Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  She pinned up the last few inches, frantically wracking her brain. Curtains! “I was thinking about using some of it to put up curtains in the kitchen.” There was only the one window in there, and Ella definitely didn’t need it covered—the more light in there, the better. But Mabel liked things to be pretty. “I thought it would go well with the dark colors in there.” Now she was just making things up as she went, pretending to check that the hem was straight. “Maybe a few dish towels too? That way the room would be prettier, in case any of your guests wandered in.”

  She held her breath, waiting for her sister to take the bait. Her friends were as snobbish and self-centered as Mabel was, but she did occasionally host teas where she invited eligible bachelors, and the word “prettier” was a sure-fire way to get her approval. She liked things to be pretty, no matter the work that went into them.

  “Well, fine then,” Mabel huffed, and turned back to preen at her reflection, and Ella gave a silent little sigh of relief. Her plans were safe. If she could finish up this hem before she had to start on supper, and if Mabel didn’t think of anymore lace to add, then the dress would be complete. She still had a final fitting to do on Eunice’s pale green silk… green the color of a pair of eyes behind spectacles—Stop it!

  She shook her head slightly, trying to focus on her plans. She’d do Eunice’s fitting tomorrow. Sibyl’s blue dress was much simpler than her sisters’, since she was younger, and could be finished a bit closer to the picnic with no one the wiser. That would give Ella a few hours each day—and maybe some at night, if she was willing to stay up and work in the kitchen—to piece together the sections of the yellow cotton she’d already cut. Even if there was no ribbon or lace left to trim with, she could always make a few small ruffles out of the scraps. And then, after the picnic was over, of course, she’d have to actually make curtains for the kitchen.

  Assuming that Papa wasn’t livid at her for daring to request to come along. Of course, since this was the year that Ella was absolutely set on getting Mabel and Eunice married off, she hoped that he’d have other, happier things on his mind.

  “Ella, Papa wants to see you!” Eunice’s sing-song gleeful call from the hallway, combined with the direction of Ella’s thoughts a moment before, caused her heart to stop for one terrifying moment. But then she remembered to breathe again, knowing that her sister had no way of knowing what she’d been considering.

  When Eunice breezed into the room, Mabel spun around on the ottoman, knocking Ella back on her heels. “What do you think, Eunice?”

  To give her credit, the middle Miller sister wrinkled her nose when she took in the gaudy confection that was Mabel. “Isn’t it rather… lacy?”

  Mabel sighed dreamily, having stopped her spin in such a way that she could twist over her shoulder to see the dress’s bustle. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Ella could tell that Eunice was about to say something hurtful—Eunice wasn’t as mean-spirited as Mabel, but just as blunt—and hurried to intervene. “Did Papa need me for something?”

  The distraction worked. Eunice grinned spitefully when she turned. “Oh yes, Papa needs to see you right away in his study.”

  Glad that she’d just finished with Mabel’s hem, Ella packed away the rest of her pins and placed the box on the vanity by Sibyl. Was it her imagination, or did her younger sister look a little pitying when she watched Ella leaving the room? On the way out the door, Ella called back, “Please leave the dress on the dummy, and I’ll hem it when I get back.” Mabel ignored her.

  When she reached the door to Papa’s study, Ella took a moment to roll her sleeves back down to her wrists, and straighten her apron. Papa was always very particular about her appearance, saying that there was no reason for her to look like she’d spent the morning in the ash heap… even if that’s where I was. She also checked her reflection in the window in the hall, making sure that all of her little flyaway hairs were plastered down. Papa hated her hair—had hated Mama’s hair too—saying that it made her look like a “gypsy devil.” Since Ella had absolutely no idea what that meant, or what to do about it, she just kept her hair tied back tightly.

  Straightening her shoulders, she knocked on the door. When his stern “Enter!” sounded from inside, she slipped through.

  Papa’s study fit him. It was sparse—his desk and two chairs, and nothing else—and imposing, with a wall of books that Ella snuck down to read sometimes. Mama used to read them to all of the girls, but when she’d died, Mabel and Eunice had quickly lost interest. Her stepfather was a big man, gruff and gray, who didn’t want much to do with the same things that his daughters enjoyed. Still, he recognized that they were his heirs, and allowed them to have whatever they wanted.

