CHAPTER 3

It was remarkable that none of the three women noticed yet one more young woman lurking near the bakery.
Perhaps they hadn't noticed, because the other woman was all too familiar to them, and they merely ignored her. She wore a plain solid-blue knit work shirt, and over it a dark-brown vest, a lighter plain brown knee-length skirt, and upon that, a bright white apron with a slight tear up the center of the fabric. She tied her long, golden hair under a cream-white peasant's scarf, and upon her small, delicate feet she wore plain, black flats. Her clothing, though worn, was all impeccably clean, flattering an already exquisitely attractive face and form. The young lady sported lips of cherry red, a countenance of a delicate pink blush, and eyes of bright blue. Her gait was graceful as floating clouds, her demeanor was pleasant as spring sunshine, and her presence would brighten even the darkest room or the gloomiest day.
Only one female in the entire kingdom could possibly fit this description. Cinderella.
It had been a year and a half since Cinderella had left home, married Prince Charming, and became princess of the realm. In one stroke, her life had been transformed from that of indentured servitude to one of royal command. Whereas she had been at the whim and mercy of her stepmother and stepsisters, she had become ruler of a nation.
One of several new roles she had assumed was that of hostess of royal festivals, banquets, and dances. And on this particular morning, she was preparing for her second grand ball since her wedding.
Cinderella's suggestion of inviting commoners to the King's festivities initially shocked the royalty, but the events were such rousing successes, everyone took to the transition naturally. And now, nobleman and peasant alike felt welcome to her ball, and everyone in the kingdom was encouraged to attend.
And yet, despite her newfound life of luxury and power, Cinderella never turned away from humility. She never thought it beneath her to occasionally slip out of the castle--disguised in plain clothes--and run ordinary errands among the common people. Indeed, she looked forward to mingling with some of her old friends in the village, and catching up on the latest news from the shopkeepers and farmers in town.
This was such a day. Once she finished decorating the castle's grand ballroom, she was determined to go to the market to purchase the final touch: the traditional garland to present Prince Charming at the ball. To symbolize her everlasting devotion to him.
What a lovely day to go to the market square, Cinderella thought, as she tied her scarf around her hair, and then hung her small wicker shopping basket from the crook of her arm. Indeed, it was a gorgeous day. She stepped from out of the hidden back entrance of her magnificent castle, and into the street.
A pair of familiar bluebirds and a handful of mice, led by her mouse friends Jaq and Gus, came up to greet her. They all chattered at her, quizzically. She gestured to them that she wanted to leave the castle unseen. "Shh."
Jaq was still curious. "Morning, Cinderelly! Why you dressed like that?"
"I'm going to the market in disguise, so that no one will recognize me. I want to surprise the Prince with a garland of flowers. Want to come along?"
The mice expressed their delight, and hopped into her basket, which she had set on the ground for them. She carried them into the village, and the bluebirds followed them overhead.
She had just barely cleared the city gate when she overheard a familiar voice, coming from a young lady near the silk trader's cart.
"Now a scarf for Charles," she heard the voice say, while she observed the young woman rummaging through the silks along the cart. "White or blue? Ah . . . I can't decide." It was Augustina.
Cinderella stopped next to her. "Perhaps a maidservant could offer advice?"
Augustina jumped, and stared. Then her eyes opened wide, and she smiled broadly. "Cinderella!"
"Shh. Keep it down," Cinderella said with a smile. "I'm trying to do my shopping undercover."
Still, Augustina had to stifle screams of joy while the two hugged each other excitedly. The sight of a wealthy maiden hugging a dishmaid elicited more than a couple of stares from onlookers, so the two pulled themselves aside to a more discreet location.
"You look so beautiful now," Cinderella observed. "I haven't seen you in almost a year--"
Augustina beamed. "I have news."
"News?" Cinderella's eyes lit up. "No. You haven't!" Augustina's smile tipped Cinderella off. "You're married!"
"Not yet. Day after tomorrow," Augustina said.
"Oh . . . that is so--"
They laughed and hugged again.
"That is so wonderful!"
"Now, we haven't made a formal announcement yet--"
"I won't tell a soul," Cinderella promised. "Who is it?"
"Charles D'Arqué--"
"The Count of Prévoyant? Oh, Augustina! Augustina! He's--he's so great! He's so nice--"
"You're going to be there, right? Now, don't say no. You're going to be there? Eleven o'clock, Saturday morning . . . will you--?"
"I wouldn't dream of missing it. The Prince and I both will be there. Promise. Is the Count taking you to the ball?"
