Chapter 2
Gerda didn't remember her father. She had heard, from the Whispering People who thought she wasn't listening, that his hair was as brown as a mouse, and that his eyebrows were furry and that his eyes were ice blue, just like hers and Grandmother's. She knew from the painting above the fireplace that he was handsome and broad-shouldered, and had a strong jaw and soft eyes. Grandmother said that his voice sounded soft and full of laughter. Gerda didn't remember the sound of his voice, nor the feel of his huge hands, nor the warmth of his fatherly hug on a dark winter day. The picture on the wall did little to inform her of his likes and dislikes, of his sense of humor, or whether he favored the summer or the winter.
Shedidn't understand why she felt so lonely for him, even when she'd never known him. On those days, she would sit by the fireplace and look at his picture and put on the shoes.
Those shoes.
Those beautiful shoes were red and shiny. The leather was slick and the thread was fine. She sat for long hours, running her tiny fingers over their fine, delicate toes, loving the way her hot breath made them shine, imagining her father on the day of her birth, when he laid them beside her in her cradle. Grandmother said he'd had tears in his eyes that day, when he'd given her the finest present she'd ever gotten.
"Those are lovely shoes," her grandmother had said, "the finest I've ever seen."
"She's worth it," her father had whispered.
On those dark, lonely days, she would whisper it to herself as she polished the shoes by the fireplace.
"She's worth it…She's worth it…I'm worth it…"
Kay had seen the shoes many times. She wore them every Easter from when she was five until she was twelve, and her feet got too big.
"Those are pretty shoes, Gerda," he would say, after the usual Easter greetings
"Thank you," she'd answer prettily, "my Daddy got them for me." And he knew that, for once, she felt just like all the other little girls.
Once, when they were ten, another little girl noticed how nice the shoes were. Natasha Federova loved pretty things. Everyone told her she was pretty--pretty like a porcelain doll, with wide blue eyes and charming golden hair. It seemed fitting to her that pretty girls and pretty things should stick together. So one day, when Gerda was waiting for Kay outside of the village school, Natasha told her that they were going to be friends.
"We are friends now, Gerda," she said, "and we shall play and have fun and be best friends forever."
"W-We are?" stammered Gerda, incredulous, "We shall? I have never—"
"Yes. We shall," Natasha cut in, "And we shall start today. Come on, Gerda, let's play by those trees! "
Kay felt the tiniest bit lonely that day, as Gerda whispered with Natasha and only occasionally looked towards him.
That day, Grandmother was ecstatic that little Gerda was finally making new friends. When the two skipped hand-in-hand toward the house to ask if Natasha might stay for a while, she was only too happy to give her "Of course!"
Two days after their friendship began, Kay, Gerda and Natasha were playing in the town square, looking for treasures on the sidewalk. Kay found a spare charcoal stick (which he could use for drawing), Natasha found a piece of tin (which she could use to make a necklace), and Gerda found a pink stone that had been polished until it was smooth.
"That's a pretty rock, Gerda," Natasha said, eyeing it hungrily, "I should like to have it."
Gerda folded her hands toward her little chest, "B-but…I only just found it…"
"Give it here, Gerda," Natasha said sternly, holding out her hand.
"But…it's my rock…"
Upon this little protest, Natasha's eyes grew large and greedy. Her mouth grew prim, and her voice grew low as she spoke:
"Give me the stone, Gerda, or I shall never be your friend again."
Gerda, panicking at the thought of losing a friend after she had waited so long to make one, blinked back tears and dropped her treasure without another word.
"Thank you," Natasha said, once again cheerful.
Their friendship continued that way for weeks, with Natasha giving orders and Gerda quickly submitting. In the rare case that Gerda ever protested, Natasha would ask again two or three times, and if she still persisted, Natasha would square her shoulders and jaw and say "Do it, or I shall never be your friend again." And Gerda would hasten to get it done. Natasha had long dismissed Kay after he refused to give her the picture he'd drawn of Gerda's dog ("Next she'll be asking for my house!"), and he really only stayed around the girls to keep Gerda from doing anything stupid. Girls were prone to do that, you know.
One day, when the three played in the parlor of Gerda's house near the fireplace that made them forget about the chill outside, Natasha laid eyes on the red treasures on the bureau. Her eyes grew large and hungry and her little mouth slowly parted.
They were absolutely beautiful.
The sly little girl managed to control her greed for a while. She contained herself until it was time to go home and the two other children were escorting her outside towards the street. But sly as she was, she was still a little girl, and the raging hunger that she felt inside became too big for her to keep any longer. So, squaring her shoulders once more, Natasha turned to the white-haired girl.
"Those are pretty shoes, Gerda," she said sweetly.
