by Sky Sommers
And when there are no clean clothes to wear, everybody will know whom to look at.
My hubby nods, ‘We’ll set the new rules tonight, before dinner. I’ll change the water,’ he says and reaches for the bucket underneath the contraption that we lovingly call our dishwasher.
I exhale. There is hope yet.
It may seem that I am trying to farm off household duties to the children, being the evil stepmother that I am… Well, I am a stepmother and I did sign up to raise them. They can’t help me being in their life. I’m a mandatory fixture. a necessary evil. And it’s not like I’m asking them to do something a mother wouldn’t.
‘You wish we were more well off, don’t you?’ Peter winks at me.
I nod and smile a tired smile, ‘If only we could make one of the electrical home appliances. We’d be set for life. If the Warriors don’t get to it first, their tech is…’
He laughs throatily. ‘That’s our next project, then.’
‘Noooo! We can’t. It would mess up the Magic Kingdom juju or something. We can’t interfere…more than we have already.’ I make a sad face as Peter laughs again. ‘That’s ages that I’ve heard you laugh,’ I say and sidle up for a kiss.
He smooches me on the nose, ‘The deadly trio. You design, I build and test, Belle mass manufactures and markets everything as her own.’
‘I love watching how you figure out how to get our crazy ideas to come to life,’ I say and kiss him. He tastes like the bacon sandwich he just devoured.
‘Your crazy ideas,’ he says and pats my bum.
‘Our ideas and they are not so crazy,’ I say and sashay my bum in front of him.
‘Yes, who knew that elementary physics and math do actually come in handy when building washing machines out of wooden barrels and without any power supply in foreign dimensions,’ he remarks never lifting his gaze from my rear.
‘Without a power supply? What about the donkey?’ I nod at the window.
Peter chuckles and pulls me into his lap.
‘I wish we had decent bubbly,’ he sighs into my hair after a bout of snogging.
‘We could take the wine up,’I suggest.
‘Or I could make us some coffee?’ he says and affectionately strokes my backside.
‘Hey!’ I admonish him and try to escape, but not too much.
‘It’s very good coffee, darling!’ he winks and pulls me back into his lap.
‘Peter…’ I whisper as he says, ‘I’ve been gagging to get you all to myself…but we maybe have half an hour, max, before Henry wakes up.’
A bout of hurried love-making in half-dress later, Peter is making me coffee as I go about the kitchen, preparing dinner while holding our sleepy son.
Ella
Friday, April 19th
Simon is out and it’s all Grace’s fault!
I went down to get something to eat. Again. Although, it’s hard staying around cooking food, all the smells are making me gag. By accident, I came upon Grace and Father. Eeeuw. The way they were groping each other in the kitchen today, yuk! I didn’t feel so good before, I almost threw up then and there. They have a bedroom, the biggest room in the house, if to discount the kitchen. Why can’t they make out there? Besides, they are old, they have no business making out. Making out stopped with Henry being conceived as far as I’m concerned. I can’t imagine Father doing it. Eeuw. So I told them to get a room.
I thought their embarrassment was an opportune moment to ask about Simon who was about to arrive any minute.
Simon was definitely interested. I had it all figured out. Simon was no good at studying, so as a dare, I offered for him to play a trick on our guests by disguising himself as a server. He was all excited that he could fool them and maybe someone would let things slip in his presence that they normally wouldn’t. I had hoped that he would bring his changing clothes with him and needed to change somewhere before and after and I would offer my room and I’d...take it from there. Maybe.
When I explained about the trick and asked if Simon could help out and stay, Grace thought I was no longer a virgin for sure and accused me of parading hordes of boys around the house.
Grace said no to Simon staying the night. It was going to be too late for Simon after the restaurant closes to head home and since we don’t have a guest room, I offered that he could stay on my floor. I overheard Grace thinking that it would be akin paying Simon in kind for his services!!
