Cinderela, Part 2

The bell, again. I groaned and blinked myself awake at the little silver bell that had been my awakening tool since I could remember. The little tinkle that told all the servants it was time to get moving along, at five o’clock in the morning. I must have had a good night sleep at some point in my life, but at the moment, nothing was coming.

Most servants were excused from work on Sundays, but not in this household. My mistress was concerned that, with that freedom, her household would turn against her. Of course, we probably would, at least on Sundays. If I could do anything I wanted for one day, what would I do? I would laze around in the beds of my mistresses, piled high with soft, soft blankets and pillows thick enough to smother you in your sleep. I would try on all the pretty dresses they were allowed to wear, and dance with princes and dukes whose names I knew not. I would make the mistresses jealous by dancing with all the handsome men, with them fighting for a dance. I would . . .

I shook my head. Foolish talk, foolish talk. It many times accompanied me through my day tending the Brats. Sometimes I thought it was the only thing that got me through a day of the courtiers who stopped by the house to pay attention to my mistresses. They were all handsome, well-dressed, and as conceited as possible. I did not know what made my mistresses attracted to these boring, brainless wastes of flesh.

I groaned and rolled off my cot, yawning as I wandered into the bathroom. Iisha shared a room with me, as did Caroline, Suzanne, Patricia, Lily, and my mentor Marianne. She had taken care of me since my mother died, but I don’t remember that. I don’t remember anything before I was halfway to nine. Marianne said I was tired of listening to my mistresses, and ran outside to run away, but slipped on the marble steps of the garden. And lost my memory.

Marianne woke up at around four thirty, for reasons unfathomable, and was the one who rang the little silver bell for us each morning. Caroline, Suzanne, and I took our showers at night, when we needed them. Patricia, Lily, and Iisha took them in the mornings. I shared the bathroom with Iisha in the morning, and we were always the last ones awake and up. The others had breakfast duty, and we were part of the lunch service. Breakfast was easier than lunch, for many times they had suitors to the rim of the house, and we were expected to feed them all. Do you know how much twenty-year-old men eat? I can tell you, it is a lot.

While Iisha took a shower, I washed my face and teeth and looked in the mirror. My skin was dark, as though I always had a tan, and my cheeks were flushed with pink. My hair was black and gently curled down my back in long, thick strands. I had long, thick black eyelashes that framed my pale green eyes.

What was wrong with me? Whenever I walked into a room that was occupied with at least three of Victoria’s suitors, or Laurece’s, they never even looked my way. I wasn’t a hag; that much I knew from tending rooms where Society dined. There were some woman there who were much less pretty than I, and many of them had suitors around them. I’m not saying they were homely; they were just very ordinary-looking. But really, I knew what the difference between them and me was: money. They had it; I did not. I was just a servant; someone to tend the fire to keep them warm, to bake the food to feed them, and to sweep the floor once they left the room. I wasn’t a real person, not in their minds. I was a tool to be used, a tool that could do what they asked, regardless of the request.

I sighed and quickly tied my hair in the back with a large purple cotton ribbon. It was one of the only things I had left from my mother. Marianne gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday, and it was by far the most precious gift I have ever received. I didn’t really know much about my mother, and the tidbits I gathered from Marianne was of a well-mannered woman who would be ashamed to have a child who didn’t clean the supper plates properly. I don’t imagine her like that at all, but I keep my imaginings to myself.

I rubbed my head. I had been having headaches frequently starting a few weeks ago. Sometimes they ran continuously from day to day. But during them I always had these really weird feelings, or visions, or somethings.

I flinched as a wave of pain rode through my head. When I opened my eyes, the bathroom circled around me, colors twisting into one another, swaying so much that I sat down on the floor. I put my head against the cool side of the sink until I could see well again. I would talk to Marianne about these spells the next chance I had. They were not normal.

Today was market day, for the servants, at least. There were different days that the mistresses went to town, to see jesters, and ministrals. Today was the day that we, the servants, went to buy food. And it was my week.

In general, I loved the market. There were so many things to do and see, that I could never have enough time there. But not today. No, today was a punishment. It was a blatant way to remind me that I was a servant. At least that was the way I saw it.

I yawned again and pushed open the door to the bathroom, leaving it open just because Iisha told me to close it every day. I walked through the oak door that led to the hall, and made my way to the kitchen. As I pushed open the twin doors that lead to the kitchen, I ducked under Gregory’s arm, a servingman who worked mornings as well. Marianne was bustling about, ordering around chefs, and tasting this and instructing that. If she left, this household would truly fall apart. As soon as she saw me, she said, “Ah Ela Just the person I needed. Today’s your market day–“ she continued as I grimaced “–I know, I know, you dislike it, but you really must go. Here is the list.”

