Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) Page 6

  She did not have a looking glass in her room, but she hoped she at least looked more presentable than before. Another rummage through the closet brought her up empty of anything else. She only owned two grey dresses and the blue. As well as the pink ribbon, two sets of old boots, and a shawl on colder days. What she owned the most of was a never-ending collection of aprons to protect the few dresses she had. Quickly, she hung the grey dress up on a peg in the back of the closet and tucked the old boots inside too. Once everything was neat, she began to shut the door. But then saw something glint within the cracks of the wooden floor.

  What is that?

  Stooping down, she poked and prodded and pried free an old brass key. She gasped. Holding it within her palm, her mind searched through countless memories trying to place the thing. Where had she seen it before? It looked so familiar. But what was it doing up in the attic rooms? It was almost as if it were meant to be something very important. But she could not remember what.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

  She jumped.

  “Ella? Ella, are you in there?” asked her stepmother.

  Frantically, Ella looked around for a place to hide the key. “Yes,” she replied as she slipped it into her boot.

  Lady Dashlund opened the door just as Ella stood up. Her stepmother’s gaze went from the top of her smooth bun all the way down to her boots. “And where do you believe you are heading to dressed in such a fashion?”

  Ella gulped.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “WELL, ANSWER ME, GIRL!” Lady Dashlund stepped into the room.

  Ella moved a pace or two back. “I was just trying this gown on, searching for different options.”

  “For?”

  “I—uh…” Her hands began to shake. What could she say? Her mind went blank.

  “Well, speak up! You were trying on a gown instead of doing your chores because...?”

  “Oh, my chores are done! I finished them a quarter of an hour ago.”

  “Ella, if you are complete so early in the day, perhaps I need to give you more ways to keep you occupied from wasting time in your room.” She took another step forward. “Why are you dressed like you are? And why are you hiding it from me?”

  “I—I was hoping I could go to the ball,” she blurt out.

  “You?” Lady Dashlund gave out a sharp bark of laughter. “You were hoping to go to the ball? You, who have never been presented at court, hoped to attend one of the most elite galas of the year? Incredulous!” She threw her arm out. “And what were you wanting to wear? This?”

  “I—uh, well, I do not have anything else.”

  “No, no, you do not.” She chuckled and put her hand on her hip. “And why do you believe you would be wanted at such an assembly?”

  “I do not believe I would be wanted necessarily. I was just wishing to go. Perhaps stay in the background and watch.”

  “Oh, Eleanoria, do you have any idea how pathetic you sound? Any at all?”

  Ella looked away.

  “Of course you do not.” Lady Dashlund then surprised Ella by saying, “What is that?”

  She followed her stepmother’s gaze to the ball invite setting upon her dresser. “I—oh.” She wanted to lie, but knew it would be futile. “It is an invitation to the ball.”

  “A what?” She stormed up to the dresser and grabbed the missive. Reading it over, she gasped and waved it about. “How did you come by such a thing? How? Who sent this to you?”

  “The queen.”

  “Yes, I see that. You are specifically invited and mentioned here. But why would she do such a thing? How does she know of you?”

  Ella’s knees began to quiver. She knew she must protect John at all costs. “I do not know. I received it from a castle servant the other day.”

  Her stepmother whirled around, her skirts whipping about her legs. “Why would the queen request your presence, of all people, in a specific inquiry for you to attend? It makes no sense. Though you will have to attend.”

  Ella’s heart stopped. “I will?”

  “Of course you will!” She spun back around and then gasped. “And you must wear one of your stepsisters’ dresses. That one simply will not do.”

  “I must?”

  “Yes! Do you think the queen would want the daughter of Alan Woodston to be dressed as a servant at the ball? Yes. I must, to save face, allow you to wear something decent. Though, heaven knows you will more than likely ruin the thing with your hideous manners.”

  “Oh, Stepmother! Thank you!” Ella rushed forward to hug her and then awkwardly halted, clasping her hands in front of herself instead.

  Lady Dashlund sneered. “Do not become too eager in your thanks. You will first pay for the right to attend such an event and wear such costly apparel. And you will be forced to attend etiquette lessons as well.” She sighed. “Such an inconvenience, but I suppose it is well I saw this invitation, for who knows what would become of us all if I had not.”

  “Would something have happened if I did not attend?” Ella had not thought of this.

  “Eleanoria, if the queen has specifically invited you to attend, you go. And until we understand her reasons for having your presence there, one must not assume anything but that she as commanded, albeit nicely, your attendance.” She tapped her finger upon her mouth. “Though, someone has brought your name forward. Someone has made her remember Lord Dashlund’s daughter—there is something amiss here. And when I find that culprit, the one who is clearly wreaking havoc with us all, when I find what lark they are playing at, they will pay.”

  Ella remained silent, not even daring to breathe out loud. Clearly her stepmother did not apprehend she was speaking of such things openly.

  After a few more moments of mutterings in the same vein, Lady Dashlund blinked and glanced over at Ella. She motioned with her hand to leave the room. “Go. Go get something to eat. I came up here to speak with you and invite you to partake of something.”