  “Good afternoon, Papa.” He still hadn’t acknowledged her, carefully perusing the Cheyenne Leader newspaper that she laid out for him every morning. Some days he was out on the range with the hands, working to support the cattle empire he’d built. Other days he was here in his study, working on his ledgers and correspondence, and giving orders to Mr. Heyward; those were the days that made Ella nervous. His inattention just made the pit in her stomach bigger.

  Finally, he folded the paper carefully, and placing it on his desk, frowned in her direction. His stare wasn’t pleasant, not like when Ian looked—

  Ella hid her wince. I’m not thinking about him right now. I’m not. She couldn’t afford to, not in front of Papa.

  “Mabel showed me her dress yesterday.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk, and Ella blinked at the unexpected beginning. “It’s… She seems quite pleased with it.”

  That was as close to a compliment as Papa was likely to give, so she smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

  His lips compressed in distaste, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. “I specifically asked her to show me what lace you added, after your second trip to town.” Ella swallowed, the pit in her stomach suddenly wide enough for the mule to fall into. “It matches the other lace remarkably well.”

  He seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Ella had no idea what he expected, so she just said “Thank you” again, quieter.

  “I find it interesting that you were able to go into town and find two such similar patterns.” Why? I spent a week working with that lace. I knew what it looked like. “Where did you find it?”

  She flicked a glance towards Mr. Heyward, hovering over Papa’s shoulder, and was disconcerted to see that he was looking worried too. Uh-oh. “Pedlar’s Dry Goods had the first bolt, but I’d purchased all of it. Crowne’s Mercantile had the lace that I went back to get.”

  “Crowne’s?”

  “Yes, he had everything that I needed both times.” Even as the words left her mouth, Ella winced, knowing that she was admitting more to her stepfather than she should. And that wince was even more telling. He’d know there was something she was hiding.

  Sure enough, he leaned forward in his seat a bit, looking thoughtful. And a thoughtful-looking Papa meant that Ella was in for a punishment of some sort. She held her breath.

  “Crowne’s… Isn’t that the Yankee cripple’s store?” Ella cursed herself. She should’ve remembered her Papa’s fierce southern loyalties. They were the reason that Maisie didn’t work outside the kitchen.

  Oh Lord, she’d gone and done it this time.

  But despite Papa’s anger—and she could see it simmering behind his eyes—she couldn’t make herself agree with him. Couldn’t relegate Ian to just a “cripple.” It was people who saw him that way—people like Papa and her sisters, and people like himself—who kept him locked in the past, instead of looking towards his future. He’d named his dogs after the battle where he’d lost his leg, for goodness’ sakes! If that wasn’t living in the past, Ella didn’t know what was!

  But here and now, she just swallowed her words, and folded her hands in front of her dutifully, waiting for her stepfather to explode. When he did, he was colder than she’d expected.

  “You have seen th
is cripple twice now, and didn’t think to mention it?” He jerked his chin, and Mr. Heyward came around the desk to take the full brunt of Papa’s glare. “You let her go into Crowne’s twice?” Before his lackey could speak, Papa’s anger swung back to Ella. “You were to go to Pedlar’s Dry Goods—” Mr. Pedlar had come west from Georgia, and her father always shopped there—“not to some Yankee’s store.”

  She had to keep her voice calm. “I know, Papa. But Mrs. Pedlar ran out, with the picnic coming up and all of Everland’s ladies making new dresses. I had to go somewhere else. And like you said, Mr. Crowne’s lace matched well enough.”

  Her soft tone did little to soothe him. Without warning, Papa slammed one fist down hard enough on his desk to make her jump. “You’re defending him?” Ella swallowed again, and started to deny it, but he cut her off. “He is nothing. A nobody. I will not have any member of my household consorting with him.”

  It wasn’t until she got light-headed that Ella realized she was holding her breath. And it wasn’t until her stepfather sat back in his chair and stared at her contemplatively that Ella realized she was frightened. Papa had never raised his hand to her in anger, but he could be very inventive with his punishments. And she’d never transgressed quite this badly; she’d gone and fallen in love with a man.

