Ella closed her eyes and tried to speak as her mother had, “Mother dearest, Mother dearest. Heavy doth life weigh upon my heart. Bend as I may, break soon I shall, that doth I fear. Mother dearest, Mother dearest, over me I beg thee to watch.”
Late that evening, Ella dropped to the kitchen floor and curled up next to the hearth. The familiar smell of wood ash and cinders comforted her. Ever since her father had died, she had no bed to lie on but was required by Irmgard to sleep next to the hearth among the cinders. Not surprisingly then, she was always dusty and dirty. Claudia and Yvette mocked her and called her Cinderella.
The next day, Ella rose before dawn and began her daily routine in which she built fires, drew water, and cooked breakfast. After cleaning the kitchen, Ella went to Irmgard’s bedroom, where she opened a cabinet and pulled out the chamber pot. She carried it downstairs and out the front door to the sewer running down the center of the cobblestone street. She dumped the contents of the pot into the shallow canal, where along with the sewage from numerous neighbors, the waste would eventually flow into the river upon whose bank the city had been built. As Ella entered the house again, she heard excited voices from upstairs.
“Cinderella!” Irmgard yelled. “Cinderella, come quickly!”
Having learned the hard way not to tarry when summoned, Ella ran up two flights of stairs. Over the years, she had raced up and down so many stairs that she no longer felt her heart pound or her breath shorten.
Ella found the two sisters and their mother chattering in Irmgard’s room.
“Get out our best gowns and wash them,” said Irmgard. “We have just received the most wonderful news. The king has commanded a three-day festival, with a grand ball to be held each evening!”
Yvette clapped her hands in delight. “All the eligible young women of the kingdom are invited.”
Ella imagined what a grand ball would be like. More than anything, she wanted to experience such a wonder—but deep inside she realized that would never happen.
“That isn’t the most exciting news,” said Claudia, who then paused to make sure Ella was listening. “After the balls, Prince Willem will choose a bride!”
“My dears,” said Irmgard to her daughters, “I have no doubt the prince will choose one of you.” She gazed at her children with obvious pride. “Just think, Cinderella, someday you could be serving the nation’s queen!” Irmgard paused, as if savoring that moment.
“I don’t see why that would be a challenge for him,” said Yvette as she struck a pose.
Claudia shoved Yvette aside and took her place. “You’re right,” she said as she reached back and flipped her curls to the side. “No challenge at all.”
“The ball is in just two weeks,” said Irmgard, “so we have little time to prepare. In normal times, I would have a new dress made for each of us, but I can’t think of even one good dressmaker who survived the plague. We will have to make do with what we have.”
All afternoon, Ella washed clothes, rinsed them, and hung them out to dry. As she toiled, she admired the gowns Irmgard and her daughters were to wear—clothes so beautiful and fine compared to her drab, gray shift. She recalled the wonderful dresses she had worn when her mother and father had been alive. After the death of Ella’s father, Irmgard took all of her nice clothes away from her. Ella realized that by now she had outgrown them anyway.
Over the next two weeks, Ella wondered if she could somehow go to the ball herself. After all, she was no longer a little girl, and this might be her one and only chance to experience such a fine occasion. Just to see such an event once could provide her with a lifetime of memories. She wondered if she had the courage to ask Irmgard.
On the day of the first ball, after helping dress Irmgard and her daughters, Ella summoned her courage to speak. “I would like to go to the ball, too.”
For a moment, no one said a word.
Irmgard glanced at her daughters, and all three women burst into laughter.
Ella clenched her jaw.
“You?” said Irmgard. “Don’t be silly. Only eligible young women are invited. That means maidens of high quality. Certainly not kitchen drudges. Now come along, you must brush our hair.”
An hour later in the kitchen, Ella approached Irmgard again and said, “The king has invited all eligible young women to the ball. I’m not married, so I’m eligible. I would like to go, too.”
Irmgard, Claudia, and Yvette stared at her.
“Cinderella,” said Irmgard, “get back to work.”
