The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen

by Andrea Cefalo

  12 March, 1247 Late Afternoon

  Galadriel scowls at me, but thankfully keeps her anger silent. We try to coax Father to bed, but he refuses to rise from the table. Perhaps he knows what I had learned earlier, that lying in his bed next to the empty groove where Mother once slept is a cruel reminder she shall never return to us. Even with eyes shut tightly, her lavender scent still wafts through the room.

  Galadriel climbs the ladder back to the loft and into my bed. Her skin is still grey and I am sure she has been sick a few more times for she reeks of vomit. I am alone and think for a moment about helping Ivo’s family with their tilling, but know that I, inexperienced in such tasks, shall only hinder their progress.

  My stomach howls and I push at my belly with both hands in an effort to silence it. We have no food and I know I must go to the market so we’ll have something to eat, though I doubt anyone shall rise for supper.

  My cloak is still wrapped around my shoulders and I pull the hood up around my face, though it is far too warm on this warm spring afternoon to do so. I descend the stairs to Father’s shop. He’s slumped over the table, snoring in that odd way he does, folding his lips on the inhale and blowing out with long, slow “foo”.

  I bend and whisper in his ear to ask permission to get food, but he is too deeply asleep to hear. I nudge his shoulder gently and then roughly, but he does not wake. I reach gently for the purse attached to his hip, untie it, and attach it to my belt. I ensure the purse is near my good arm and remove all silver from it just in case there are thieves about.

  I walk down Filzengraben, which has more people on it than earlier in the day. Hay Market is crowded and bustling, although I do not know why I expect it to be any different. I have always had to push my way through crowds here.

  I hope no one recognizes me and offers their condolences. But with crowds like this the vendors shall be keeping their eyes peeled for beggars whose hungry bellies sometimes cause them to have sticky fingers. Today is Tuesday and Mother and I usually went to market on Monday mornings so I doubt anyone shall expect me anyway.

  I make my way towards Salz Alley, weaving through the crowd toward the bakers’ stands carefully to avoid our usual baker Matthew, for I know he shall ask where my mother is if he does not already know of her death. The idea of crying in the midst of Hay Market’s crowds terrifies me and I tug on the brim of my hood to hide my face even more.

  Keeping my head down to shield my face from view, I set my pfennig on the table, and the anonymous baker hands me three crusty loaves of bread. I find the dairy stalls and buy a pound of Danish cheese. We still have oats at home, but we are low on spices and out of dried fruits. It matters not to me as food seems tasteless now, but perhaps Father or Galadriel would like them in their porridge.

  I buy a pound of raisins and almonds in the spice market, but decide we have enough spices for one day. Spices are expensive and I probably shouldn’t purchase any more until we sell a week’s worth of shoes. Besides, my sack is getting heavy for my injured arm. We need something to drink though, so I pick up some inexpensive wine and hurry home.

  The house is silent. I carry the sack up the stairs and put the food in its place. I cut a slice of bread and cheese for Father and me. I eat and then water down the wine, pouring two mugs. I set Father’s food and wine before him. He no longer snores, though his eyes dart back and forth beneath the lids. I untie the purse from my belt and attach it back onto his. He doesn’t even stir and I doubt he shall eat what I have set before him.

  Next to him lies a wax tablet Mother had used to keep track of his accounts. I gently slide my finger across the words and numbers. We did not know many women who could read and write, but Mother was the only surviving daughter of a steward.

  Her mother had died during breech childbirth, and the baby soon followed her to Heaven. My mother was only a toddler then. Mother learned to read and write by standing over the shoulder of her Father, and later even aided him in his work.

  I pick up the first tablet and read the list of orders. There are at least a dozen. I sigh. Not only should this order be done, we should also have a surplus of turn shoes to be sold at the market to the pilgrims who have already started to fill the streets and churches of Cologne. This is where we make the most coin.