  Her knees went weak, and she had to grab the back of the leather chair to stay upright. Fallen in love? Don’t be silly, how could she be in love? She’d only met Ian twice, only a few conversations with him. She didn’t know a thing about him.

  …Except that he was kind, and noble, and incredibly handsome, and polite, and… Dear God, I am in love with him.

  She mentally scoffed. This wasn’t one of Sibyl’s fairy tales, where people fell in love at first sight. She couldn’t possibly be in love with Ian Crowne.

  But she was. And now Papa was looking at her like he’d guessed her dirty secret.

  “I believe that I am the one at fault, Ella.” Well. That was unexpected. “I have allowed you too much freedom, and like any senseless and rash young female, you’ve abused it.” Freedom? The last thing she had too much of was freedom. “I’ve allowed you to go into town twice in the last month, which is two times too many. I allowed my daughters’ foolish prattling about the perfection of their dresses to sway my long-held rule that you are confined to this ranch, and look what happened.”

  It was all she could do to keep her voice steady. His announcement, coming so soon after her realization, felt like it would crush her. “Mabel and Eunice’s dresses need to be perfect.”

  “Yes, I am as anxious for them to marry as I’m sure you are. But that does not excuse your actions.”

  I went into town, like a normal person! I met a new friend, that’s it! But Ella clamped her lips together firmly, afraid that if she said what was in her heart, Papa would find a way to make her punishment worse than what it surely already was.

  “Heyward, you’ve been my right-hand-man for years, and I’ve trusted you.” The man’s habitual lewd smirk had been replaced by a vague look of terror, but Ella couldn’t make herself pity him. “Because of that, I’ll wait for my stepdaughter to leave before I issue your punishment.” Heyward’s face paled as the blood drained away, and his dread heightened Ella’s.

  “As for you…” Papa turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. “I should’ve known better than to think that you’d abide by the rules I set when your useless mother died. You will remain on my property. You will never, ever be allowed into town again.” His words—his decree—sent a stab through her heart, and pressed a weight on her chest that crushed her. “Is that clear, girl?”

  She couldn’t answer, couldn’t agree, couldn’t say anything. He was planning to keep her here forever.

  “What’s more…” His evil tone drew her head up, her eyes seeking his pale ones glistening with malice. “If I ever hear your name linked with that cripple’s again, I will end him. Do you understand?” No, no, she didn’t. How could she? She didn’t understand half of what was happening. “I am a powerful man, and DeVille and I own most of this town. Ian Crowne could lose his shop, his home, and his livelihood, if we told people to stop shopping there.” Papa leaned forward threateningly, but Ella didn’t respond. She couldn’t; she’d gone completely numb. “I can do that to him, and I will, if I ever hear his name in this house again. Do you understand?”

  She might have nodded. There really wasn’t any way to know. Her stepfather would do something that cruel, just because he could, because a man happened to support a different side in the last war, or because he wasn’t good enough for the Miller name. But Ian was different, and so was Ella. What did it matter if the two of them…?

  But there wasn’t a “the two of them”. Would never be “the two of them.” Not now. Papa had made sure of that.

  Two minutes ago, Ella had realized that she loved Ian. One minute ago, Papa had threatened everything he’d worked so hard to build, just because she’d met him. She couldn’t love him, not now. Not when her loving him would ruin his life.

  The ups and downs were too much; Ella thought that she might be sick. Maybe something showed on her face, despite years of practicing neutral expressions in front of her stepfather, because Papa just nodded, satisfied, and waved one hand dismissively. “Good. Go start on dinner.”

  She made it out of his study and down the hall and out the back door and halfway to the garden before she was sick. As she clutched her stomach in the hot Wyoming sun, tears streaming down her face, Ella prayed that no one would see her. She couldn’t stand to see Maisie’s pity or her stepsisters’ smugness right now.

