Cinderella: The Brothers Grimm Story Told as a Novella
© 2017 Michael John Klaassen
Published by Bookbaby, Pennsauken, NJ
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Print ISBN: 978-1-54391-602-7
eBook ISBN: 978-1-54391-603-4
Cover design by Toelke Associates
KLAASSEN’S CLASSIC FOLKTALES
The Frog Prince: The Brothers Grimm Story Told as a Novella
Hansel and Gretel: The Brothers Grimm Story Told as a Novella
HISTORICAL FICTION
Backlash: A War of 1812 Novel
YOUNG-ADULT NOVELS
Cracks
The Brute
NONFICTION
Scenes and Sequels: How to Write Page-Turning Fiction
Fiction-Writing Modes: Eleven Essential Tools
for Bringing Your Story to Life
Dedicated to Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm:
German brothers who published dozens of European folktales in the nineteenth century.
The website www.grimmstories.com is the source of the public-domain version of this story, which readers will find at the end of this book.
Thanks go to my friend and fellow author L. D. Alford for critiquing the manuscript and suggesting a new beginning.
I also wish to acknowledge my wife, Gerri, whose loving encouragement and support have helped make this book possible.
Also by Mike Klaassen
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Note To Readers
Cinderella
Preview Of Coming Attractions
About The Author
Nine-year-old Ella felt the swing arc up and back until it stopped midair. For a moment, she stared down at the grass, worrying that she might fall. Then the swing began its descent, slowly at first, then gaining speed. As she plunged, Ella jerked back and pulled on the ropes with all her strength. Her vision blurred as she shot forward, feeling herself being pressed onto the seat as she swooped over the ground.
The swing sailed upward, and she knew this would be the highest she had ever reached. The swing slowed to a stop, the tautness of the ropes slackening. For a moment her stomach ached with weightlessness.
Above her, beyond the hemline of her pinafore, her slippers seemed to reach the sky. Ella glanced to her right and looked over the eight-foot stone wall. She craned her neck as high as possible. Downhill in the distance, between neighboring houses and beyond the rooftops of the town, stood the king’s castle. Even farther away she caught a gleam of sunlight reflecting off the river that wound its way down from forested mountains on the horizon. Ella’s spirits soared.
Almost instantly she felt herself dropping as the swing began its downward journey. Exhilarated and tired, she let the swing slow.
She glanced around the place she cherished most, the garden behind her family’s home. The plot had been divided into quadrants. At the center, near the swing, lay a tiny pond, its sides lined with stone and its water still as glass. Closest to the house and to the left lay the vegetable garden, while the flower garden was to the right. In the back, behind the vegetables, stood fruit trees and a bell-shaped beehive. To their right lay the family cemetery, where her mother was buried. Ella’s heart ached at the thought of her mother, who had died years before during an outbreak of the plague.
Thinking of her mother reminded Ella that her father was weeks overdue to return from his recent travels. She yearned to see his smiling, bearded face again and hear his laughter as he hugged her, kissed her, and smothered her with love.
“Ella!” screamed a mature woman’s voice.
Ella’s insides twisted tight at the sound of her stepmother’s voice. That her father would eventually remarry after the death of her mother, Ella understood. Her father had been lonely, and Irmgard was a neighbor who had lost her own spouse during the plague.
Ella’s father had explained to her that he thought she needed the guidance and comfort of a woman, and since Irmgard had two of her own daughters, Ella would enjoy companionship when he was required to travel.
Even though Irmgard treated Ella nicely, especially when her father was around, Ella sensed hostility from his father’s new wife. And Irmgard’s daughters, Claudia and Yvette, followed their mother’s example.
“Ella, come here!” yelled Irmgard.
Ella could tell by the tone of Irmgard’s voice that something was wrong. She slipped off the swing and headed toward the house. She stepped through the back door and followed Irmgard and her daughters to the little parlor just off the foyer at the front of the house.
Irmgard plopped down on a chair and from a side table picked up a piece of paper that had been folded in the shape of a letter. She sighed. “I have just received the most terrible news.” She glanced at her daughters and then to Ella. “Your father is dead. While traveling, he contracted the plague and died.”
Ella burst into tears. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor.
Claudia and Yvette rushed to their sobbing mother, and she pulled them close, an arm wrapped around each.
After a few minutes, Irmgard sniffed and eased her daughters aside. “I don’t know how we are to survive,” she said, “but rest assured that I shall find a way.”
Over the next week, Irmgard searched the house room by room. In the following days, she dismissed the butler, the chambermaids, and the kitchen staff. Ella loved each of them, and she cried at their departure.
A few days later, Irmgard summoned Ella to the parlor. “My daughters and I have only enough money to get by. There is nothing left for you.” Irmgard paused. “Unfortunately, my dear, I must cast you out of the house.”