  There is only one finished pair of shoes on the table, minus the straps, and several others in different stages of completion: a red pair with only the sole, several tan pairs, and one pair in the new royal purple with only the heels completed. I pick through the scraps in the baskets. We need leather. I look at the list again.

  Wilthelm Aducht had placed an order over a week ago for nearly twenty summer pairs. He wants five pairs of ankle boots for himself in tan, dark brown, blue, red, and purple, and a dozen pairs for his wife Elizabeth, and his daughter Matthild. Instead of straps he has requested decorative clasps with his family’s crest to be attached to buckles on each shoe. These were to be delivered by the gold and silversmiths yesterday. I look for the clasps, but do not see them. I hope the smiths are behind and we shan’t be blamed if the shoes are a few days late.

  There are other orders here and there; one for a baker, one for each member of a carpenter’s family… What worries me most is that as soon as the Aduchts are seen in their extravagant new shoes the other patricians and burghers shall place orders in an effort to appear even wealthier. Truthfully, it is a wonderful problem to have.

  Father snores again. I unwind the purse from his belt loop, return the silver coins, and head back to Hay Market.

  12 March, 1247 Evening

  There was once a shoemaker who worked very hard and was very honest, but still he could not earn enough to live upon. At last all he had in the world was gone, save for just leather enough to make one pair of shoes.

  Then he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning to rise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and his heart light amidst all his troubles, so he went peaceably to bed, left all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after he had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his great wonder, there stood the shoes already made, upon the table. The good man knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening. He looked at the workmanship; there was not one false stitch in the whole job. All was so neat and true that it was quite a masterpiece.

  -The Elves and the Shoemaker

  ***

  “I need a yard each of red, royal purple, blue—”

  “Adelaide? Is that you, Adelaide?” Michael, our tanner, turns around.

  I look up from beneath my cloak and nod.

  “I didn’t expect to see you. My sympathies for your mother.”

  “Thank you,” I say quickly through a tight throat, blinking back a stray tear. I look down so no one notices and dig through the purse pretending to count the coins.

  “And a yard each of gold and violet. Then I need five yards of tan and five yards of dark brown. How much is that?”

  “Six silver groschens.” I know I owe a few pfennigs more, but I accept his generosity for arguing would only bring attention to his discount and anger the guild members. He cuts and folds the leather into a pile and ties it off with twine so I can carry it easily. I hand him the coins and he places the leather on the table.

  “A good day to you, Herr,” I say and turn to leave.

  “Give your Father my regards,” he calls after me.

  “Thank you, I shall.” I turn and nod my head, then pull the hood tighter and walk back to Filzengraben and into Father’s shop. I fear I shall wake him if I work at his table so I take the materials to the table by the hearth. I am grateful for its emptiness and for Galadriel’s extended slumber. It is five and the sun will set in two hours. I hope two candles and a roaring fire shall be enough light for my eyes.

  I spread the tools out along the table to my right. Needles, knives, awls, the overstitch wheel, and boar bristles. At first, I think to place the variety of lasts on th
e bench across the table, but, upon careful consideration, realize the heat of the fire could damage them. I untie the twine and grab the five yards of tan. I roll it out across the table and drape a section slightly larger than a foot over the edge and cut it with the knife. I do this four more times and stack the sections on top of one another. I lay the scraps on the bench next to me for I shall need these to build around the last, a foot casting, so I shall have well-measured sides of the shoe.

  I check the awl’s sharpness by digging into the wax. Although fairly sharp, I sharpen more for ease of use.

  I fetch a last the size of Wilthelm Aducht’s foot and trace the bottom using the awl. I do the same with a last that matches Elizabeth’s foot and one that matches Matthild’s. I press the scraps onto each side of the lasts to create the shape for each side and the top of the boot, lay them next to the sole patterns, add length for the sides of the boot, and scratch the perimeter with my awl, creating a finished pattern for each Aducht foot. I cut these patterns out with my knife, careful to keep the blade straight. But the blade has dulled and I have to sharpen it. Luckily, the Aducht’s have symmetrical feet and I can flip the patterns over to make shoes for their left feet. I use the Aducht patterns again, for they have requested two pairs of tan shoes each.