  She’d lost Ian, before she ever really had him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Good to see you, Ian! How’ve you been?” Max DeVille slapped his back hard enough to spill Ian’s lemonade, but it didn’t matter. Ian just moved his foot away from the lemony puddle in the dirt and smiled, still a little amazed by the warm welcome the people of Everland had given him.

  “Can’t complain, Max. How about you?”

  His new friend’s usually energetic smile slipped just a bit when he shrugged, but Ian didn’t think anyone else noticed. “Oh, you know how it is. Can find plenty to complain about, but it’s too nice a day, so why bother?”

  The two men shared a grin, and Max slipped into the open seat beside him. Ian had been chatting with three other men, but Gaston, Ox, and Hank welcomed Max enthusiastically. It was easy to welcome Max; the dark man had an open and affectionate personality that made everyone around him feel valued. Ian had felt himself falling under the other man’s spell, but couldn’t help it; it was hard not to smile and laugh around Max. He had a gift of making everyone’s lives a little brighter.

  The men continued their discussion about next week’s parade and picnic, and Max chimed in. Ian, however, sat back and sipped his lemonade. Abuela Zapato had been right; he’d made an effort to get to know his neighbors, and suddenly he was a neighbor. He was accepted and acceptable and welcomed. He’d always attended church regularly, but had gone right back to the store to stock the shelves on Sunday afternoons. For the last two weeks, though, he’d stayed after the service for the weekly social with the cakes and lemonade, and had been amazed at the difference it made.

  Suddenly, men that he’d known for three years—like Max—as just faces in the crowd were becoming friends. He’d visited the saloon another few times, and Max had introduced him to Ox Bunyan and a few others who welcomed him into their twice-weekly poker game. It was still a new sensation to Ian, to not feel like he had to hide himself… but it was nice.

  Very nice.

  Even now, they pulled him into the conversation about the basket bidding. He hadn’t bothered to attend the last two years’ celebrations, telling himself that he needed to man the store, just in case. So he was enjoying hearing all about the town’s traditions. “So the gals, see? They pack a lunch in their basket, right? And you bid on ‘em, the baskets I mean, ‘cause you want the gal or the food sh
e’s got in there, whichever.” Ian kept a carefully neutral face, but could see Max laughing silently behind the earnest Ox. “An’ sometimes her food is better, right? I mean, the rest of us are eating whatever is spread out—all sorts o’ dishes and treats an’ they’re roasting two whole pigs this year—and it’s real good. But when there’s that special gal who’s caught your eye, then her picnic basket don’t matter atall, you jest gotta have it so you’re eatin’ with her, you know?”

  Ox’s earnest explanation made Ian smile. “I think I do.” He was remembering a lunch shared with a “special gal” who’d “caught his eye”, and that fried chicken had been the best thing he could remember tasting. But it was hard to imagine that Ella would be at the picnic with her basket. In the two weeks that he’d been asking around among his newfound friends, no one knew of a coal-haired beauty who sewed for her sisters.

  “Well, I’m out. I’ve got all the woman I could possibly want.” Hank Cutter stood and dusted off the denim of his trousers, while looking around for his petite wife. Ian found her chasing after four of her grandmother’s youngest orphans, and jerked his chin in her direction, smiling at the way his usually stoic friend’s eyes lit up at the sight. “And I’d better go help her, if I want to have any chance alone with her.”

  There was a bunch of laughter at that, and then a round of hand-shakes, and Hank ambled off towards the shrieking children and his exasperated wife.

  The rest of them returned to the topic of the picnic. “You are planning on bidding on a basket, yes?” Gaston’s accent was negligible after so many years in the country, but his sentence structure was still very Gallic. “There are many new women in Everland this year. They have come in by train for the celebration, and I have heard, maybe, of a bel étranger I would not mind meeting.” Ian’s attention was caught at the mention of a “beautiful stranger”, but Gaston’s next words dashed his hopes. “She has hair as dark as Ian’s mysterious amour, apparently, but dresses as an old woman does, and drives a stagecoach.” The Frenchman began to laugh, and when he jabbed Ox with an elbow and their friend scowled in return, Ian knew that there was more to the story. “Apparently, our friend here has seen this imaginary—I mean, mysterious woman.”