AN:
Hi everyone!
Just very quickly a few things to get out of the way:
1) This is a very short story - five to six chapters (including prologue and epilogue)
2) The prologue at least (dunno about the epilogue yet) is pretty much as long as chapter one, so it's not the usual kind of prologue. I just called it that, because is has only very little to do with the chapters in between. The prologue and epilogue are more like a 'frame', especially because I needed a reason to retell the story of 'Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall' for those of you who can't remember, or haven't read the books. Which leads me to my final point...
3) The legend of Saint Elphaba is not mine. It was mentioned in the book, and I think it's also in "Tales Told in Oz" however, I didn't read that one. What happens after the prologue is based on this legend and my personal take on what really happened.
Phew, now that we got this out of the way, I hope this story is somewhat enjoyable.
... Oh, and: It's Gelphie, but at the same time not really the Gelphie you might expect... yeah, go figure xD
As always, happy reading!
xxx MLE
Prologue
Unenthusiastically, Glinda watched the old, shabby houses as the carriage clattered along the cobblestone streets of the most deprived district of Center Munch. Oh, how she despised these trips, the depressing sights they entailed, and the horrendous stench that stung in her nostrils. She sighed and cast a brief glance at her husband, who was covering his nose with a perfumed, silken handkerchief to ward off the offending smells. The reek of poverty. She hated acknowledging the fact that it existed. However, known as Glinda the Good, she felt obliged to – at least once in a while – swallow her discomfort and personally reach out to those who were less fortunate than her.
"Lady Chuffrey?"
She looked up with a mixed feeling of anticipation and dread.
"The establishment is right around the corner there," the driver informed her and turned back around to slow the horses to a walk.
Glinda picked up her purse and quickly opened it to make sure she had everything she would need with her.
"Dearest, how much shall I write the cheque for?" she asked as she spotted her cheque book, still searching for her gold and rubellite fountain pen.
"How little do you think we could get away with?" Sir Chuffrey grunted querulously.
Shocked by his answer, the petite blonde woman cast him a pointed look.
"But dearest, what in Oz has become of your generosity?"
Chuffrey grumbled something under his breath, and despite not being able to make out a single word, Glinda knew exactly where the shoe was pinching him.
"I know that the situation at the market is less than ideal at the moment, but the least we can do is to continue as usual and hold our heads up high. Things will improve in no time, of that I am certain."
The only reply that came from her husband's side was more morose muttering. Rolling her eyes, she closed her purse and re-arranged the fur collar of her coat.
"So I suppose you can part with three hundred guilders?"
Chuffrey was suddenly gripped by a bout of coughing and wheezing, which caused Glinda to exhale noisily in frustration.
"Fine. Two hundred and fifty it is."
The carriage came to a hold, and Glinda quickly moved to plant a hurried kiss on her husband's cheek.
"See you at the hotel then, dearest."
The driver had hopped off his high seat in the front and opened the door for his mistress, holding out a helping hand.
"Thank you, Phert," she nodded appreciatively. "Be back here in one hour and not a clock tick later, or I shall faint from this sickening smell."
The man tipped his hat and climbed back onto the carriage, clicking the reins.
Steeling herself, Glinda turned, and made to knock on the door. She hesitated, however, and before she could make up her mind, the door opened already, revealing a small woman with crooked teeth and an exceptionally weathered and wrinkly face. For a tense moment, the woman eyed every inch of the younger lady. Glinda would have said something to introduce herself, but something about that odd, old crone had rendered her ordinarily so eloquent tongue useless.
"Lady Chuffrey," the strange woman said at last, and all Glinda could do was nod. "Very good. We've been expecting you."
The door opened a little wider, and the woman turned her back, making no effort to extend a verbal invitation. It was very noisy inside, but what else should Glinda have expected? After all, this was not the first orphanage she had visited. As her husband liked to put it, children attract the press, and therefore are a good investment. She was not quite sure whether she agreed, but on the other hand, the decision over how to distribute the alms was not entirely up to her. They were a team, Glinda and Chuffrey; he earned the money, and she gave it away.
They reached the end of a long corridor, and the old woman rapped on the door in front of them.
"The money is here," she barked, and went her way.
The blonde's eyes widened as she was left behind, utterly speechless.
Creaking, the door opened, and another woman - not quite as old as the first one – greeted her with an apologetic smile.
"Oh, please don't mind that old bat, Lady Chuffrey. She has always been a little peculiar. But you see, when you're running a place like this, you appreciate any help you can get."
