Cinderella's Dress

by Shonna Slayton

  Kate figured Elsie meant favorite niece, not apple. She had started swapping words more frequently lately. Elsie’s Polish was better, so Kate tried to speak it whenever she could.

  As Kate returned the hug, she tried not to squeeze back too tightly. Aunt Elsie was nothing but skin and bones. Not that you could tell from her strong hugs. She did give the best hugs.

  “Let me look at you,” Elsie said in Polish, holding Kate’s hands. She pulled out their arms wide. She looked up and down Kate’s frame. “My, you are becoming such fine young lady. Look at how she stands, Adalbert. So graceful.” She pulled Kate to the kitchen table and pointed at a chair. “Hungry?”

  “Am I. My mouth has been watering since I walked in the door.” Kate took another deep breath of the sweet dessert, smelling fresh bread with a whisper of lemon. Delicious. Aunt Elsie cut a thick slice of the poppy seed roll and put it in front of Kate along with a glass of milk.

  “Ma-KOH-viets, my favorite.” Many of the Polish words Kate learned got twisted on her tongue, but this word she made sure she knew by heart.

  Kate picked up her piece of bread. Still warm. She bit into its gooey goodness, chewing slowly to savor every bite. Who knew when she would get another taste of Aunt Elsie’s makowiec. And wouldn’t Floyd be mad when he found out she got poppy seed roll, and he didn’t. Well, that’s what he gets for choosing to stay on after the war.

  Uncle Adalbert excused himself to read the paper in the other room.

  “Mm, you are a treasure, Aunt Elsie. Thank you.” She kept her gaze on Adalbert, waiting for him to settle in. His chair was visible from the kitchen so he and Elsie could talk while she was cooking.

  “Store up your treasure in heaven, Kate, dear. Not on earth.” Her eyes drifted off to the side and seemed to go unfocused on her surroundings.

  Kate bit her lip. Oh, no. “Aunt Elsie,” she whispered. “You and Uncle Adalbert gave me a package the last time I was here. The paper, it tore, and inside, I found the dress.” She raised her eyebrows in expectation.

  Elise’s focus returned. She beamed. “The Cinderella dress? Yes.” She matched her voice to a whisper. “You have it?” She looked confused. “I don’t always remember, but this I would remember.” Her voice rose. “The dress is too important. I need to protect it. It should not leave my sight.” She struggled to stand. “You must bring it back to me.”

  Kate jumped up to help her. She cast a glance at Uncle Adalbert, hidden behind the newspaper. If Elsie raised her voice any more, he’d start paying attention to what they were talking about and then he might want it back. “The dress is fine. It’s in my locker at the store, where you asked me to take it that day those two men were here.”

  “Yes, those nice men. They were looking for paintings. We have no paintings.” Elsie steadied herself with her fingertips touching the tabletop. “And they were looking for the Burgosovs.” She shuddered. “We have not seen them, either. Not since the war.”

  “And the dress?” Kate brought Elsie back to the needful thing.

  “Did you notice the lace? The feel of the silk fabric—so much like the kind we practice sewing on?” Elsie’s mouth tilted up in one corner. “You must have thought me strange at times, the things I said and made you do. I told you as much as I could. Adalbert confuses me sometimes. Says the dresses need to go back to Poland.”

  Kate pictured her brother making the crazy sign and pointing at Elsie. If he only knew! And the lace, yes, Kate had noticed the similarity right away. But the fabric? Now that Elsie brought it up, Kate remembered her first attempts with the slick material. She felt all thumbs trying to keep a straight seam. And then the hours they had spent sewing crystals to the small doll dresses Elsie sent as gifts to the Polish girls in her village after the war.

  “You were too young when we first met. You were not ready for the dresses. Now, you have grown into responsible young woman. So much like Katja. Now, you are ready. We should have the ceremony even if we cannot find the Kolodenkos.”

  “Really? You think I’m ready?”

  “Small ceremony makes the event special.” She waved her hand. “Gives you something to look back on and remember. Each Keeper adds her own special touch to ceremony. My mama gathered bunches of plates. Hundreds of them!”

