The years had been kind to Isolda. For a woman in her middle ages, her skin was taut and unblemished with even a touch of bronze to accentuate an exotic mystique. She stood in front of the full-length double mirrors of her wardrobe and grinned. But even with impulse to smile, she still cursed. Isolda felt like battering her fist against the glass, even to the point of lacerating her hand. A little nip of pain would be welcome compared the excruciating torment of not being able to carry on in her concupiscence with Peter. Her body still burned with the sensation of his lips against hers, his hard chest pressed against her body. If it had been allowed to go on even one second longer, they would have been propelled by their appetites to escape to the nearest secluded hideaway and succumb to the lust in its wholeness.
But instead Isolda cursed out loud.
“Damn it, Bethany! Why did you have to be there? Why!?”
Of course there had been the slightest inkling of resistance on Peter’s part, but Isolda refused to linger on it. She had put him in a terrible position and that was incredibly unfair. Peter was a man shackled to a scandalous part. He was doing all he could, taking every specific action to cleanse himself of any and all disrepute, even carrying with him a gravitas that proved to be quite an encumbrance to Isolda. To have been spotted engaging in such salacious activity would have been detrimental to the revitalization of his image.
Isolda got it. She understood image.
And yes, there was still that question. Isolda knew less the answer that night than she had when she’d first set eyes on Peter weeks before. Did it matter? Whoever he was, he was still the man she’d fallen in love with.
Isolda sighed and began removing the pins from her deeply dark, brown hair. She closed her eyes as she did and imagined it was Peter who was kneading his hands through her hair, sneaking kisses at her face and neck. She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. Henry was watching her from across the room. Isolda gasped.
“What do you want, Henry?!” she snapped at him. He said nothing, nor did he move. Isolda turned back curtly, desiring to make it clear to him she was turning her back to him and not the other way around. Still, Henry watched his wife of more than twenty years intensely, catching her eyes through the mirror’s reflection.
Isolda wondered if he knew about her kiss with Peter that evening. Had Bethany told her father? That little brat! But Isolda then reminded herself of two things: Bethany had no respect or admiration for her father and would not have troubled herself to tattle on her mother when Henry was guilty of the same sin and far worse. Furthermore, Henry too had no respect or admiration neither for the institution of marriage nor in the duties of spouses to honor archaic, idiotic vows of fidelity. Why would he even care about Isolda and Peter? Isolda pondered as she watched her husband stare at her for several more seconds and then silently depart from her dormitory as hauntingly as he had appeared.
Chapter Nineteen
An eerie silence loomed over Kersley; a stark contrast from the colorful, lively atmosphere that used to welcome Ella whenever she visited. As she made her way slowly across the cold, undisturbed pathway that normally was beaten down with hundreds of child-sized, rambunctious feet, she tried to shake the overwhelming premonition that she was too late. But to what, she was not sure. She called out for Gonla, Luca, and every other person she recall. There was no reply. Ella scanned the surrounding as far as her eyes could see, but she could discern nothing. The caravans had all but vanished and Ella wished more than ever before that she could locate at least one barrel-shaped wagon with jovial voices emanating from within.
“Ella!”
She jumped and turned eastward toward the familiar voice, her gloved hand across her heart to stem its panic. There sat a grove of large trees that dwarfed a small reservoir in which Ella had waded on more than one occasion. It was Luca. When Ella made eye contact with him, he began running toward her. As he neared, Ella observed that he was thinner and paler than usual. His hair was long, ratty, and his clothing was covered with dirt stains, old and new. But he smiled merrily upon seeing his friend and first crush.
“Ella,” he said, out of breath, “what are you doing here?”
“Luca,” Ella replied anxiously, “where is everyone?”
“They left,” Luca replied, oddly surprised that Ella didn’t already know.
“Everyone?”
“Well, mostly everyone. They went east, toward the mountains. Terrible time of year to go east, but that was their only option.”