"Yes! That's where we will make our announcement."
"Oh, I am so happy for you!"
"If only I could talk to you forever. But I must finish my errands before dark. And there is so much to do."
"Yes, I must find a garland to give to the Prince tomorrow, and then I must get ready for the ball. Oh, you must join me for tea sometime!"
"Yes. Yes. Of course I will!"
Cinderella waved, then she turned and smiled cheerily after seeing her old friend. She was only a few shops away from the flower vendor, making her way down the street, but something caused her to pause and look into the window of the bakery. It was then that she witnessed the whole incident between Anastasia and the Baker. She watched quietly as her stepmother stormed in and hauled Anastasia away. Cinderella was amazed; for one she had never seen Anastasia in such a dream-like state, and secondly she had never seen Anastasia disregard any of Stepmother's rules, especially the one that fobade mingling with common people.
After Mother dragged Anastasia away from the Baker, Cinderella looked back into the shop, at the Baker, who had a love-struck expression upon his face.
"He's got that look," Cinderella observed. "And I know that look."
Jaq looked up to her. "Seasick?" The mice doubled up with laughter.
She frowned at them. "Oh, very funny. I think they're in love."
"Anastasia's in love? That's crazy, Cinderelly!" Jaq said, while Gus made a gagging gesture.
"Oh, come on, you two. Anyone can fall in love."
Jaq was unimpressed. "Huh. Anyone but Anastasia."
"Maybe she just needs some help."
"Yeah, lots of help!"
"Well, I had lots of help, too. Remember?"
Yes, they remembered. How could they forget being turned into milk-white horses for half the night?
Cinderella looked back at the Baker. "We have to figure out how to get them together again. I know! We'll lure them into the square. And here's how we'll do it . . ."
She leaned over and whispered instructions to her small pals. The pair of bluebirds twittered in agreement. Gus giggled.
"That's right, Gus. They'll never know what hit them."
The birds took off quickly in Anastasia's direction, swooped down, snatched her bonnet from off her head, and carried it away.
Anastasia was taken completely off-guard. "Hey!" She dropped her dress bundle onto the pavement, and pursued the thieves, unaware she was running back towards the bakery.
Meanwhile, Cinderella helped the mice prepare to draw the Baker from inside his shop. "Okay, fellas, get his attention. And keep it simple."
Jaq and his friends climbed up the leg of a table inside the shop, and made their way into some of the baskets of baguettes upon the table. The mice's actions were anything but simple; they jumped, danced, and performed acrobatics. They did all they could to distract the Baker, but he continued to daydream while he worked. And no matter what they did, they were hardly loud enough; they were . . . well, quiet as mice.
Cinderella just rolled her eyes. She then puckered and whistled, loud enough to get the Baker to turn around. He saw the mice in his basket.
His eyes flashed. "Mice! In my baguettes!"
The Baker grabbed a long loaf of bread, and batted wildly at the little creatures, who were already making their way out to the square. The mice ducked under a wagon, and scampered away. The Baker lost them in the shuffle, and he stayed outside in the square, in search of them.
The mice continued to run, looking behind them for any sign of the Baker who chased them. But because they were not looking where they were running, they collided with a large, furry object.
When Lady Tremaine and the girls got off their coach to shop at the square, Lucifer decided to continue the nap he attempted to take back at the château, under the carts in the square. But when his sleep was disturbed by the mice running into him, he was hardly upset. It had been months since Lucifer had seen his favorite hunting targets. This was a perfect opportunity to finally catch them. The mice beat a hasty retreat back to the bakery, with Lucifer in hot pursuit.
At that same moment, Anastasia continued to run after the bluebirds, who were carrying away her bonnet. "Come back here!"
The birds finally dropped her hat next to the Baker's horse, just a few feet away from the Baker, who, unknown to Anastasia, was still crouched down, looking for the mice. She scooped up the bonnet and shook her fist at the bluebirds.
"Filthy creatures!" she said, and harrumphed. She donned her bonnet, and tied the bright red ribbon under her chin. Then she turned around, and found herself once again face-to-face with him.
"Um . . . hi."
Thoughts raced through her mind at lightning speed. Mother forbade her from speaking to the Baker. Maybe she'd best leave now. But Mother had also said it was impolite to ignore a greeting. Plus, Anastasia didn't exactly go back to the Baker on purpose. This was a chance meeting, right? She fought for words.
"Hi, I'm Anastasia."
"I'm Tom."
"Um . . . your baguettes are wonderful."
"Your mother doesn't think much of them," he shrugged, still smiling.