I took a quick overview of the list while she handed a canvas bag. It was all the usuals: eggs, cheese, flour, honey, chicken, and apples. I sighed. Although I was delighted that it wasn’t an abnormal, long list, I still resented the fact that it was servant’s day in the market, and I was the one of this household to go.

I exited the kitchen after snagging a breakfast bun from a nearby tray. Shopping would take energy, so I would have to eat right, I explained to Marianne after she scolded me for eating something that would have been my mistresses’ breakfast. And it wasn’t as though they needed it. They barely ate anything, so as to maintain their weight.

Guests, mainly suitors, must have been making an appearance today, because fresh flowers had been set in the ornate gold and silver-veined vases. One was engraved with delicate, light-lined roses, their petals smooth gold that tinted the light in the room ever so warmer. I recognized one of them–the one that looked as though it had been from far-away travels–with red and bright blue strong lines, its boldness setting it aside from the other, more subtle vases. Its vibrance set a glow about the room, and this was the one I loved best, with its other-world sparkle, with its unavoided brilliance, with its thrusting color through the comparatively lovely, but rather ordinary followers. It was amazing. To be so bold as to show your own nature, without trying to hide behind a mask all the time, would be much rewarded.

“What is this hideous vase doing with all the others?” asked a sharp, commanding voice. “I say, it has no right to belong among here when our guests will be arriving within an hour. It would never do to have them see such a thing ” She grabbed the vase, and hurled it at a nearby servingman, who seemed to be following her about and taking things that she disapproved of.

She, my mistress, was one of my worst enemies. I could remember her hitting me when I was twelve, to stop me from picking an orange from the tree outside. She was awful, and she did not reserve any patience or kindness for any of the servants, but especially me.

I quickly went back the way I came, to avoid her, and went out the back door. I jumped over the raspberry bushes in the side yard, and ran across the well-tended grass. When I had gotten to the road, I slowed down to a walk. I was supposed to go “as quickly as possible,” so said Marianne, but I rarely listened when she gave advice such as this. The dirt road was smoothed, with few ruts or rocks.

I reviewed the items that I would need to buy again. The eggs, cheese, and chicken I would be able to find easily at the farmer’s. The flour would be at the mill, and the apples would be at the orchard. The only thing left to buy in the stalls at the marketplace was honey. I would get that first.

I meandered into the marketplace once I reached it, looking at the colorful silks that could be bought to make even more glorious dresses, the gold or silver jewelry behind expensive glass, and the various other wonders brought by traveling merchants that found their way here every so often. There was the glass-maker’s, with it’s extraordinary crystals and blown-glass figures. There was the shoe-makers, displaying the most elegant velvet high-heeled shoes I had ever seen. I finally reached the food. The air was aromatic, with rosemary and chive mingling with the delicate scent of the roses and daffodils being sold in the stall next to the herbs. The smell of freshly-baked bread wafted through the air, and I tilted up my head, sniffed, then raced to the bakery. One of my friends, Leavitt, worked there and would almost always give me a sweet roll when I asked it of him.

When I arrived at the bakery, Leavitt was on the outside of the stall, talking to this good-looking young man. Very good-looking. In fact, he was drop-dead gorgeous. That gave me just one more reason to talk to Leavitt, a very good reason.

I casually walked over to where they were talking, and lingered outside of their conversation for a moment. “Yes, the agricultural sturdiness of Dalicma has suffered much within the last two years, but the trouble started before that . . .”

Egads, this conversation needed some help. Although, I thought, this gorgeous man sounded educated. Perhaps there was a good way to enter the conversation, then there was a better way, such as using the knowledge that the entire library of my mistresses’ had lent me.

“I completely agree,” I said, moving so that I was standing between them and we made a triangular shape. “The base of the problem started four decades ago, when, while we were under siege from the Macidions, we had a terrible drought. While the problem never seemed to reoccur or cause any mishap, the soil, deep down, was too dry to continue holding enough water for plants to grow. Since the plant’s furnishings had been meager for so long, the food they brought was seen as a gift, and no one asked for more, nor did they think something odd about the plants that had produced so much before the drought having produced so little then. And slowly, the soil has increased its water uptake, but it still remains on the low side, and took a sudden drop two years ago for reasons unknown.”

“Hello, Ela.” Leavitt grinned. “Reading your mistress’ books once more, I see?”

“Why, Leavitt, you know I must, or they will grow dusty with lack of use, for I’m sure neither of them will ever open them again. These books would have sealed themselves shut in the last ten years, had it not been for me.”