Father lamely intervened, demanding I introduce the boys before they become suitors. He never takes an interest in my life, so he gets what I give him. If I give him a suitor quick with a marriage proposal, he will simply have to accept him. He will have to!
Or so I thought until Grace said ‘Absolutely not.’
Of course, I couldn’t tell them why Simon was so important. So I tried to remind them of the statistics of damsels per bachelor, especially where aristos are concerned. It’s ten girls per one aristocrat, which means that I have to compete with nine other girls for the affections of one man. Except not me. I have four boys following me around, well three now that John is back with Betty, but that’s better than nine girls following one boy around.
Grace still said no.
Then Simon arrived already dressed to play his part! There was no reason for him to go to my room and after the conversation we just finished, they wouldn’t let him go up there anyway.
Now that Simon is not an option and I have to tell him to go away, what am I going to do?!?
It’s been three weeks already…
I need to talk to Mellie.
At least I can tell her I tried. Well, I almost did. If it hadn’t been for Grace’s meddling!
Chapter 12. I See Red
Grace
I think it is safe to say that the strategy that used to work wonders on me and my uncle’s kids in our childhood called ‘appliances as pets’ doesn’t work on Ella. I can distribute the chores all I want, she finds a way to ignore them. And me.
Greta has been diligently tending to the washing machine, loading and unloading and even changing the water and feeding the donkey.
Hans has been good sweeping the floors. I mean, they’re a bit dirty, but cleaner than nobody doing them, so ok for now. Until I can find the time to show him how to do it better.
For Ella, it kinda worked for five days. At first, she picked the dishwasher. Well, she had to, seeing that was the only one left to pick. Five days later I spot her having her lunch in the garden by her very lonesome. The kitchen sink is overflowing again while the washer is full of clean dishes.
If the dishwasher was not her thing, I suggested she adopt the clothes washing machine. If she wants to do things whenever she feels like, then that would be a better fit. I assumed we could live with her doing various loads - whites, darks and coloureds - at least once a week. I’ve had to remind her every single day to do a load and she has complained to Peter about me being a slave-driver. Yesterday, I came home to a barrel of washing full of black clothes. Not hung out to dry, just fermenting there in the sun. They were our Ella’s black clothes. She wasn’t above rifling through all our dirty black clothes that needed washing to select only hers. And she didn’t even finish doing them, expecting someone else - me - to hang them out to dry. So, I decided to teach her a lesson. I dumped all of her clothes in a spare pail next to the well, wet as they were and put everyone’s whites into the wash, slapped the donkey, the whole lot. If she doesn’t go and check on her own clothes, why should anybody else?
Appliances-schmappliances.
Now, come afternoon, once again, I am the one fishing stuff out from our stinky overflowing dirty clothes basket, when I notice that the collar of my husband’s shirt is stained with blood.
Did he cut himself shaving?
Funny, I didn’t notice anything.
A nosebleed?
Whe
n I see Hans’ shirt smeared with blood as well, I dig deeper.
To find the bum of Ella’s linen dress and her panties soaked in blood.
Great.
They are brown.
Damn.
This stuff has been there for more than a day.
It will take twelve hours or a full day to undo this damage.
I’m glad she got her period at all.
Wouldn’t want to be a grandmother at the tender age of 38.
Right.
I sigh.
If her mommy or Godmother never taught her, I guess it’s up to me to do so.
I trudge upstairs and find Ella sitting on her floor while yet another boy is lounging on the only chair.
How they both got past me, I don’t know.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I blurt.
‘The Honourable Matthew Mertzen,’ the boy says, without bothering to get up. ‘I’m the son of Baron Mertzen.’
Matthew? It was John two weeks ago, Simon last week, now it’s Matthew?
‘Younger son, I believe. Ella, I need you to come downstairs,’ I tell her.
The boy waves me away, ‘She will do no such thing. We were just getting started.’ He turns to Ella and says sotto voce, but loud enough that it was meant for me to hear, ‘You shouldn’t take orders from your maid, you know.’
I eye him up and down, ‘Ella, where are your manners? I believe introductions are in order?’