  “Plates? You mean flow—” Kate cut off her correction. She knew what Elsie meant. Elsie sighed and, hunching her shoulders, withdrew into her own mind. She shuffled to the sink and began washing dishes. The slow, methodical motions practiced over the years and performed without thought.

  Hoping to draw Elsie back into the conversation, Kate brought her plate to the sink. “What happens if you can’t find the Kolodenkos? Do I keep the dress forever?”

  Elsie took the empty plate and wiped it with the crocheted dishcloth, not making eye contact. A tear began to trickle down her cheek like a bad memory emerging. “Katja, please tell me why you took the necklace.”

  Kate froze. “Pardon me?” Elsie thought she was Katja.

  “The amber necklace. It was supposed to stay with the dresses. Why did you take it? I’ve had to make excuses for it missing.” Elsie’s voice grew hard. “You shouldn’t have done it. You almost ruined everything.” She kept staring straight ahead at the wall.

  “Um, I’m sorry Aun—Elsie.”

  Elsie shook her head. “No, I am sorry, Katja. You had every right to the necklace. It was supposed to go to you next. Mama said. She chose you. But I can’t let you have them now. I am doing good job keeping them.”

  “Y-you have the dress—the Kopciuszek dress?” Kate played along while she started putting the pieces together. “But I was supposed to have it? Not you?”

  “You never wanted them anyway. You said we were cursed. I didn’t really lie to Mother. You were too friendly with them. You know we can’t trust any of them.” Elsie shook her head vigorously. “Kombinator,” she said. The Polish word for a schemer.

  Kate let what she heard sink in. Elsie had stolen the dresses away from Babcia. Katja should have been the Keeper of the wardrobe, not Elsie! How unfair. If Elsie had had children, the dresses would have passed on to them, and not Kate! They would have been lost from her branch of the family tree forever.

  But they’re not our dresses. Kate ignored the voice of reason trying to speak into the room. She felt the decades-old family indignation welling up within her.

  She wrapped her fingers possessively around her necklace, like she did the first night Elsie had seen it. When she had instinctively felt that Elsie wanted it. “What’s so important about the necklace?”

  Elsie turned and looked at her. “Don’t you know? I thought that was why you took it. I can’t get it out of my mind.” She squeezed her temples like even now she had a headache. “I am afraid the Kolodenkos will take the dresses from me if they know I don’t have the necklace anymore. It is a symbol of the Keeper, but much more.”

  “How much more?”

  “I don’t know. No one remembers. I thought you knew and that’s why you took it.” Elsie’s voice wavered. This confession was taking a toll on her.

  “How do we find out what it does?” Kate spoke more sternly than she meant to. She should be leading Elsie to lie down, not interrogating her. But she had to keep pressing. Elsie had never been this open with her before.

  “I think it gives dress strength. When necklace was gone so long, the dress, it lost its magic. Got weak. Disappeared. Will you give the necklace to me?”

  Kate backed away, shaking her head. “I can’t.” She suddenly felt trapped in Elsie’s memories. Like she truly was Katja and not Kate. Katja wouldn’t want Elsie to have the necklace. She brought it all the way to America to take it away from her. And then she gave it to me. Kate wouldn’t hand it over now, even if Elsie still had the dresses.

  She kept backing away until she bumped into Adalbert. How long has he been standing there?

  “Elsie, it is time you rest. You have been having such a good day.” He shot Kate a warning look. “I would not w
ant you to overexert yourself.”

  Adalbert waited for Elsie to leave the room before he reached over and gripped the counter. There were dark circles under his eyes, marring his sallow skin. Kate was shocked to realize he looked in worse condition than when they had arrived in America during the war. Exhausted. Overdrawn.

  “You should go rest, yourself,” she said. “Remember there’s supper in the fridge.” She fled before he could say anything.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Kate’s time with Elsie had really shaken her. She had gone to visit expecting to share the excitement of the Cinderella dress, but instead, she learned of Elsie’s betrayal of Katja.

