by Lee Hayton
Still, it made it nicer and brighter for us as we went about our work. A house-party full of tarnished silver awaited us. And when, finally, somebody popped their heads inside to question Cindy’s presence, we just swept our hands over the abundant evidence she was needed. Add to that the magic phrase, “she’s working for free,” and they darted away to their next task, satisfied.
We giggled at the little deception, and it truly lightened all our spirits. If my mother ever popped her head into our room, she would have seen us hard at work but light of heart.
The sunshine had decided it was the primary guest at our activity. It streamed in a wondrous shade of yellow-white to hit upon the polished stone of the floor. Even the gray slate that usually absorbed the sunlight as though it were a hungry beast and the rays were its only food reflected them back. A gift that turned them from dull and dark into sparkling bright, catching the tiny shards of quartz in their makeup. As brilliant as the silver pile when we were done.
Occasional crashes from outside made it clear that the party would present a hazard to the worker’s health, even if the party guests were safe as houses. At one point a chandelier was dropped, the lovely tinkle of breaking glass lost in the crash from the metal structure supporting the gleaming beads in place.
Mess, noise, hustle, bustle. Even though we were no longer truly attending, excitement for the event started to creep into our bones.
When our mother came to collect us, bending her creaking knees down to the floor to help us finish off the last few pieces, we were happy. The walk home was a pleasant trip that made even mother skip for a while out of sheer joy.
And then we walked in through the front door of our cottage to see the white dress I’d coveted, bartered for, and hidden, displayed in pride of place on the dining table.
“Erik,” my mother said cautiously. “What’s that?”
He turned with a wide grin only barely covering his malice. “I found it, in the hen house.”
She shook her head, but he nodded and turned to look at us three girls. “Maybe God put it there, maybe some sad wretch too jealous of her sisters to let them go to a ball while making sure she could.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t know. I can’t fathom the ways the female mind works or if it even does. But you, my dear,” he pointed his fat finger at Cinderella. “You’re going to the ball.”
“There’s no time, Erik,” my mother protested. The attempt was doomed to failure, and her tone of voice knew it, even if she didn’t. Her words were flat like they’d already submitted to fate and were about to stagger forward to be beheaded in retribution. “And unless I know where you stole that dress from, no one from this family is dressing up in it.”
My stepfather spun on his heel so fast it took my breath away. “Mary, I suggest you hush now.” His voice was so low and gruff it sounded like the rumble of a cliff-fall far away.
“I—” My mother kept her mouth open as though other words would follow. But they didn’t. After a minute passed in silence, she closed it again.
“An excellent choice, dear wife. Now, Cinderella. It’s time to get you ready for the ball.”
“What about me?” Anastasia demanded, stamping her foot. “Why should she go, when my dress was destroyed, just the same as hers?”
I put my hand out, trying to catch her arm in warning, but she glared at me, so angry her corneas were glowing red.
She turned back to our stepfather. I would have admired her persistence and courage if her struggle had been better placed.
“Well, now. Why are you staying so silent, Zelda? Got nothing to say?”
I shrugged and kept my gaze firmly on the stone tiled floor. I had already heard my stepfather’s accusation. I didn’t need it repeated with more certainty.
Maybe Anastasia had missed the implications of his words the first time. Maybe her greed to go to the party and her frustration that Cinderella was chosen muffled her ears. Now that she’d already made her feelings known, her hearing was more keenly in tune to what he was saying. She turned to me and in a fit of pique and fury, gave me a shove so that I fell back into the cinders of the fireplace.
“Why do you always wreck everything?” she shouted. “Why aren’t you ever happy with what you have? Why do you always try to take what’s mine as well?”
Her plaintive cries hurt me more deeply than the physical results of my fall. Was I a bad sister? Had I spent so much time thinking that I was being fair and looking out for others that I’d been selfish with my available hours, greedily using other people’s shares?
