Cinderella - A Retelling with Strength and Courage
Page 4
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Ella carried a pottery vase of fresh sunflowers in to her stepmother’s sitting room, carefully placing them on the corner table where they best caught the light. Her stepmother was at her writing desk, elegantly writing out a letter. Lying before her were two finished letters, each signed with the expansive “Monica” which filled the bottom of the page.
Her stepmother looked up with a curt nod. “About time you brought something new. The old flowers were looking absolutely fetid.” She waved a hand at the letters before her. “As soon as I finish this last letter, you will run down to town to fetch the messenger. These letters must get to my sisters as quickly as possible. They must hear the latest news about my dearest Birgit and Petra. The girls’ choir master told me just yesterday that they have the voices of angels.”
Ella knew the sisters’ harmonies were due to the expensive daily lessons the mother had arranged with the finest bard in the region. She couldn’t deny it. Her stepsisters had the countenances of angels and their voices matched. It was only when one looked within that one saw the blackness of their souls.
Her stepmother’s brow creased and she leaned forward. “Where are my daughters?”
“They went to the baker’s, Frau.”
A sharp grin creased her stepmother’s face, and she nodded. “Ah, the baker boy’s there alone, isn’t he? Good. The girls need to hone their skills on lesser meat if they’re to claim the ultimate prize.”
She looked back down to her letter. “If that’s all, you may go. I want that tablecloth clean and ready for tonight’s meal.”
Ella swallowed. She’d never done this before, but she was desperate. And, after all, it couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Yes, Frau. I nearly have the stain completely out.”
Her stepmother vaguely waved a hand. “Fine. Then go, go.”
Ella turned as if to go, and then glanced back. “A tinker stopped by earlier this morning, but I told him we had no need of his services and sent him on his way.”
“Rightfully so,” she snapped. “Can’t trust one of those scoundrels as far as one could throw them. We use proper artisans from the castle staff for our needs.”
“It’s just, when he was talking with me, that he said he’d come from the court at Livonia. He said that they were throwing away all their white tablecloths. The color is boring. Like leftover chaff on a fallow field, he said. The new color is deep crimson. Rich. Vibrant. He said he heard that a large shipment of cloth is being planned for our very own castle.”
Her stepmother’s head rose in sharp interest. “Red tablecloths?”
Ella nodded. “It’s supposed to improve the strength and virility of the eater. Just like spices do.”
Her stepmother tapped a finger to her lip. “The King’s planning on red tablecloths, is he …”
She pointed an elegant finger at Ella. “That tablecloth that you’ve finished cleaning? I want you to dye it red. A deep, crimson red. We will be on the forefront of this trend. If any daughters in the land are to be healthy and vibrant, then my Petra and Birgit will be.”
Ella gave a curtsy. “Yes, of course, Frau. It will be done as you request.”
She turned and moved through the door, closing it neatly behind her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she could barely believe what she had just done.
It had actually worked.
The next few hours were a blur. She shook out mattresses, cut carrots, fetched the messenger, prepared the rabbit stew, and made sure the tablecloth was the richest shade of red she could muster. At last everything was set. She nervously laid out the tablecloth so that each edge had a matching length. She carefully put each item in its exact place. The golden candelabra with ivory wax candles. The silver chasers holding the fine bone china.
She was just setting the pewter goblets in place when the door flung open. Her father’s slurred shout came. “I’m home!”
Monica drifted down the stairs, her face serenely content. She was in an ivory and gold dress with intricate embroidery along the hems. Her hair was done in artful curls which had taken Ella a full half hour to arrange. She smiled warmly at her husband. “There you are, my sweet Bruno. How was the fair?”
He laid down two bags. “I have brought even more beautiful dresses for our daughters. The expense was worth it. Soon we will have a princess in our family, and we will have everything we’ve ever dreamed of!”
His gaze drew to the table with its red cloth and his brow creased. “What is this?”
She patted his arm. “We are the setters of fashion, my dear. Every step moves us that much closer to our goal.”
He shrugged, went to the shelf, and pulled out a bottle of wine. In a moment he had it open and was filling a pair of glasses. “To us!”
Monica clinked her goblet against his, and they both took long draws.
Laughter echoed from the streets and in a moment Petra and Birgit tumbled into the room, their lips ruby red from berries. Petra was carrying a paper box wrapped in pink ribbon. The most delicious smell of apple tart wafted out of it. Petra tossed it casually into Ella’s hands. “Get this into the kitchen.” She then turned to beam at her mother. “Mama, I brought you home four apple tarts. They’re fresh from the oven.”
Monica fondly ran a hand through Petra’s hair. “Ah, Petra, you are such a smart, smart girl. Maybe it will be you who catches the Prince’s eye.”
Birgit frowned. “I thought you said it could be me?”
Monica laughed. “You are certainly the prettier of the two. Maybe he will take both of you and sleep with one every other night.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that someone catch that man and connect our family with his.”
Birgit lit up. “Is Prince Alexander finally back from the Bramburg front, then?”
Bruno beamed. “That is the news I have to share. He arrived at the castle tonight! The King is overjoyed at his safe return. He’s been away five long years, after all. He is nearly twenty-six! His father was despairing of ever seeing him wed and with heir. The King sent some sort of an ultimatum, if I hear the rumors right.” His yellowed smile widened. “It seems to have worked.”
Monica clapped her hands together in satisfaction. “Then that will mean a ball and a wife. Girls, all of our planning has led up to this moment! We must pursue these next weeks with the utmost in care. Every detail must be perfect!”
Her father patted his stomach. “But first, let’s eat. I am starving!”
Petra’s eyes went down to the tablecloth, and her mouth hung open in shock. “What is this?”