Incredibly Handsome Man laughed. It was a pleasant sound, a round, ringing noise that was soft, but full. I looked at him for the first time since I had joined the conversation. He had sparkling black eyes, and soft, waving black hair that fell just below his ears. He had naturally tanned skin, which melted with his hair. His clothes were expensive, but nothing extravagant. There was one ring on his finger, a pale gold one that occupied the third finger on the right hand. His hands were long, with sturdy fingers that looked as though they belonged to artist’s hands, long, slender fingers with a tender strength about them.

I looked into his eyes, which filled slightly with remaining laughter, and smiled. He looked kind, and as though he laughed often, with slight laugh lines around his eyes. “Hello.”

“Hello.” His voice was like his laugh. It was deep, soft, and dark. It sounded as though it were comfortable talking to anyone, and cared not of their social status. It was a voice that one could learn to love.

“Leavitt ” a man called from behind the counter. “Get back in here I need help getting the pastries out of the oven.”

“Well, I’m afraid I must be going.” Leavitt walked into the bakery quickly, and I was suddenly uncomfortable with this handsome man.

“Maybe I should go with him. Just in case . . .”

“Please do not.” I didn’t have to be asked twice. “Where did you gain such knowledge? Was it really only from the reading of books?”

I looked up at him. “Actually, yes. The house has a very extensive library. There are histories that are from all over the world, and some dating back to over two hundred years ago. Many books are for recreation, of course, but still many are fascinating.”

“And you,” he asked, his eyes looking directing into mine, “What do you read for recreation?”

“When I have recreation, I’ll let you know,” I said, then quickly went into the bakery. He was making me way too nervous. There was something about his eyes, something drilling, something that said he had access to your secrets, and would keep them all, until you betrayed him. Something that was soft, quiet, but could and would be harsh if it needed to be. Something that had honesty, honor, and truth in their truest forms. Something all-knowing, something secretive, something . . . regnant.

I took a deep breath, and went to the costumer’s service table. Leavitt was standing there, talking with a customer about some order due someday, for some high social event. After the customer left, Leavitt grinned at me, a bit teasingly.

“So, Ela, how was our man? I noticed it took you a while to figure out how to join the conversation without making him think you uneducated. You even used all those big words you dug up in your reading. And there could only be one reason for that. Did you think he was good looking?”

I looked at him as though he were insane. “Yes. You’d have to be out of your mind not to think so.”

Leavitt guffawed. “And I let you talk to him all by yourself. I bet you loved that. Is that why you left him standing outside by himself?”

I blushed slightly and nodded. “Yeah. You left me no choice. The way he looked at me made me really nervous.”

“Really. How did he look at you?”
“Like I was . . . There.”

“Yes, well, you were standing right in front of him.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean that I stood in front of him, and he saw me, not a servant from some household, or someone he expected to do something for him, just . . . a person. It was a good look.”

“Hmmm . . . If it was such a good look, why did you leave him stranded in the street while you ran in here?”

I looked him straight in the eyes. “Because I’ve never had any–“ Leavitt coughed twice and glanced behind me to my right as a customer walked in “–noble look at me in that manner, especially a man. They all look at me like I am an uneducated, poor wench deserving only pity, and not good enough to do anything other than serve them.”

There was a silence. “You mustn’t have met many decent men, then, have you?” came a voice from behind me.

I gasped and spun around. There was Incredibly Handsome Man. “What are you doing here?” I asked, slightly breathless, heat rising up my face and chocking my words.

He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. It’s just . . . well, you left in such a rush, that I was worried I had offended you in some manner, and wished to apologize. Well, I apologize, and hope you have a good day.” He moved off to leave the store.

“Please don’t go. There is no need for you to be sorry. You did not offend me in any manner at all, though I thank you for thinking of me. It was very . . . considerate of you to come in and apologize, but I truly just left to get on with my chores, so as not to be late with them, and have my mistress angry at me.”

“Oh.” He turned to go, then turned back. “So, have you met any decent noble men?”

A grin tugged at my mouth. “No. They’ve all been either Victoria’s or Laurece’s suitors. They’ve all been awful. I wouldn’t want to marry any of those inconsiderate court decorations, and I have no idea why Victoria or Laurece would either.”

His smile faltered a bit, and then turned slightly sad as he turned and walked out without another word.

“What was that all about? Did I offend him?” I frowned. The way his smile had crumbled away crushed my heart.

“I don’t know. Maybe some arcane noblemen insult.”

We broke into laughter, mine rather forced, for I could not forget the broken smile on his face as he left. I then raided the kitchen to say hello to the chef, Baxter, and steal my sweet roll. I said goodbye, and went about my tasks.

The first was to get the honey. I ordered two cups of it, and the golden color reminded me a little of that man’s skin; the way it was smooth and flowed, just like the dark wash of his hair.