Don’t you find this a widespread problem, dear reader? So many people in this world take from you as they pretend to bring you gifts. Or maybe that’s just me. I hope so.
Anyway, I digress.
On the floor, I tried to move, but the hardness of the floor had met with the softness of my tailbone, and the latter was the loser. The sore loser. My legs were in spasm, unable to stand. The blow of landing had also winded me. Even if I’d wanted to reply to Anastasia’s heartache, I wouldn’t have been able to source the breath to do so.
“Daddy,” Cinderella said, tilting her head coquettishly to one side. “Let Anastasia go if she wants to. I’m happy to just play outside the castle.”
I could see his fingers twitching to strike her across the face. The usual comeback whenever somebody in the household made a suggestion he didn’t agree with. He curled his hands into fists instead, then relaxed them. Repeating the gesture until the urge to strike someone was gone.
“No. I’ve made my decision already. You’re going in the dress. Anastasia can go in what she’s already dressed in. If you really wanted to go the ball that badly, you should have treasured the dress you’ve already had.”
Anastasia ran from the house, weeping. Her lip pouting out so far, I’m surprised she didn’t trip over it. Cinderella’s usually pale face faded to a shade of white so light-colored it was almost blue.
“Help your sister get dressed,” my stepfather ordered me. I obeyed, following Cinderella into my bedroom.
Cindy was shaking, her shoulders hunching into a protective stance so deforming she looked like one of the castle circus freaks. I put my hand on her shoulder, then pulled her closer when she couldn’t stop.
“It’ll be all right,” I said, not believing that for a second. “I’ll keep an eye on you and intercede if there’s any trouble. I’m not too proud to make a scene if it keeps you safe.”
She began to calm under my gentle hands. After one last hitching sob, she nodded and looked at the dress on the bed. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yes, it’s beautiful. But the person who made it isn’t. He’s dangerous. Don’t make my mistake and get swept up by all the pretty bling in the castle. Just because the place doesn’t look like a dark sewer doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters.
We worked quickly to get her dressed. My memory tried to supply the right ways to fasten together every small, fiddly button, every delicate ribbon tie. When the dress was on, Cinderella couldn’t suppress the urge to give a twirl and make the silky skirts fly out around her in a circle. She looked magnificent in the dress, better than I had even, and I was no slouch.
“We need to get your hair pulled up,” I said. “That’s the way the ladies are all wearing it.” I brushed through her golden hair, the brush fighting against tangles that had seldom met a brush before.
With a mouthful of hairpins, I set up backcombing, twisting, and braiding, until her waist length hair was a small glowing bundle on top of her head. She patted it with one hand nervously. “I hope it stays up there.”
“It will. And if it doesn’t you’ll have a couple dozen hairpins as weapons,” I said, brandishing one in my fingers. Cinderella laughed at the tiny sword, three inches long, then patted anxious fingers against her hair once more.
“If it’s still up when we arrive at the castle, you’ll be okay. The worst that will happen is your hair turns into a bird’s nest, and the ca
stle staff make you wait outside with me. At least that way we can picnic on the lawn together.”
She laughed and nodded, and then helped me to spruce up my own clothing as best we could. I had no desire to attend the ball, but it was natural when going to a parade of single women to want to look my best.
For so long, I’d been focused on Francois and hooking him to help me sort out our trivial problem. I realized that even though the ball was dangerous, perhaps for me it was also an opportunity. Not to bag a prince, but maybe to find a nice fellow—like a younger version of Gerald. Someone who’d enjoy my company enough to raise the baby, even though it wasn’t his.
Or maybe I’d end up with another sweet-talking psychopath who’d spend the rest of my short life torturing me. One or the other.
Anastasia never reappeared, and so when the time came, Cinderella and I trudged off through the woods together. Arm in arm against the darkening night sky—my mother’s concerns translating into fear at each unaccounted noise.
For the long miles of the path, Cinderella hitched the long skirts of her dress up into her undergarments to stop it from trailing in the dirt. No matter how cute the dress, a long walk could always render it into dirty rags.