Gerda's head jerked away from her previous conversation. Her blue eyes showed fear as she panicked at the familiar words said about her treasures. "Thank you…" she began, warily.
Natasha continued: "I should like to have them."
Kay widened his eyes a little.
Gerda widened hers as well. "Those…" she hesitated, speaking slowly, "…those are special shoes, Natasha …"
Natasha did not seem sympathetic. "Go and fetch them. Please."
Gerda drew in a small, shaky breath. "I've had them since I was a little baby…"
"Give them to me, Gerda," Natasha ordered, cutting her off, "I want them."
"…B-but Natasha, my daddy gave me those shoes…"
Natasha was unmoved. Once again, she squared her shoulders and jaw and announced with a stony expression on her pretty little face: "If you don't do it, I shall never be your friend again. Now, let me have those shoes. "
Gerda looked down in mourning at the snow-covered ground, drawing in a shaky little breath. Natasha smiled cruelly as Gerda's white hair began to slide over her face, which she buried into the high collar of her coat, and they heard a few sniffling sounds as she began to cry a little, very quietly. They stood that way for some time, Kay angry and unsure of what to do, and Natasha growing more and more impatient. But after a particularly deep breath, they were surprised to hear a new sound come, different from the rest of the miserable sniffles, muffled through the layers of clothes and white hair.
"No," Gerda almost whispered.
Natasha blinked. For a moment she seemed unsure. She whirled on Kay, using this as one of the rare times she would deem him worthy of speech. "She says what?"
Kay's mouth began to twist into something close to an antagonizing smile. Whatever Gerda thought of Natasha, he was not afraid of her, and if there was one thing he wouldn't stand for it was having to greet her every Easter. He stood coolly in front of her, infuriatingly calm and unafraid.
"I think," he said, his tone condescending, "She says 'no.'"
Gerda looked slightly upwards and quickly nodded her affirmation. "No," she repeated.
Natasha whirled again, this time on Gerda. "You…" She growled as she hunched down to closed in on the other little girl, "You do not want to give those shoes to me?"
Gerda's ice blues eyes grew huge and wide as she looked up at Natasha. "No," she said, very quietly.
Natasha's eyes grew menacing, and her voice grew loud. Her speech became halting and patronizing. Sweet mask cast off, she shouted the words at Gerda's round face.
"I…don't…CARE if you want to give 'em or not! I want those shoes! And you are ugly and white-headed! AND you have a DEAD PAPA!!"
Kay and Gerda both let out a gasp. Along the street, a few faces peeked out of their doorways, investigating all the noise. Natasha stood, breathing heavily and evilly reveling in the blow she had just dealt. A mean smile began to draw across her face and her eyes were cruel as she glared at the smaller girl before her.
But something strange was happening in Gerda. She stood, devastated by the insult, her little body seeming to wilt. But after a quiet moment, hurt was not the only emotion that emanated from her. Her breathing became deep and purposeful; her little mouth set itself into a stern frown. Her shoulders began to straiten, and she began to draw herself to her full height. Her face scrunched itself into a livid glare, and in the depths of her eyes, something formed that was cold, hard, resentful.
Like ice.
When she spoke, her voice was low and gray, more angry than even Kay had ever heard it. "Y-you…" she began, "…you…are MEAN, Natasha Federova! You are MEAN to say those things about me!" her voice began to grow louder, "And you are TERRIBLE to say those things about my Daddy! And those are MY red shoes, and they will ALWAYS be MY red shoes!" She screamed the words now, spitting them out like bile, "And I am HAPPY that I'm keeping them, because I like THEM a whole lot better than I like YOU!!"
She finished with a little finger rigid in the face of her incredulous former best friend.
More faces now poked around the doorways of the neighborhood, disturbed at the noise. Their eyes grew large as they saw the children in the street. Those who had seen the spectacle began to whisper.
…Did you hear that?
…awfully loud….
…Strange little white-headed girl…
Natasha blinked a few times, utterly speechless at the outburst. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. And she opened it once more. Then, gathering her pride (she had plenty), she hissed out the nastiest words she could come up with.
"Fine!" she spat, "Keep your red shoes! I wouldn't want anything belonging to a freak!" then, so only Gerda and Kay could hear, she hissed, " You keep those shoes! They're worth twice as much as you are!"
And with a last, haughty huff of breath, she turned on her heel and marched away, pretty gold curls bouncing, reveling in the attention of the stares that followed her down the street. She was, indeed a lovely little girl, and looked even better with her shoulders thrown back and her nose in the air.
That is, her nose was in the air, before a perfect and well-aimed snowball smack!-ed against the back of her head. Then it was down in the snow bank.
When she looked up, there was no sign of the two little friends who had been there moments earlier. The two little friends who were, at that moment, feeling that the winter did not seem so dreadful.
