All the Ever Afters

by Danielle Teller

  I brought Ella near the fire and sat her in my lap as her father did. She left a smear of black on my bodice, but I did not chastise her. Charlotte and Matilda looked up from their work. I knew how it bothered them to see their stepsister behaving like a baby; they wanted me to force Ella to stop sniveling and accept her punishment bravely. In that moment, however, I felt nothing but pity. For all her beauty and cleverness, Ella had a deformed wing, which she hid by never trying to fly. Charlotte and Matilda, like common wrens, flitted competently about their business. They could not imagine that something so ordinary could be out of reach for their exotic and much admired stepsister.

  “There now, Ella, it is all done now.” As I stroked her hair, I could hear her muffled sniffles. I put my hand under her chin and tilted her head back gently. I could not help but smile at her black face. It reminded me of Fernan, how tenderly he had called me his cinder girl. I wondered how different my life would be if he still lived.

  “You are the cinder girl now,” I said aloud.

  Ella snuffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her chest heaved with a deep, ragged sigh.

  “My little cinder Ella.” I pushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her brow. “I am sorry that the lesson was hard, but I do believe that you have learned it.”

  She nodded.

  “Go, then. Run and tell Gisla to have a bath drawn for you. When you are clean, I want you to be sure that all of your gowns are put away properly. Then you may come down to supper. Ronald is stuffing some hens for tonight.”

  “Will Father come to supper?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He never comes to supper anymore!”

  “He is not feeling well.”

  Ella huffed, and with an impatient flick of her skirt, she climbed the stairs. Matilda watched her go through narrowed eyes.

  The Cinderella nonsense began with a squabble about horseback riding. The Wenslocks were a horse-loving family, and they took pride in their equestrian abilities. Abbess Elfilda insisted that Ella be taught to ride, and since Emont’s health was failing, it fell to me to supervise her lessons when Lady Rohesia was absent. I did not know the first thing about horses, but I was qualified to make sure that Ella got in the saddle. This was no easy matter, because unlike her mother, Ella was frightened of horses.

  I brought Charlotte and Matilda with me to the stables so that they might have a chance to ride also. As a young woman, I had dreamt of galloping through the countryside on the back of a noble white palfrey, my hair streaming in the wind. Plodding in tight, dusty circles near the fly-ridden stables at Aviceford Manor was a far cry from my youthful vision, but it still pleased me that my daughters had the opportunity to do something that I never could. I might have even joined them if I hadn’t been concerned about looking foolish. My authority over the servants felt tenuous, and I did not want to do anything in front of them that might be perceived as undignified.

  Ella took lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Our manor was too small for a real marshal, but Peter, who took care of the livestock, was also the head of the stables. He was a kindly giant of a man who knew the animals well and could calm the most skittish colt with the soothing rumble of his voice and a gentle hand.

  One sultry August afternoon, I brought the girls to Peter for a lesson. Black clouds threatened rain, and Ella dragged her feet in hope that a thunderstorm would force us indoors. I would have been happier indoors myself, for the air was close and oppressive, like the fevered breath of a sick child upon my face. Charlotte’s gown had a dark sweat stain across the back, and Matilda’s kerchief was damp from mopping her face. Though Ella complained, she looked fresh under her wide-brimmed hat, her face a mask of serenity.

  Peter met us outside, holding the bridle of Ella’s caramel-colored pony, Lovely. Two docile old nags for Charlotte and Matilda were tied to the fence nearby. The older girls lit up when they saw Peter and quickened their pace to meet him, while Ella lingered behind.

  “There are my three favorite young ladies!” Peter said with a grin. He stroked his silver-streaked beard with his free hand. “I have got Rosie and Copper saddled and ready for you two.” He beckoned to Ella. “Come and give Lovely a snack! She misses you.”

  Peter held a carrot out for Ella while Lovely snuffled his arm and shook her luxurious white mane, stretching her neck toward the treat. Ella cringed and put her hands behind her back.