What’s that?
You’re kidding, right? I hadn’t heard that one. A magical carriage made from a pumpkin? Oh, and I suppose birds made her beautiful dress, and a fairy godmother gave her everything she could ever wish for. Next, you’ll be telling me that a girl walking miles through a dark wood at night was wearing three-inch high stilettos fashioned out of glass.
The things people believe these days. I don’t know when truth decided to go for its long walk, but it’s about damn time it came back!
The bustling activity at the palace that day resulted in a gorgeous sight when we finally drew up to the castle. Large paper lanterns were dangling from every tree, casting more light than the sun could manage at the end of a long afternoon. Even though we thought we’d timed it just right, there were many people already gathered. I’d attended large functions before, festivals and whatnot, but I’d never seen so many people gathered in one spot before.
Mothers and fathers abounded everywhere, though not invited they were putting the finishing touches on their daughters. Sending them to a meat market through the gaping mouth of the palace entrance.
Cream cards with the golden lettered invitation were clutched in sweaty hands everywhere we looked, and with a spurt of anxiety firing acid up my throat, I realized that we hadn’t brought ours. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it. My stepfather had pinned it to the wall on arrival, but it hadn’t been there lately.
I laughed then, I was so stupid. The beautiful decorations and finery had fooled me, even though I’d warned Cinderella of exactly that. If they wouldn’t let us in without an invitation, then it spared us the dangers of participation. My stepfather might get a fine, but given the multitude of people here, we could probably sneak out of that on a clerical error. The poor doormen were so flustered with ladies pushing through that they didn’t look like they could keep track of themselves.
“Over here,” a man called out, and Cinderella and I turned toward the sound. A short, fat man with rosy cheeks that looked like a heart attack waiting to happen beckoned us with a chubby finger.
We walked toward him, and he held out his hand. “We forgot the invitation,” I said. “But we’re happy to stay outside on the lawn.”
“Well,’ the man said, sniffing his button nose, “you certainly won’t be coming inside. You on the other hand…” He turned to Cinderella and eyed her up and down as though she were a prize horse at auction. I almost expected him to reach out his hand and rub it up and down her withers. “You can come inside anytime.”
My lip curled, and I jerked Cinderella away. Next moment our withdrawing steps had us right in front of the entrance. A harried doorman caught Cindy by the arm and spun her into the castle while shoving a palm into my face. “Not you.”
He twisted my arm and gave me a hard push in the center of my back, sending me stumbling out onto the lawn. I tottered for a moment, then gave in to gravity and fell to my knees.
A hand appeared in front of my eyes, and I looked up to see Gerald staring down with a concerned frown. I grasped hold with gratitude and let him pull my ever-increasing bulk to my feet.
“I need to get close to the window,” I said. My panic levels were starting to rise. My heart was beating faster, my forehead beaded with sweat. “My sister’s in there.”
“No, she’s not,” Gerald answered, his face a study in confusion. “Anastasia was in there, but she stormed out a few minutes ago. I think she may have headed home.”
My eyes widened. “Anastasia was here?”
Poor Gerald just looked confused, and I shook my head to clear it. “My stepsister, Cinderella, she’s in the main hall now. She’s scared, and she’s on her own.”
I tried to push closer to the castle. If I could peer through the thick glass of the windows, I could reassure myself everything was okay. Or take action if it wasn’t. But the thick crowd of people pressing toward the entrance was ever-increasing. There was no way to get closer. Not at my frame and my height.
“Wait a moment,” Gerald put his hand out onto my arm. “Where’s the dress?”
I shook my head. “Cinderella’s is wearing it. My stepfather . . .” I trailed off. The whys and wherefores didn’t matter now. “I gave it to my stepsister to wear. Gerald,” a thought suddenly occurred to me, “would you be able to get inside and keep an eye on her. If Francois takes a shine to her, let me know.”
