"When Ella's father went out on journeys to sell goods and haggle prices for materials to make clothes, he left the girl unknowingly pitted with her cruel stepmother and frivolous stepsisters. As much as he said he missed them all when he did return briefly, Ella noticed how contended he was with stress when her stepmother requested more money to keep up the demand of parties to host and her stepsisters requested more things to adorn them.
"You have been back less than a week and have an unsightly paleness to your face. Must you go?" Ella asked, her arms draped around her father's tender arms and head cradled on his shoulders, broadness and muscles lost along with the man of the past who used to lift up a little girl to helicopter swings.
"In this economy, I have to go. Do you want me to lose what I have left?" he asked, pain seeping through his voice, never looking at her. It was the most she had heard from him addressing her in so long, for any time he did, it sparked a rage or quiet storm of tears in private as Ella was the pristine likeness of his late wife, her mother, with her golden locks and lively blue eyes.
She shook her head and her father urged her arms to free themselves from him. "I don't want to hear about how much you've caused a ruckus while I'm gone," he said as her stepmother walked in, "Behave and listen to your mother."
Ella looked back at the shell of her father, his hair changing into gray with the seasons and how he smiled less and less since it was just the two of them. She refused to believe his coldness meant he didn't love her and it was just the stress talking. She knew how much the dismal and frustrating state of mind could make people say things they didn't mean. "I will," Ella assured him.
Her stepmother looked at her, a face tightened with disgust in her presence as her back was turned to her father. "Children can be such a hassle sometimes, honey." Her sweet voice spilled the opposite, playing the dutiful wife, as she said to Ella, "Mind your manners and we might be able to move onto better things."
The girl nodded once more and left her father's office, before checking the kitchen drawer where her father sometimes left money for groceries before his second marriage. The death of her mother had been hard on both of them, but it hit her father hardest. He spent most of his days moping, remembering she existed when she asked for something necessary or he heard her singing. In order to give himself space, he had decided he'd give her an allowance for food and learning materials, that was if he remembered at all. Ella sighed as she stared down at her hand me down clogs with tears at the corners, stomach grumbling, knowing there wasn't enough with three francs to buy a new pair of shoes or a proper meal with. It was back to eating potatoes if she was lucky enough to find one in the garden patch.
It only took an hour after a noisy argument between her father and stepmother for the front door to be closed with his departure and her stepmother interrupting her last bites of a sweet potato. The finely dressed woman tossed a faded blue with barely seen printed flowers at the hem and an old apron at the girl.
"Hurry up and change already! I can't stand to see you loitering, masquerading around as if you were on equal standing with my girls," the sharp nailed lady of the manor demanded.
Ella did her best to undress, don the patchy garments, and not shed a tear as her gown was ripped from her hands as soon as she did so and tossed carelessly into a box for selling. Things were always changing, the manor getting refurbished and wallpapered, her reality hammering her childhood as nothing but memories. Ella could do nothing as her gowns were given to her stepsisters, save for a few that were kept as disguises to hide her stepfamily's cold hearted ways with her for when her father came back. Her paints, dolls, trinkets, school books, and jewelry were sold for as much as her stepmother could squeeze the merchants in order to fund 'impressionable needs for the livelihood of noble women'. The worst was when the portrait over the mantle of the fireplace was replaced, her mother thrown up into the dusty attic while her stepmother hung up to watch every guest with flair.
Her stepsisters called for her as their mother walked upstairs. "Cinderella, make sure you iron my clothes first after doing the laundry," Drizella cried as Anastasia complained, "No, mine first! Cinderella, my pillows need fluffing before I nap!" Ella sighed, tying on her apron and walking up the trusty carpeted staircase.
Before the girl knew it, night had fallen. The house smelled of liquor and was rowdy in a way that made Ella's ears hurt. Her stepsisters flirted with the wealthy boys as her stepmother mingled with other ladies over the latest gossip in town as their husbands filled up with cheer available in the manor.
