by Sky Sommers
I should also have much much more time at Father’s than at Godmother’s. Grace has probably had maids all her life and is unlikely to give them up now.
I never would have thought I’d be happy to have a stepmother, but I am.
Strange, isn’t it?
December 12th
I think I know why Father offered to take the three of us in.
He and Grace need help around the house.
It’s a castle alright. A miniature one. With turrets and towers and a shedload of places to clean! Space is tight and I have a cupboard of a room, but the twins don’t even have that. They sleep in a pantry. With the food. Father is allowing it because Grace has not yet finished setting up their room. She’s taking her sweet time doing it, too. I don’t know what could take a month. Grace keeps saying the twins are over only at the weekends, and they can bear it. It’s like she wants us all to help out with everything, but doesn’t want the twins to live with us at all. At least they’ll never go hungry and end up lost in the woods, foraging for food again. Hans keeps eating things at night and Grace keeps growling at him in the mornings.
We live not half an hour’s walk from he palace, fifteen minutes if you take a horse or the landau, Grace is rumoured to be related to the king and yet we have no money! No money for maids, no money for decent dresses, no money for anything. Yet, stepmother keeps getting the best produce from the market on credit. She says she has a plan to serve an unmet need.
Hans has been tasked with gathering the firewood. He doesn’t even live here yet! He offered to carry her bags back from the market - once! - and now he has to do that ALL the time as well when he’s here. He’s ten!
Greta helps out in the kitchen. Strangely, she likes it.
So far, Mellie has let the twins visit on the weekends, but I have a feeling it is about to become more permanent. At some point. When their room is finally ready.
Stepmother shortened my name to Ella. Like Elizabeth was too difficult to say. She asked if I preferred Lizzie instead and that almost made me cry.
She almost left me without dinner. Almost.
Last night, she had a whole pot of beef stew on the stove. For guests only, she said. When Father called her out on it and insisted that the family eat first and the guests get whatever was left, she tried playing the ‘what will I serve Countess this and that who I want frequenting our establishment’ card, but she did relent and we got two bites worth before the guests gobbled it all up.
Those two months with Mellie - that was only one month ago - seem like heaven, now even with me tending to the household. At least I could do as I saw fit. Here, everything has to be by HER rules.
With her, every expense has to be ANALYSED.
To death.
Every.
Single.
Time.
And Father mostly takes her side.
I thought blood was supposed to be thicker than water…
With Godmother I could ask for almost anything and she would go to the market with me and get things. Godmother is the only one who ever cooked for me and asked me what I would like for dinner. When she did that, I almost forgave her the constant humming.
Of course, the dinners came right before she asked me if I could watch the kids, but I was glad to offer that in exchange for being looked after and cooked for. Sometimes I even got a new dress or new shoes or some pocket-money for babysitting.
Here, I get nothing. No dresses, no shoes, no pocket-money for ribbons and ice-cream and lipstick and other tiny comforts.
Grace makes a point of telling me NOT to babysit. Yet she’ll ask ME where Hans and Greta are when Grizelda dines with us. She knows what Grizelda almost did to Hans and Greta. So why Grace lets that cannibal into our parlour, which she has started calling ‘a restaurant’ is beyond me. ‘Mercy’, she calls it. ‘Paying customers’, she says. But I see the terror on both of the twins’ faces whenever they see the witch. And I also see the way Grizelda watches them. Like a hawk. Probably imagining what tenderloin made from their skinny butts would taste like.
If I don’t babysit, how am I going to earn any pocket-money? When I mentioned it, Grace said I could help out at ‘the restaurant’. She said I could help seat the guests and sweep the floors.
It seems that to her, doing the laundry and washing the dishes and taking out the trash and sweeping the floors - things other girls at school have absolutely NO idea about BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE TO DO IT - are perfectly normal things for a lady to do. She says if she can do it, then so can I.
Aunt Mellie was right. One good thing did come out of this - my social status has improved. From an orphan born out of wedlock I have transformed into a lady with ties to royalty, although it seems that a title is all stepmother has ever had. I don’t even know if she IS the king’s bastard sister. It’s just rumours. Being noble is the only good thing. Otherwise, my life is harder than before. When I told Godmother and begged her to take me back, she just said she is nobody to pry me away from my Father. That at least I have a proper family now. The man who has been absent all my life has more claim to me than my aunt!
I miss Mother. She’s the only parent I knew and loved for fifteen years who also loved me. Here, I don’t feel anyone loves me at all.
Father never speaks of Mother. So, I’ve started to forget. Worse…I seem to remember all sorts of things wrong.
How she looked at Hans with loathing when he returned after being lost in the woods, looking nice and plump.
That can’t be right.
No Mother would ever look at her own five-year-old with loathing.
It was Grizelda who had fattened him up so much so she could eat him and that’s why Mother didn’t recognise him when he came through the door. She probably thought he was another fat rich kid coming to gloat at those who were starving.
I also somehow remember that she thought me pretty, but vapid and hoped to marry me off quickly.