The miller's was more beautiful than ever it had been. There was a stream running through, the shining, languid water rushing through the wheel, spilling over the edges, and lushing into frothing white foam at the tips of the running tranquility, reflecting the cerulean sky above me. The sky was soft, and that blue that only comes when leaves are falling off of trees and winter is approaching; the blue that had the soft coolness of winter, and the testy, warm summer rolled into one color.

After leaving the mill with a two-pound bag of flour, I found my feet taking me to the orchard. I sat in an apple tree and watched over the sturdy, useful trees that occupied the area. The rough bark chafed my skin, and the smooth silk leaves washed themselves over me. The apples were all the colors they were meant to be; red, green, yellow, and all the colors in between. They shone in the noonday sun, sending shimmers of light thrilling though the leaves of the trees around them. I bit into an apple and enamoring juice ran into my mouth, the sour-sweet taste spiraling though my senses, the smell of apple overwhelming, and the simple perfect day joyful. I grabbed a bag of apples, and mourned leaving such a beautiful sight as the changing maples backing up the reddest apple trees, but made my way to the farmer’s anyway.

The farmer’s wasn’t far from our house, thus I had to quicken my pace elsewise Marianne would see me lazing about. I quickly gathered two dozen eggs and paid the farmer his dues. The hens were a bit ruffled that I was taking their potential young, but eventually resigned themselves to their fate. I then hurried to the animal part of the farm, and gathered a chicken, already plucked bare and beheaded and befooted, if that be the right word for such an action.

Juggling all my items, I whistled my way to the dairy. The tuneless melody ran through the air, pulling the red and orange leaves through the air with it, all dancing to the tune of nothing.

By the dairy, I bought a round of cheese. I am never certain of the kinds, for I have never thought it useful to memorize the names of cheeses, and the farmer has always known which to hand me. The farmer’s boy, Henry, looked at all I was trying–and pretty successfully–carrying, and laughed. He then helped me fill my bag with the honey, cheese, flour, and apples. He laughed at my efforts once more, me with him this time, and I set off for home.

I rounded the corner to the large, gray stone four story house. I was overcome with dizziness, and my items fell to the ground as I collapsed to my knees, holding my head. It felt as though my brain were rearranging itself. Suddenly I was struck by something.


I turned the corner of the road leading to our four-story house. On the third floor a window was open; the lacy drapes flapped outside in the storm-wind. I frowned. My stepmother would never have allowed this to happen.

There was something else in between the lace. I squinted, and saw the beginnings of someone’s arm. Slowly more and more of the person came, and I saw a man leaning out, checking something above him. From behind, a scarlet brocade robe holding a hand leaned on his back. And pushed.

“No ” I screamed.


“No ” I screamed into the air, not knowing why, and not caring, just letting out the feeling of panic that was building up inside me. I screamed again, then collapsed onto the ground, crying, and not fathoming why.

“Dear, dear, what is it?” Marianne came running out, and knelt by me. “What happened?”

“I–I saw, the window open, and someone was looking out, and he was pushed . . . and he landed on the ground–“ I broke off crying.

“My dear, there is no window open, and no one has fallen. What are you talking about?” But in her eyes was a panic that exceeded the situation.

“I saw it . . .in my head. In my memory.”

“My dear, that’s impossible. You are very sick. Why don’t you come inside and lay down for the rest of the day?” Her voice was too fast, and her eyes flitted from side to side, seeing if anyone had heard me. “Hurry. Inside.”

She helped me walk inside, and sent Iisha to retrieve my dropped items when we passed her into the hall. By the time we reached the room, I was feeling better, but Marianne made me lie down for a while. I stared at the ceiling for some time, then played cards by myself, thinking about the man I had seen at the market. I grew tired of winning every game and dreaming of things I could never have, so I lay back and read.

Marianne came in a time later, carrying soup. “Are you feeling well now?” she asked.

I nodded. I did feel much better. “Yes.” After a few tastes, I placed the bowl on the bedside table and said, “Marianne, I meant to talk to you before I went today. I’ve been having bad dizzy spells. Sometimes they’ll be accompanied by me seeing something in my head, or feeling something. Last week, I felt as though I were nestled in someone’s arms in bed, and I was being read a story, with all words and no pictures. But I felt young.” I buried my head into my pillow. “What’s happening to me?” I whispered.

Marianne stroked my back. “Honey-dear, I don’t know. Maybe you have the flu or something.”

I turned onto my back. “But the visions?” Marianne shook her head. “Marianne, you don’t think . . . Are these visions from the time before I can remember?”

Marianne shook her head, but it was too quick, too immediate. “No. No, they aren’t.” And she stood up and walked out of the room, leaving me with more questions than I had before she came. Why didn’t Marianne want me to know that these visions were from my past, and what did they mean?

View the next chapter: "Cinderela, Part 3"