“Luca,” Ella said, her confusion bordering on pain, “what are you talking about? What do you mean their only option? Where is Gonla? Did she and Ante’ leave, too?”
Luca didn’t answer but motioned for Ella to follow him back along the shallow, newborn trail toward the reservoir, from whence he’d come.
After a long while of walking, Ella heard the noise, the blissful commotion that she’d come to associate with her friends. She quickened her step as she crossed the grove and emerged along the rocky reservoir beach. There were fifty or so mud and stick huts that lined the beach about ten feet from the water. Countless people of all ages milled around the makeshift homes and in the surrounding wooded area, doing everything from the most mundane of chores to chopping down trees. Like nothing had ever happened. But Ella knew her hope was in vain when it tried to reassure her. The sullenness in the eyes of each man, woman, and child that Ella watched got caught up in the passing wind and made its way over leaves, rocks, saplings, and water to find Ella and constricted her sanguinity. It was like a passing infection of gloom. There were several people among the crowd she didn’t recognize, but the ones who were familiar grinned when they saw her. There was one woman in particular whose face lit up upon seeing Ella. The beautiful, well-bundled woman called out and Ella felt herself collapsing in happiness.
“Gonla!” Ella shouted, waving her arm from side to side. Gonla waved back and began running toward Ella and Luca. She was hobbling a bit. Ella saw this and felt a pang of guilt, like it had somehow been her fault that Gonla was struggling. Ella sprinted forward, as fast as she could, to reach Gonla before she had to hobble any farther. When they met, the friends embraced tightly, ecstatically. The voices of Gonla’s children soon accompanied the two women and Ella allowed her tears to flow freely.
“What happened here, Gonla?” Ella asked somberly from a flat boulder inside Gonla’s hut that doubled as a table and a chair. Gonla instructed her children to depart before she answered.
“Most of my people left,” Gonla began, “hoping that traveling east toward the mountains would take them safely from Kersley and out of harm’s way.”
“Harm’s way?”
“Thurlow’s army came, Ella. Not all of them, but enough. They said we had to leave or they would issue arrests.
“It wasn’t just us; they told everyone in Kersley to go away. There must have been thousands of us running for our lives. They said something about military barracks or camps needing to occupy the territory. I don’t know for certain. Many refused to leave their homes. When they did, they were detained.” Gonla looked away to hide her tears. “Even Ante’,” she said wearily.
Ella’s heart sank into her stomach when she heard Gonla utter her husbands’ name. “What happened to him?” Ella implored, reaching out and taking Gonla’s shivering hand in her own, squeezing it so tightly that she feared she might cause her friend even more pain.
“I don’t know where they took him,” Gonla wept. “All I know is that once the army left, they did not release any of their detainees. That is why we have not left. I cannot leave without him.”
Ella stood, resolved. “This is Thurlow’s doing. I know it! I will find out where Ante’ is, Gonla. I swear! I know of a way to expose Thurlow as the murderous traitor that he is. All of his crimes will be revealed and he will have no choice but to release his prisoners.”
“Ella, stop!” Gonla stated stridently, alarming Ella.
She sat back down slowly, her face flushed with adrenali
ne but deeply confused by Gonla’s outburst. “Gonla, what is it?”
“You think you understand, Ella, but you do not. You see Thurlow as one man: one devious, sadistic, powerful man. But he is more than that. The army of Gwent pays their allegiance to the king. They go where Thurlow directs, but they answer to a higher power. There is at least some hope for fairness and humanness where the army is concerned. But Thurlow has his own army, the Hussars. They answer to no one but Thurlow.”
“The Hussars? What is that?”
Gonla shook her head.
“I don’t know, my friend. But I fear the worst. I believe that Ante’ and the others are in Thurlow and the Hussars’ custody. God knows what they are doing to him. They are capable of such…brutality.”
The sadness in Gonla’s face morphed from grief into something Ella could not recognize. It was almost as though Gonla had become less present: lighter and weightless. A shell.