The boy looks scandalised, ‘Why I never…’
Ella interjects, ‘Matthew, this is my stepmother, Grace.’
He looks at her, probably wishing she was joking, ‘THE stepmother? The one related to our king?’ he whispers.
I raise my eyebrow. Bless the gossip-mill.
I mock-curtsy. ‘Duchess Goodall. As in four ranks above baron and the closest title to royalty). Enchanted,’ I say icily.
Well, it is my title. I hardly ever use it and it doesn’t extend to our adopted kids, but hey, he started it.
The boy’s face grows long and he rises, ‘Duchess Goodall, I do beg your pardon.’
‘You are forgiven. Provided…’ I give him The Look and motion at Ella and the chair.
‘…You have NOTx been brought up to let ladies sit on the floor at your feet.’
The boy pales and obliges.
Ella looks mortified.
‘Next time, Matthew, when you sneak behind me through the kitchen, please say hello and make your presence known,’ I say as Ella rolls her eyes and then pointedly looks at her beau.
I turn my attention to her. ‘Ella.’
‘What?’
‘Would you please come down?’ I ask, trying to channel as much kindness as I can, under the circumstances.
‘Why?’
‘Please come down and I’ll show you why.’
Downstairs I hand her the dress and knickers.
‘Organic matter doesn’t come off in the normal wash. Go to the garden, pick three lemons, slice one up and add it to the pot of water on the stove. When it boils, leave it for five minutes and then dip in the damaged part of your dress and then the rest of it. And your underwear as well, I suppose. In an hour, you can come and rinse the things out. If the stain is still there, you’ll have to repeat the procedure with the second lemon. And then the third. You get the picture. You can use the downstairs bathroom to rinse things to see if the acid has worked. If you try a few times and the lemon doesn’t work, we’ll have to use a more costly alternative and in that case, it’s coming out of your allowance. You will need to use a quarter of a cup of vinegar to a bucket of water. DON’T take the bucket we use as a dishwasher. If you don’t want your clothes to stink, you are allowed to use three drops of lavender oil. I bought white vinegar for food and the lavender oil for my perfume and not to clean your clothes. So the replacement value of those will be coming out of your allowance. You might also want to use the gloves,’ I say and hand her the linen gloves.
Paling, Ella takes them.
‘I made you a little concoction to start you off, but you need to make more yourself. And please don’t put bloody stuff into the general wash bin ever again, because now you will also need to clean the blood off your dad’s and your brother’s shirts as well. The sooner, the better. Next time, you will remember to do this as soon as something…unfortunate happens,’ I hand her the other clothes and turn to go.
‘What am I supposed to do with Matthew? He’s waiting for me,’ Ella nods at the ceiling.
‘Whatever you like, dear. You always will do whatever you like anyway. If you don’t care about your reputation, at least take care to save your favourite dress, because I’m not going to do it for you or buy you a new one,’ I say and depart, looking for Henry.
The next morning, her dress is still in the water basin in the downstairs toilet and the stain is still not out.
The knickers are gone, though.
I find them in the trash bin.
Right.
At least she didn’t toss Peter’s and Hans’ shirts.
Throughout the day, I add the vinegar and scrub.
Add and scrub.
Add and scrub.
Until the fabric is clean.
Then I put it in the wash together with the rest of the pile.
You would think I would get a ‘thank you’ when I tell her in the evening that I managed to save her favourite dress.
Nope.
Our Ella is not big on either ‘pleases’ or ‘thank yous’.
Or ‘hellos’, for that matter.
She claims she’s introverted.
Every time when I get the silent treatment at dinner and Ella shuffles off upstairs without saying a word, I alway yell after her, ‘Thank you, Grace, the dinner was delicious!’
Sometimes I even get a mumbled ‘thank you’ from her.
Sometimes I don’t.
So, we’re still working on the ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ at age seventeen.