Ella stood up straight. “Please. May I go to the ball?”
Irmgard glanced at her daughters and then looked at Ella. “My dear, the sooner you accept your lot in life, the better. You shall serve me for the rest of my life, and when I am gone, you will have the honor of caring for one of my daughters in her own household.”
Ella wondered if she was in for another beating, but she noticed that Irmgard hesitated, with a brief look of concern, possibly fear.
Whatever had crossed Irmgard’s mind, she seemed to shake off the idea. She grabbed a bowl of lentils from the table and dumped them into the bucket of ash. Then she upturned an hourglass. “If you can pick the lentils out of the ash within the next hour, you may go with us.”
Ella felt crushed. Over the years, she had become proficient at separating lentils from the ash, but she knew she couldn’t accomplish the task in a single hour.
She wandered to the garden and plopped down on the grass in front of her mother’s grave.
Her gaze fell on her mother’s marker, noting the date of death and that of her birth. Ella recalled how old she had been when her mother had passed away. So many seasons had come and gone since that fateful day. Ella did some quick calculating and realized that this very day was her eighteenth birthday. That the day would arrive without a party, a cake, or even a cheerful greeting from anyone didn’t surprise her, as she hadn’t had any of those since the death of her father.
Certainly, she had grown over the years. She was every bit as tall as Irmgard and Claudia, if not Yvette. She was no longer a little girl, and she had been aware of how her body had changed, especially during the last year. At first those changes had alarmed her, but she came to accept them, especially since Claudia and Yvette experienced the same changes. Ella sighed, thinking how uneventfully she had passed from adolescence to womanhood. She closed her eyes and wondered what difference, if any, that might make in her life.
After a few minutes, something brushed against her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw an orange-and-black butterfly. Out of the hazel tree flew another butterfly, a yellow one. Then a blue one. Then green, and brown, and white. A flurry of butterflies seemed to explode out of the hazel tree. They fluttered around Ella, tickling her until she couldn’t help but giggle with delight. One by one, the butterflies departed across the garden, flitting from one flower to another.
Alone again, Ella stared at the hazel. She thought of her mother’s dying words and wondered why she did not help.
Speaking in the manner taught to her by her mother, Ella said, “Mother dearest, Mother dearest, brave and kind all these years have I been. To the king’s ball, go I must. Mother dearest, Mother dearest, for your help I thee ask.”
Ella sat quietly. After a while, she wondered if her mother would respond. Then Ella realized that she hadn’t actually asked for anything. Her mind reeled. In all her years of hardship and servitude, she had asked her mother for nothing other than to watch over her. Maybe, as a child, that security was what she craved most.
Ella thought carefully about what she needed. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and concentrated. A rushing, rhythmic sensation flooded her mind, almost as if she could see and feel her own blood pumping through her body. She focused all her attention on that for a moment, fascinated by the experience.
She heard a sparrow chirping in the orchard. Attracted by its ch
eerful tune, Ella concentrated on the bird. Now she could feel blood flowing through the bird. From inside the sparrow, she looked downward and saw the entire garden, the roofs of homes beyond the wall, and the castle next to the river. She could sense happiness within the sparrow. The bird stopped singing, and Ella could tell that it was hungry. It leaped into the air and flew past the wall. Ella’s oneness with the bird faded and then vanished.
Remembering the lentils in the ash, Ella refocused her attention. “Mother dearest, Mother dearest, the lentils that in the ashes lie, have the turtledoves for me pick. The good in the dish they must put. The culls eat they may.”
Ella opened her eyes and held her breath.
Her heart ached when nothing happened.
Then she heard a whir of wings . . . heading toward the house! With nerves tingling, she raced to the kitchen.
Two turtledoves flew through the window and perched atop the bucket of ash. They flapped their wings and tipped over the bucket. One of the turtledoves pecked in the ash and picked up a lentil. He flew to the table and dropped the lentil into the bowl. The other dove did the same.
