When I was about seven years old, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a large hand vigorously shaking my shoulder.
“Wake up, Ella,” Father whispered urgently. “Mrs. Thatcher is sick, and we must go and help their family.” I opened my heavy eyelids, but he had already left the room.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and pushed my warm quilts off me. The floor was chilly and I shivered as I dressed quickly in the darkness. I ran down the stairs and out the front door. The frosty morning air filled my lungs and forced my weary eyes to open the rest of the way. I ran to the carriage that was waiting in the front drive, and Father held out his hand to help me up. I was surprised to see the village doctor sitting next to Father, along with Grace, and another woman sitting on the bench opposite. The only place for me to sit was on Father’s lap and he was already holding his arms out for me. I climbed onto his lap and rested my head on his shoulder.
“Good morning, Grace,” I said politely, though my curiosity burned. I was surprised to see my governess there. Not because she hadn’t helped me dress that morning, but because she had her packed bag sitting on her lap.
Father answered my unasked question. “Grace is going to help the Thatcher children. Their mother is very ill and the boys need some looking after.”
I nodded and my gaze shifted from Father to the doctor and I smiled up at him. My father had told me once that he was the doctor who had tried to keep my mother alive. I knew him as the one who treated me when I had the measles when I was five. He was a kind, gentle man. He was the most like Father of anyone I knew, which was probably why they were such good friends. He returned my smile and then turned to look out the window. I watched him as his smile disappeared and his hands began to wring on his lap.
I waited for someone to tell me who the other woman was next to Grace, but they all seemed too preoccupied. I was glad to share my governess and help in that small way, but I still didn’t know why I was going. I barely knew the Thatcher family, and I felt I was too young to help in any real way.
When we arrived at the Thatcher’s little cottage, I could hear the rowdy boys running around inside the house, even at that early hour. Father knocked on the door and the oldest boy answered and let us in, then ran back to playing with his brothers. The small house was in complete disarray, and the boys were running around playing some sort of game that involved swords and fighting and dying, then jumping up and starting it all over again. Father and the doctor walked to the back room, and I followed while Grace masterfully worked on settling the boys down.
There was a small sound coming from the back room where we were walking. I recognized it as the soft wail of a newborn baby. We reached the last door and the doctor knocked on it softly. There was no answer, but he opened the door slowly and we followed him in. My eyes followed the sounds of the crying baby and saw that he was nestled next to his mother on the bed, wrapped in a faded blue blanket. His tiny fists were clenched; one fist was in his mouth and he was obviously looking for some way to ease his hunger. My chin trembled looking at the poor, tiny thing, and I wondered why no one was helping him. I was just about to go over to him, when the unnamed woman who had ridden there with us walked past me and gently and expertly picked up the whimpering baby.
She swiftly left the room, and I looked after her. I turned my face up to ask Father what was happening, but he was staring at the bed. Mr. Thatcher was kneeling next to the bed, holding his wife’s frail hand. She was so pale her face blended in with the whiteness of the pillow that cradled her head. Her dark hair stuck to her face, sticky with sweat, and though she was covered with heavy quilts, she shivered and quietly moaned.
I pulled my eyes away from the tragic scene on the bed and back to Father’s face and saw a tear running down his cheek. I placed my hand in his strong one, trying to figure out why he was so affected by what he saw. I looked back to the scene on the bed and realized that what he saw in front of him was like looking into a mirror, only seven years earlier. His heart was breaking for this little family, knowing the pain they were experiencing.
Father nodded to the doctor and quietly left the room so that the doctor could do his work. We walked down the narrow hall. As we passed one of the small bedrooms, I saw the unnamed woman sitting on a wooden rocking chair, feeding the tiny baby. His wails had stopped and his little tummy was finally full, probably for the first time since he’d been born. I realized this woman was an angel, quietly doing what needed to be done, and saving this baby’s life in the process. For the first time, I realized that someone must have once done that for me.
When Father and I returned to the room, Grace miraculously had the boys all seated on the worn wooden bench and was telling them a story about dragons and knights. Father told me to wait inside while he went out to get something. He and the driver returned carrying one basket in each of their hands filled to overflowing with food, blankets, clothes, and toys for the boys. Father gave a basket to me and asked me to hand out the toys to each child.
I marveled at their delight with the presents and their joy at the food, and I felt that same delight and joy at being a part of lightening others’ burdens. I realized that our cooks must have been up all night preparing all of this delicious food. The bread was still warm, as well as the ham and syrup. This had been a great effort by many people, and my father had been the orchestrator of it.
That was why Father had brought me—to learn to be aware of someone else’s suffering and what it felt like to help ease that suffering.
He could have left me in bed. I could have been sleeping, safe and warm in my feather bed covered in fluffy quilts, a hot breakfast waiting for me. He could have gone alone and told me about it later, but I doubted he would have. How many times had he done something like this for others and had said nothing?
My thoughts returned to the present, and I waved and smiled at Mrs. Thatcher, who was radiant and healthy. She smiled back, her soft, brown eyes crinkling a bit at the corners and her graying hair catching the light streaming in from the window. She was unable to wave because she was holding yet another small boy—her first grandchild—but her eyes still held profound gratitude for kindness from years before.