“What is it?” Ella inquired, softly. Gonla merely shook her head, as though she was desperate to shield her friend from some horrific manifestation. Ella found herself growing impatient. Why did Gonla feel she couldn’t handle it?
“Just be careful, Ella,” Gonla replied, painfully aware that she’d opened a wound and was refusing a dear friend the chance to mend it. “Don’t take Thurlow to be less than he is; even if a lesser man than he doesn’t exist.”
“Gonla,” Ella said, frustrated that Gonla remained so evasive, “I think it might be safer for you to join your family in the mountains. It is not too cold yet and you are alone here. The army will come back and what then? Ante’ would want you to be safe. He will know where to find you when he is released.”
“I will never leave without him.”
“Then what about asking Luca to take the children up? I’m sure he would be willing.”
“I cannot do that either. The children are my husband’s life. Even my baby girl cannot be taken away. Ellie is his only daughter. There is a bond between them that, if broken or shifted, it would destroy them both. It was a bond that Ante’ fought so hard to construct. Now it a source of power, even a life force, for them both that cannot be replicated. I know it is hard to understand.”
She has no idea just how hard, Ella thought to herself.
Gonla perceived her friend’s anguish and knew she could no longer shield Ella from the truth, though it would threaten to destroy her as it almost did Gonla herself. “Ante’ still is consumed with guilt that he did not love our sweet Ellie before she was born,” said Gonla. “He did not want her.”
“What?”
“Please don’t judge him with harshness. It was unspeakably hard for him to never know for sure that…”
“That what, Gonla?”
“That Ellie was even his child.”
Ella’s breath caught in her throat and she had to brace herself on the edges of her stone seat to keep from toppling over. “What did you say?” Ella begged, scarcely capable of drawing breath.
“This is not easy for me to tell you. I only hope our friendship has been through enough that you will not think I have disgraced my family, my people, or my soul with infidelity.”
“The Hussars? They, they—” Ella stuttered when she tried to speak of the horror of it. She pulled her hands back and cupped her face, ashamed at how ridiculous she must have appeared. Gonla simply dropped her head forward. It was becoming clear to Ella: the seething hatred Gonla and her family felt for Thurlow, for his men, for anyone who wasn’t one of them. She’d called her victimizers bastards. If what Gonla said was true, even bastards were incapable of such heinousness. Ella felt like her chest was collapsing on itself. How could Gonla have never said anything before? Perhaps she’d tried.
“Gonla,” said Ella, tears of shamefulness pouring down her cheeks, “I—I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, love. I didn’t even know you at the time. Please don’t cry for me.”
“Who was it? Thurlow?”
“No. I’ve only ever seen him from a distance. I never knew anything about the men that attacked me except that they were monsters. Drunken monsters.”
“Men?”
Gonla nodded. She reached across the space between her and Ella, now an almost sacred monument to their friendship, and took her trembling hands in hers. “Yes, Ella,” she said with remarkable equanimity. “But I plead with you to ask me no more questions about it. Ever. It was as terrible as you imagine. But it is over now and the love I feel for my perfect little Ellie is enough to heal my brokenness, ever so slowly. Even Ante’ was rescued from the throes of depression and an even worse fate, for he was willing to sacrifice his own life, and soul, to avenge me. It was all by little Ellie’s presence that we could move on. That is why I cannot leave until Ante’ returns. Don’t forget that I still believe in miracles.”
Ella dried her eyes with a corner of her shawl. If only she could say the same thing. “I understand,” Ella declared and, astonishingly, a small, almost unnoticeable peace fell upon her heart.
“I want you to always remember something, Ella,” Gonla said, a peculiar joy adorning her countenance. “You burden yourself with the goal of perfection because so many see you as the flawless. But they are wrong. Flawlessness is not perfection. It can’t be. Because you are not flawless, love. No one is. But you are a perfect friend.”
Ella withdrew her right hand from Gonla’s grasp to wipe the sheet of tears from her eyes and cheeks. She grinned, just a little.