Ella grabbed the bowl and set it on the floor next to the pile of ash. On hands and knees, she scooped and scraped ash back into the bucket while the doves pecked and picked. As sand from the top half of the hourglass continued to flow toward the bottom, the last lentil plunked into the bowl.
Ella laughed and blew the doves a kiss. She snatched up the bowl and the hourglass, and then she raced through the house to find Irmgard.
Thrilled that she would be going to the ball, Ella stood before Irmgard and proudly presented the full bowl of lentils.
Irmgard paused, mouth agape. She glanced at her daughters. “No, Cinderella, you may not go to the ball. You have no proper dress, nor do you have appropriate shoes. You don’t know how to dance. You would be ridiculed!”
Claudia and Yvette snickered.
Ella stomped her foot. “But you promised!”
Irmgard’s jaw set, her eyes flashed with anger, and she grabbed Ella by the arm. Then she paused for a moment, as if reconsidering a decision.
Ella was sure she was about to receive a beating.
Instead, Irmgard propelled Ella through the house to the kitchen. She poured the bowl of lentils back into the bucket of ash, went to the pantry and returned with another bowlful, and then she dumped those into the ash, as well. Upturning the hourglass again, she said, “If you can pick two bowls of lentils out of the ash in one hour, you may go with us.”
Irmgard strode from the kitchen, her daughters following.
From down the hallway, Ella heard them laughing, and she slumped to the floor.
She struggled to her feet and headed back to the cemetery. There she stood before the hazel tree, wondering what she should do next. After a moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her mind flooded with new sensations, and she said, “Mother dearest, Mother dearest, the lentils that in the ashes lie, have the turtledoves and other birds for me pick. The good in the dish they must put. The culls eat they may.”
This time Ella didn’t hesitate. She raced back to the kitchen and dumped the bucket of ash onto the floor. The turtledoves flew through the window, and Ella set both of the bowls on the floor near them. As the turtledoves pecked and picked, two pigeons joined them.
Ella scooped ash from the floor, and a pair of red birds landed on the floor, then blue birds, brown birds, and yellow birds. In hardly any time, both bowls were full of good lentils. Ella swept the last ash from the floor and dumped it in the bucket.
She blew a kiss to the birds, grabbed the bowls and the hourglass, and then ran to find her stepmother.
Irmgard and her daughters were in the foyer, and they were dressed in their newly mended gowns. Their skin was powdered and their hair in high style.
As Ella approached with the bowls of clean lentils, Irmgard eased into a chair. She stared at the bowls and rubbed her forehead. “No, Cinderella, you may not go to the ball.”
“But you promised!”
With a look of disgust, Irmgard said, “You are just like your mother, you little—” Irmgard stared at Ella as if seeing her for the first time.
Ella felt a chill run down her spine, and she glared at Irmgard.
Irmgard winced and doubled over.
Alarmed, Ella stopped her focus on Irmgard, wondering if the woman was ill.
Irmgard rubbed her forehead, staring at Ella with obvious anger.
But Ella could see something else in the woman’s expression. Gently, Ella focused on Irmgard and sensed her thoughts. This girl is just like her mother! Probably a witch. Even worse, she might be a temptress. If the mother hadn’t died in the plague, I would have exposed her to the authorities, and she most certainly would have been burned alive!
Ella staggered and felt her mind spin. She barely heard Claudia talking to her.
“You can’t go to the ball,” said Claudia. “You don’t have a proper dress.”
“You don’t have appropriate shoes,” said Yvette.
Claudia giggled. “You’re filthy, and your hair is a mess.”
“You can’t dance,” said Yvette.
“Everybody would laugh at you,” said Claudia.
“You would embarrass us all!” said Yvette.
Irmgard rose awkwardly from her chair, and she turned away from Ella. “Come, my beauties, we are off to the ball.” She slammed the door, and the house fell silent.
Ella stumbled out the back door, through the garden, and then fell onto the grass in front of her mother’s grave. Her mind reeled at the thought that her mother had been a witch.
