Chapter Three
It seemed as if a whirlwind had invaded the household. Seven straight days of primping. Of preening. Of trying out every item of jewelry available from any story within reach. Seamstresses came and went, each more frazzled than the next. Ella ran ragged keeping up with orders shouted more quickly than she could follow.
Only one thought sustained her.
The gardens, after all these years, were finally within her reach.
And she had a plan.
She carefully studied the efforts of each seamstress who came in to work on her two stepsisters. The stepsisters immediately put Ella to work holding the pins or adjusting the cloth. But what the stepsisters saw as mindless tedium, Ella absorbed as free training on how to design the perfect dress. Every detail of tuck and nip, of fold and layer, was memorized with precise attention.
And now the day had finally arrived.
Ella had to admit that her stepsisters looked stunning. Birgit wore an elegant gown of shimmering blue, with lace along her neckline. Petra’s outfit was the deepest green. Both women held matching fans created from delicate bird feathers.
Ella’s stepmother came forward with a proud smile. “I knew you two could do it. All these years of effort have finally paid off. Now I don’t care which of you wrangles his attention tonight, but this is your one and only chance. Whatever it takes – however it comes about – one of you must be his by the end of the evening. Do I make myself clear?”
Two heads nodded. Two pairs of eyes gleamed with bright intent.
Ella’s father pressed open the front door. “Here comes the coach.” He turned to look back at Ella. “Make sure you are up and waiting for us when we return, no matter how late it is. The girls will need help undressing – I’m sure they will be exhausted.”
Ella dropped her gaze in dutiful submission. “Of course, Father.”
He gave a half-hearted wave in her direction, and then the family whisked through the opening. They stepped up into the elegant black coach. And then it was easing through the snow off into the late afternoon glow.
Ella waited at the door until they were down the lane and disappearing in the far distance.
She closed the door, her heart pounding with nervous excitement.
In a flash, she had the main dining table cleared. The crimson tablecloth, freshly laundered and ironed, was laid out along it. Ella had sketched her dress in the snow of the back yard so many times that it was now second nature. She took up a burnt twig from the fireplace and carefully drew the lines. And then she began cutting.
There was no turning back now.
As soon as the pieces were set, she sat down to do the needlework. Her fingers flew along the stitches. Where her sisters had demanded flowers and ivy, whirls and embellishments, Ella’s focus was simply on creating a dress which fit her well. After all, the outfit had precious few criteria to meet. It would need to be sturdy enough to survive the long, chilly trek down to the castle. It had to be reasonably presentable, so that the palace guards allowed her through those main gates. And, finally, it would need to keep her warm while she spent her time in the castle’s private gardens.
And when she returned?
She would need to disassemble the dress and re-sew the pieces back together to form the original rectangle. Iron it perfectly flat. Yes, there would be seams, but with the dark crimson color they would not stand out strongly. If they were noticed, Ella would explain that the cloth had been damaged and she had repaired it the best she could. If she were punished, so be it.
She would risk anything to see the gardens for one final time.
She sewed and pieced, tucked and folded. From lanes deep down the hill came the merry shouts of families and the bright neighs of horses. While some of the town could afford beautiful carriages, many others took whatever transportation they could. And for a number of families, that meant wagons with blankets laid over hay. She could hear the families singing as they passed.
The last of the voices faded into the distance.
The shadows were long by the time the dress was ready. She slipped out of her shift, put it in the corner of the kitchen, and then eased into the dress. She propped the silver tray up on the mantle to take a look at herself in its reflection.
Her mouth went round.
Her week of intense study with the seamstresses had paid off. The dress was not one-tenth as fancy as those of her stepsisters, but it was the finest thing Ella had ever worn. She had trouble believing it was really her.
She tentatively lifted a hand; the reflection waved back at her.
She glanced out the window.
Evening was sending long fingers of deep orange shadows across the ice-traced trees.
There was one item left.
She went to the back door and lifted up the weathered wooden lid of the storage box. Usually beneath were the tools she needed to care for the hens and goats. But tucked in along with them, beneath a burlap sack, was hidden her final touch.
A pair of ice-carved slippers.
She could not wear her boots with her dress – not without causing comment. So she had taken care, these past seven days, to carve two blocks of ice into perfectly-fitting shoes. They almost appeared to be carved of glass. They would be nearly impossible to walk in, of course, with their rigid form and lack of bend. Could one even dance properly in a glass slipper? In any case, for the purpose of making it past the guardians at the gate, the crystal shoes would do just fine.
She tucked them carefully in a leather bag at her shoulder. She would only put them on when she got close.
