Once Upon A Time (5) Before Midnight

by Cameron Dokey

  I made a second sound now. A strange combination of outrage and laughter.

  “You’re sorry?” I cried. “You kiss me out of the blue and then stand there and tell me that you’re sorry? How can you possibly be such a dolt?”

  Raoul’s face clouded. Seizing the mare’s reins, He began to turn her around. “Fine. You don’t want an apology, I’ll save my breath.”

  I planted myself in front of him. “You even think about taking another step,” I said, “and I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll break your arm. I don’t want an apology, Raoul. What I want is an explanation.”

  Raoul dropped the reins, put his hands on his hips. “I was trying,” He said succinctly, “to avoid a broken heart.”

  I felt all my exasperation evaporate as suddenly as it had come upon me. “Oh,” I said, and somehow, it didn’t sound foolish at all. “Anastasia,” I said. “It’s Anastasia, isn’t it?”

  Love at first sight, I thought. I wondered why I hadn’t recognized the signs for what they were before now.

  They had been there in the tight silences between Raoul and Anastasia whenever they met, the compressed lips, the quick glances from the corners of their eyes. Not all love is joyful, particularly when it seems hopeless. She was a noble-born lady, and proud of it. Raoul was a country stable boy.

  “What it is,” Raoul declared now, as he picked up the reins once more and began to lead the horses into the barn, “is absolutely impossible.”

  “So it is Anastasia, then,” I said. I followed Raoul into the barn. Together, we undid straps, pulled off saddles, began to rub the horses down, working in silence as we had so often before. But this silence was different, as if the memory of the kiss we’d shared still hovered in the air between us. The knowledge of all the things it had been, and the things that it had not.

  I suppose every girl wonders who her true love will be. Will it be some handsome stranger, or the boy next door? I can’t precisely claim I had dreamed of falling in love with Raoul, but I would be a liar if I said the possibility had never crossed my mind.

  I took the curry brush from its place and began to brush the coat of the mare Anastasia had ridden to a rich and glossy shine.

  “How long have you known?”

  Raoul remained silent just long enough that I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “Almost from the first moment,” He finally replied. “And don’t think I haven’t tried to talk myself out of it, because I have, every single day since they all arrived.” He shot a quick glance in my direction, as if gauging my reaction. “I’m not a complete idiot,” He said. “Even if I am a dolt. Just because I can fall in love with Anastasia doesn’t mean I believe we can have a future together.”

  “I’m sorry I called you names,” I said. “I was a little . . .” I took a second to ponder the word I wanted, “Annoyed. For future reference, don’t ever kiss a girl and then tell her you’re sorry that you’ve done it.” I handed him the brush.

  “Thank you for the advice,” He said. “It comes a little late, but I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”

  “Don’t tell me you kissed her, too!” I cried. “Wait a minute. Of course you did. That’s why she looked and behaved the way she did when the two of you arrived.”

  “Yes, I kissed her,” Raoul burst out. “She kissed me right back, if you must know. And it doesn’t mean a thing. I am no one, and she is noble-born. She may have forgotten it for a moment or two, but she remembered soon enough. Life would have been a lot simpler if it could have been you.”

  “Oh, Raoul,” I said. I stopped brushing the horse, turned, and put my arms around him even though his back was to me. Raoul rested his head against his horse’s flank, then pivoted to return the embrace. I felt the warmth of his breath against my throat.

  “I suppose you’re quite sure that you don’t love me:.” He inquired after a while.

  I thumped a fist against his back. “I love you with all my heart, as you very well know. It’s just not the happily-ever-after kind of love. I apologize if I’ve ruined all your plans.”

  “I’ve ruined all my plans,” Raoul replied. “But there’s no help for it. I got myself into this mess. I’ll just have to figure out a way to get myself back out of it.”

  “And just how do you intend to do that?” inquired a fiew voice. Raoul and I sprang apart. Anastasia was standing at the entrance to the stall.

  “Anastasia,” Raoul said hoarsely.