  “Thank you.” Ella curtsied and brought her hand to the door. “Do you need anything?”

  “I need you to be gone so that I may think!” roared Lady Dashlund as she sat down upon the bed. “Now, go, before I change my mind.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  ***

  ANTHONY PACED IN THE apple orchard as he absentmindedly tapped a fallen branch against his leg. He was fairly certain his mother knew who he had come to meet. If she had not figured it out yet, she would shortly. It would take a simpleton to place Eleanoria Woodston’s invitation procured by him as the possible girl he was visiting. Though he did include a few other names so as not to seem too evident, but she had already invited them and so had only filled out one more invite—Ella’s. She had to have known. She had to.

  He stopped and flicked the branch against the trunk of the tree nearest him. Would his mother really accept her if he loved her? Would his father? There was no reason for them not to. Granted, she was not a princess from another kingdom to secure loyalties, but she certainly came from one of the wealthiest families in the land. However, it was not likely she would be bringing any monies with her to the marriage. Especially if Lady Dashlund had already sold her horse, then there probably was little or no value at all placed upon the girl. Her stepsisters, on the other hand—he shuddered—probably had very handsome dowries.

  No matter. His mother had always told him if he truly fell in love, they would not stop it under any means. He smiled. How he loved his father and mother. They had their faults, yes, but their hearts were so good. Even his father was so generous and kind. It was not fair to have one of the best hearts in the world, only to lose him so soon. What did that signify? What was the point of taking such greatness from this earth when he could do so much more alive?

  His mother did not know, but Anthony had slipped into his father’s room earlier that morning. He was asleep in bed and so did not stir when he came to hold the king’s hand. Not so long ago that hand had been full of strength and valor, now it was frail
and limp.

  Anthony had pressed his lips to his father’s knuckles and urged him silently to get better. He needed his father—he needed this man so very much. The whole kingdom did. But even that simple act, the act of holding his hand, did not wake the man up.

  After a few minutes, Anthony had stood, wished his father a good morning and brushed it all aside. Leaving to dress himself and prepare for the day. By the time he had met his mother, he had nearly forgotten all about that moment with his father—even then, it was easy to tease her to see if he could distract her from the questioning of Ella and allow her to reveal the truth of his father.

  The truth his father would not last the month.

  Anthony stepped backward into one of the trunks and sunk slowly to the ground, his knees giving way as he hit the dirt.

  Urgh! He whipped the branch against the side of the tree and tossed it out into the orchard.

  What does it matter if the king were dying? Let us celebrate by throwing a ball for the whole kingdom to dance and be merry!

  Why?

  Why must they live in this farce?

  Why cannot things be real—forces met and faced and challenged? He folded his arms and placed his head upon them. He loved his parents, oh, how he loved them. Their life, wit, charm… laughter. But he needed more sometimes.

  Sometimes he needed true strength as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AFTER ELLA HAD GRABBED some bread and cold meat, making a quick lunch of it, she collected a few of the pastries she had helped create this morning and brought them down to the orchard to share with John. It took a moment to locate him, he was tucked among the back trees and sitting upon the ground.

  As she approached, she saw he was in a moment of deep reflection. She halted.

  Should she turn back? Should she announce her presence? Hesitant on what to do, she stood there for some time in the middle of the orchard before she concluded with his actions and downhearted posture that perhaps he did need someone to speak to. Quietly, she walked through the grass and dirt to sit down beside him, placing the pastries and the napkin they were folded in, next to the tree. “Hello,” she simply said when he looked up.

  John did not say a word; his green-brown eyes traced her features as one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile.

  She could see great worry deep within him. Nudging her arm against his, she asked, “What is wrong?”

  He continued to stare at her, those long lashes hooding his eyes for a moment, and then opening to reveal great pain as well as the worry.

  “John, what is it?” she asked, her heart lurching. “Whatever has happened, share it with me so that I may carry some of your burden. It is not fair to shoulder it all on your own.”

  He suddenly leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth.

  Ella gasped, her mouth moving forward, clinging to his. She could feel his hand come up and hold her shoulder, his other arm going around her back to bring her in closer to him. Her nerve endings exploded in a warmth of delicious sparkles all over. Never had she felt such an onslaught of emotions and life and brightness as they bounced and flickered upon her. This was heaven. This was where she wanted to be always.

  She pulled away first, her lungs needed precious air, but found it hard to comply with the quivering gasps her mouth was taking. She looked at him, her eyes soaking in every emotion he bared for her to see. He, too, was having a hard time breathing.

  But it was she who spoke first. “Forgive me.”

  John shook his head. “Do—do not apologize. Something that beautiful should be celebrated, not pitied or forgiven.”

  “Can I ask why you kissed me?” she asked, her eyes begging his lips to do so again.

  “I do not know. I only knew that if I did not right then, I might have lost the gumption to do so.”

  A surprised chuckle burst right out of her. “Indeed?”

  “Yes.” He smiled, his arm still resting around her waist.

