As I looked at the glassy smoothness of the pond, I wanted nothing more than to jump all the way in and clean myself from head to foot, but I thought it might be a better idea to take a proper bath at home.
I stepped into the pond, getting the hem of my dress wet, and reached to where the cattails grew and pulled up a few stalks. They were thick and tough and stung my palms. I gathered them into a pile in my arms and then went back to watching the pond and the reflection of the rising sun on it with its accompanying life-giving color.
The snap of a twig behind me didn’t even make me jump.
“Good morning, Will,” I said pleasantly, still looking at the pond.
“Good morning, Ella,” he answered. I turned away from the water and looked at him. His brown hair was falling into his eyes. His skin was darker today than yesterday; he must have worked out in the sun longer than usual, caring for all those horses from the royal procession. He came to stand next to me and smiled down at me.
“So, you mentioned yesterday that I shouldn’t worry that you don’t have anything to wear to the ball, so I won’t,” he said with a sly smile. “But have you figured out how you plan on getting there? You don’t have a carriage, but I doubt you would want to go on horseback or even cowback, though Lucy loves you enough I’m sure she’d be willing. So, I was wondering if you …” Will trailed off when he saw that I wasn’t joining in on his joke.
“I’m not going,” I replied a little too casually.
“What?” Will asked, totally baffled. “Why aren’t you going? I was only joking! You won’t have to ride a cow!” He grinned at what I’m sure was the image of me riding up to the palace doors on Lucy. “Isn’t this every girl’s dream? To be chased after by some ridiculously charming prince and live happily ever after? I’m sorry I kept it from you yesterday, but I really think you need to go.”
I sighed, my mood darkening with all of this ball talk. “I am not going and I don’t want to talk about it.”
The expression on Will’s face was a strange combination of confusion and disappointment. “I don’t understand.”
I could see he wasn’t going to back down. “Will, look at me.” I held up the corner of my dirty apron. I usually wasn’t so filthy, but I hadn’t cared much that morning. Besides, my grimy appearance helped prove my point.
Will shook his head in confusion. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Do I look like princess material to you?” I meant it as a rhetorical question, but Will opened his mouth to answer it anyway. I pretended not to notice and continued. “Will, I’m not going to waltz into the palace surrounded by people who are supposed to be there and pretend that I belong. I don’t belong anywhere that isn’t a barn or a kitchen, and putting on a fancy dress isn’t going to change that.”
I stopped talking and pursed my lips, surprised at myself for getting so upset, and glanced toward the direction of home.
“I don’t want to be late again in case they’ve decided to become early risers.” I smirked a little at the near impossibility of that ever happening. I started for home, but turned back to face him. “Please don’t worry about me. It will be all right, Will.” I smiled as bravely as I could and spun away from him.
A gentle touch on my wrist stopped my determined steps.
My heart beat strangely as Will’s hand slid from my wrist to my hand, and he slowly turned me to face him. He let his hand linger in mine for a moment and then let it fall.
“You have to go to the ball,” Will said, unexpectedly fervent.
“Will, I would feel like a fraud. Besides, why would I care about some silly ball when I can barely keep food on the table and my house is falling apart and—”
“That’s why you need to go,” Will interrupted in a gentle voice. “You need to get away from all of that, even if it’s just for a night.”
“But what about after the ball is over? Why would I go, only to return to the same problems I had before?”
“Maybe the same problems won’t be there,” Will stated nonchalantly, but his eyes were impenetrable.
“So if I go to a ball, all my troubles will be over?” I asked sarcastically.
Will sighed. He seemed abruptly torn, yet determined; the resolve from yesterday returned to his eyes. “You have a chance to get out of here.”
I laughed. “Me? Don’t be absurd. Why would I go throwing myself at a prince, hoping he’d choose me over a girl who comes from a proper family or who has a dowry, or even a second pair of shoes?” The feelings of self-pity and worthlessness from the night before came flooding back with crushing force, and I ducked my head under the weight of them.
