Ella: A Novel

by Jessilyn Stewart Peaslee

  Jane changed the subject when I didn’t answer. “Oh, Ella! I had such a wonderful time with your sisters last night! I do so wish you could have stayed. They all came to my house and we laughed and talked for hours! We’re all going to do our hair the same for the ball. Won’t that be fun?” Jane made her way toward the front steps. “You’ve never told me how charming your sisters were. And your mother! What a divine woman she is!”

  I listened to Jane in silence as I followed her up the porch steps and through the front door I had left open in my excitement. When we reached the foyer, I saw Jane survey the empty room with a bewildered expression on her face. The last time she had been in this house, there had been sofas, end tables, rugs, vases filled with flowers… . I wrung my hands uncomfortably and looked up to see Cecelia and Mabel standing a little stunned at the top of the stairs. Apparently, this visit was unexpected. It seemed that they had played their new best friend roles so well that Jane felt comfortable enough to drop by unannounced.

  Mabel and Cecelia quickly recovered from their shock. They came running down the stairs and leapt joyously into the arms of their newest friend. Just as I had the day before when I saw them talking together in the town square, I thought it strange that the girls had just now decided to become friends, though they had lived in the same village for half their lives. I was sure that whatever the reason was, it involved Mabel and Cecelia getting something out of it. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that there just happened to be a ball coming up and Jane had lots of pretty things that she would gladly share with her friends.

  Their conversation from the night before continued where it had left off. I watched in dazed silence as the three friends ascended the staircase, Jane with her arms linked through an arm of the other two. Mabel and Cecelia seemed determined to occupy Jane’s attention and it worked. None of them looked back at me.

  “Thank you for letting us use your driver and carriage last night. Our driver has been ill and our carriage has a broken wheel,” Cecelia said.

  “Oh, and please excuse the state of the house. We’re redecorating,” said Mabel as they disappeared into the third bedroom at the top of the stairs.

  As I listened to their lies, a thought crossed my mind. I knew that I looked different than I usually did when I was around Jane, but she had changed too, even since yesterday. She looked at me the way my stepsisters did; the way Roger did; the way Victoria did—with revulsion. I remembered that Roger had called me mad. It made me cringe thinking of the things Victoria said about me when I wasn’t around, and what she had possibly told Jane when they dined with her last night.

  I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the bedroom door for a long time. When my eyes finally obeyed me, they dropped to stare at the freshly polished floor beneath my feet and I saw my distorted reflection in the perfectly cut stones.

  I felt moisture pricking behind my eyes, but I had vowed there would be no tears today.

  Chapter 9

  I HID MYSELF AWAY IN THE KITCHEN FOR MOST OF THE DAY. After I folded the dry laundry, I made a pile of clothes in the corner that needed to be mended. I finally had time to make bread and enough flour to make a couple of loaves. I bent over the table and comforted myself with the familiar rhythm of kneading the dough. Fold, push, turn. Fold, push, turn. I kneaded until the dough was smooth and rising slightly around my hands. Then I put the loaves in bread pans and put them on the hearth in front of the fire, rotating them every once in a while so they could brown on all sides. The aroma was heavenly and heartening. In between rotations, I fed Mary and Martha again. They were eating more now that the weather was cooling. The pit of my stomach felt cold for a moment.

  It was late afternoon when I heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. There were so many unusual sounds today and it was making me feel on edge. With a gasp, I realized it must be Jane since no one who lived in this house ever came to the kitchen willingly. Victoria would not want Jane to see me working in the kitchen, sewing the top button on Cecelia’s blue chiffon dress, but I thought of it too late for me to hide and the footsteps came to a halt at the arched entrance of the kitchen.

  I looked up from my sewing to see Victoria towering in the open doorway. I rose so quickly that the dress fell onto the floor, dangerously close to the flickering fire. I was relieved that I had just cleaned the hearth or I would have had to figure out a way to get cinder out of chiffon. I didn’t know if I should bend to pick the dress up, but I didn’t want to look away from Victoria. In my moment of hesitation, Victoria began talking and so I listened.

  “Your friend Jane is going to stay for dinner.” She seemed to be pleased with the idea that her daughters had taken my only friend. Reminding me that Jane was my friend was just a small way of hurting me. “We will have chicken.”

  Victoria rarely made requests for dinner; it would require her to actually talk to me. I prided myself on becoming an adequate cook with minimal training, and whatever I made, even when ingredients were scarce, seemed to please the people who ate it. We rarely ate meat because it was too expensive or because we didn’t have any animals we could spare for such a luxury. Victoria obviously didn’t want Jane to think we were starving or close to it.

  I never argued with Victoria, but her request was preposterous.

  “Stepmother, we only have two chickens left. They each usually lay only one egg a day. If we only have one chicken, we won’t have enough eggs to eat and cook with.” We already don’t, I silently added. My palms were sweating and I was shaking. I tried to be persuasive but respectable, pleading but not whining. I saw no budging in Victoria’s expression but I was desperate for her to change her mind.