Ella
Saturday, April 20th
There might be hope yet…
For my failure to take advantage of my problem and secure Simon as a husband, Mellie called me all sorts of names. I think it might have been more on the account of her being upset that the baby girl someone left at her doorstep was keeping her up nights. Someone took her at her word. She should never have mentioned in the advertising article father wrote about her that she is running an orphanage. She said that what she had said was that for a couple of months she had FELT like she was running an orphanage, but Peter probably had to cut some words from his article to fit the page and what she had really said was lost.
At least we have a solution. She’s taking me to see the witch. I wonder if it’s the same one Betty goes to with her…problems. I don’t know how Mellie knows the witch or why, I don’t care. All I care about is getting my life back. It’ll be hard enough to conceal not bleeding on my wedding night, but I guess I’ll just have to cut myself or something.
First things first.
Still Saturday, April 20th
The witch is Grizelda!!!
The same cannibalistic Grizelda who frequents our restaurant, loves meat dishes and who almost ate Hans and Greta five years ago when they got lost in the woods!!! I mean I didn’t think we’d be going to Grizelda. I thought Mellie would take me to some other witch in another village, someone who wouldn’t know me.
Mellie took me to the woods. I never knew where Grizelda lived. Well, now I do. When we entered, I was expecting to see some old hag with boils and warts and instead I saw someone I see on a weekly basis!
I bolted and hit my head on the door frame, but Mellie held me back. She all but told Grizelda to give me the herbs to get rid of an unwanted ‘complication’. The witch looked me up and down as if she were seeing me for the first time and
asked how old I was. I had to tell her I’m seventeen. She mumbled something about a green light and told me I was lucky I had my Mother present for such a decision. I guess Grizelda has seen me and Mellie together and thought she was my mother. We do look a little bit alike….As an aunt and niece would. Mellie cut her off and told her to just give me the herbs.
Grizelda asked how long has it been since... Blushing, I said three weeks and two weeks since my flow should have started. The witch told me that if I had come the next week, it would have been too late for the herbs and then I would have had to go elsewhere to procure a doctor who would agree to perform an operation. To physically remove the thing from my insides. Eeuw, but good to know.
She took Godmother’s money, rummaged around in her drawer and found an old spell-book. I was almost disappointed when instead of an elaborate concoction and chanting of spells, she snatched just two herbs from the jars on her shelf, put them in a packet and told me to put a large pinch of each herb in a cup, pour boiling water over the concoction, let it steep well and drink this tea 2-3 times a day until I bled.
I asked what herbs they were and she said she won’t tell me because she doesn’t want me being labelled a witch for knowing. The witch said that the herbs are bitter and the passing will be unpleasant, but not much different than my usual monthly bleed, except I would never know when this one starts.
She also suggested that if I keep having relations, I should learn how to clean myself out with a contraption that pumps water…you know where… eeuw, but good to know. I bought one before I left, after Mellie had stormed off. What if I am married soon and don’t want to endure the slobbery kisses, much less have the unpleasantness end in procreation every single time?
All I have to do is drink tea. Three times a day. For about a week. And then I’ll get my flow and that’ll be that.
I asked Grizelda if there was a herb that would make a person forget another person. Godmother tried to assure me that I would forget the boy, in time, but the witch understood me very well. I had asked about how to make John forget me and that THIS ever happened. Anyway, the witch cackled and said that there are very expensive pills and drugs, but that I would have to be very close to the boy to administer them over a period of time and that me being there would remind him rather than help him forget. She said dishonoured maids could do it, but she had a sense it wouldn’t work for me. She suggested something called hypno-sis, which would be a one-time thing that could make the person forget me entirely, if I so wished. When I said I did wish, she told me the price. Mellie said she didn’t have that much money with her. The witch told us to get the money together and that she would take care of it. How, she didn’t say. She did say she would need to be in the same room as the boy. I told her the only way to make that happen would be at school or accosting John in a dark alley when he would be returning home from a rendez-vous with Betty. If John forgets I ever existed and what we did, I would have a chance of a good marriage.