  I use a variety of last sizes to cut twenty pairs of shoes that Father shall sell at the market. My injured arm is quite sore from this work and night has fallen well before I finish.

  I light the candles and, thankfully, the room is lit well enough for me to continue to work. I cut the dark brown leather using the patterns I’ve already made, then soak the tan patterns and use the dark brown patterns of the Aducht’s feet to finish cutting the colored leather for the rest of their shoes. I remove the tan leather from the soak and wrap it around the lasts, then bind the leather with the flax thread so it forms nicely.

  I run the overstitch across the edges to ensure an even stitching pattern. I warm the beeswax and draw the flax thread across the top, coating it well. I use the awl to poke holes where I intend to stitch. Using split stitches, I close the uppers, attaching the heel stiffener and joining the top of the boot to the sole using boar bristle and wax-coated boar’s thread. Using split stitches, I close the rest of the boot and turn it inside out. My work is careful, but quick as I hope to finish Father’s orders.

  When the sun rises, I take the supplies and the fifteen tan turn shoes I have made down to Father’s workshop. I set them gently on the table around him and place all the supplies where they were. I climb the stairs and have no choice but to retire to my parent’s bed. I fall face down into the mattress, neglecting the blankets. I am asleep before I even have time to notice Mother’s lavender scent or her empty divot in the mattress beside me. For the first time in five days, I enjoy a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ***

  I awaken to the smell of cinnamon. Voices in quiet conversation come from the main room. My stomach rumbles and I whine, not wanting to rise from the bed. Exhaustion wins and I fall asleep again.

  The church bells wake me and I wonder about the time. I don’t know how many bells chime before I fully wake. My stomach roars and I can no longer ignore it. I rise, rub the sleep from my eyes, and stretch my tired arms, neck, and back. I look to where Mother once slept and it makes me sad, but it is no new revelation today. I knew when I awoke my mother would not be here. It saddens me in an exhausted way, making my limbs heavy and my stomach ache, even though I am dreadfully hungry for the cinnamon-spiced porridge I can still smell coming from the hearth.

  I turn away from her pillow and feel something hard and cold roll away and off the edge of the bed. CRASH! A hundred shimmering shards of glass sprawl across the floor. Ivo’s jar. My lips curl into a smile as I think of him climbing into my bedroom to leave me a single firefly only a night ago.

  Galadriel rushes into the room with worry on her face.

  “Oh!” She gasps, placing her fingers to her lips at the sight of the broken glass. She looks shocked. I think she believes I had purposely thrown the glass in a fit.

  “I must have kicked that over. I was so tired last night. I don’t remember putting it there,” I say.

  “Oh,” she sighs with relief. Turning on her heels, she slides out of the room and returns moments later with the broom and pan to gather up the broken glass. As soon as I notice it in her hands, I run over to take it and clean the mess myself. She pushes the broom and pan away from me.

  “I made the mess. I’ll clean it.” But she does not listen and continues to clean the mess. “Thank you,” I say.

  I walk to the shutters and open them. The sun is high in the sky toward the west. It is past noon. Galadriel is gone by the time I turn around. I meander to the bench in the living quarters across from the hearth and sit across from her. She smiles.

  “You seem well today,” I say with a yawn.

  “I feel much better.”

  “Did you go to the market yesterday?” Galadriel asks. “I found bread, cheese, raisins, and almonds, and your father found yards and yards of leather.”

  “I had to. We hadn’t enough food.”

  “I wish you had awoken me so I could have accompanied you. The market is no place for a girl to make purchases alone. I hear it is riddled with thieves,” she chides gently. It irritates me that Galadriel, barely a woman herself, would give me motherly advice and I find myself fighting the urge to roll my eyes. She rises and heads to the hearth, scoops a heaped spoonful of porridge into a bowl, sets it before me, and hands me a spoon. “Besides, I’d rather like to see this famous market of Cologne.”