  “Do not speak to me” she cut him off in a ragged voice. “I did not give you permission to use my name. I did not give you permission to tell me that you loved me. I believed you, fool that I was.”

  Her voice rose, the tone mimicking and shrill. “I cant bear this any longer, Anastasia. No matter what I do, I cant get you out of my mind. I think of you when I should be attending to my duties. I dream of you at night.”

  She stamped her foot, as if the action might drive Raoul’s words away. “And I let what you said turn my head. It was so surprising, so eloquent for a stable boy. Now I see the reason youre so good at fine words. You’ve been practicing on Cendrillon.”

  Before either Raoul or I realized what she intended, Anastasia strode forward and seized me by the arm. “He’s kissed you, hasn’t he?” she demanded.

  “No,” I protested. “Not that way”

  Anastasia gave my arm a little shake. “Youre lying,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “He was just trying to prove he didn’t love me,” I said.

  “I don’t care if he does love you,” Anastasia all but shouted.

  With a quick, hard jerk, Anastasia began to tug me out of the stall and toward the stable door. “I don’t care if he’s always loved you. A stable boy and a kitchen maid. The two of you are perfect for each other. You can live happily ever after for all I care.”

  We were out in the courtyard now. I felt a sudden gust of wind and the first few drops of rain begin to fall.

  “But I will not be made a fool of in my own house.”

  “It’s not your house,” Raoul said furiously as he charged after us. “It’s Cendrillon’s.”

  “Raoul” I said. “Stop.”

  “So she was born in this miserable place,” Anastasia flashed out, as she continued to pull me across the courtyard. “What difference does that make? She’s still just a servant. She can be dismissed like any other.”

  We reached the front steps. “Maman!” Anastasia suddenly called out. “Maman!”

  The front door flew open and Chantal de Saint-Andre dashed out. “What in the world is happening?” she cried. “Anastasia, I thought you were in your room resting. What is wrong?”

  “I want you to dismiss Cendrillon,” Anastasia said, all but sobbing now. “I will not have her in the house one more moment. I want you to send her away. I demand that you send her away.”

  “You can’t just pack her off like a piece of unwanted baggage,” Raoul said hotly.

  Anastasia’s face went bone white. “Don’t you tell me what I can and cannot do,” she said. “You are no one. I am a daughter of the house .”

  Raoul turned to me, and I saw the fury and pain, both bright, in his eyes, “Tell her,” He said urgently. “Tell them both right now If you don’t do it, then I will.”

  “Tell us what, if you please?” Chantal de Saint-Andre said in a firm yet quiet tone. She came partway down the steps. “Do not fear to speak, Cendrillon. I don’t understand what is happening, but I do know you have the right to speak, to defend yourself.”

  “I don’t need to be defended,” I answered. “For I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Then speak because I ask you to,” she said. “What is being hidden that should be told?”

  I lifted my chin, and met my stepmother’s eyes.

  “I am not a servant, to be sent away on a whim,” I said. “I am Etienne de Brabant’s daughter.”

  ELEVEN

  Absolute silence filled the courtyard. It seemed to me that even the wind
stopped blowing. The rain held off, as if uncertain where to fall. Only my stepmother’s gaze remained steady, her eyes looking straight into mine.

  Then, utterly without warning, Anastasia moved. She released my arm. But only so she could raise her hand to slap me smartly across the face.

  “Liar!” she cried.

  “Anastasia,” her mothers voice cracked like a whip. “That is quite enough.” She walked down the remaining steps that separated her from Anastasia, Raoul, and me. Over her shoulder, I saw Amelie skitter out onto the front porch.

  “You must never strike another, not even in anger,” Chantal de Saint-Andre went on. “Now, calm down, all of you, and tell me what this is all about.”

  “I caught them together in the stable, Maman,” Anastasia hurried into speech. “They had their arms around each other. I wont have that kind of behavior. I will not have it. I want them both dismissed at once.”

  “You can’t dismiss either of us,” I said. “This is as much Raoul’s house as it is mine. He is forbidden to leave de Brabant lands by my father’s own order.”