Ella stood dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Her father had been a rich man, or so she thought. But now there was no money. And Irmgard was telling her she must leave the house, the only home she had ever known. Surely Irmgard was teasing, playing a cruel joke. Then Ella thought of the household staff that Irmgard had sent away, and she realized Irmgard would really do it. From time to time, she had heard of children living on the street, begging and stealing to survive. The thought of living homeless, cold, and hungry in some dark alley terrified her.
Irmgard stood, grabbed Ella by the arm, and eased her toward the front door.
Ella screamed and tried to pull away.
Irmgard pulled the door open and dragged Ella closer.
Ella shrieked and sobbed. “Please, don’t do this.”
Irmgard pushed Ella over the threshold.
“Please!” screamed Ella. “I’ll do anything to stay.”
Ella expected to be shoved away and to hear the door slamming behind her. But Irmgard clutched Ella’s arm tight.
“Well,” said Irmgard, as if she were thinking something through. “There might be one way.”
“Please,” said Ella, gasping. “Anything.”
“Are you willing to work?”
Ella’s mind raced. With a house full of servants, she had never been asked to do anything. But surely, she figured, that was better than being tossed out on the street. “Yes, yes,” she said, “I can work.”
“And
by work,” said Irmgard, “I mean anything and everything. You will wear what I tell you, and you will sleep where I tell you. And you will do what I say, without hesitation or question?”
Ella felt her throat constrict, and her lips quivered. She fought back tears, but she nodded.
Years later, Ella closed her eyes and imagined dancing with a handsome prince in a grand ballroom. By the glowing light of candle-lit chandeliers, the royal orchestra finished playing its tune. As admirers in the crowd applauded, Ella curtsied and basked in their love.
Ella opened her eyes to the reality of her world, a kitchen she scrubbed daily. Instead of a pair of beautiful slippers, she wore clogs. Instead of a shimmering gown, she dressed in a tattered flaxen shift. Instead of her hair being put up in an elegant crown-braid style, it was a tangled, dusty mess.
The dream of becoming a princess, and maybe even a queen someday, had sustained her through the dreary years after the loss of her parents.
Ella sighed. Deep down, she knew that the fantasy would never come true. For the rest of her life, she would remain a household drudge, little better than a domestic slave to her stepmother, Irmgard. Ella scolded herself for indulging in such childish notions.
A soft scratching sound from near the fireplace caught her attention, and she listened more closely. She heard a squeak, and goose bumps prickled her skin. She rushed to the hearth and grabbed hold of the crate set next to the wall. With a heave, she tipped the box on its side, spilling firewood onto the floor. She peeked behind the crate, confirming what she had suspected.
Several rats froze in place, apparently caught by surprise at being discovered. One of the rodents broke away and streaked for the pantry door at the opposite end of the kitchen. The other rats scrambled, each running in a different direction.
Ella shrieked as one of the rats leaped onto her shoe. She kicked hard, and the rodent thumped against the wall. From the hearth, Ella snatched an iron poker and struck with all her strength at the rat, barely missing it. She swung again and knocked the rodent against the fireplace. Ella screamed as the rat raced straight toward her, past her foot, and then across the kitchen to the door leading outside.
Her heart pounding, Ella paused to catch her breath. Rats reminded her of the terrible plagues that had claimed the lives of her mother and father. The most recent plague had been the worst, wiping out most of the kingdom’s inhabitants. At the peak of the outbreak, human bodies had lain unattended throughout the city, causing a stench that made Ella gag just to think about.
The city’s rats fed on the bodies, and the rodent population quickly multiplied to countless hordes. The situation continued to deteriorate until the king’s men-at-arms organized able-bodied citizens into work gangs to collect and bury the bodies. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Bechenborg was returning to normal.
Ella shuddered. Her mother had advised her to always be kind and brave, but surely, kindness didn’t extend to rats . . . or cockroaches . . . or snakes.
She surveyed the kitchen, and then she swept away the mess created by the upturned firewood box. At last done, Ella arched her back and stretched. She had cooked and cleaned since well before dawn. Finally, she had but one task to complete before her day was over.
From a pile of ash on the rough stone floor, she scooped a handful and then gently flicked most into a bucket. As the ash disappeared, three green lentils remained in her palm. She blew the flakes left behind into the bucket and then tipped her hand, dropping the tiny beans into a bowl.
Separating a bowl of lentils from ash had become a daily chore that Irmgard assigned to her, saying that the task was for Ella’s own good, to keep her busy and out of trouble. Ella sighed—as if she needed more work to fill her day.
Glancing out the window, Ella saw that the afternoon light was fading. She scooped up the remaining ash, sifted out the lentils, and set the bowl on the kitchen table. With a broom, she whisked the last of the ash into a dustpan and then returned the broom, dustpan, and bucket to their proper places.
She gasped as the kitchen door swung open.
In strode Irmgard, her hair streaked with gray. Her hips wide and her body thick, she walked with forceful steps, leaving no doubt that she was in charge. The door opened again, allowing in Irmgard’s oldest daughter, Claudia, who had curly brown hair and a pug nose. And rushing through the door before it swung shut came blue-eyed, blonde-haired Yvette, whose bones were as spindly as Irmgard’s and Claudia’s were thick. Yvette was two inches taller than either of them.