  Victoria’s sunken eyes tightened, and she clenched her frail jaw. “You heard me,” she whispered viciously. I nodded and ducked my head and Victoria turned to leave the room. But as she passed the doorway, her hand reached out to touch the wall and she turned back around. Her gaze swept past me and into the kitchen, and she stood silently for a moment as she took in every corner.

  She looked back at me. “I haven’t forgotten about your little secret,” she warned. She tried to spin away from me and stride out of the room dramatically, but she was too weak and feeble for the actions to have their usual flare.

  I stood in silence and forced my breathing to slow. I had almost forgotten that she had seen the fear in my eyes when she mentioned that she had been in the kitchen the day before. But I wouldn’t let myself overreact. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. It was almost as if she was challenging me to do something about it so that she could catch me, and I wasn’t going to give in. Right now, the more important problem was food—as usual.

  It certainly was not the first time I would have to kill one of the chickens. I knew that’s what they were there for. They provided food in the form of eggs, but they were also food themselves. It had never bothered me before and I had even looked forward to the times that it would be necessary to kill one to eat for an especially delicious dinner when one of the chickens was getting older. And there had usually been enough to spare.

  But now that there were only two of them left, they had become two of the few friends I had in my little world. I rebuked myself for becoming attached to the chickens when I knew they wouldn’t and couldn’t live forever. I knew better than to let myself feel, knowing that with feeling came hurting.

  Both chickens were healthy, but Martha was older. She seemed like the logical choice, but I couldn’t see the logic this time. I was too emotionally invested and had even come to rely on my little friends to greet me every morning. I had raised both of them from the time they were chicks, and they trusted me.

  I rubbed my fingers on my temples and tried to push the thought out of my mind. Chickens don’t trust. They eat and sleep and lay eggs. They don’t love. They just survive. I kept repeating that. I had to do what was necessary, and it was better for Martha to die this way than to get old and sick anyway, I told myself.

  I picked up Mabel’s dress f
rom off the floor, draped it over the chair, and opened the kitchen door. I walked to the barn and grabbed the axe that hung on the wall and trudged over to the chicken coop. Mary and Martha were both asleep in the henhouse, but they awakened at the sound of my footsteps. I tried not to think about how happy it made me when they would come to greet me excitedly. I tried not to think about how lonely Mary would feel without her older friend to keep her company.

  My sorrow abruptly turned from Martha’s fate to Mary’s. I had been so sad for Martha, knowing her life was about to end and that I was going to have to be the one to end it. But what about Mary? What was she going to do without Martha? I thought of Jane giggling and trying on dresses with Mabel and Cecelia and suddenly realized I knew what it felt like to lose a friend. I reached out and gently smoothed the feathers on the back of Mary’s neck.

  I broke my promise to myself and finally allowed the tears to spill over. It was like they had been waiting to be set free all day, and it was worse than if I had let them escape a little bit at a time. The sobs choked me and I knelt down in the dirt and let them come.

  “It will be all right, Mary. I’m here,” I whispered hoarsely.

  I turned my tear-filled eyes on Martha and gently picked her up out of the coop. I stroked the fluffy smoothness of her back and kissed the top of her head. My tears bathed her feathers and I carried her to the chopping block.

  ***

  IT WAS COMPLETELY DARK WHEN I FOUND MYSELF SITTING beside the pond. I rarely ever came to the pond twice in one day, but I had nowhere else to go. I had discreetly prepared and left the meal of chicken and dumplings on the table, knowing there would be terrible consequences if Jane had seen me serving them their meal and standing in my usual corner, waiting to clear off their dirty dishes. Besides, I didn’t want to see anybody anyway. And I especially didn’t want to watch them enjoy their particularly delectable dinner.

  Jane seemed to be utterly taken in by the consummate acting abilities of my stepmother and stepsisters, and I knew I couldn’t blame her. I knew how charming they could be when they wanted to be, when they wanted something. Jane was naive and sincere and probably thought they truly wanted to be her friends.

  In a way, I felt sorry for Jane. She had never known anyone who could use her so callously, so she would never suspect anything like this of her new friends. But there was another part of me that couldn’t ignore the fact that in the past ten years Jane had never come to visit me to giggle and talk and try on pretty clothes, not that I would have had the time or had been allowed to, and not that I had any dresses to share anyway; but I had always just assumed that our friendship was too real for those other things, that we simply enjoyed each other’s company. But Jane seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself this afternoon with her new friends.

  The feeling of loneliness consumed me.

  The first hints of self-pity were stirring again and I fought against them with what little strength I had left in me. I shook off the minor betrayal of Jane and the fact that I had lost, or at least had to share, my only friend. But then I thought of something. If Jane hadn’t even known what my life was truly like, had she ever really been a friend at all? Or, if she had known, would she even want me as a friend?

  The loneliness consumed and then crushed.

  I hugged my knees up to my chest and buried my face in my arms … and waited.

  When I decided it was safe to return to the house, I left the seclusion of the pond and walked home. I saw that Jane’s carriage had gone and I entered the house through the servants’ entrance—my entrance. Everyone’s voices were upstairs. I wouldn’t have to worry about them any more tonight.

