Chapter Four
I only knew that I actually existed from the echoing of my breathing and the feel of the cold stone walls on my hands on each side of me. I moved ever so slowly in the dark slipping downward into some unknown world where I had a horrible feeling that only evil existed. Taking a deep breath, I kept going, not knowing where this was going to end and what was going to happen when it actually did. I could barely think straight, everything seemed to be happening all at once and yet, nothing was stirring. My thoughts couldn't settle. Flashes of my stepmother leaning over a cauldron wearing a long black gown kept appearing in my head, but I shook them away, too numb with fear to stop now.
Then the stairs stopped and there was an underground passageway. I crept forward, taking a step every few seconds, placing each foot cautiously for fear of the ground suddenly dropping underneath me.
Suddenly, and I thought I imagined it, a faint light appeared in the thick darkness. I walked toward it, my breathing becoming shorter and my palms becoming clammy. The light grew brighter and brighter, and then very softly at first, I heard a voice.
As I got closer, the voice grew more familiar and I threw every ounce of concentration into hearing what the voice was saying.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" the voice asked.
"Snow White, Snow White is the fairest one of all," another voice answered, sounded eerily like my father. I gasped and covered my mouth, almost losing my balance on the stone floor. I was quite sure by now that it was my stepmother. But whom was she speaking to?
"Drat!" screeched my stepmother, "How do you know this?"
"Ask like that, I won't have time, for you know I only answer in rhyme," the other voice said. There was a silence. I crept closer to the light, which as I got closer, it appeared to be a doorway. I grasped at the wall and edged along it to stand beside the doorway. By the sound of it, my stepmother was talking to a mirror and the mirror was answering back, and I was most definitely dreaming. I peeked my head around to peer into the room. It was dully lit. There was a wooden table covered in old, dusty books and on the opposite side of the room, stood my stepmother, not facing me, but facing the wall talking to nothing other than a beautiful gilded mirror. My jaw dropped, but I quickly resumed my standing position outside the door.
"How do you know this, oh mirror on the wall, that Snow White is the fairest one of all?"
How did my stepmother know my father's nickname for me?
"Hair as black as night, lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow," was the mirror's very elaborate answer. I raised my eyebrows. This was very strange.
There was a rustling and then a crash and breaking of glass. For a second, I thought she had thrown the mirror, but then my stepmother screamed.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, why does she have to be the fairest one of all?" she hollered in rage.
"I don't know," the mirror replied. I struggled to hold in a burst of laughter.
"What good are you, you stupid mirror? I must be the fairest in the land and no one, not even that Snow White will stop me!"
So she hated me. Hated me because I was more beautiful than she was. I almost laughed at the prospect. The fact that she hated me wasn't a surprise, I'd felt it ever since she'd taken control when I was nine. But the fact that she was jealous of me seemed almost funny. I knew she was getting ready to storm out into the hall, so I made a run for it through the dark hallway.
It seemed even darker because I had looked into the bright room. I raced through the thick darkness, trying not to make slapping noises on the stone underneath my feet as I ran. Suddenly, my toes hit something really hard and I clamped my mouth shut to keep from screaming. I had found the stairs. I groped about with my hands to crawl up them as fast as I could.
I don't know how I did it, but I made it through the wall alive and into my stepmother's bedroom, which was dark because night had fallen. I limped with my injured toes to my room, trying to sort out what I had just learned.
My stepmother wanted to be the fairest in the land. I shook my head as I thought about it. It seemed so crazy! I kicked off my shoes and lay myself down on my bed. This day had been so terrible, so long and so strange. When I couldn't bear to think about it any longer, I forced myself to know happier times and fell asleep dreaming of the beautiful nymph and her disappearing echoes.
The next day I spent in the back garden, riding Nichols back and forth through the cornfield and thinking only of what a beautiful day it was. I strolled into the main garden about noontime, where I found a twittering bird on the pathway. Melting with sympathy, I knelt down and gently picked it up.
"What did you find?" a man's voice said behind me. I turned and showed John, the gardener and tree-cutter, the bird's broken wing. He smiled at me.
"You always did have a heart to match your sweet features," he told me. I blushed and waved my hand in modesty, then turned back to the bird.
"John, sir, the mistress is calling you!" Erin called from the kitchen window.