"Oh Miss," the old cook, Bertha, cooed. "If only your father could wake up and see the sorry state you and this house is in."
Bertha was a dear nursemaid as well as having a green thumb for baking pies and making stews. The older woman was only called back, after being laid off, during large parties where Ella alone would not suffice. Her smile was like warm sunshine and her food was honey to the girl's lonely soul. Every one of the staff was forced to retire as her father could no longer afford to keep them on with her stepmother's spending habits. Some of them were kind enough to say bushels of vegetables in return were more than enough, but her father knew they had families to take care of too.
Ella scooped the last spoonful of the broccoli cheese soup into her mouth, thankful for a delicious and warm meal she didn't have to cook. As her legs were swinging as she sat atop the kitchen counter, she replied, "It's not so bad." She shrugged, knowing her kind father would never return from the war that was grief. "I still have you visiting, the animals, and books to keep me company."
The calling bells rung, the dust shaken off them from the rare usage. Bertha commented, looking at the copper alarms, "Well, I'll be," shaking her head, "that woman never gets off her high horse, does she?" Putting Ella's bowl in the sink and handing the eleven year old a tray with two piping hot meals, she said, "You best get on with it before she comes get you herself. Watch your step."
The girl went up the steps of the kitchen, down a corridor of wine storage, and made her way into the dining room where the smoke of pipes made her cough. Ella held her breath until she got used to breathing the contaminated air, ready to put one dish down gently on the table in front of a noblewoman dressed in red velvet, if she could get past the items littered on the ground.
"Who's the girl in the rags?" the lady asked her stepmother. Her eyes peered at Ella, taking in possible features past the soot on her face and loosely braided hair. "She looks like someone I've seen before at the castle. I might even consider her a beautiful diamond if I were given the chance to do her up a bit."
Ella's heart raced as she was both delighted by the lady's nice comments and fearful of her stepmother who looked at her with contempt. She walked over to the next person at the round table, carefully dodging a smooth playing card that was on the ground.
"Must have been someone else as this one's not worth looking at. She's a poor child whose mother abandoned her in life. Her heartbroken and destitute father was lucky that I was generous enough to let her live under my tutelage, giving her purpose here as a scullery maid," her stepmother replied, sounding other worldly enough, as people often forgot Lord Tremaine had a daughter.
Her green eyes narrowed as the girl looked away, trying to make herself small. After all, it was the truth baked with a fury one could hardly understand, for the vain and unempathetic woman was left with a grieving husband who claimed he was rich lord but was really a humble living debt racked man, a motherless and beautiful stepdaughter who would surely outshine her dimwitted and homely daughters in suitors if left alone, and a broken heart from a loving marriage that ended with the tragic passing of her late husband to war.
"You're so kind," the maroon fitted woman complimented Lady Tremaine. "I can hardly keep up with the delegations in my own household, my nephew being quite the talk of the town and creator of my worries as he'd rather travel than settle." She turned towards Ella, patting her small shoulder, catching the glimpse of wonder in the girl's azure eyes, "Sweetie, it's a shame you'll never get to see the sights of Paris. I miss the music that was there, the violins and merchant tunes that soared."
Ella set down a plate in front of the nice lady, remembering what she could about her mother's hometown. "People always played instruments in the streets. The flowers that bloomed in the fields always smelled incredible, the daffodils and lavenders were my favorites."
Her stepmother let out a forced laugh, crossing her legs again in the opposite manner. "She jests, Lady Danbury. Anyone could have made that up from what you said and the ordinary things here. The girl was born in a small village and has never left the countryside."
Ella continued, her imagination coming to life as she recalled the things that had fascinated her as a small child, holding her mother's hand and walking through the city's square. "There were pastries filled with chocolate and cream. Boats with men standing rowing and people riding them floated on the river. My maman told me that people there said "Bonjour when greeting." She giggled as she picked up empty plates and used silverware onto the tray, having forgotten that it was through her mother and there that she had acquired her language of French.
