Read Cinderella - A Retelling with Strength and Courage Page 2
Chapter One
Ella wiped the sweat from her brow, then delved a sturdy stick into the hot, soapy water to swirl the linen tablecloth. Somehow Birgit had managed to spill red wine all over it – again – and of course her stepmother had blamed Ella for not laying the tablecloth smooth enough. Her own father had merely chewed on his roast pork, refilling his own pewter goblet.
Ella tucked her honey-blonde hair back into its tight braid and directed her attentions to the stain. She knew if she wasn’t able to get the cloth back to its pure white state that she would go to bed hungry again. And as much as she craved something – anything – other than her gruel supper, it was certainly better than nothing.
She glanced around the small kitchen. A frigid December wind battered the shutters covering the windows, but the wadding of cloth within kept out most of the chill. Smoky tallow candles in wall-scones lit the room. The heavy work table was pocked and scarred from long hours of chores. A low fire flickered in the stone-lined fireplace. The sound of wolf howled from deeper in the forest.
For one mad moment she thought about following the call. About abandoning the washing, drawing to her feet, pulling on her boots, and just trekking through the waist-high snow out into the forest. Whatever wolves, bandits, and other threats might wait for her there, surely it could not be worse than this servitude she had endured for the past twelve years.
But she had promised her mother …
There were footsteps, and she looked up.
Birgit waltzed into the room, her dark hair cascading around her face in gorgeous ringlets. Her deep blue dress perfectly showed off her firm curves and slender waist. She wore a golden belt with elegant silver chasing and matching slippers.
She carried a silver bowl of raspberries in a hand and popped one of the juicy red bundles into her mouth.
Ella’s mouth went dry. Breakfast had been long hours ago, and her stomach rumbled in pain.
Birgit barely glanced down at Ella. “Are you still working on that tablecloth, you stupid girl? It’s hard to believe we’re the same age, but you barely have the brains of a toddler. Put some effort into it. There’s still the goats to feed and then dinner to make. Father should be back from the market soon and you know how hungry he can get.” She chuckled. “If he doesn’t pass out drunk first, of course.”
Ella knew better than to respond. She put her head down and scrubbed harder at the stain. It did seem to be fading. Maybe if she tried some of her ash soap instead …
Birgit stopped above her. “You know, I’m sick of raspberries. I can’t eat another bite.”
She took the remaining raspberries and flung them down into the water.
The water instantly turned deep, blood red.
Ella bit her lip, fighting off the urge to grab Birgit’s slender wrist and do something which could never be taken back. She dove her hands into the steaming water, grabbing desperately at the floating berries to fling them into the fire. But it was too late. She could see the fabric taking on a darker, richer hue.
Petra stepped into the room yawning. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, Cinderella. My mattress is all lumpy again. You didn’t do a good enough job shaking it out.” Her hair was a lushly curled as her sister’s, but where Birgit’s was ebony dark, Petra’s was shimmering blonde. Her dress was emerald green and embroidered with twining vines.
Her eyes went to the red-tinged wash basin and her mouth turned up in a smile. “Oh, mother won’t like that at all.”
Birgit’s gaze sparkled. “Come on, Petra. Let’s head into town. I hear that the baker’s boy is working alone this afternoon. I have a feeling we might get a pie each out of a visit.”
Petra’s smile widened. “And maybe a tart as well.”
She hooked her arm in her sister’s. Then she glanced back at Ella. “Don’t forget my mattress, cinder-girl.”
A flick of the heel and both girls were away down the long lane toward town.
Resignation washed over Ella as she stared at the ruby red cloth. It was hopeless. No amount of washing would take out that color. Her stepmother would starve her for sure, perhaps for a full week. There was nothing else to be taken from her. The only item of hers within these four walls was this one grey shift and her worn-out pair of leather boots, so that she might trek deep into the forest to track a rabbit or even deer. Her parents cared little that to do so was a royal crime. They did love their venison.
For a moment the injustice of it all threatened to overwhelm her. The sideboard beckoned, and she found herself climbing beneath it. It was her haven. Her retreat. The one place within the entire house where she felt safe.
For, ever since her mother had passed away …
She fought off the tears. She clung to her last solid memory of her mother.
She had been six years old. It had been the year of the eclipse.