Will suddenly grabbed the tops of my arms, pulling me up to face him. I looked straight back into his eyes, alarmed by his sudden intensity.
“You need to open your eyes and see yourself more clearly,” he said. “Don’t forget your father and who he was—and who you are.”
I tried to jerk out of his grasp at the mention of my father, but he held onto me firmly, not willing to let me go until I understood what he had said. My cheeks flushed and my eyes filled with tears as the spark of anger I felt at Will’s words rushed over me. I thought about my father constantly. How dare Will accuse me of forgetting. I almost said those exact words to him, but then stopped myself. I blinked back the tears and my cheeks cooled. I remembered Will’s kindness when I felt so alone and the reason behind his words. He was trying to help me in the only way he could. I nodded and managed a small smile.
He was right. Father would have wanted me to go. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stay home, feeling sorry for myself and not using the one gift I had left from him.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.
Will studied my face, his hands grasping my arms and holding me close. I felt myself tense, unaccustomed to his closeness, and in response, Will’s expression softened and his eyes became less intense, mingled with relief and even tenderness. He looked down at his hands on my arms and slowly released his grip. I exhaled sharply, not realizing I had been holding my breath.
A slow, kind smile brightened Will’s face. “He would be proud,” he said as he took a deliberate step backward. “And by the way, it doesn’t matter how many pairs of shoes you have, Ella. Your plain, black shoes worn out with work and taking care of others are worth more than the queen’s dainty slippers any day. And if the prince can’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.”
Will’s smile had an almost imperceptible touch of sadness, and for a small moment I realized that his smiles over the last couple of days had been tinted with that same sorrow. In anyone else, it might not have been noticeable, but Will’s smiles had always had been so genuinely happy, and he was always so lighthearted that it was a bit unsettling. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he smiled his old, sincere smile, winked, and walked away.
I shifted the cattails in my arms and picked up my basket of berries, feeling a bit lighter than when I had arrived at the pond. My heartbeat slowly returned to its normal pace once I recovered from Will’s uncharacteristic display of intensity and emotion, and I felt relieved that his old smile had returned before he left. And though I was grateful for Will’s kind words and the charitable way in which he saw me, I still was not excited about the ball. I was not going to delude myself into thinking I could go to the ball and make the prince fall in love with me—or even notice me at all—and solve all my problems. He hadn’t noticed me in town; why would he notice me at the ball?
Chapter 8
WHEN I ARRIVED AT HOME, I WAS RELIEVED TO FIND THAT everyone was still asleep. I finished my breakfast preparations and cleared off the dishes from the table that were left there from the night before. Apparently, there would be no repercussions for my not clearing them right away. Another relief. I saw that the food on the dishes was untouched. Victoria, Mabel, and Cecelia must have eaten out last night.
When breakfast was ready, I set about doing my chores. Using the lye I had leached the day before, I made a
batch of soothing milk-and-honey soap and an intoxicating rosewater soap. I soaked the cattail stalks I had gathered and used them to weave through the holes in my baskets. After I put my repaired baskets away, I checked on my cheese that was in the process of being pressed and I licked my lips in anticipation. All I had to do was rub it with salt to preserve it and it would last for days. Perhaps we could have some tonight with dinner. I grabbed my worn sapling broom and went through each room, sweeping up the dust and catching any cobwebs.
I hummed as I worked. It was hard labor, but I knew why I did it. It wasn’t just because I had been ordered to. It wasn’t just because there were no servants to do it anymore. I worked because I loved my home. I loved the satisfaction I felt at the end of a long day when I surveyed my work. My kitchen was spotless, even if it lacked sufficient food and supplies. Every floor shined. There wasn’t a cobweb in any corner. The rugs were clean. The curtains were crisp. What furniture we had left was polished and smooth. The beds were made and the linens were fresh. The flowerbeds were filled with beautiful blossoms without a weed in sight.
