she looks so worried when Mother counts. Mother counts slowly. One. Two. Three. As if they will never get to the end of the counting."
Ella had seen Mother do this a thousand times: Mother selecting a key from the chatelaine that hung at her waist, fitting the key into the lock, turning the key slowly, because the lock was untrustworthy? Or maybe Mother enjoyed prolonging the ritual, an accusatory sequence. She had keys for the linen closet, for the closet with the silver serving plates, another for the silver utensils. And of course she had a key for the little drawer in the pantry where she kept the household money. Just this morning, Ella stood, biting her lip, while Mother, fat, gray, angry Mother went through the ritual of getting money for the marketing. It was as if Mother wanted to fight.
Therese Returns
The next day, Ella was reading in her room when Therese returned from the herbalist. Her eyes were red, but the rest of her face was blue-white.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes." Therese dropped her satchel on the floor and sank onto her bed. "I just need to rest a moment, then I'll be fine."
Ella watched as the slight figure leaned to one side and then collapsed onto the coverlet.
"Therese?"
There was no response.
"Therese, are you OK?"
Silence.
Ella got a cloth from the washstand, dipped it into the bowl, squeezed out the excess water, and mopped it across the ashen face. Therese's breath came in little wisps and she cried out in French.
Ella leaned closer. "Therese? What did you say?"
Therese turned her head toward the wall. As Ella leaned over Therese, still trying to soothe her, she felt warm moisture on her hand.
She looked down.
She screamed.
A red pool of blood had spread across the white bed cover.
Jumping up, Ella raced to find Mother, who was in the kitchen counting out the silver for supper that evening.
"Mother, please come."
"Wait until I have finished here."
"Mother, please!"
Her mother looked up and studied her daughter.
"Very well. Cook, we will place everything back and start again when I return."
She replaced the utensils in the cabinet and found the proper key on her chatelaine.
How could this take so long? "Mother, Therese is sick. Very sick."
"We must have order in this house. I have interrupted my work already."
Mother wiggled the key, side to side, to get it into the keyhole and carefully turned it. Again she pushed the key side to side to get it to slide out. She stood, smoothing her skirt and walked toward the girls' room.
"What seems to be the matter?"
Ella trailed behind her mother. "She didn't feel well this morning, so she went to the herbalist."
Mother stopped, turned, and looked at her daughter. "The herbalist?"
Ella bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn't....
Mother, quickening her pace, seemed to understand everything. Looking over her shoulder, her voice loud and commanding, she said. "Go to Father's study, close the door, and stay there until I come for you."
Ella loved Father's study. He took pride in Ella's ability to read Hungarian, German
, French, even Latin and English, so he had granted her the privilege of using his study and reading his books whenever he was not there.
Mother, seeming to know what pleased Ella, usually forbade her going there.
The sweet smell of Father's pipe smoke greeted her as she carefully opened the door. Her eyes caressed the dark wood of the bookcase, filled with what she considered her books, because, really, Father never read them and neither did Miklos and certainly not Mother. Ella had taught Clara to read, just as Ede had taught her, and Clara liked to read. But she liked to be read to even more.
Ella opened the left-most of the bookcase's four doors and pulled out the Bible. It was a Latin Bible. Why the Bible? She wasn't sure. She was just drawn to it and she opened it to the most worn pages, The Song of Songs:
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth--
for your love is more delightful than wine.
Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes;
your name is like perfume poured out.
No wonder the young women love you!
Take me away with you--let us hurry!
Let the king bring me into his chambers.
The wall clock rang the hour. She loved the clock sounds in Father's study, the chimes, and the mellow beat of the gold pendulum, as if it was the heart of the room, and as long as it marked the seconds with its beat and the hours with its chime, all was well. She focused on its slender hands.
It was late.
Mother was taking forever with Therese.
Was Therese OK?
Somehow she had ceased to worry when Mother took charge of the situation, but now, now that it had been more than an hour, she wondered what was wrong.
She wondered whether she dared leave the room, which Mother had forbidden. To consider her options, she laid the book on the table and went around Father's desk to the topmost right-hand drawer, Father's candy drawer. He always kept his smoking supplies there – matches, pipes, cleaners – and a supply of the hard mint candy he liked to give out.
Ella had discovered that one day when Father had refilled his pockets from the supply in the drawer. From then on, when she was in the office alone, she would take one, for now, and two more, as reserves in case of being sent to her room without dinner, Mother's favorite punishment. Her secret supply of Father's candies had come in handy quite often. She opened the drawer, slid two into her pocket and was about to take another for now when the door creaked.
She could see Mother's silhouette standing tall, her fists on her hips.
Mother Understands
"Is Therese going to be OK?" Ella came around from the desk, pushing the drawer closed with her hip.
"I wouldn't be worrying about that hussy."
Her mother's chuckle had no humor. As she moved into the room, Ella could see her face. Her cheeks red, her lips pressed down in a frown.
"You won't be seeing more of her."
"What happened?"
"Never mind." She rounded behind Ella pushing her toward the door. "To your room. Now."
Ella tried to look at Mother over her shoulder, but received a non-too-gentle shove.
"No dawdling."
Ella walked down the hall, up the stairs, and into her room.
Mother followed her into the room and stood, blocking the door with her ample figure. "Sit."
Ella sank down into a chair, staring at her mother.
"So, I cannot trust you to follow any of my orders."