"Coming!" he answered and laying down his axe, he disappeared into the castle. I sat down amongst the yellow rose bush and stroked the bird's wing, upon getting it a bandage. I laid the bird down on the grass and quickly assembled a nest underneath the rose bush, a nice shady spot.
"There, now, my dear friend," I placed the quivering bird on its bed of pine needles and flower petals, "May your hospital bed smell beautiful all the time."
I grinned at my own silliness and stood up, facing John was coming back out with a grim, shocked look on his face.
"What did she do now?" I demanded of him. He shook his head.
"Nothing, I promise you." He took up his axe again, "Come, let's go for a walk in the woods. You can pick some flowers."
I readily agreed. I fell into step beside him, holding the same basket with my book and my lunch. We walked in silence all the way into the woods.
"Oo, here's a lovely hidden patch of wild violets!" I pointed to a splash of purple by an oak tree. I knelt down, sitting sideways and began to fill my basket, humming to myself. I forgot everything around me and all of a sudden, I was in a world with just me and I could hear my father singing to me in the back of my head. My fingers curled around a tiny violet stem and I played with it, stroking the velvety petals. As my fantasy world faded away, I saw a shadow appear on the tree in front of where I knelt. I gasped and whirled around and there was John, standing in front of me with his axe raised over his head.
I covered my head with my hands and screamed. I heard a cry and the thud of the axe hitting. the ground. I held my breath and slowly opened my eyes. John collapsed on the ground beside me and began to sob. I had never seen a grown man cry, I had been too young when my mother died. I was so frightened I didn't know what to do. John lifted his head and stared seriously at me.
"You've got to get away from here," he said.
"What?" I asked, completely shocked.
"I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it," he kept sobbing into the dirt.
"Couldn't do what?" I asked him, gently touching his shoulder.
"The mistress, she wants you dead, you must run away, far away and never return!"
"But.but I can't-"
"You must! You hear me? Go, go now!" He stood up and pulled me to my feet with a firm grasp.
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
"GO!" he yelled at me and pushed me forward. I gave him one last look of fright and turned, running blindly through the trees.
I only knew that I actually existed from the echoing of my breathing and the feel of the cold stone walls on my hands on each side of me. I moved ever so slowly in the dark slipping downward into some unknown world where I had a horrible feeling that only evil existed. Taking a deep breath, I kept going, not knowing where this was going to end and what was going to happen when it actually did. I could barely think straight, everything seemed to be happening all at once and yet, nothing was stirring. My thoughts couldn't settle. Flashes of my stepmother leaning over a cauldron wearing a long black gown kept appearing in my head, but I shook them away, too numb with fear to stop now.
Then the stairs stopped and there was an underground passageway. I crept forward, taking a step every few seconds, placing each foot cautiously for fear of the ground suddenly dropping underneath me.
Suddenly, and I thought I imagined it, a faint light appeared in the thick darkness. I walked toward it, my breathing becoming shorter and my palms becoming clammy. The light grew brighter and brighter, and then very softly at first, I heard a voice.
As I got closer, the voice grew more familiar and I threw every ounce of concentration into hearing what the voice was saying.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" the voice asked.
"Snow White, Snow White is the fairest one of all," another voice answered, sounded eerily like my father. I gasped and covered my mouth, almost losing my balance on the stone floor. I was quite sure by now that it was my stepmother. But whom was she speaking to?
"Drat!" screeched my stepmother, "How do you know this?"
"Ask like that, I won't have time, for you know I only answer in rhyme," the other voice said. There was a silence. I crept closer to the light, which as I got closer, it appeared to be a doorway. I grasped at the wall and edged along it to stand beside the doorway. By the sound of it, my stepmother was talking to a mirror and the mirror was answering back, and I was most definitely dreaming. I peeked my head around to peer into the room. It was dully lit. There was a wooden table covered in old, dusty books and on the opposite side of the room, stood my stepmother, not facing me, but facing the wall talking to nothing other than a beautiful gilded mirror. My jaw dropped, but I quickly resumed my standing position outside the door.
"How do you know this, oh mirror on the wall, that Snow White is the fairest one of all?"
How did my stepmother know my father's nickname for me?