  I went back outside and milked Lucy again and fed Mary her dinner of corn. I tried to comfort myself by thinking that the corn would last that much longer with only one chicken left. Still, I vowed that one day Mary would be surrounded by plenty of friends to gossip the day away with. I stroked Mary’s smooth back and was pleased that she didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the day’s events, and was perhaps delighted that she got a little extra dinner that night. I smiled and wondered what life was really like for this pleasant little chicken pecking away at her corn. Did she ever want to live a different life? Was she content where she was, or did she ever wonder if there was more out there? I laughed at myself and my ridiculous, unanswerable, trivial questions. It had been a very long day and I must be exhausted.

  I returned to the house and cleared the table and washed the dishes. I felt slightly ashamed for being a tiny bit grateful that Victoria was not feeling well, but I had gotten away with not clearing the table immediately after dinner for two nights in a row.

  I filled a bucket with water from the well and brought it into the warm kitchen, sloshing water all over the place, and closed the door behind me. Tomorrow would be Sunday and I had to wash my dress, and myself, before morning. I pulled off my dress and took a sponge bath next to the fire. The water was cold, but cold water got me just as clean as warm, and it was faster.

  I scrubbed my hair and body with the milk and honey soap I made, and scrubbed under my fingernails, finally ridding them of the dirt from the garden that had been there for days. Once I was clean, I put on my worn nightgown. I combed through my hair and wove it until it fell in a damp braid all the way down my back and to my knees, chilling me through the thin fabric.

  I sat down on my chair in front of the fire in the kitchen and carefully mended any rips or holes I had put in my dress that week. The seam was coming loose in the back and I tightened it up. The hem was beginning to unravel in one spot and I stitched it. The most difficult part was getting the cinder, soot, and dirt out of the fabric. I had to scrub hard enough to get the stains out, but not so hard that I damaged the already worn material. I hung the dress on the line with the ears of corn to dry by the fire, and made the long climb up to my room.

  My room was in the tallest tower on the east corner of Ashfield. Though it may have appeared to be a prison, it was actually my only real sanctuary in the house. I loved the tranquility and how I could see the woods and the pond out of the east window; and out of the west window, I could see the palace. Both views were breathtaking in their own way.

  The east tower had not always been my bedroom. After Father died, I had run up to this tower and refused to come out. Grace had begged me to come down and eat, and the rest of the servants had tried to lure me down with promises of treats and presents. When I had still refused to come down, my belongings had gradually been moved up to the east tower where they would stay. Fortunately for me, Victoria had not objected to my moving to the tower, and I think she even preferred it.

  I simply could not stand being in the house without my own father and mother there with me. I had never actually known my mother, but to live in the house with three strangers instead of either one of my parents was unbearable. And they were not just strangers—they were cruel strangers who immediately took over the house and started callously ordering everyone around. It wasn’t long before I, too, was ordered around, much to the dismay and even outrage of our servants. But, like me, they were completely powerless against Victoria.

  Feeling clean, yet slightly lethargic, I slowly made my way across the house and up to my tower. It seemed that everyone had gone to bed and the house was dark and peaceful. I didn’t bother to light a candle as I climbed up the tall, dark stairs. I opened the door at the top and took a moment to look out the west window that overlooked the palace.

  I felt a flurry of butterflies in my stomach when I imagined again that I could possibly be entering the palace gates in less than a week’s time. Why had I told Will I would consider going? Who did I think I was, thinking I could go to the ball? But, if I was being honest with myself, I knew I would regret it forever if I didn’t go. And fortunately—miraculously—I had something I could wear. It was easier now that I was clean to consider the possibility that perhaps putting on my beautiful gown and slippers would help make me feel a little less ridiculous w
alking into the palace.

  I sighed and walked over to look out the east window. The smoke from Will’s chimney was floating over the trees. I smiled to myself, amazed at how easily he was able to persuade me to consider going to the ball when I had been absolutely against the idea. He had made me open my eyes when I hadn’t realized they had been closed. And as much as I thought about Father, I truly hadn’t considered the fact that he would want me to go, that he certainly wouldn’t have thought I was unworthy to walk through the palace doors with my head held high.

  I left the window, laid my aching body down on the blanket on the floor, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 10

  ON SUNDAY MORNING I DID ALL MY CHORES, INCLUDING boiling water and drawing baths for Mabel and Cecelia and dressing them in their Sunday dresses. Once I was ready for church in my crisp, clean, mended dress, I went to see if Victoria was going to wake up in time to come with us. Victoria was still in bed and told us to go without her. I couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t gone to church. She wasn’t exactly religious, but she was very social and she hated to miss any kind of gathering. I brought her up some water and some berries and bread on a tray, but she pushed them away and told me to leave.

  I sat in our usual spot on a side pew near the back of the chapel, but my stepsisters walked past me to sit in the middle. I wasn’t particularly wounded. It was a small relief not to have to play the role of happy family. I watched as the congregation filed into the small chapel. As always, when I saw Mrs. Thatcher come in, I was filled with one of my fondest memories of Father.