  “So now will you tell me what is wrong?”

  He pulled her in close, turning her back to nestle against his chest. She heard a long exhale of breath and felt the strands of hair near her ear move. “I do not know what to tell you. Where to start. Even if I could share, I would not know how to.”

  “And you said that I did not trust people.” She grinned and snuggled in a bit closer, loving the sound of his voice vibrating through his chest into hers.

  “Touché.” He took another breath and then answered, “It is not that I do not trust, it is simply I have never been taught to share. I do not know how to. I only know how to hide my fears and heal others.”

  She found his hand near her waist and brought it up for both of hers to hold on to. “Why do you not start at the beginning?”

  “The beginning?”

  “Or the most pressing. What is it you wish to share more than anything, but do not know how to express as you wish?”

  “What do I say?”

  “Exactly what is on your mind.”

  “My father is dying,” he burst out.

  Her whole body froze a moment, before she whispered, “I know what that is like. Go on. Tell me more.”

  John tightened his hold around her as his jaw came to rest on the top of her head. “I love him—I love my father so much, as much as I love my mother. But neither of them will admit that he is dying—not even to themselves.”

  She almost asked if perhaps that was a good thing, if it was better they did not focus on the negative situation, but then stopped herself.

  “They tell me he is fine. But I know otherwise. I see it. I see that he is fading fast. Oh, Ella,” he whispered as he placed a kiss on top of her hair, “I know he will die in just a few weeks, if not days.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He clasped his forearm with the hand she was not holding. “He is already gone. He cannot move from his sickbed, and this morning I was with him for several minutes and he did not wake up. Not once. Even when I held his hand.”

  “Oh, John. I am so sorry.”

  He held her tighter. “I worry about so many things. I worry about how to take care of my mother and his responsibilities when he has gone. I worry if I can do all he needs me to do without him there guiding me and helping me through it. I worry that I will never be able to get over my grief of him passing, or how I will cope without our walks and hours of talks and laughter. I worry I will not be half the man he was and many will blame him for that.”

  “Do not be so hard on yourself; you are better than you think you are.”

  He whispered, “But mostly—mostly I worry that I will never forgive him for letting his pride kill him. For not coming forth and asking for help. For not saving himself when he had the chance. And for leaving my mother and I to pick up the pieces after he has gone.”

  Ella sat silently with him upon the ground for some time. Eventually, she rocked very slowly back and forth, back and forth within his arms. He followed her lead quick enough and they were soon swaying together, allowing the moment and their hearts to heal what the other could not.

  When he stilled enough to calm his troubled mind, she turned around within his arms and sat upon her knees. Coming face to face with those glorious hazel eyes, she reached her hand up and placed it upon his shoulder. With her other hand, she brushed aside the light brown locks of hair that had become mussed from his fingers running through it. When her eyes met his again, she said simply, “Thank you. Thank you for sharing with me.” She then leaned down and kissed his nose. “You are more wonderful than you believe you are.”

  Confusion flitted across his features.

  “You do not believe me?” She grinned slightly and then said, “Here, I shall show you how I think of you. Would you like that?”

  “You want to tell me how you feel about me?”

  She thought about it and then smiled a genuine smile. “Yes. Something similar. It is more how I see you.” She leant closer and set her arms upon his shoulders, her mouth just m
ere inches from him. Then she kissed his brow and said, “This brow of yours, it protects a kind and curious mind; a mind that cares for and thinks of so many other people than just itself. This is a mind that truly sorts out the trials of others and finds ways to make their life easier. It is a selfless mind. I do believe I love your mind.”

  She pulled down a bit and kissed his nose. “This perfect nose leads you where you want to go. It offers you direction and safety. It is a nose of a leader—not of one who is self-possessed but of one hoping to direct himself well and be all he can be.”

  She skimmed her lips over to first one cheek and then the other. “These cheeks, oh, how I love these cheeks. They hold within them a captivating smile. An easy and cheerful grin—one that forgives others and happily lives in this world, learning how to cope with all of the muck he has been given. These cheeks are what allow you to press on, allow your humor to shine through.”

  She then kissed each of his eyes. “These eyes see so much more than anyone does. They see past the pretense and shadowed life someone is crafting about them to the truth and the heart of the matter. They know and understand so much more because they see so very much more. These eyes even saw me, when no one else did. How I love your eyes.”

  Using her hands, she turned his face first to one side where she kissed his ear and then to the other. Once she kissed him she whispered, “Your beautiful ears hear the words no one dares to speak. They know a soul and listens for a heartbeat that needs lifting, a life that needs saving and an outlook that needs revisited so that they may feel the rays of sunshine upon them once again. Your marvelous ears hear all that cannot be told.”

  Pulling back she then tilted his head up and kissed his jaw. “This jaw is stubborn, it is strong, it is a man who will do right at any cost and will not stop until a wrong is righted. It is loyal, it is good, it is proud, but, oh, so very worthy. How I love your firm jaw. It is exactly what every man should have—what every man should be.”