He stared at my face for a long moment, raising one hand to gently cup my cheek. A gesture of kindness amid such depravity made my heart swell over with tears.
“Of course, I will. Anything you need, you just ask.”
He abruptly snapped his hand back to his side and turned on his heel. Between his uniform and his tall stature, the crowd parted easily before him like a warm knife slicing through butter. A perfectly polished hot, silver knife.
After an hour or two, the crowd started to thin out. The bedraggled remnants not good enough for the castle, clumped together in chatty circles, getting merry on the generous helpings of wine. I was finally able to push close to the window, but found to my frustration it was worse than useless. The press of bodies inside formed a barrier I couldn’t see past.
I walked back around the side of the castle, close to my earlier position. Now, I had to trust that Gerald would be able to warn me if Cindy was in any danger. Trying to relax, I grabbed a plate of food from a passing manservant. Although the perfectly manicured lawn had been churned to mud by the steps of so many guests, I found the cleanest spot I could manage to sit and eat my meal.
###
“Zelda!”
The sharp cry from a familiar voice had me leaping to my feet. Neck craning, I looked about to see where Cinderella’s high-pitched call had come from.
She was running toward me from the entrance. Her hair disheveled so that tendrils fell in wispy dreams around her face.
“Zelda, help me. I need to get out of here!”
I saw Gerald in the distance behind her, doing his best to stop an exiting stampede of people using only his body as a barricade. I grabbed out for Cindy’s hand, and together we turned to push through the surging crowd.
Long-necked lolly-gaggers pressed toward the entrance, desperate to see the reason for the disturbance. They crashed into an opposing wave of guests, running outside for the very same reason.
I turned, lost in the crushing bodies, and saw Francois standing on the top step of the castle, pushing Gerald aside as though he were no more than a bothersome fly. My urgency increased, but my strength and bulk didn’t. I still couldn’t make any headway, nor could Cinderella beside me.
“Bring her here,” the prince commanded. His voice rang out clearly through the night air, cutting a swathe through the tumultuous cacophony of other voices. All around us, people
hushed all the better to hear him.
As they stilled in concentration, finally Cinderella and I made headway through the people. We stumbled through the final barrier wall of bodies and staggered out to empty ground.
“My shoe!” Cinderella cried as her bare foot came down on a shard of broken glass. The gleaming slivers were dotted everywhere, their numbers increasing as the wine levels in the vat dropped lower.
There was a cry from the crowd as the prince stormed forward, bent, and picked up an item from the ground. He held it aloft, so the people gathered around could see it. Despite the oohs and the aahs, in his hand was just the flat and dirty shoe that had been on Cinderella’s foot a few moments before.
“Handle that like glass,” Francois ordered, handing it off to a waiting servant. The man cradled it as though it were a precious jewel waiting to be tucked away in a safe.
“Catch her,” the prince yelled, pointing directly at Cinderella. Her face flushed with fear and anger, and we turned tail and ran.
The crowd poured after us like molten steel forming into a dagger. Although much of the people at the party were women, there were male servants scattered throughout the crowd like dogs on a scent. We’d never outrun them on foot, especially not with one of Cinderella’s already cut and bleeding. When we were out of sight around the first bend in the path, I grabbed her arm, and we crashed into the thick, dark woods.
After a few yards of foliage had covered our tracks, we slowed our gait, now more concerned with the noise we were making. Instead of blundering straight through boughs and bushes, we gently parted the branches and let them snap back into place behind us.
Trying to find our position by the moon shining above, I turned in a direction that would eventually lead us home. Poor Cinderella jerked as her bare foot encountered another layer of trouble but gamely followed on. Soon, we were so far into the forest that we could no longer hear those chasing us on the path.
“Here,” I whispered, catching her hand and leading her to the safe seat of a rotting log. I could hear small insects scuttling away from the insult of our bottoms resting on top of their homes. More worrisome were the crunches of dried leaves as something larger moved about stealthily in the distance.