  “Come now!” Peter leaned forward, proffering the carrot. “Your pony is happy to see you!”

  Ella took the carrot and held it toward Lovely at arm’s length, her face turned away as though she could not bear to watch. Charlotte and Matilda rolled their eyes when the pony nibbled the end of the carrot and Ella snatched her hand back with a shriek, dropping it on the ground. Peter picked the carrot up patiently and fed the eager horse. He bowed his head to me in greeting.

  “Good day, my lady. You are well, I trust?”

  “Yes, Peter, thank you. Good day to you.”

  He turned to the girls. “Are you all ready for a ride? I thought we could walk together out to the back pasture.” Peter whistled, and a boy emerged from the dark entrance of the stable.

  “Help the young ladies onto their horses. Come, Lady Elfilda, show me how well you can mount your brave steed.” Though Ella was twelve, people often spoke to her in a singsong voice they might use for a little child.

  Ella shrank from the towering man.

  “Ella!” I said sharply. “It is time to get on your horse!” I wanted them to leave so that I could find a cool place to sit.

  Charlotte and Matilda were impatient also, as this would be their first time in the back pasture on horseback. Charlotte frowned at the dark clouds gathering overhead while Matilda hoisted herself onto her tired-looking nag without help from the stableboy.

  Ella responded to my sharp tone of voice by approaching Lovely. Peter gave her his hand, but she pretended that she could not reach the stirrup with her foot. He guided her to the proper position, but she then made a show of not being able to balance or pull herself up. Peter attempted to steady her, but Ella miscalculated and tipped farther to the side than he could have expected. The kind man assumed that she was genuinely trying to mount the pony, not wriggle free. With a thud, Ella landed on the dusty ground. She began to cry, and then she rubbed her face with her dirty hands.

  “Oh look,” Charlotte said under her breath, “the cinder baby is back.”

  Matilda was less charitable and said loud enough for Ella to hear, “What’s wong, wittle Cinderella? Did the scary pony toss you from her back?”

  Ella let out an angry growl.

  “Poor Cinderella. Her life is so hard.”

  “Stop it! Why are you always mean to me?”

  “Matilda, enough.” I wiped the sweat from my brow. “Ella, stop crying and get on your horse.”

  Peter helped her to stand. I should have said something reassuring, but I was too annoyed.

  The first fat drops of rain pelted down, raising tiny puffs of dust around us. Ella pulled her hat low and made herself as small as possible by wrapping her arms around her shoulders and ducking her head. She hated to get wet, and water on her face was particularly abhorrent.

  The patter quickened to a steady roar. There was no avoiding getting soaked. The rain was not cold, and once we surrendered to the drenching, it was pleasant. The clean water washed away our grime and sweat, and for the first time in days, I felt cool and refreshed.

  Peter tried to shield Ella with his large hands, but it was useless.

  “Turn your face to the sky and let the rain wash away the dirt,” I said to Ella. “If you stop fighting it, you will find that the rain is quite nice.”

  Ella shook her head and hunched lower. Lovely whinnied and pulled at her reins, so the stableboy led her inside. The nags just flattened their ears and tucked in their tails.

  “Very well,” I said to Ella, “we can go back to the manor and get some dry clothes.”

&nbs
p; “There will be no riding lessons today!” Peter said.

  Charlotte’s brilliant smile was just like her father’s. Water poured off the edge of her hood and dripped from her face. “More’s the pity; it would have been fun to ride in the rain.”

  “We should take off our shoes and run through the back meadow!” Matilda said. “Come on, Ella. Join us! We are already wet, so why not have fun?”

  Ella shook her head again.

  “I shall keep calling you Cinderella if you won’t come,” Matilda teased.

  “I don’t care what you call me. I want to go inside.”

  “Suit yourself,” Charlotte said. “Come on, Matilda!”

  With that, Charlotte and Matilda ran away, laughing. Ella watched them go, her face vacant.

  “Come along then, let’s get you to a dry place,” I said.