I knew I had not been born into this house to scrub its floors, wash its windows, or tend its garden. I knew that no one would ever have dreamed I would one day be milking the cow or gathering eggs or cooking over the fire. But I also knew that I would not let it deteriorate just because I hadn’t been born to do it. I loved it too much. I loved my father and mother too much. I couldn’t do much about the flaking paint on the great pillars that framed the front doors, the roof that needing repairing, or the fence that needed mending. But I did what I could to keep my home the inviting and lovely place it had been for generations before me.
I also worked hard to take care of the people living in the house. When my father had asked me on his deathbed to take care of them, I knew neither of us had any idea what that would someday entail. I had thought that I would simply need to make them feel welcome in the family and our home and their new community. Things had turned out drastically different than my father or I could have ever imagined. Victoria’s thirst for power and control had turned my desire to take care of them voluntarily into something that was harshly demanded of me. But it didn’t matter. My father was depending on me to take care of them, and whether they would admit it or not, so were they.
I filled up a bucket from the well behind the house and carried it into the kitchen and up the grand staircase to where the bedrooms were. I noiselessly crept into the rooms of Victoria, Mabel, and Cecelia. I quietly filled their water basins and carefully gathered their bed pots, cleaned them out, and returned them to the rooms and then gathered the dirty laundry from off the floor. No one stirred as I busily and silently went about my duties. I then took all the laundry outside to the wash bucket filled with the water I had been boiling in the kettle and began scrubbing the dirty clothes against the washboard.
I was so grateful for the cooler weather today. If I had been sitting doing nothing, I would have been cold, but as I dashed from chore to chore, the coolness was welcome. I refused to think of the long, bitterly cold winter months ahead when I would be forced to stay indoors for most of the time; and when I would have to go outside, the frigid air would make every job that much more difficult. On the other hand, during those long winter months, there was more time to get things done inside that I otherwise wouldn’t have time to do.
I also refused to think about the especially harsh winter last year and the empty, gnawing hunger. I wouldn’t think about the way my clothes hung off me and how I was too hungry to sleep, and when there was food, almost too hungry to eat. I wouldn’t think about how Victoria, Mabel, and Cecelia would leave to eat with friends and come home full and laughing. But there were those other days where there was nowhere to go and we starved together and they glared at me with gaunt, accusing eyes. That was when I had sold Old Gus to buy Lucy, and she had saved us. Her milk became our manna.
I knew that Will remembered last winter, though he never spoke of it, and I suspected that was why he had the preposterous hope that I could somehow win over the prince with my dirty face and chipped fingernails and escape this life of poverty and uncertainty. For now, I would ignore the way the slight chill in the air felt synonymous with starvation, and simply be grateful that I could get so much done without the summer heat draining my energy.
The sun was high in the sky when I was out tending to the garden. My parsnips were growing nicely and I was hopeful that we would have a plentiful crop to use throughout the winter. I was relieved to see that the corn was ready to be harvested. The silk of the ears had turned brown and the kernels spurted their sweet, milky juice when I pressed on them. This meant that I would have more variety in the meals I prepared. Baking only with flour had become monotonous. I had used up the last of the cornmeal I had made from last year’s crop months ago and I would need even more corn to feed the chickens through the winter.
I pulled the ears off the stalks and brought them into the house. I hung them up to dry in the warmth of the fire. Soon, I would grind the kernels into meal for corn bread. I had a much better and larger crop than last year and felt optimistic that we would be able to eat well this winter.
As I hung up the last ear of corn, I heard the sound of muted voices coming from the dining room. Victoria and her daughters had slept later than usual, but it certainly was not the latest they’d ever slept. I could hear an unusual hum of excitement in the tone of their voices as I walked closer to the dining room.
I entered the room, unacknowledged by the women eating there, and stood in my usual corner and waited for them to be finished. It was such a terrible waste of time, just standing there when I had so many other things to do, but I dared not defy Victoria by doing anything other than what she had ordered me to do.