"No, no, now I'm sure that you've been there. You make this old lady remember what it was like to be young in the city. Here, take this as my thanks." The dark skinned noblewoman smiled, pulling out a silver chained shiny stone pendant and placing it in the large pocket of Ella's dress skirt. The girl opened her mouth to reject the gift, knowing all too well that favoritism never led to good things for her, but Lady Danbury was formidable. "I insist, sell it or wear it, I don't care. It's but a dime I carry. You know, something loved becomes precious in every sense."
The newly wedded woman keenly smiled as Ella nodded and followed through, about to pass her by to set another food plate down. There was nothing Lady Tremaine hated more than not having things her way, in intellect or attention, especially in her own household. Ella hardly saw the dark purple leather boot that appeared out of nowhere in front of her. The girl tumbled, the tray falling from her hands, the food canopying the rug, and some plates breaking in a horrible cacophony. She cried out in anguish as her knees burned and small cuts danced on her sides of her arms. The crowd gasped, some huddling around or dispersing at the sight and noise, others murmuring that it was a terrible sight.
"What is the meaning of this?!" her stepmother yelled upset. "Falling over dramatically like we're the ones who made you fall. Attention seeking as always. If you had watched your footing, then maybe there'd be no mess."
"I'm sorry," Ella quickly said, getting up and not bothering to look at her wounds, her eyes widening, "I don't know how it happened." She went on to pick up the giant pieces of porcelain and wipe up the dropped food with a tea towel she had prepared earlier, fastened to her waist, to place back onto the tray.
"Leave it," her stepmother ordered. "Someone else will clean this up. I will deal with you later. Have the cook send in a replacement dinner."
The moon hid behind the clouds as the harsh wind nipped at her arms and legs, her nose red and sniffling. Ella had been tossed outside, dabbing at her wounds with the cleanest bits of her apron, bidding the cuts to clot. Her punishment was to sweep the back of the manor's patio clean of leaves, a task most daunting since the gales kept swirling the dead of winter out of her neat piles and back over the brick finish. Furthermore, her lightheadedness came back due to the smells that wafted out of the kitchen ventilation, tantalizing and teasing her for what she couldn't have as the evening wore on, a hearty meal deprived for another 'misdemeanor'. Her breath came out in shudders, her chest feeling tight as her fingers gripping the broom became numb. While under a guest's servant's watchful gaze to make sure she completed her task or she'd have to stay there the whole night, Ella managed to complete the impossible with patience. Albeit, she couldn't feel anything but the ache in her bones, dripping with exhaustion, when let in.
It was a quarter after one in the night and the party was over. Bertha had gone home to her family in the village, but in her place was a note on the counter along with a piece of buttered bread and a roll of cloth, following a stack of dishes left in a bath of soapy water in the sink.
'Miss Ella, Let this do most of the rinsing for tomorrow. The other staff and I have tried to clean up as much of the dining room as possible, at least those who had a heart after I told them of the set up that surely happened to put you in tonight's predicament. Oh, I would have gone after you and put up a fight to have you not freeze to death out there, but the madame saw through me before I could do so and threatened to dock my pay. I put her and the girls right to bed with my light tea and fancy crumpets. I hope you understand and forgive me with this, poppet. Wishing you strength, Bertha.'
Ella clutched the letter to her heart, the parchment crinkling as she wept. "My dear nurse, I could never be upset at your sweetness." She had missed the feeling of not being the only one to look after herself. Soon, Ella found herself hissing as the salt water mixture she prepared danced across her skin, dressing the cuts in the cotton bandages. Her arms made her think of mummies that she'd read about in books about Egypt, wondering if they were anything like Mary Shelley's fictional living creations if given the chance to be brought back to life.