  When she reached for my hand, I pretended not to notice. I adjusted her hat to better keep the rain off of her face.

  “You look like a drowned mouse!” I said with false cheer.

  Ella followed me home in silence, hunching her shoulders and skirting puddles.

  20

  Godmother

  The girls never did ride together, but discord did not always reign in our home. The holidays were merry, particularly Saint Crispin’s Day, when we went into the village for the parade, and all three girls distributed gifts to the children. For weeks before, they toiled to make a basketful of simple toys, and their faces reflected the delight of the little ones as they handed out treats.

  Christmastide was also a jolly time at Aviceford Manor; the girls looked forward to the feasts all year. We provided a Christmas meal for the villagers, and Charlotte, Matilda, and Ella always volunteered to help with serving food and drink. Ella was everyone’s darling. “Such a beautiful angel!” they exclaimed. “She grows more lovely every year! She is even fairer than her mother, God rest her soul!”

  On Sundays, when Ella had no lessons, she spent most of the day with her stepsisters. They chattered and braided one another’s hair, or sipped cider, or sang songs. Sometimes Matilda read aloud from one of Frère Joachim’s books. On such occasions, they were the picture of sisterly love.

  My union with Emont had happy moments as well. When the weather was fine, he sometimes took me for strolls through the orchards. He would tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow and tell me stories from his youth, such as how he learned to joust from his older brothers, or how he stole a bucket of honey from the beekeeper and dared his sister to eat it all. He had been fond of his siblings, and he was sorry to be estranged from them. I encouraged him to visit his family’s estate, but he never did. I believe that he was too ashamed of his drunkenness and his failures, one of which was his marriage to me.

  My husband visited my bed occasionally, and he was an affectionate if maladroit lover. Despite the rarity of his visits, he claimed to be attracted to me and praised my appearance; while I was never a great beauty, I looked youthful into my fourth decade, with a narrow waist, strong limbs, and a full head of thick mahogany hair. Emont was not appealing to me, but I did my wifely duty. No child resulted from our couplings.

  Emont’s health began to decline after the first five years of our marriage. He had always had gaps in his memory and poor balance caused by drinking, but I noticed that these problems became more of a constant for him, whether he was drunk or sober. He would give me a piece of news, and then moments later, repeat the same news to me again. After a conversation with Wills, he might say to me, “Where the devil is the chamberlain? I have not seen him all day.”

  When Ella was thirteen and still in the habit of visiting her father’s chamber in the morning, she discovered him naked, trying to climb out of the window. She ran to fetch me, and when we returned, he was huddled against the wall, clutching a blanket to his chest.

  “Emont?” I said softly.

  He looked at me with frenzied eyes. “They are coming,” he whispered.

  “Who is coming, dearheart? We are here to help you.”

  Emont glanced at Ella. “Who is she?” he asked, still in a whisper.

  Ella looked horrified. “Father! How can you not know me?”

  “Agnes?”

  “No, Emont,” I said soothingly. “I am Agnes, your wife. This is Ella, your daughter.”

  Ella’s face contorted as though she were about to cry. I touched her shoulder and said, “You should go. I will take care of him. He will be fine in a few moments.”

  Ella ran from us, and though her father recovered from the episode, she never visited his chamber again in the morning. She stopped seeking out his company during much of the rest of the day as well.

  Despite his failing memory, Emont continued to drink heavily. Charlotte and Matilda learned how to deflect him; they understood when it was best to ignore him and when he needed to be pacified. Ella, by contrast, had little natural perceptiveness or sensitivity to moods. As she got older, she became increasingly upset by her father’s behaviors, and her lack of calm made Emont worse. Ella kept Emont at arm’s length, and the schism between father and daughter widened after an unfortunate conversation about Lady Alba. Charlotte had asked about the Wenslock insignia on the tapestries in the great hall.

  “That is my mother’s crest,” Ella said. “The gold color represents virtue and generosity. The annulet is the symbol of fidelity.”