  “I know the market well enough to go there alone. Besides, you wouldn’t have enjoyed it in your condition,” I say. “I’m glad you rested. You look better today.”

  She gives me a sideways glance and nods. I dig into the porridge and lift the spoon into the air. Steam rises off the thick oats and a nutty cinnamon fragrance drifts through the air. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles. I blow on the spoon to cool the porridge until the steam subsides and I place it to my lips. The porridge is perfectly cooked, but lacks something of Mother’s. The thought must be drawn on my face as I try to figure out what is missing.

  “Not as good as your Mother’s I suppose,” Galadriel says. “No one can ever cook quite like one’s mother.”

  “It’s fine.” I am actually surprised that someone who has probably not cooked for herself in two years has made porridge so well and so similarly to my mother’s. It must have been a recipe passed down.

  The porridge cools and I quickly finish the bowl and the mug of spiced wine before me. My stomach calms and I feel tired again.

  “What time is it?” I ask Galadriel.

  She looks up for a moment to think. “I believe it is half past two.”

  “I would take you to the market, but I am so tired.”

  “Then it would please me for you to rest and keep your health. We have enough bread and cheese to sup on tonight when your father returns,” Galadriel says in that formal way she speaks at times.

  “Where is he?”

  “He is at the market selling the shoes he found this morning and fetching brooches for the patrician’s shoes.”

  I nod and retire to my bed, falling asleep quickly once again.

  ***

  I wake to the chatter of voices in the main room and rise. Father and Galadriel sit at the table across from one another, dining on bread, cheese, wine, nuts, and an assortment of dried fruits.

  “She awakens,” Father bellows. I can tell he has had many glasses of undiluted wine for his cheeks are rosy and he is merry.

  “A miracle has befallen us, daughter.”

  I tilt my head to the side in wonder of what he speaks and sit beside him. I nibble on bread and cheese and pour myself a glass of good, strong wine.

  He places his arm around me. “I awoke to a room filled with shoes and supplies for all of my orders. And before me lay a plate of cheese and bread and a glass of spiced wine.”
<
br />   “A miracle for sure,” I say, reluctant to admit my role in the miracle for I know I am not to go to the market alone. Nevertheless, I am certain he is aware that I did.

  “I must admit, Father…” I pause for dramatic effect. He stares at me, waiting for a confession. “And please do not think me mad…”

  He nods.

  “… But I heard the most peculiar thing last night.”

  “What, pray, did you hear last night, daughter?” He goads.

  “It was a strange high-pitched singing of many voices, coming from your workshop.”

  “Why, that is very peculiar!” he says jokingly and I continue.

  “So I climbed down the stairs and spied something miraculous indeed. A dozen tiny men, elves I think, were making shoes.”

  “Elves! By God it is a miracle. ”

  I cross myself in jest and Father does the same.

  “They did however charge for their services,” Father continues, feigning disappointment. “Very inexpensive, though. It only cost me the price of the leather for fifteen pairs of shoes, but they cut out dozens more. Even the Aducht shoes were cut.”

  “They worked quickly and reasonably,” I conclude.

  “I checked the quality of the shoes and they were masterfully done. These mysterious elves cut and stitch just like you, dear daughter.”

  “Then they are master artisans for sure,” I reply and he laughs. It feels good to hear laughter again.

  13 March, 1247

  My fingers shuffle around the crust of my bread as we sup. I have wanted to ask Father if we could have another funeral for Mother, but I’m afraid to say anything. He hasn’t mentioned the burial at all. What if something had gone wrong when Father returned to bury her? Perhaps wolves had taken her or the ground was too hard and he couldn’t bury her at all. If such a thing had happened, I wouldn’t want to remind him of it and I wouldn’t want to know of it. I split the crust and dip it in the stew to sop up the remaining broth. My mouth opens a dozen times throughout supper as I try to find a good way to ask.