  “How is it possible,” Chantal de Saint-Andre said, “that Etienne de Brabant is your father and I know nothing about it? Is there anyone else who can vouch for the truth of what you say?”

  “There is Old Mathilde,” I replied, “She delivered me.”

  “And who was your mother?” Anastasia sneered, “Some local peasant girl, perhaps?”

  “My mother was Constanze d’Este,” I replied, and as I spoke the words, I felt a burden lift from my heart. My father might never claim me, but here, in this moment, I had finally claimed my mother for my own.

  Anastasia’s face went white to the lips, and her mother’s dark eyes grew wide.

  “I have heard that name,” Chantal de Saint-Andre said softly, “There were whispers of it at court, the day Etienne and I took our vows, Constanze d’Este, whose beauty had no equal, who died young. But not one whisper that she died bringing a child into the world. Why did your father not tell me of you himself?”

  “Because he wishes I had never been born. My father has never forgiven me for taking my mother out of the world by coming into it. He has never acknowledged me, not to anyone outside this house.”

  “I don’t care what you say, I don’t believe you,” Anastasia declared, “Its a touching story, I must admit, but how do we know it’s not a pack of lies?”

  “Because Cendrillon looks just like her mother,” Amelie said, speaking for the very first time. Her mother and sisters swung around.

  “How can you know that?” Chantal demanded. “Constanze d’Este died before you were born.”

  “I have seen her portrait,” Amelie answered simply, “It’s in the room at the end of the hall, the one that’s been locked ever since we arrived. I found the key just this morning, in the peach orchard.”

  “The peach orchard,” my stepmother echoed in a dazed voice.

  Amelie came down the steps, her dark eyes both thoughtful and excited as they met mine.

  “I got hungry, so I picked a peach,” she went on. “Instead of a pit, there was a key inside, I remembered what you had told me, Cendrillon. That Etienne de Brabant was so heartbroken after the death of his first wife that he locked the door to her room, and threw away the key.”

  “And you found it inside a peach?” Anastasia exclaimed, her tone scoffing. “That’s not possible and you know it. You’ve been out in the sun too long.”

  “Sunflowers shouldn’t have been possible, either,” Amelie replied. “But you and Maman picked armloads of those. I searched for something, and I found it.”

  “Your surprise,” I said. “You found your surprise.”

  Amelie nodded. “A greater one than even I knew to hope for. That day in the hall, why didn’t you tell me you were Constanze d’Este and Etienne de Brabant’s daughter?”

  “I wanted to,” I said. “But I didn’t know how.” I let my gaze take in Chantal and Anastasia. “I didn’t know how to tell any of you. I’m sorry. I never meant to make things worse than they already are”

  Amelie put a hand into the pocket of the apron she had taken to wearing. She pulled it out to reveal a key resting in the center of her palm.

  “I would have let you be the first to open the door,” she said, as she held it out toward me. “But I didn’t know I should, Cendrillon. Not until I saw the portrait. After that, I came to find everyone. I was about halfway down the stairs when I heard Anastasia bellowing.”

  Anastasia sucked in a breath. But her mother spoke before she could reply. “I will see this portrait,” she said. “And then we will decide what is to be done.”

  “I didn’t like the thought of locking the room back up again,” Amelie said when the four of us arrived outside my mother’s door. My stepmother had dispatched Raoul to find Old Mathilde. “But it didn’t seem right to just leave the door standing open, so I closed it again.”

  “Open it, please, Cendrillon,” my stepmother said quietly.

  I put my hand on the latch, squeezed to lift it upward. I heard the sharp click as the catch released. Slowly, as if the hinges couldn’t quite remember what it was they were supposed to do, the door to my mother’s room swung open.

  Great ropes of cobwebs hung down from the ceiling, swaying gently in the sudden movement of the air. The path of Amelies footprints was plain upon the dusty floor. Moving from the doorway to the far corner of the room, disappearing around a wall which formed an alcove. On the wall closest to us stood a great four-poster bed, its hangings gray with dust. A straight-backed chair sat before the window closest to the bed.

  Old Mathildes chair, I thought.