“I don’t want any harm or heartbreak to befall you,” Gonla went on, “but you must still do whatever it is you need to be happy. This life is the only chance you have. And if I never see you again, know that, no matter what you do, it is a perfect friend who does it.”
Dusk was falling upon the hills but Ella refused to look upon it. She quickened her pace. She could not be tortured with caution or even attentiveness to the elements of nature, the sun or moon, or anything that caused her to slow in her momentum. All she could focus on was getting back to Gabriel, tearing into him for his sadistic, albeit effective, manipulation of her passions and then swearing complete loyalty to him and his calling. Ella would not be stopped; at least until the likes of Thurlow and the Hussars were wiped from the surface of the earth and caught in the tide of all things unrighteous, doomed straight for Hell.
But oh, how she wished she could look upon the sun and let the warm purple and orange hues against the sky penetrate her skin; skin made thicker with each passing second. She willed the longing away but it was impossible to ignore her periphery and pretend something so beautiful did not exist at all. It did, and Ella did not know what to make of it. So she just stopped and gazed at the splendor of another day coming to its end. A small mound of sun still lingered over the hills and it was washed in the most stunning shades of orange, which reminded Ella of the very dress she was wearing that day. It had belonged, like so many things, to her mother and Ella felt the old sorrow of missing her parents become one with that which had only recently befallen her, one enormous weight of despair.
She began daydreaming. What else was left to do? She pondered if days were at all like people. Did they too wake up in the morning and live each second to the extent of their potential, forging storms and drought, war and bloodshed just so they could maybe, mercifully, get just one second to watch a butterfly free itself from its cocoon, or watch children splashing in a river illuminated by the midday sun? And then the day would bid farewell to the world, knowing it could never come again. For no two days were the same. Was that the way it had been since the beginning?
Were days like people?
In spite of everything she’d learned that afternoon, Ella still thought back to the previous evening when she saw Gabriel and Isolda together. It was remarkable to her that she had thought very little of the incident the very next day after it happened. Perhaps not so remarkable, as Ella believed Gabriel whole-heartedly that Isolda had indeed kissed him and he broke away as quickly a
s he could. She’d never for a second doubted his story, even if doing so would have succeeded in justifying her seething hostility toward him. Would she have been wiser if she suspected him of deceit and far worse, just to be secure from the threat of even more disappointment? Of all the characteristics and traits Gabriel elicited from Ella, wisdom was not one of them.
Ella carried on with her journey home. She was alarmed when she heard the galloping of a single horse coming from the direction of Gwent. She panicked and wondered if she should at least try to hide though she had no excess time and she stood in the center of a clearing that featured no vegetation. Was it Thurlow? What if it was one of the Hussars? Would they do to her what they did to Gonla? It was a sickening irony that Ella felt guarded by the fact that Thurlow made it no secret to anyone that he would kill any man who tried to harm Ella. It made her want to retch.
Ella saw the tall figure duck his head under a tree branch as his horse plodded closer to her.
“Speak of the devil,” she sighed to herself, her trepidation dissipating. Gabriel rode his horse with effortless gallantry. Ella could not help but be impressed—and ashamedly grateful he was there.
“I thought since you refuse to utilize the resourcefulness of a stallion, I would meet you half way and offer you a ride home,” said Gabriel.
His voice was winded, not due to him being too exerted in his exercise, just overly impatient for Ella to react to his presence. She did not react but remained still, just to make him all the more annoyed. For he was the reason she was out there at all.
He extended his hand.
“No thank you,” she said, contemptuously, “but I would happily have another go at that magnificent stallion if I could ride him home myself. Alone.”
Gabriel smiled, smugly. He tipped his head sideways like he was both stunned and amused by her retort. “You are still cross with me,” he said, his smugness still apparent.
Ella began walking again, her pace slightly quicker than before. “No, of course not, Peter” she said sarcastically.
Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella Page 17