“I’m going to wear my pink gown with the swooping sleeves,” Mabel said, stuffing a handful of berries in her mouth.
“I’m going to wear my …” Cecelia’s words became unintelligible as she spoke with her mouth too full and crumbs flew out of her mouth.
“You’re not wearing either of those dresses!” snapped Victoria. “We must find you something so extraordinary that the prince will notice no one but you.” I wasn’t looking directly at Victoria so I could have imagined it, but I thought I saw her eyes shoot me a vicious look.
“Me?” they both replied, gesturing to themselves.
“Either one,” Victoria said, shrugging her shoulders and waving a careless hand in the air.
I looked at Victoria for the first time that morning and barely contained a gasp. Victoria’s eyes had dark circles underneath them and they were even more sunken than the day before. She often looked haggard after being up late and sleeping half the day away, but this was a new level of hideousness.
I glanced down at Victoria’s plate and saw that her food was untouched. I normally would have worried that my cooking had been unsatisfactory to Victoria and that there would be a punishment in conjunction with that, but Mabel and Cecelia were stuffing their faces as if it were the most delicious meal they had ever had. It was undeniable what was going on.
Victoria was ill. Very ill.
I listened to the conversation to hear if either of the girls would inquire after their mother’s health or even take notice that she looked like she had lost ten pounds in a week, but the only topic was the ball and what they would wear and how beautiful they would look.
Mabel and Cecelia were very pretty girls—if you had just met them. They both had long, glistening mahogany hair, lovely features, large brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. They had been trained to carry themselves with an air of dignity and refinement. But they had a whining quality to their voices that made everything they said sound empty and foolish. Their brown eyes could have been soft and warm if they hadn’t had the look of haughtiness and blankness about them. Their straight backs and smooth manners could have been seen as confidence and grace but instead it came off as arrogance and coldness.
The three women never st
opped talking as they finished their food and left the room. I quickly cleared the table, ran upstairs to help them dress, and then returned downstairs to finish cleaning up breakfast. I took the food from Victoria’s untouched plate to save for later. As I began scrubbing the soot off the hearth, Victoria and her daughters looked through their wardrobes for some new ideas on what they would wear to the ball.
The rare sound of carriage wheels in the front yard distracted me from my work. I dropped my scrubbing brush, wiped my hands on a clean, damp rag, hurried to the front door, and opened it to see who could be calling. Nobody ever came to Ashfield any more. Victoria and her daughters usually preferred to be entertained than to entertain. Besides, they were so embarrassed by the state of the house that they never invited anyone anyway.
I poked my head out the door and then flung it open and dashed to the carriage as soon as the driver opened the door and Jane stepped out. I opened my arms to embrace my friend, so excited that she had finally come to visit, but as I came close, she abruptly held her hands out to stop me.
“Ella! What is all over your dress?” Jane cried. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she kept her hands up as if warning me to stay back.
I looked down and realized I was covered with dirt from working in the garden and cinder from scrubbing the hearth. My hair had escaped my long braid in some places and framed my face wildly. But my hands were clean, so I grasped Jane’s hands instead.
“Really, Ella. What have you been doing with yourself?” Jane said as she slowly pulled her hands out of mine.
I carefully brushed my hands against my dress and blushed. In my enthusiasm at seeing Jane, I had forgotten what I looked like. And though I had worn the same dress the day before, it had been a bit cleaner and so today it was unrecognizable. The way she looked at me simply reinforced the fact that I had no business going to any ball.
I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid that if I told Jane that I was so dirty because I had been scrubbing, dusting, churning, milking, and gardening, it would get back to Victoria and I would be punished for letting Jane know what I did around the house. As far as anyone else was concerned, things were just as they always had been at Ashfield. I thought about lying to Jane, perhaps saying I had slipped and fallen into some mud, but I just decided to stay silent.
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