Irmgard stopped in the middle of the kitchen and glanced around. After a moment, she said, “This kitchen is absolutely spotless, my dear.” She turned toward Ella and smiled. “You really have a knack for this kind of work.” Irmgard nodded as she continued. “Aren’t you grateful that I offered you this position instead of letting you be cast out into the street?”
Ella swallowed hard before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Mother, look!” said Yvette, pointing to the bowl of lentils.
Irmgard and Claudia were at her side in an instant. Irmgard bent close to the bowl, but after a moment she glanced at Yvette with an inquiring look.
“Don’t you see?” Yvette’s finger quivered as she pointed at the bowl. “Some of these lentils are flawed. They should have been discarded.”
Ella couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Imperfect lentils? But she knew that Irmgard would keep looking until she found something to criticize.
Irmgard nodded and squared her shoulders. Her gaze turned to Ella. “My dear, you know that in this house we serve only the best. You should have picked out the culls and discarded them.”
Ella knew what was next, but she dared not resist.
Irmgard grabbed her by the arm. “I saved you from life in the gutter, and I’ve been so very patient with you. Even though your mother acted as if she were better than me, I looked after you when you were orphaned. I fed you and provided you with a place to sleep, and this is how you repay me? You will earn your keep around here, or you will force me to throw you out.”
Turning to Claudia, Irmgard said, “Hand me the stick.”
Claudia raced to the corner and retrieved a two-foot-long stick as thick as a man’s thumb.
Irmgard sat in a chair and pulled Ella close, dragging her over her lap. Irmgard snatched the stick from Claudia. “This hurts me more than you, my dear. But it’s for your own good.” The stick whistled through the air as Irmgard whipped it down on Ella’s backside.
She screamed as Irmgard thrashed her again and again.
Irmgard whacked Ella once more, even harder, then stood.
Ella rolled to the floor with a bone-jarring thud.
Irmgard strode from the kitchen, her daughters following.
Ella gasped to replace the wind knocked out of her. Her rump searing with pain, she started to rise, but then she collapsed onto the floor, where she burst into tears.
After a few minutes, Ella struggled to her feet. She grabbed another bowl and slowly poured the lentils into it, plucking out any that looked even slightly less than perfect.
She put the culls in the pocket of her shift and headed toward the door at the back of the kitchen. As miserable as her life was, she could look forward to this time of the day. After beating Ella, Irmgard took her brood elsewhere for a while.
Ella stepped outside. Patches of billowy white clouds floated across an otherwise pristine blue sky, but the breeze had turned to the north, bringing a chill to the air. In the distance above the hillside swarmed a huge flock of blackbirds, another reminder that winter was but a few months away.
The garden behind the house always seemed to bring a sense of peace to her life. Ella took in a deep breath to enjoy the scent of the flowers that she recalled her mother had often gathered and brought inside. Somehow, the plants flourished, even though no one, including Ella, had time to tend them.
As she wandered through the gardens, she delighted in the brilliant shades of color and the intricately shaped blossoms. Her fingers caressed the leaves, and she took pleasure in the variety of textures. Butterflies flitted from flower to flower, and bees buzzed here and there. Ella plucked a blossom and savored its fragrance.
She visited her mother’s grave every day, and no matter how miserable her life, she left the cemetery with a sense that, somehow, she could survive.
Dozens of markers of various sizes and shapes stood in tidy rows. Ella headed to a grave in the back corner, a stone that bore the name of her mother. Behind that marker towered the only tree in the cemetery, a bushy hazel.
Imagining a tombstone for her father, Ella recalled the kind and gentle man who had given her a sprig of hazel when he returned from one of his trips. She recalled hearing that hazels had special powers, so she’d planted it near her mother’s grave. Ella paused in front of the tombstone, kicked off her clogs, and enjoyed the feel of soft, cool grass on her bare feet. Easing to the ground, she straightened the coarse cloth of her shift and wiped the last tear from her face.
Ella’s most vivid memory of her mother was on her deathbed when she’d gazed into Ella’s eyes and spoke to her as only her mother could. “With thee forever shall I abide, and in thy soul all creatures reside,” her mother had said. “Above all, kind and brave be thou must. Of thyself be proud, but the help of others fail thee not to seek. Possible for thee art all things, little princess of mine, but in thyself first thou must believe.”
Each time she visited her mother’s grave, Ella imagined that her tears watered the little tree. Now the hazel dominated the back of the cemetery.
Ella reached into her pocket and pulled out the lentil culls. She cast them across the ground in front of her mother’s stone and then sat quietly and waited. From the hazel, with a whir of wings, a turtledove fluttered to the ground, then another. The doves hurried forward to find the lentils, cooing as they pecked the ground. After a few minutes, they flew away.
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