  “Where is the portrait?” I asked, and my own voice sounded as dry as the dust.

  “In the alcove,” Amelie said.

  I took a breath, and stepped across the threshold. It was no more than fifteen paces from the doorway to the place where the portrait of my mother, Constanze d’Este, still hung upon the wall. Fifteen paces, one for every year that I had been alive. But, then as now, that walk across my mother’s room seemed set apart from time. I may be walking across that room still, for all I know. Still making the journey from the doorway to my first glimpse of the face of the woman who had given up her life the night she gave me the gift of mine.

  I reached the edge of the alcove, turned the corner, and suddenly I was face-to-face with a woman with hair the color of leaves in autumn, eyes the color of a fresh spring lawn. High cheekbones, pointed chin, a firm and determined mouth. But none of these were the things which brought the fierce and sudden rush of tears to my eyes. The thing that did that was a complete and utter surprise.

  “Oh, come and see,” I heard my own voice say. “Come and see what love looks like.”

  Quietly, their footsteps stirring up the dust, Chantal de Saint-Andre and her daughters came to stand at my side. I heard my stepmother catch her breath and, as she did, my tears began to fall.

  For never had I seen an expression such as the one that gazed out at us from my mother’s portrait. Never had I seen any face so filled with light, with such a pure and radiant joy. There could be only one reason for a look like that, just one cause: looking into the face of the person you loved best in all the world, and finding what you felt reflected back For the thing that was in my mother’s face, shining out from it like a torch in the night, was love.

  “Oh, but it is wicked,” I suddenly heard my step-mother say, and I barely recognized the sound of her voice. “So terribly wicked, to be given such a gift and throw it all away. So terribly, terribly wrong.”

  “Maman, what is it? What’s the matter?” I heard Amelie exclaim. “Maman!”

  I turned my head, then, to look at my stepmother, and found to my astonishment that Chantal de Saint-Andre was weeping also. Huge tears streamed down her face to stain the silk of her gown. The ice inside her was well and truly melted now.

  “I have been such a fool!” she cried. “I should have had this door broken down
the very day that I arrived. I have behaved no better than your father, Cendrillon. I was so certain I had been betrayed by the one I trusted most of all. So furious with the king for making me marry your father that I forgot the reason I’d given him my trust in the first place. I forgot about love.”

  She turned to face me then, and I saw that her tears were already beginning to dry. In her face was a light that I had never seen before.

  “But here love is,” Chantal de Saint-Andre said. “Shining out from your mother’s face, locked up, hidden away for all this time. I look at it, and I feel ashamed, for your betrayal is much greater than mine has ever been, Cendrillon. Your father threw away the greatest gift your mother could bestow—the gift of what their love created. I think that I have never heard of anything so wrongheaded, or so blind.”

  “I wished for you,” I heard myself say. “A mother to love me, a mother I might love. And two sisters in the bargain.”

  “Why two?” Anastasia asked at once.

  “So that at least one of them might like me,” I said.

  Before I knew quite what she intended, Chantal stepped forward. She slipped the kerchief from my head, unpinned my braids so that they tumbled down. Then she untied the scraps of fabric at the ends of my hair, and with her quick, gentle fingers, combed out the braids until my hair lay thick and unbound across my shoulders, flowing down my back till its ends tickled the backs of my knees.

  Then she turned me, her touch still gentle, to once again face my mother’s portrait.

  “I cannot claim that I can be the mother she would have been,” Chantal de Saint-Andre said quietly. “In this moment, I cannot even claim to love you, Cendrillon, for to truly love takes seeing truly, and I am seeing you now for the very first time.

  “But I can promise you that I will try. Let there be no more throwing away of love while I am mistress of this house.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you,” I said.

  “Its simple enough,” Anastasia said. “You say, ‘Thank you, Maman.’”

  “Oh, there you are!” her mother said to her. “There is the daughter that I know and love. I knew you could not have lost yourself forever.” She turned me to face her now, gathering us both, and Amelie, too, into her arms. “Another daughter,” she said. “What a wonderful gift.”