Anastasia had a fleeting thought of challenging that opinion, but quickly blotted it out of her mind. She had never openly disagreed with her mother in her life. She just gave him a weak grin for a moment.
"Do you like to bake, too?" he asked.
Anastasia had always been a master at lying, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. She bit her lip, and admitted that cooking and baking was something she was never good at, nor something she enjoyed doing.
"But I appreciate good cooking and good food," she added quickly. Tom took that as a compliment, and thanked her.
"And I play the flute, too," she said, hoping to impress him. Then she looked a little sheepish. "Well, sort of. Do you like Mozart?"
"What's a Mozart?"
Her expression dropped. "No, I guess you don't." That's okay, she thought, she never liked Mozart either. It's just that Mother always said that proper young ladies learn Mozart and all the other great composers. Were they really that great? Anastasia could never remember their names.
Anastasia sighed. He must think I'm a real loser, she thought. I'm ugly, I'm awkward, I can't cook, and nothing I say interests him.
Wait a minute. If he doesn't know Mozart, doesn't that make him uncultured? Isn't Mother right, that he's inferior?
Anastasia looked at him again, and sighed. But there's something about him. Does a man have to be refined and cultured in order to be considered attractive and romantic? Isn't there more to life than classical music, proper curtsies, French grammar, and débutante dances?
Tom, too, was thinking quickly. I've never thought of asking anyone to a ball before. Then again, I've never seen anyone like her before. Oh, but look at her. The money I earn in a month couldn't buy the clothes she's wearing. But, I've got to try. This is my chance.
He finally summoned enough courage to ask. "Anastasia . . ."
She looked up to him, expectantly.
"Would you come with me to the ball?"
Anastasia's heart skipped a beat. "M-me? You really want to take me?"
With you, Tom, I'd fly to the moon and back, she thought. Why, yes, yes, of course I'll go with you to the ball!
She began to form her words. "Why, I would love--"
Anastasia never had the chance to finish the phrase. Suddenly, four mice appeared from under the carts, rapidly pursued by her familiar black cat. The animals made their way under the Baker's horse, who, in a startle, whinnied and reared back, and prepared to kick at Lucifer. But the kick missed its target, and landed squarely on Anastasia's bustle. Her bustle acted as a giant spring, propelling her head-over-heels, screaming, through the open door to the bakery, and she landed with a crash among the tables filled with baking wares. Her bonnet and tiny satchel purse flew off her and landed at the back of the shop.
She sat there for a moment, uninjured but gasping for breath.
Tom ran into the shop, fearing she had been hurt, and feeling guilty that he had left his horse out in the square. He helped lift her to her feet. "Are you okay?"
Anastasia looked down at her dress, and she knew she was not okay. The mixtures from the tables, as well as the soot from the brick oven and the grime from the street, had rendered her entire dress a slimy, pathetic mess. Her arms were dripping milk and pastry jelly. The contents of two dozen fresh eggs had splattered all over her face, hair and clothing. Her hair, now soggy, lay limp over her forehead and covered her eyes.
"Oh, no!" She covered her face with her hands, and, without another word, she ran out of the shop.
As she ran, the dust from the street began to stick to the slime on her dress, and it looked like mud upon her. She came upon a part of the square where crowds of villagers blocked her way.
One of them saw her. "Say, isn't that Anastasia Tremaine?"
They agreed, it was. They remembered how she always treated everyone with such contempt. And now, everyone who saw her there could get back at her, and so they stood and laughed at her sudden misfortune. They laughed in the most derisive way possible. It was a sheer delight for them to see Awful Anastasia humiliated. As far as they were concerned, she richly deserved it.
Anastasia stopped cold when she saw the laughing crowd before her. She abruptly turned to her left, and ran down the spiraling stone steps of a hidden arcade.
Laughter seemed to echo behind her as she ran.
The arcade ended at a small enclave, against the north wall of the castle. She could hear the trickling of a small fountain in the far corner. Part of the enclave was lit by the soft beams of the sun, but the shadow of Cinderella's great castle cast over Anastasia. As she looked up to the great castle turret towering over her, she heard the tower clock strike twelve.
Twelve. The chime that signaled such a magical moment for Cinderella, Anastasia remembered. But this time, Anastasia figured it might as well be her own death knell.
She stood there, alone. No one to help her. Not Mother, not Drizella, no one. Anastasia threw herself down before the fountain, crying inconsolably. And thoughts that never occurred to her before wafted through her mind like a torrent.
Why do dreams come true only for other people? Why never for me? Please God, help me. I wish my dreams would come true, too. Please. Help me.