  Katja was supposed to be the next Keeper, but somehow Elsie took that Keeper role away. Then Babcia got back at her by taking the necklace. But neither one of them knew what the necklace was for, other than being a symbol of the Keeper. Kate peered into the necklace looking for a hint of an answer, but all she saw was the clear honey amber and its captured flecks.

  Once, Elsie had said it was Kate’s purpose to right a wrong. This must be what she was talking about. But to think, if there had never been a world war, the Oberlins would never have left Poland, and the Keeper role would have gone to that other girl, the distant cousin Elsie had called silly. Kate clenched her fists.

  At what point did Elsie feel guilty enough to try to make amends in the family? Kate couldn’t bring herself to go back to the Oberlins’ house after this. Even though Elsie didn’t know what she had revealed, this piece of information changed everything. How could Elsie have done that to her sister, and by association, to her?

  Kate spent the next few days searching through her memories for any hints Babcia might have unknowingly given about the family history. As she lay on her bed she stared at the paper cutout of the two girls and the flower. She knew now it was a poppy—part of the washing formula for the dress. And wait, the cutouts at the girls’ feet—they were lavender flowers. If she squinted her eyes, she could make the designs in the girl’s dresses look like numbers. Perhaps these were the quantities she was to mix of each flower? The picture was the recipe.

  Babcia did care about the dress! She didn’t believe it was a curse. At least, not fully if she left hints behind on how to care for it.

  Eagerly now, Kate examined Babcia’s paper stars. They were simply paper stars. But stars came out at night, so…nothing.

  Next, she picked up a decorated egg. Plenty of symbols here. Most were the standard symbols one would find on any pisanki. A fish for Christianity. Wheat meant good harvest, or health. Pine needles stood for youth and health. A sun could mean life. Crosses were for Christ, of course. Roses meant love. And the various unending lines stood for everlasting life.

  Which egg was Babcia’s favorite? Kate’s hand hovered over an egg that was different from all the others. For one, its final color was not black, as the others were.

  To make the eggs, Babcia had used a kistka to draw each design. The heated wax flowed through the tool, protecting the color underneath from the next dye bath. She had stopped dipping this particular egg in the dyes after blue. Then she would have used a candle to melt away the wax and reveal her intricate patterns. The other reason this egg was unique was the center design. It was a ball gown.

  Why had she never noticed this before? Of course, she’d seen it every day of her life, sitting innocently with all the other eggs. Babcia had told her it was an egg made especially for her. But that was when Kate was little and still played with dolls. To her it had looked like a little doll’s dress, and that’s what she had thought every time she looked at it.

  With new eyes, Kate examined every inch of the egg. Obvious to her now, she knew it was the Kopciuszek dress. Around the dress were miniature poppies and angled lines that could indicate mountains. Cinderella came from the mountains.

  The edge of the egg was traced with a thick double border made of flowy lines that meant water. The Baltic Sea or a river? And the symbol for the sun dotted the space between the lines, pine needles radiating out. That must mean her necklace—a sun shape made of amber from pine sap. The last symbol she didn’t recognize. A bent stick? No. Shoes!

  She sucked in a breath. In every story of Cinderella, the shoes were always the object that didn’t disappear. The prince used them to find his dream girl. But Elsie never once mentioned any shoes. Just when Kate thought she wasn’t going to speak to her aunt again, she realized she needed to. Now.

  Kate bounded out of the room. “Back later, Mom! I’ve got to go see Elsie.” She grabbed a light jacket and her purse.

  “Oh no you don’t,” called Mom from the kitchen.

  “I won’t stay long. I’ll pick up your Tupperware.” Kate’s hand was already on the door handle.

  “After fighting so hard to get Mr. G to let you be part of window night, you’ve already forgotten?” Mom stood with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

  Kate could feel the color draining from her face. She looked at the time. Heavens! She was going to be late!

  …

  Kate rushed to the store in time to witness the crew transferring the stage from the delivery truck into the back of the store. Crates and crates filled with pieces of Cinderella’s home were being unloaded and wheeled on handcarts into the storeroom.

  She bounced on her toes with anticipation. She was really here. Her first official window night. The hustle and bustle before her brought her back to the night of the raincoat window where she hid in the shadows until Johnny caught her. If only he were here, too. She wouldn’t mind his teasing at all. She missed it. She missed him.