Ready for her journey, she made her way to the front door. One last glance around, and she slipped through. She drew it shut behind her.
There had been the faint hope of ask a villager for a ride, but as she approached the town proper it was clear that every home was dark and silent. Her dressmaking had taken longer than she’d hoped. There was no other option. She would have to go on foot.
Desperation soaked into her. It was a full six miles to the palace. By the time she arrived, even if she turned right around again, she would barely make it home before the family returned. And how would she have time to reassemble the tablecloth …
Her hopes and dreams were fading out of reach, and her shoulders sagged.
There was a soft nicker at her side.
She looked around in surprise.
Pansy stood there, her age showing in her thin withers, but her eyes were clear and bright. She came up alongside Ella.
Ella gave her a fond pat. “What are you doing out here, dear friend? You should be in the meadow, enjoying an evening meal.”
Pansy nudged her head toward the main road.
Ella’s brow creased. “You can’t be serious. That’s a long way for you to go.”
Pansy gave a soft nicker.
Ella gave it thought. She could just ride for a short while, after all. Maybe that would be enough to give her the time she needed.
She carefully climbed up onto Pansy’s back. “All right, girl. We’ll just take it slow and –”
Pansy ambled into a walk … a trot … and then the smoothest canter Ella had ever seen.
She twined her hands into Pansy’s mane. “Pansy! I had no idea!”
Pansy whinnied with delight, her muscles moving sure and smooth through the snow.
Ella leaned down over Pansy’s neck, the thrill of the motion coursing through her. She had heard rumors about how wonderful a horse Pansy had been in her youth, of course. How Mrs. Crabapple had made it through all types of weather to get to a patient’s side. But that had been years ago. Everyone thought Pansy was long past her prime.
Pansy was proving them wrong.
The sun was setting in shimmering crimsons and golds when they approached the towering outer walls. Ella could see the peaks of the castle proper further within, but she had little use for those. That would be where her stepfamily preened and strutted. The last place Ella would want to be was anywhere
near them. No, she had a quite different destination in mind.
She dismounted and gave Pansy a fond pat. “You go on home, now. I’ll be able to get back on my own.”
Pansy gave a rippled whinny which almost sounded like a laugh. Then she moved over to the side of the twenty-foot-high outer wall where slender tufts of grass poked out through the glistening snow. She began contentedly nibbling.
Ella chuckled. She pulled off her boots and slid on the ice slippers. The material was cold and fit snugly against her feet. Without any bend to the sole, they proved difficult to walk in. She left the boots near Pansy and then minced her way carefully toward the open gates.
The guards on either side smiled as she approached. One said, “You’re a straggler, aren’t you? I’m sure we’ve had a full four hundred girls through here, with their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters …”
The other chimed in. “Aunts, uncles, grandparents …”
Ella brought on a smile, ignoring the icy chill of her feet. “Then I guess I’d better catch up!”
The guards waved her through and resumed their watch on the main road.
Ella stepped beneath the curving arch.
It had been fifteen long years, but now that she stood within the gates, the memories came flooding back in. The towering castle keep stood a full five stories high. The road she stood on, wide enough to fit four horses side-by-side, ran through a main courtyard ringed by blacksmiths and tinsmiths, bakers and stables. It ended up right at the massive steps up into the castle itself.
She turned right.
This was the way her mother had taken her. Along the path behind the stables. Turn at the well. Then follow the slight dip, down against the side of the castle for a while, until –
Her mouth dropped open, and tears came to her eyes.
There it was.
She stumbled ahead, her ice-slippers barely hindering her now, joy lifting her. The gentle curve of the pond with its delicate ice frosting. The elegant arching of the bridge over. And, once she reached the far side –
She turned to face the castle.
She could barely breathe, it was so breathtakingly beautiful.
She was looking at the bank of two-story-high windows which opened onto the ballroom. Within she could see the whirling colors of the dancers. Blue – green – crimson – white … She couldn’t hear anything from this distance, except the rhythmic beat of the drums, but she was sure that beautiful melodies of musicians cascaded around each couple. It was all the perfect backdrop for the scene her mother had painted.
The world which had been for the two of them alone.
Time drifted by. The rustling of the leaves, the twinkling of the stars, the shimmering of the moon, it all brought her emotions out of her, rich and full.
It was almost as if she could feel her mother there by her side. The warmth of her love. The tenderness of her smile.
At last the chill of the night began to ease in through the fabric layers. She reluctantly turned -
A voice cut into her thoughts, deep and curt.
“What are you doing here?”
Cinderella - A Retelling with Strength and Courage Page 6