Glinda nodded understandingly, her eyes still directed at the corner where the ancient crone had disappeared.
"Well then, shall we say hello to the children? They are so very excited to have a visitor today."
Once more, Glinda inclined her head mutely in agreement.
The room she was led to was overcrowded, and yet, at the same time, so terribly empty, void of any homey touches. There were several rows of beds, the sheets and mattresses stained and damaged. Glinda immediately considered going back on her agreement with Chuffrey, and adding another few guilders to the cheque she was going to write at the end of her visit. The children, although clad in badly patched up clothes that rarely fit, were obviously freshly washed and groomed, and she very much appreciated this, as it made interacting with them so much easier. She was hardly surprised to see what an adorable bunch they were. Over the years she had learnt that, in fact, most of the poor youngsters who ended up in such establishments were - with the exception of the one, or the other feral child the mother of the house had only recently taken under her wing.
As soon as she set a foot into the room, she was surrounded by the excited mob of little Munchkins and slightly taller Munchkinlanders. The oldest girls cradled babies and toddlers in their arms, some of the boys were cheeky enough to come quite close and tug on her coat, demanding attention. Recognising the delight in their faces, Glinda could honestly say that she didn't mind.
"Shush, children, calm down every one, and greet Lady Chuffrey properly," their minder reprimanded them lightly, but it was hardly of any use.
"Are you a princess?" a small girl with tangled red hair piped up.
Glinda, caught slightly off guard, released a delighted, almost girlish giggle. Little ones tended to have this wonderfully rejuvenating effect on her, and at times like these, she almost regretted that she and Chuffrey did not have any children of their own.
"Well, darlings," she asked in her melodic voice, "I do happen to have a few minutes to spare, so what shall we do together?"
The children put their heads together, whispering and murmuring enthusiastically. Finally, they seemed to have come to an agreement. One of the older girls shyly stepped forward to relay their request.
"Please, Lady Chuffrey, can you read to us?"
"Oh, but of course," the blonde assented, but immediately regretted her rushed promise. Looking around, she was not at all sure whether there were any books in the house. She made mental note to organise a small collection to be sent to the orphanage later that same day.
Before she got a chance to even ask, however, another young girl had already approached her, holding out a beaten copy of Life of the Saints. Glinda frowned slightly. This was not quite the sort of storybook she would have chosen.
"Please," the little Munchkin begged her quietly. "It was my grandmother's."
Touched, Glinda smiled softly. She gingerly accepted the brittle book, and sat down on the hard, wooden stool one of the boys had procured for her. The children contented themselves with the floor.
As she flicked through the pages, praying that none of them would come loose, she chewed the inside of her cheek in contemplation. Which of these accounts would be suitable for the children? Weren't the tales in this book all inherently boring and overly religiously instructive? She gasped ever so slightly when she stumbled over her own name. Why, she had almost forgotten about her ancient namesake Saint Glinda. She was tempted to read further, for she could not for the life of her say what had actually been so holy about this woman, and somehow, this suddenly appeared to her as a major gap in her knowledge. But no, of course this would not do. She would have to do her research some other time, in private.
She turned a few more pages, until another familiar name came up. This time, she felt like lightning had struck her. 'Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall,' the heading read, and Glinda bit her lip, hoping the sting would help her ignore the pang in her chest. She had certainly never heard about this particular myth. Was this where her green friend's name came from?
Elphaba, her Elphie. She had tried so hard to forget about her. The memories were altogether too painful to reminisce on. But how could she possibly forget a creature as extraordinary as Miss Elphaba Thropp? Sure, there were some days when she managed to banish the ghosts of the past to some remote corner of her head where they hardly bothered her. But all it took to release them were those tiny, most random reminders only she would ever connect with the emerald woman: the rain, which Elphaba had avoided like the pest; the smell of sandal wood, which had flooded their tiny dorm room in the evenings whenever Elphaba had returned from her bath routine, all clean and dressed for bed; or even something as silly as a brown note book, for except Elphaba, all other students had used stationary in the Shiz colours, blue and white. Her name was rare these days, and this was the first time in years Glinda had heard, or even read it.
She glanced up, feeling strangely insecure. The children watched her keenly, their eyes glowing. She suppressed a loud sigh and took a heart. This story was as good as any, she decided, and wet her lips in preparation.
She read out the title. It was an odd sensation as Elphaba's name rolled off her tongue. Glinda had no idea when she had last uttered it. After a brief pause, she continued.
