AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finally, she changed back into her old shoes and hurried back toward the house, clutching the shoes against her chest.
That evening as we put the finishing touches on Cynthia’s ballgown, I told Mother and Comfort all about the shoes, omitting the part that it was the Fairy Tree where I put it. I simply told them that I knew where she walked in the morning, and she had found it along her walk.
Mother glowed with pride as she watched me and my sister finish the dress and discuss how happy it made Cynthia when she had found the shoes. I described the shoes in detail, marveling how they wouldn’t break and how they looked like something from a different world.
“What good girls I have,” Mother gushed. “I am so proud of you two. For taking on the challenge of earning a living, for finding ways to serve your stepsister. You two are treasures.”
That was what Father had always called us. We all hugged each other, then stood back and admired the gown that we would be giving to Cynthia soon.
CHAPTER 42
It was the day of the ball. Mother and Comfort had wanted to watch Cynthia find her surprise, but they were being inundated with requests from girls for last-minute coaching and preparation for the ball. Glad that the Fairy Tree’s hole was so large, I bundled the gown in a large swath of fabric to protect it against the dirt and bugs on the inside of the tree. I had also added in a small leather bag of coins, my meager personal savings. I had attached a note to it, with disguised handwriting, indicating that the coins were to be used for paying a coachman to drive her to the ball.
Cynthia had not confided in any of us that she now had gloves and shoes. Perhaps she still felt like she would be unable to attend because she still lacked a gown. In any case, she never said a word about her discoveries to me.
For the final time, I waited for Cynthia to arrive. She walked quickly this time, as if she knew today was the last chance she had to receive anything that would aid her in getting to the ball that evening. She didn’t even have to reach her hand in to know that there was a large bundle waiting for her. It was visible from outside the tree. She shrieked with glee as she gently pulled the prize from the tree. She moved off the dirt path and carefully unrolled the dress.
She put her hands up to her mouth in awe. Comfort and Mother had outdone themselves. The gown was the best they had ever made. The level of work they put into that dress was beyond what they had ever attempted before. Cynthia held up the gown to herself, testing it to see if it was the right size.
I was gripped with the sudden fear that it wouldn’t fit. We had no time to alter the dress now. It was too close to the ball. But Cynthia seemed to find it satisfactory, and she rolled it back into its protective cover, careful to keep it clean.
As she hurried back to the manor, I had a momentary pang of sadness that everyone else would be at the ball but me.
“Truly!” Comfort called to me from downstairs during the lunch break for the students. “Can you find another mirror? We are fixing the girls’ hair for the ball, and we don’t have enough mirrors down here.”
Comfort and Mother had so many pupils now that it seemed like our house was bursting at the seams. Girls were now flocking from towns over to prepare for the ball. It seemed like I had an extra mirror buried somewhere in my room, if only I could remember where it was.
I dug through drawers, hunted in dusty boxes, searched under the bed, until finally, as my fingers combed through a particularly dark drawer, my hand touched the smooth, polished surface of what could only be a mirror. It was stuck under a thick wad of papers. I heaved, but the mirror stayed put. Anxious about cracking it, I began shifting the stacks of parchment onto a nearby table.
Old copies of letters and business proposals I had translated, budgets, and then, a distantly familiar stack of unopened letters, all neatly tied together with a red ribbon. I knew these letters were important, but couldn’t remember why.
Curiosity overcoming me, I forgot the mirror and sat on my bed, and pulled out one of the envelopes, and slit it open with my letter opener. Out fell a single piece of parchment, with untidy handwriting scribbled across it. Handwriting that I knew, though it had been two years since I had last seen it.
Dear Truly,
I don’t think there are any words I could say to make you feel better, but please know that I am thinking of you constantly. I miss you. My arm and shoulder are still on the mend. I’m sure you are recovering much faster than I am; Hubert came in yesterday and gave a lecture on how I should have handled our situation more diplomatically, and that if only I was more like him, we wouldn’t have been attacked.
I punched him. I am proud to say that even with my arm all plastered up and puncture wounds in my shoulder, I was able to land a pretty good punch. But now my recovery time is supposed to be longer and Hubert said if I hadn’t just been attacked by a mob, he probably would have set one on me himself.
Anyway, now the physician (and Mother) have confined me to my bed and Hubert isn’t allowed in my living quarters at all. All the better for me! And all the worse for everyone else who has to deal with his massively inflated ego. But he has a black eye, which made me feel a whole lot better about being confined.
Write back soon! All I have for company is a book Mother gave me. It is Hubert’s old etiquette book about upholding a princely image and maintaining dignity. Lucky me.
Your best friend,
Curtis
Curtis.
As I read his letter, I could hear his voice perfectly. I could easily imagine him saying each word, as if he was sitting right beside me. I recalled with perfection his bouncing walk, endless chatter, his contagious laugh, his boundless energy. Just the thought of him, just reading his words on the page, made my heart pound.
I re-read the letter. His arm in a cast? Puncture wounds on his shoulder? I thought back, straining my memory. I usually tried so hard to reject all memories of that fateful day, despite the images being burned into my mind. Despite them haunting my dreams at night.
Concentrating hard, I did vaguely remember Curtis coming towards me right after I had been burned, blood pouring down his arm. I was stunned at my recollection. What a dreadful friend I had been, to not even inquire about his health! I had been so focused on myself and my own suffering that I hadn’t even thought about Curtis. I supposed the puncture wounds must have been from arrows, but I never asked. Never even had anyone ask for me.
It was easy to imagine Curtis, arm encased in heavy bandages, still managing to punch stuffy, boring Hubert right in the eye. I smiled, envisioning the Queen scolding Curtis and giving him a dull novel about the mannerisms of a pompous, upstanding prince. Perhaps Hubert already had it memorized.
I reached for the next letter, eager to hear words that should have been read years ago.