And Irmgard was worried that Ella was a witch, too? Just the thought of it made her stomach turn.
No, no, thought Ella, she must have misunderstood. Or Irmgard’s fears had to be unfounded. Ella thought of her mother all those years ago and tried to imagine her as a witch. No, she thought, there could be no truth to Irmgard’s beliefs.
Then Ella remembered that the turtledoves and the other birds had helped with the lentils, but that by itself, she reasoned, was no proof of anything. As far back as she could remember, she had felt a closeness with birds. The turtledoves had been her friends ever since her mother’s death.
Ella thought about that for a moment. Irmgard’s jealousy of her mother explained a lot, but it also raised questions. A chill ran down Ella’s spine.
She shuddered and then chuckled. Her mother a witch? What nonsense! If her mother had been a witch, that would challenge all the terrible things she had heard about witches.
Ella closed her eyes, hoping to block out all thoughts of witches. This idea was too much to comprehend.
Her mind returned to Irmgard and her daughters hurrying out the door to go to the ball. Ella sighed. More than anything, she wanted to attend the king’s ball, but deep down she realized that Irmgard, Claudia, and Yvette were right. She was filthy, and her hair was a tangled mess. She had no beautiful dress, nor the proper shoes. If she went to the ball, everyone would surely laugh at her. She should just accept her fate as a household servant.
After a while, Ella sat up. The kitchen had yet to be cleaned for the evening. This was her life, and the sooner she accepted that, the less miserable she would be.
Ella found herself staring at the grave marker, saddened to think that her mother had forsaken her, offering her hope where none was justified. How mean to raise her daughter’s expectations only to have them dashed. How cruel to send the birds to sort lentils from ash when Irmgard would never allow Ella to go to the ball. She began to resent her mother, wishing she had never heard her last words.
Ella laughed. What had her mother said? “Possible for thee art all things, . . . but in thyself first thou must believe.” What foolishness, thought Ella, against the likes of Irmgard and her daughters.
“Of thysel
f be proud,” Ella recalled her mother saying, “but the help of others fail thee not to seek.”
Ella scoffed. She had asked for assistance. The turtledoves and the other birds had indeed helped, but a lot of good that had done. Irmgard and her daughters were off to experience the king’s ball, while she was left to clean the kitchen.
Maybe, thought Ella, I’m just not good enough to go to the ball. Maybe I’m not pretty enough. She knew that Claudia and Yvette were beautiful young women—at least Irmgard frequently told them so. Ella’s mother and father had told her that she was pretty, but Irmgard and her daughters treated Ella like she was an ogre.
Ella studied her hands. Her nails were dirty, but her fingers were long and slender. Her skin was dusty, but it glowed with vitality. She raked her fingers through her hair and cringed as they caught in grimy tangles, tugging at her scalp. For a dress and shoes, she had only a simple gray shift and clogs.
Ella glanced back at the hazel tree, which had grown so tall and strong over the years. Her mind raced as she realized that she, too, had matured. More of her mother’s words came flooding back to her, “. . . in thyself first thou must believe.”
Ella pondered that thought for a moment. Do I believe in myself? Irmgard and her daughters had repeatedly called her ugly, stupid, and lazy. I wonder, thought Ella, if I have come to accept that as truth?
Ella took a deep breath. First, I must believe in myself. But what should I believe? She thought of the king’s ball and how she would like to see the ballroom in the king’s castle. And hear music from the royal orchestra. And see ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest. If I could see a grand ball just once, she thought, I would have a memory I could cherish my whole life, even if I never make it outside the house again.
Ella sighed. Who was she kidding? How could she possibly go to the ball?
Her mother’s words came back to her again. “Of thyself be proud, but the help of others fail thee not to seek.”
Proud? thought Ella. I’m anything but proud of being a household drudge. But am I being stubborn in not asking for help? I asked the turtledoves and the other birds for help in sorting the lentils from the ash. They certainly came to my aid.
Cinderella Page 2