But that can’t be right. I never heard Mother’s thoughts, did I?
I only discovered my gift at fifteen, not before…surely…
I must be remembering all sorts of things wrong…yes, that must be the only reasonable explanation.
Anyway, I still can’t hear her. Grace. No matter how I try.
It gives me hope. It means that despite everything, I don’t hate her. Hate would be a powerful emotional connection that would activate my gift.
I can’t believe I was so naive to be happy about having a stepmother!
I’m afraid the storybooks might be true.
All stepmothers might be evil, after all.
Two years later
Chapter 1. The Evil Stepmother
Grace
I used to hate all those evil stepmothers, until I made a deal to become one.
‘Once upon a time in the furthest nook of the Magic Kingdom where Belle and the Beast ruled over the tiny villages surrounding their palace, in a tiny village called Borough lived a good boy named Henry who loved his mama and papa…’ I say, kissing the toddler’s head. At two, he no longer has that baby smell, but he’ll always smell sweet to me.
‘You missed a cup, Ella!’
The girl huffs, takes the dirty cup from the windowsill and hooks the handle to our make-shift dishwasher. The revolving wheel makes sure the cup is soon dipped in the water-bucket beneath. Outside there is no braying, but I know full well our faithful donkey is diligently walking round and round the well to keep the clothes’ pail and our dishwasher going.
‘Thank you! Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ I say and get a rebellious glance in reply.
A gaggle of giggling blond girls goes by the house.
Ah, now I get Ella’s attempts at highlighting her otherwise naturally dark hair.
‘Aren’t you cutting it a little late for school?’ I ask, stroking the toddler’s he
ad who has gone promptly back to sleep in my lap.
She gasps, darts upstairs to get her satchel and flies out the door.
‘Thank you for breakfast, Grace… Have a good day at school, Ella…’ I whisper our one-way conversation after her as I hear stomping down the stairs.
‘Shhh! Henry is asleep!’ I hiss and one of the twins bumps into the other at the foot of the stairs.
‘Sorry, Grace!’ they mumble and tiptoe around me to the table, where Ella has set out their food.
Peter comes down and kisses me on my temple, ‘Running late to meet a prospective source for a new story,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in time to help you open up the restaurant, I promise!’
‘At least take a sandwich with you, Peter!’ I whisper, nodding at Greta to give him the sandwich off my plate.
‘I’ll make you another one,’ she tells me.
‘Greta, you are such a good girl, thank you!’ Peter says and is out the door before I have time to speak to him.
He is avoiding me.
Again.
I look at my sleeping toddler and smile.
Everything is as it should be.
It’s our usual morning.
Well, as usual as mornings in the Magic Kingdom are.
It has been usual for us for the past two and a half years.
Not so long ago my husband and I were living in London and expecting Henry.
How did we get three more kids?
Let me tell you a story…
Once upon a time there lived a 25-year-old waitress who had just sworn off men and happened to chat to a sad single childless gentleman at her uncle’s coffee-shop. The nice man kept coming back, asked her to a vampires and witches costume party, made her a salad, lulling her to believe he could cook, proposed one year later and that was that.
Until we relocated here. From London England, the Earth dimension to the Magic Kingdom that, apparently, has its own laws for time.
For the purposes of our cover story my husband and I met at a masque (that’s a masked ball) in some rather remote part of this Magic Kingdom of ours, where moi landed myself a wealthy divorcee with three kids from his previous marriage - one teen and a set of twins. After a month of courtship, we were wed. I guess meet to marry doesn’t have to take long. I believe it’s even shorter for some species. In my fairy godmother’s case, well, she’s a pixie now, but she was once a fairy - her meet to almost marry took one single day.
In Magic Kingdom terms, our Henry was born as an anniversary present of our first ball and then we relocated.
When we moved here from London, England, the Earth dimension, all three of my husband’s ‘kids from his previous marriage’ were still living with their Godmother.
Now, I’m living the consequences of all those lies and on some days have trouble remembering the truth.
I have no trouble remembering when we first met our adopted kids and the conversation we had with their Godmother.
‘Why do you want them?’ Melisandra asked, narrowing her eyes at Peter. She looked like a petulant child and then and there I decided to dub her Mellie.
‘I’m their father,’ Peter said simply.
Mellie’s eyes dropped to slits.
‘And I’m their Godmother, and we both know your claim is not strictly true.’
‘Why? Do you know for a fact that Lydia was cheating on me while we were together?’ Peter countered as Mellie balked.
‘I just can’t remember you at all. And I was at the wedding.’
‘Lydia and I had no wedding as you very well know.’
Mellie bit her lip.
‘In fact, if you relinquish your godmotherly duties, I will petition the king for officially recognising my paternity and giving them my name. If they were legitimate, it would give Ella and Greta far better prospects of marriage than you dared hope for, don’t you think? And if Hans is no longer a bastard and with proper education he could also take up a job and a wife from wealthy merchants or even aristocracy, instead of the shepherdesses and cowgirls he can hope for now.’