  Emont snorted. “Fidelity!” he said.

  Charlotte paid no attention. “Do you remember your mother?” she asked.

  “I remember that she was beautiful.”

  “Of course she was beautiful,” Matilda said tartly. “We can all see that from the paintings.”

  “She was a lunatic,” Emont said.

  I placed my hand over Emont’s. “I used to work for Lady Alba’s mother,” I said.

  Charlotte smiled. “I know, in paradise. You always say that Rose House was like heaven.”

  “My mother was not a lunatic!” Ella said.

  I squeezed Emont’s hand, hoping to wake him to the trouble he was causing. “Now, Ella, your father didn’t mean it,” I said.

  “She was stark raving mad,” Emont mumbled.

  “My mother was kind, generous, virtuous, and beautiful,” Ella said with a quaver in her voice.

  “She was a maniac,” Emont said.

  “It does not have to be one way or the other,” I said. “People are not good or bad. God has created man in His image, but we are the inheritors of original sin. We each hold within ourselves both the dark and the light.”

  Matilda smiled at me sympathetically.

  “You are vilifying my mother to make yourself feel better,” Ella said to me.

  “Why would I do such a thing?” I asked sharply.

  “You want to make it seem like there was something wrong with her, because she was a noblewoman and you are a commoner. My mother was good and gentle!” She implied by her tone that I was neither good nor gentle.

  “Lady Alba was a madwoman,” Emont said flatly.

  “Why do you always take her side?” Ella’s chest heaved as she tried to keep herself from crying.

  “He almost never takes Mother’s side!” Charlotte said indignantly. It bothered her that Emont often interceded on Ella’s behalf; she thought that her stepsister was spoiled.

  “Girls, please,” I said. “Let us speak of something else.”

  “If my mother were still alive, none of you would even be here,” Ella said. “You are like great big cuckoo birds, taking over our home. If she had been here, none of this would have happened! All I have is my father, and he sides with the cuckoos!”

  “You are agitated,” I said coldly. “You do not mean to speak so disrespectfully to your father, I am certain. Perhaps you would like to take the remainder of your dinner upstairs, so that you may calm yourself.”

  “I shall! I shall take all of my meals in the attic. You want to lock me away up there, so you will have your wish!” Ella ran from the table, her silk skirts trailin
g prettily behind her as she dashed up the stairs.

  Emont stirred from his lethargy; he looked confused and dismayed to see his daughter go.

  “It will be fine,” I said. “We will speak with her later and make peace. She misses her mother, that is all.”

  Ella calmed down, but I never did quite manage to make peace. She willingly abandoned her solitude for Charlotte and Matilda’s company, but not for her father’s or mine. Ella often ate meals in the garret, as she had threatened to do. I probably did not do as much as I ought to have done to draw her out. In the moment, it was always easier, and therefore seemed wiser, to let her alone.

  After the decline in Emont’s memory, he began to suffer from bouts of jaundice and lassitude; this was followed by slow but inexorable weight loss. The change was imperceptible from day to day, but over many months, his flesh melted away, leaving him gaunt. Skin sagged from his skeleton everywhere except over his belly, which protruded, round and taut, wreathed by dark veins. By the end, his face was unrecognizable, angular and sallow with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. He lost interest in food and then lost interest even in drink. He slept most of the day and night, and I helped the servants to nurse him. One morning, shortly after Ella’s fifteenth birthday, Emont simply did not wake.

  Ella was inconsolable after her father’s death. Though she had seen little of Emont in his last months of life, when she heard that he was gone, she threw herself onto his lifeless body and wailed. After an hour, I tried to draw her away, but she shook me off and clung to Emont’s emaciated shoulders, her head against his cold chest. It was not until the moon had risen and Charlotte had plied her with an entire bottle of honey wine that Ella consented to leave. She glared at me as she stumbled off to bed, supported between her two stepsisters. It makes little sense, but I believe that she blamed me in some way for her father’s death.