"Hair as black as night, lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow," was the mirror's very elaborate answer. I raised my eyebrows. This was very strange.
There was a rustling and then a crash and breaking of glass. For a second, I thought she had thrown the mirror, but then my stepmother screamed.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, why does she have to be the fairest one of all?" she hollered in rage.
"I don't know," the mirror replied. I struggled to hold in a burst of laughter.
"What good are you, you stupid mirror? I must be the fairest in the land and no one, not even that Snow White will stop me!"
So she hated me. Hated me because I was more beautiful than she was. I almost laughed at the prospect. The fact that she hated me wasn't a surprise, I'd felt it ever since she'd taken control when I was nine. But the fact that she was jealous of me seemed almost funny. I knew she was getting ready to storm out into the hall, so I made a run for it through the dark hallway.
It seemed even darker because I had looked into the bright room. I raced through the thick darkness, trying not to make slapping noises on the stone underneath my feet as I ran. Suddenly, my toes hit something really hard and I clamped my mouth shut to keep from screaming. I had found the stairs. I groped about with my hands to crawl up them as fast as I could.
I don't know how I did it, but I made it through the wall alive and into my stepmother's bedroom, which was dark because night had fallen. I limped with my injured toes to my room, trying to sort out what I had just learned.
My stepmother wanted to be the fairest in the land. I shook my head as I thought about it. It seemed so crazy! I kicked off my shoes and lay myself down on my bed. This day had been so terrible, so long and so strange. When I couldn't bear to think about it any longer, I forced myself to know happier times and fell asleep dreaming of the beautiful nymph and her disappearing echoes.
The next day I spent in the back garden, riding Nichols back and forth through the cornfield and thinking only of what a beautiful day it was. I strolled into the main garden about noontime, where I found a twittering bird on the pathway. Melting with sympathy, I knelt down and gently picked it up.
"What did you find?" a man's voice said behind me. I turned and showed John, the gardener and tree-cutter, the bird's broken wing. He smiled at me.
"You always did have a heart to match your sweet features," he told me. I blushed and waved my hand in modesty, then turned back to the bird.
"John, sir, the mistress is calling you!" Erin called from the kitchen window.
"Coming!" he answered and laying down his axe, he disappeared into the castle. I sat down amongst the yellow rose bush and stroked the bird's wing, upon getting it a bandage. I laid the bird down on the grass and quickly assembled a nest underneath the rose bush, a nice shady spot.
"There, now, my dear friend," I placed the quivering bird on its bed of pine needles and flower petals, "May your hospital bed smell beautiful all the time."
I grinned at my own silliness and stood up, facing John was coming back out with a grim, shocked look on his face.
"What did she do now?" I demanded of him. He shook his head.
"Nothing, I promise you." He took up his axe again, "Come, let's go for a walk in the woods. You can pick some flowers."
I readily agreed. I fell into step beside him, holding the same basket with my book and my lunch. We walked in silence all the way into the woods.
"Oo, here's a lovely hidden patch of wild violets!" I pointed to a splash of purple by an oak tree. I knelt down, sitting sideways and began to fill my basket, humming to myself. I forgot everything around me and all of a sudden, I was in a world with just me and I could hear my father singing to me in the back of my head. My fingers curled around a tiny violet stem and I played with it, stroking the velvety petals. As my fantasy world faded away, I saw a shadow appear on the tree in front of where I knelt. I gasped and whirled around and there was John, standing in front of me with his axe raised over his head.
I covered my head with my hands and screamed. I heard a cry and the thud of the axe hitting. the ground. I held my breath and slowly opened my eyes. John collapsed on the ground beside me and began to sob. I had never seen a grown man cry, I had been too young when my mother died. I was so frightened I didn't know what to do. John lifted his head and stared seriously at me.
"You've got to get away from here," he said.
"What?" I asked, completely shocked.
"I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it," he kept sobbing into the dirt.
"Couldn't do what?" I asked him, gently touching his shoulder.
"The mistress, she wants you dead, you must run away, far away and never return!"
"But.but I can't-"
"You must! You hear me? Go, go now!" He stood up and pulled me to my feet with a firm grasp.
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
"GO!" he yelled at me and pushed me forward. I gave him one last look of fright and turned, running blindly through the trees.