Ella stared. What had happened to Therese?
"I tell you to stay in your room, and you go into the kitchen. I forbid dinner and you eat anyway."
She held up her fist, as if she would slam it into Ella. "And then, most important," She shook her fist. "I tell you not to see Ede, and you find a way to see him."
Ella kept her eyes locked on Mother's.
"What do you have to say?"
Ella straightened her spine. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"You admit it, you brazen hussy."
"Yes, I did." She was tempted to say 'and I saw him alone' knowing that would upset her mother even more, but she didn't know what happened to Therese. She didn't want to get her in more trouble.
"And you saw him alone."
Mother already knew! Good! "Yes, I did."
"You idiot!"
Mother sighed, unclenched her fist and put her hand over her mouth. She dropped her hand and stared at her daughter.
"Do you think we will ever be able to find a husband for you if the town knows you see men alone?"
So that was the trouble. Mother was afraid of gossip. "I don't want a husband!" But she had said yes to Ede. Well, Mother didn't need to know that.
"That's what you think. You're as much a hussy as your friend Therese."
Therese was not her friend, she was Mother's employee.
"I cannot control you."
Ella looked her mother in the eye.
"I cannot trust you to stay in your room by telling you to do so. So I will lock you in this room."
Ella sat, her hands in her lap, her eyes on her mother's.
"Cook will bring you your meals."
Ella stared.
"Maid will tidy up."
Ell's situation had become clear. She was imprisoned.
"I will unlock the door for them. I will wait while they are here. I will relock the door when they leave."
Ella wondered how long this incarceration would last.
"Father and I have to decide what to do about you."
She would be here for a while.
She wondered what Father would say. She thought of him as her ally. He was proud of her, proud that she could speak and read and write so many languages, proud that she could do math in her head, proud that she was, as he said, his little beauty. He would find a way out of this.
"Until we decide, I will make sure you do not leave the room." Mother's skirts swished as she turned and left, pulling the door shut behind her.
Ella could hear her put the key in the lock, wiggling it from side to side. She heard the bolt engage as the key turned, heard the key jiggle as it was removed.
Ella Considers Her Situation
Ella stood by the window. She could open it and escape, but the room was on the third floor. Maybe she could use her bed sheets to lower herself to the ground, like Huck Finn. That made her smile. She had Huck here to keep her company, and A Tale of Two Cities. She would not be lonely or bored.
She looked over at her bed. The linens from one bed would not be long enough to lower herself to the ground. She could tie her linens with Therese's. She looked at the other bed. An uneven stain, the size of a serving platter, spread across the white cover, the middle bright red, the edges drying to a brown. She didn't want to touch that.
She turned her back, looking out the window. Dusk was settling over Fő út.
On nice evenings, such as tonight, young men would line either side of the broad road and young women, the maids and the cooks, the waitresses and the washerwomen, would walk up and down smiling at the men. This evening's parade was in progress.
Some couples formed, the man wrapping his arm around the young woman's waist. These women didn't need matchmakers. They found their own mates.
Maybe it would be better to be one of these women.
Not ladies.
Just women.
If she were to escape from the window, she would have to find a time when the street was deserted. She hadn't really paid attention to the street until now. Maybe the street would never be deserted. Then she would have to find another way out. But tonight she would keep watch, she would find out if Fő út was ever empty.
It cheered her, having a plan, a goal: escape!
But what would she do once she escaped? She wasn't sure. Find Ede? She could go to his house and see if he were there. Would he know that she was "in jail"? On the wedding day he was able to find out. Maybe Clara would tell him. Or Miklos?
What was Miklos thinking? Was he upset that Therese w
as gone.
Was Therese gone? Ella assumed that she had been let go. How would Miklos feel?
Probably he wouldn't care.
She was drowning in fatigue. She lay down on her bed.
Ella woke to the sound of banging. She sat up, confused, the room dark, the lamps not lit.
"Open up!" Miklos's voice rasped. "Open up now!"
She got up and tried to open the door, but it was locked. Her memories of the last hours, Mother's anger, her imprisonment flooded her mind.
"Shh!" Maybe Miklos could help her escape, but she didn't want him to wake the house. "Mother has locked me in. I can't open the door."
She heard jangling, a key slipping easily into the lock and turning, the bolt dropping open. The door flew open to Miklos holding a lamp, his eyes wide, scanning the room. "Where's Therese?"
"Gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes. She was ill...."
Miklos rushed to Therese's bed. His hand hovered above the bloody stain. "What's this…?"
"And I told Mother."
Miklos turned toward his sister, his lips trembling. "You told Mother? You fool!"
Ella backed away. "Therese was ill. She was very ill and I didn't know what to do."
"You idiot." He turned from her and went to the window. "She had an abortion. Of course she was ill."
"An abortion?"
"When did she leave?"
"What's an abortion?"
He looked at her, his face twisted with a nasty smile. "You don't know what an abortion is, Virgin Mary?"
"What is it?" She glared at him.
"I've no time to educate you now. When did she leave?"
"Oh, Miklos, I don't know. Mother came, told me to go to Father's study, and when she finally got me, maybe an hour or so later – the clock only chimed once – she said I would never see Therese again, called her a hussy."
Miklos pulled the drawer to Therese's bed cabinet open and riffled through the contents, stuffing several papers in his pocket. He straightened and headed to the door.