‘Why are you willing to do this?’ Mellie asked. ‘What’s in it for you?’
‘Immediate acceptance by the community.’
Melisandra snorted. ‘Whyever would you need that?’
‘Because I plan to settle down here. And it would be much better if I had the trust of the locals.’
‘Settle down doing what?’ Mellie asked.
‘I’m a…a journalist.’
‘You don’t sound so sure. What is that anyway?’
‘I write up news and stories that people might be interested in, print them and let everybody read them.’
‘So you put gossip to paper and spread lies?’
‘True stories, not speculation.’
‘True stories?’
Peter nodded.
‘What’s the fun in that?’
‘People like gossip as much as discussing what’s happening in the nearby kingdoms. Is war coming? What’s happening at the palace? Don’t you think people should know these things?’
‘We have heralds for that. When the king feels like there is something important that we should all know. People are far more interested in where to get the best meat for their table or how to get tricky stains out of festive clothes. Maybe you should write about that,’ Mellie snorted again.
Peter nodded again. ‘I’ll make a note of that and perhaps I can ask for your contribution for the newspaper.’
‘News-paper?’
‘Yes, news. I think I will call it ‘The Guardian’.’
‘There is something you’re not telling me,’ Mellie said.
‘If you think we’re total strangers, why would anyone in their right mind take on three kids that are not their own?’
Melisandra shrugged. ‘Servitude? Other evil intentions? Your household is not going to run itself.’
Not if I can help it. If they don’t have useful inventions here, we’ll just have to make them ourselves.
Peter stuck a leaflet under Melisandra’s nose. ‘You were looking for me. Well, here I am. Here we all are. We relocated here from far far away and now you’re telling me that you’re not going to reunite me with my kids?’
‘I wasn’t looking for you. I know exactly who I was looking for. Lydia’s ex husband, Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, lovingly known as...’
‘Peter,’ Peter finished for her, pointing at the name in the leaflet.
‘What? No, that’s not what it says at all…’
Mellie eyed the leaflet like it was a dead cockroach.
Peter produced a whole stack of them, ‘I picked up every single one from where you left them in all the surrounding villages and a few far-away towns as well, actually.’
Mellie’s eyes narrowed.
‘They all have the same name. Mine. I’m Peter, the father of your three godchildren. And it’s Goodall now. I took my wife’s name.’
‘Why? What was wrong with Diggs?’
‘Duke Goodall sounded better.’
Mellie hunhed and fanned herself with the leaflets. ‘I know what nickname I used…erm…wrote and it sure wasn’t Peter. Magic has been used here.’
Peter threw his hands up, ‘No point denying it.’
Mellie looked Peter in the eye. Whatever she saw made her visibly relax. ‘You must be a powerful wizard. Are you Ozzy’s rival?’
Peter blinked. ‘No, of course not. I don’t know Ozzy. Who is he?’
Mellie put up her hand, ‘Ok, deny it all you want. If you’re such a hot wizard, then you can probably handle a few….special kids. But my answer is still no.’
She simply hasn’t heard yet what’s in it for her.
A girl of fifteen appeared in the doorway, peering at us from under long ve
lvety lashes, ‘Father?’ she said tentatively.
Mellie blinked, petrified, ‘Elizabeth. This is… This is Peter Goodall and his new wife.’
Not so new, but yes, a wife.
Two ten-year-olds, a gangly girl and a plumpish boy ran out from behind the hesitant teenager and latched onto Peter.
‘Are you our father? Did Godmother finally find you?’ the girl asked him.
Peter stooped down to hug them, ‘Yes, yes I am and I’d like you to come live with me and Grace and Henry,’ he pointed at me and our newborn.
Mellie was biting her lips.
‘Godmother, may we go?’ the little girl asked Mellie.
‘Let’s try this gradually. First, Elizabeth can go visit for a few days if that’s ok with her.’ Mellie looked over at the eldest girl who clapped her hands. ‘She seems to trust you on the spot. I don’t. No offence, but I haven’t seen you,’ Mellie looks at Peter, ‘erm…in a long while. I don’t know what kind of man you are right now. It would be very irresponsible of me to let all of my godchildren go with a virtual stranger no matter who he says he is. For all I know, you are not their father, but somebody who just says he is. Elizabeth doesn’t scare easily, so if you do have sinister intentions, she will tell me, have no doubt about it. Hans and Greta will stay with me for the time being. You can have them over…on some weekends, until I am satisfied that you can offer them a proper home.’
‘Deal,’ Peter said and got up, taking Greta by her hand. ‘I’ll be looking forward to your visits and I hope in time, your Godmother will trust me enough to let you come live with us.’
A week later, after I had just finished decorating our new house, Mellie sent our Ella to live with us. Permanently.
Apparently, our new lodgings were closer to the girl’s school.
Yes, five hundred yards closer. Mellie’s and our house are about the same distance from the town square, where the school is, except on opposite ends of the village. Mellie just wanted to get rid of the girl.
Two years later, Ella still hasn’t forgiven me for it.