As the girl made her way past those waylaid in the hearth and dining room, too drunk to have left, she ended up in her new room, the barren servants quarters that were rarely used or devoid of life as most servants before stayed with their families in the village. Ella would have slept in the kitchen again, in its warm and unchanging nature, but she had already heard enough the first time she had fallen asleep reading there, dubbed with a hurtful nickname that stuck. She huddled over the fireplace, trying to coax the warmth into her fingers by rubbing her hands over the smoky and barely burning embers of the firewood she took from the hearth. Ella blew on them, her breath giving enough life to set alight the new log. The blonde had tried to sneak as many logs as she could to her small room during the warmer part of the day, but being left scurrying to and fro with chores hadn't given her any time to have more than the two logs. The smell of the smoke from the firewood always lingered on her more often the scent of flowers or laundry these days, bringing her a sense of ease, but to her family that smelled of heavy perfumes, they found it all the more fitting to tease her and call her 'Cinderella', a piece of soot or cinder sticking to her pale skin just as she was bound to them.
Her body shivered as the linen covered worn mattress sucked the warmth from her petite body more than protected her. Ella wrapped herself in a moth-eaten cotton blanket, sleeping as close as she could to the fireplace without having danger of smoke inhalation or falling into the flames. She slipped the silver pendant out of her pocket, the shine of a purple opal glistening in the moonlight seeping through the window. The round stone felt soothing in her fingers as she tucked it back in, mentally noting that she should put it away in the attic, somewhere her stepfamily wouldn't go, for safekeeping in the morning. Her heart urged her to dream of her hopes of a brighter future where she'd be comfortable and free to live without fear.
The night had a way of undoing her tangles of worry. A deep breath gave way to her remembering the sweet days when the most she worried about were how many chocolate chips to put in a pancake and how to make friends. Her father had always chided her on how a proper young lady shouldn't be covered in mud as her mother chimed that a bit of dirt was worth the effort of launder if it meant good fun. Ella's face bunched up in a wry smile at the thought, as although she did enjoy gardening and taking care of the animals, it seemed her days were always filled with laundry of others and finding she was covered in dirt, dust, or ash.
As the room got warmer, the fire lapping on the second log already, she thought about how her father used to come out of his study when it was time to put her to bed, making sure the fire was supplied enough to kept fed until morning and reading her stories from his collection of classic literature, godly tales like Orpheus and Eurydice, and poetic prose. When he was too tired or away on business, her mother would tuck her into bed with a warm cup of tea or milk. She'd embroider while sitting on the side chair, telling stories of fae and wise things you could only learn from experience before singing her a French lullaby with the most angelic voice she had ever heard.
The good things had a way of bringing her joy but the pressing coldness seeped into her bones, making her forget that her memory riddled dreams couldn't withstand reality long. For as much as Ella was kind hearted in nature, it took everything in her not to run or yell against the unfairness her stepfamily treated her with. She knew better. Doing so would only sully her promise to her mother to have courage and be kind as well as embarrass and bring more burden to her already struggling father. Any friend would only let her stay for a short time and her father would most likely bring her back with concern. Her actions would enrage her stepmother and build tension in the manor, something she'd have to presently live in. Ella thought to herself that she might be uncomfortable but her stepmother was right, it could get worse if she didn't behave.
She, in an act of rebellion if only in the mind, imagined her father hugging her and protecting her after listening to the horrendous torment she'd had to endure when he was gone. He'd blow up a storm to make sure everyone never overstepped boundaries as long as he could do something about it. However, Ella knew she wasn't a snitch and her father was not the same man he once was, his whimsy and strength locked deep inside. With the tinkling of chimes, she could hear her mother shushing her in a caring way, telling her that 'all will pass and good things come to those who try their best with kindness.' Tears fell in hot bursts as Ella kissed her bandaged arm, pretending her parents, whose voices and memories faded as the years went by, were there to comfort her and kiss her.
"I love you too," she whispered to their semblance of love as she closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over as the crackles grew softer and the darkness crept back in. The girl dreamt of playing in the sun, donning a pretty sundress, with her parents as they made daisy chains and picnicked under the shade of a wisteria tree.