After the opening hymn, Mr. Grey took his place at the podium. He was a jovial sort of man and his sermons almost always filled me with hope and encouragement. But today, at the first words out of his mouth, my mood dampened.
“Welcome. I know that you are all very excited about the prince’s announcement the other day about the ball.” I tried not to irreverently roll my eyes. “But I am grateful to see so many of you still found time out of your busy planning and dress-making to attend church this lovely day.” He beamed down at us and the congregation chuckled. A few young ladies sighed, indicating what a hardship it truly was.
His sermon continued and, thankfully, all talk of balls and princes seemed to be over. There was a tangible excitement in the air, obviously having to do with the ball. But there was something else besides excitement. Tension absolutely filled the room—tension so thick it was blinding. I couldn’t help occasionally glancing around at the people sitting near me.
Will sat with some other young men who also worked in the king’s stables. They were all muscular boys, used to the vigorous tasks they had to perform day in and day out. Will was older than the other boys by a few years. I only knew a few of them besides Will, but they were certainly popular among the young ladies. The girls my age were usually trying to sneak little glimpses at them when their mothers weren’t watching, or passing them love notes. But today, there wasn’t any of that.
I looked, only moving my eyes, at the girls my age who were seated with their families on the pews. Today they weren’t trying to get the boys’ attention at all; they were eyeing each other with open hostility. I was appalled, but not surprised, to see that the most hostile were my stepsisters. I was immediately intimidated at the thought of competing with any of these girls, who looked as if they would stop at nothing to win over the
prince, and I wanted no part of it. Not only because I knew I would lose, but because I didn’t think I would even survive the battle.
I caught the eye of Roger Wallace and looked away quickly. It took an incredible amount of self-control to stifle the laugh that was threatening to escape me. It was certainly not because he had elicited any kind of warmth or coyness from me. It was because even poor Roger Wallace was being ignored today, and he had an unmistakable, unintentionally comical, scowl on his face.
***
WHEN THE SERVICE WAS OVER, I USUALLY WOULD HAVE gone to talk and catch up with a few friends and neighbors. But I barely talked to anyone today. Most of the girls my age had gone straight home, without bothering to say good-bye. Mr. Grey came to me and inquired after my family. I mentioned that Victoria had been too ill to come to church that morning, and he got a little pucker between his eyebrows.
“Well, give that sweet lady my best and let me know if you need anything, my dear,” he said, patting my shoulder soothingly.
“I will. Thank you, Mr. Grey.”
I turned around and noticed that Mabel and Cecelia had gone to talk to Jane on the lawn in front of the chapel. I raised my hand to wave to Jane, but she must not have seen because she didn’t wave back. I quickly put my arm back down by my side in embarrassment. I wasn’t eager to return home alone to face Victoria and whatever temper she was in, but I was also not in the mood to be ignored, whether it was on purpose or not. I pursed my lips and strode off in the direction of home.
I heard footsteps and saw that Will had caught up to me. He walked casually with his hands in his pockets. “How did you like the service today?” I heard a smile in his voice.
I blushed a little in embarrassment. I hadn’t been paying very close attention. “Did you notice the girls acting strangely today?” I asked, casually changing the subject.
“I don’t notice any of those girls,” he teased.
I smiled. “Of course you don’t,” I said sarcastically. “I’ve never seen anything like that. It was like there was a war going on right in the middle of church, but the weapons were glares and squinty eyes.” It seemed a little silly now and I laughed softly.
Will chuckled. “I don’t envy you, you know. Women fight a harder battle than I’ll ever know.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, thinking about the scowl on Roger Wallace’s face. “We’re all competing for the prince; it must be at least that difficult for the men to be competing with the prince.” I didn’t think before I spoke and didn’t realize how awkward it would be for Will to reply. I didn’t mean to imply that he personally was competing, but just that the announcement of the ball had affected everyone, not just the women.
When Will didn’t answer immediately, I looked over at him, ready to explain what I meant. When I saw the blank look on his face, I realized for the first time that he could actually be jealous of the prince over some girl and I got a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. But I pushed it away. Just because he helped me and was my friend didn’t mean I had any claim on him, I reminded myself. I only saw him in the mornings when we met at the pond. I didn’t know how many parties and dances he went to, or how many admirers he had. Judging by the way the girls acted around him, I guessed it was not a small few.
He was staring straight ahead, looking suddenly serious. “There’s no competition,” he mumbled. I started to argue with him, but he went on. “So, you’re saying ‘we’ now? Do you include yourself in that group of women fighting for the prince?” he asked with a shrewd grin.
I sighed but couldn’t help smiling at his expression. “I told you I would think about it. I know Father would want me to go, and if I do go, it would only be because I don’t want to regret it later. I just want to see what it’s like. But I am not willing, nor am I worthy, to compete with those girls,” I said.
I pictured my gown and slippers and the thought of putting them on with my dirty hands, chipped nails, and ugly calluses made me cringe.
“Ella! You’re worth one hundred—” Will began.