In Munchkinland, in days of yore, a fair maiden lived in a small village. Although the daughter of a humble farmer, she was of such beauty and grace, that that every man in the country knew her name. Aelphaba she was called.
From an early age on, Aelphaba was a most pious child, devoted faithfully to her prayers and the study of holy books, for she was convinced that this was her sole joy and purpose in life. Once she was old enough to be considered a grown woman, a surfeit of suitors from near and far began to pilgrim to the little village to see her beauty and admire her virtue. Only the most courageous among them dared to propose, as most were too overwhelmed by her ethereal presence. None of them was fortunate enough to win her.
As years and years went by, admiration turned into anger. The men did not like how Aelphaba withheld herself. Despite her renowned beauty, she was still a mere woman, and a woman needed a husband to take care of her. The maiden's father began to grow anxious as well. He was growing older by the day, and still his only child had not found a man, let alone produced an heir who would inherit the land he owned. So he did little when men began to covertly follow her on her way to the chapel, lay in the wait for her when she left the house. Soon, there was no place left in the village that she could consider safe. Everywhere she went, she felt the men's hungry eyes upon her, and she feared for her sanctity and virtue.
So it came that one night, she packed a small satchel, taking her holy scriptures, and a single bunch of grapes. Thus equipped, she fled into the wilderness. However, she was still not out of harms way. Aelphaba was defenceless against the savage beasts that threatened her, and terribly scared of the wild men that hunted after her. Further and further she ventured into the dark wood, until she came upon a clearing with a roaring waterfall cursing off a cliff. Well hidden behind the waterfall, she spotted a cavern, hollowed out by the splashing water. She said," This is my cave," and discarded her clothes. Overjoyed to have at last found a new home, she crossed the pool of crystal blue, and walked through the glistening screen of pounding water. She found the cavern to be small, but comfortable, and so she sat down, and in the scarce light that filtered through the veil of water, she read her holy book and prayed and pondered on spiritual matters.
She remained there for a fairly long time, eating a grape every now and then. She lost track of the days, and could not tell how long exactly she had spent this way. When at last she had consumed the last of her grapes, she reluctantly put aside her book, and left the security of her cave. Unbeknownst to Aelphaba, hundreds of years had passed. She was surprised to find the forest changed, and her home gone. Instead of her old village, she discovered a new one at the banks of the river that led away from her waterfall. The houses and people appeared strange to her, but not as strange as she must have appeared to the villagers.
The Munchkins shrank in horror, for as children they had all played in the cavern behind the waterfall; and never had anyone ever seen the fair maiden in her naked beauty. Hoping to hush the small people's fears, Aelphaba approached them, speaking to them in a gentle voice. They could not understand her, yet they recognised the old tongue, and immediately, they all knew that is must be she, Saint Aelphaba, revered in the region for her devoutness and virtue. They built a chapel in her honour, and she acquiesced to stay for a little while, blessing the children and the elderly, and hearing the confessions of the middle-aged, and healing some sick, and feeding some hungry.
But even before a month had passed, Saint Aelphaba began to grow restless living amongst so many people, and she sensed that her time with the Munchkins was coming to an end. At night, while the entire village was deep asleep, she slipped out of her room, and ever so quietly headed back to her waterfall, once again disappearing behind its shimmering curtain. That was the last time anyone had ever seen, or heard of her.
Glinda stared at the last page for a little longer before she carefully closed the book. Around her, the room had become quiet, as all the children had been listening to her with rapt attention. After another clock tick or two, the first demands for another story were made, and soon more and more voices joined in, until all children were chanting in unison. The chime of the old clock in the hallway saved the blonde from having to choose another tale.
"Well," she said cheerfully, "this has been fun. However, as you can imagine, I have much to attend to."
She stood, handed the book back to its owner, and gave the caretaker a slight nod. They disappeared into the office, where Glinda wrote a cheque for three hundred and fifty guilders, and then they all sent her off, waving and shouting as she boarded her carriage. Phert said something to her as the horses were trotting along the streets, but she didn't pay it any mind. The entire way back to the hotel she spent in contemplative silence. She thought of Elphaba, and how little she and her namesake had in common. Having heard enough of the excessive godliness of Frexspar Thropp from her roommate, she would not put it past him to choose the name of a saint to counter his daughter's supposedly unholy appearance. But at any rate, it was actually quite a beautiful name, and strangely enough, it seemed to fit the green woman so exceptionally well. Perhaps, that was because Saint Aelphaba and her Elphie were more similar than one might expect. Who knows, she began to wonder, how much truth lies within a legend anyway?