  “How can I help?” she asked the man organizing the unpacking.

  He turned his back and pointed out some props to Neil and Roy. Then he picked up a crowbar and pried open another wooden crate as if he hadn’t heard her.

  Kate pulled together her courage and spoke again. “Mr. G has me working tonight. What shall I do?”

  “Ask him,” said the man. He turned away again.

  Another man entered the room and helped pull out props. “What’s the dame doing here?” he said in a loud whisper. “Ain’t she supposed to be out with the dolls?”

  Another grunt from the first man.

  “What? So now we’s got to watch our mouths all night? Talk all gentlemanly?” continued the man in his loud whisper. “Mr. G know what he’s doin’?”

  So this was the way it was going to be. Mr. G warned her that some of the men wouldn’t be happy to have her around. She’d have to make her own work, then.

  She took a spare crowbar and started in on the closest crate. She’d never so much as touched a crowbar before. The men took two seconds to get the lids off. Meanwhile, Kate struggled to wedge the metal into the space at the top. Good thing she was tall, because she needed the leverage.

  It took a few tries, but she heard the satisfying squeak of the first nail bursting free of the wood. Kate glanced up and noticed that all the men had stopped working and were watching her. She felt her face flush. The women in the newsreels showing off their factory work made it look easy.

  Roy gave her an encouraging grin and went back to his work.

  At least someone here realized it was the 1940s. A new era. Encouraged by Roy’s support, Kate slowly breathed out and continued working her way around the crate. She tried to ignore the feeling of hostile eyes watching her. What she opened up was one piece of a large faux-stone fireplace. Put together, the fireplace would reach the top of the twelve-foot ceiling and be wider than she was tall. She tried to lift it out of the crate, but it was heavy and awkward.

  Roy and Neil jumped to her aid. They each took a corner and pulled the fireplace free of the packaging and set it down in front of her. Mr. Loud-Whisper shook his head and went back to his own crate.

  Before Kate could tell Roy and Neil they didn’t need to do all her work, Mr. G came into the room with a tall, narrow crate. “Gather ’round, boys,” he said. “Special gift for you.” With a flourish, he pri
ed open the crate and pulled out the new manikin.

  Kate blinked. Miss Staples matched the photograph perfectly. The manikin face’s was surprisingly realistic, her expression one of innocent beauty.

  “Glass eyes, fellas. And eyelashes. Here’s our new Daphne, or should I say, Cinderella.”

  Roy whistled. “Bye-bye Daphne, hello Cinderella.” He came over and picked her up, lifting the manikin way into the air. “Great, she’s about a twenty-five pounder. Let’s get rid of one of those old plaster heavyweights.” Roy took a closer look at the new manikin. “Know what, fellas? She looks like my aunt Marge, back when she was a looker.”

  “Marge, it is,” said Mr. G. “Now, wait until you see the fairy godmother. A little nymph.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. “Everything is falling into place.”

  Mr. G was happier than a soldier on leave. The props must be living up to his sketches. If only she could stay the whole night.

  The crew had eight windows to change out. Mr. G had them start with the main window, which faced Fifth Avenue and garnered the most attention. The window was huge and would hold the main storyline. The other, smaller windows would hold pieces of the fairy-tale story like cleaning supplies and kitchenware this first week.

  After the flurry of taking down the old scene, the carpenters had gone to work ripping out the window floor and lowering it so a customer would have to step close to the window to look down and see the entire scene.

  “Why are they doing that?” Kate asked Roy when he passed by.

  “Have you not heard the saying about catching a hare and cooking it?”

  Kate frowned.

  “First you have to catch the hare. You have to generate an attraction that causes the pedestrian to stop and look, or your window is a failure.” He winked. “That’s a paraphrase of L. Frank Baum for you.”

  “Baum, the author?”

  Roy laughed. “You girls don’t know your history. Tell that giggly Josie friend of yours. I’ve heard her singing those Wizard of Oz songs. Baum was writing about windows before he was writing about Dorothy.” With a nod, Roy was off again.