“Will, there’s no competition,” I said with a grin, and he rolled his eyes.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, both thinking our own thoughts, until we reached Ashfield. I knew every curve of the road that led home but was still surprised to find that we had already arrived. I sighed and looked at the home I loved. I had dedicated my whole life to keeping the house as grand as it once was. I had to admit I was doing a decent job, considering the enormity of that task and the trials that came along with it. I felt a sense of pride whenever I looked at Ashfield long enough to enjoy it.
I suspected my ancestors might not be completely satisfied with the overall condition of the house and property now, but I hoped that they would be proud of my efforts to keep it beautiful. It was my unconventional way of honoring them.
I turned to look at Will to thank him for walking me home, but I was taken aback by his gentle expression. He took a step closer to me. “You are a beautiful person, Ella. Do you know that? You give and give with no thought of getting. You work hard without complaint and you see the good in difficult circumstances.” He smiled. “I’ve only known one other person like that in my life.”
We both knew who he was talking about—Henry Blakeley. I blinked my suddenly tear-filled eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
Will took another step closer to me, so close I could see how the sunlight had lightened the tips of his eyelashes. Then in a gesture that surprised me by its tenderness and unexpectedness, he hesitatingly raised his hand, browned from the sun and roughened from work, gently brushed my hair back from my face, and rested it against my burning cheek.
Chapter 11
WILL SUDDENLY SMILED, DROPPED HIS HAND, AND CONTINUED on toward his home, leaving me standing in the road alone. I stood there for a moment and then continued to the house, tripping over a rock I didn’t see. Once inside, I slipped my shoes off. Before I went to the kitchen to prepare lunch, I went to see how Victoria was feeling. I was genuinely beginning to worry about her. I knocked softly on the door and heard a weak, monotone voice mutter, “Enter.”
I opened the door and saw that all the curtains were still closed. The room was dank and utterly black. I stood and waited for my eyes to adjust.
“Would you like me to open the drapes?” I asked.
“No,” Victoria replied in a hoarse whisper.
“Can I do anything for you?” My hands began to tremble. I still couldn’t see Victoria, though I could make out the shape of her large bed against the opposite wall.
I heard a rustling of sheets and saw Victoria’s eyes shining in the darkness from the bed. I could tell just from the glare of them that her eyes were tight slits.
“Do you know what you can do for me?” she asked. She held up something light that shimmered even in the darkness. I couldn’t breathe. My heart stopped beating for a moment and then pounded so hard it felt like it was trying to escape or punish me. “You can tell me why you’ve been hiding this gown and these slippers while we have been starving to death.”
The walls blurred around me for a moment, and I swayed on my feet as the wave of dread overtook me.
“I told you that you couldn’t hide anything from me. If you were able to control your fear, perhaps I never would have discovered these, but you gave your little secret away.” She pushed herself more upright on her pillows. “First thing tomorrow, you will take these things into town. They are worth more than enough to buy new ball gowns for my girls and me.”
I stood motionless. The blood was pounding so violently in my ears that I could barely understand her words, and I shook my head to keep the room from spinning. I couldn’t make sense of the image in front of me—Victoria sitting on her bed, my precious things in her vile hands. I swallowed back the lump in my throat and blinked back the hot tears.
“One more thing,” she said. She reached into the drawer on her nightstand and pulled out the long thin stick that was used for
the sole purpose of whipping my hands. “For your deceit.” Numbly, I moved forward, shocked that my knees didn’t buckle. I wanted to resist. I wanted to run from the room or even tell her she had no right to my things, but submitting to her control had become a habit that I had never been able to break. My fear of her, I realized, had grown instead of dwindled over the years. When Victoria demanded something of me, I instantly became the frightened child who had been left alone in an unfamiliar world. I reached the side of her bed and held out my hands obediently, and she whipped my palms that hadn’t yet healed.
After nine lashings, Victoria raised her arm for what I hoped would be the last one. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back, her head hit the pillow, and the stick dropped out of her hands. I gasped and realized she had fainted. I slapped her cheeks gently with the backs of my fingers and called out her name. I dipped my hands in the water basin, washing the blood off my palms, and wiped Victoria’s clammy forehead. It was no use. She needed the doctor.
As I turned to dash out of the room, I paused. I looked back at my beautiful gown and slippers sitting on the bed next to Victoria and refused to leave them. I mustered all the courage I could, ran back to the bed, snatched them up, and ran them up to my tower. I pulled up three loose floorboards and quickly and carefully put my dress and slippers into the hollow underneath. I replaced the floorboards, giving myself slivers in my haste, and dashed back down the stairs.
Breathless and sweating, I ran back past Victoria’s room and saw that she was still unconscious. I flew down the stairs and opened the front door, slamming right into Cecelia and Mabel. Their faces turned from shock to fury in an instant. They opened their mouths to berate me, but I spoke first.
“Run and get the doctor!” I ordered.
I had never in my life told my stepsisters to do anything, and they stood there on the porch in astonishment. I gaped at them for a moment until I realized they were not going to move, not even blink. I groaned in frustration and ran past them.
Ella: A Novel Page 9