Eight Years Prior

“I hate you, Elanora!” Bernia, the younger of Ella’s stepsisters, shouted. Between her and Correen, Ella’s oldest stepsister, it was Bernia who was growing the fastest. Both of the sisters looked like their mother: pale skin, auburn hair, and chestnut eyes. They might have looked welcoming if they hadn’t sucked up every single belief their rotten mother had. 

Bernia was taller than the three of us and had a certain momentum behind every move she made that reminded me of the haulers who effortlessly threw sacks of flour over their shoulders. But her strongest muscle was, by far, her mouth. 

“Why do we have to live with you!” She continued. I wasn’t used to people screaming at me, or at all really. It made my stomach hurt and my face feel hot. Ella’s face, however, looked cold. It’d been less than a year since Ella’s father had died and her eyes would falter between a gloomy storming day, or the unforgiving ice of a barren winter. I shivered as the stepsisters glared at us. 

This little patch of grass by the river had become something of a safe haven for Ella and I. It wasn’t far from the main traffic of the village. To the direct south of us was one of the edges of the farms—in fact, we could see several of the cows grazing peacefully under the afternoon sky. Then, the river itself separated us from the fencing that bordered the forest. It was quiet and private, and Ella’s sisters couldn’t even let us have that. 

“It’s my father’s house, Bernia,” Ella mumbled. While her face was still and almost confident, her voice was quiet and non-confrontational. I couldn’t consider this two-versus-two, and I don’t think Ella could either. There was a distinct power imbalance between us. The daughter of a poor seamstress, with Ella being a practical orphan versus the two daughters of one of the largest landowners in our village. 

From the look in Bernia’s eyes, I expected her to lash out and do something drastic. But it was Correen who suddenly charged forward and shoved Ella. A single, solitary splash caused a nearby crow to take off in flight. 

“Ella!” I cried out as water immediately began to soak into her dress. My own boots splashed clumsily into the water as I bent down to pull at her arm. While the damage had been done, I didn’t know what else I could do for her. 

Yet, Ella didn’t move with my tugging. She felt like a boulder as she just gripped my arm and stayed in her half-fallen position. Bernia stood there above her, proud and imposing as any twelve-year-old could be. Somehow, without saying anything at all, she was daring Ella to stand up. I don’t think she even really saw me. Or at least not as a person. 

“How dare you,” Correen said with a whispered calm. “Your father is dead. It’s my mother’s house now. If she wanted you gone, we could throw you out.” 

I began to let go of Ella’s arm. Even if I was just a seamstress’ daughter, I could still slam my fist so hard into Correen’s head that she’d join Ella in the river. It wouldn’t matter if Bernia tackled me after that; even just one hit would feel like a victory. But both of Ella’s hands wrapped around my arm. It was tight, but it wouldn’t really stop me if I fought against her. Still, I stopped. I knew she was telling me to stop. There were things we knew her stepmother could do. Things that could ruin my mother’s business. The water felt cold in my boots but not near as cold as the combined fear from Ella and I. 

I felt like a coward. 

“Say it,” Correen ordered. For a second, her eyes rolled to me. There was a glint of satisfaction I’d only seen in adults before that moment. “Say it’s my mother’s house, Elanora.” 

The grip around my arm tightened further and I could feel her nails begin to dig in. 

“Leave us alone,” I finally said. And it was me that Correen leaned into to stare into my eyes. I know I was trembling and I hated her for it. 

The edge of her mouth twitched into a smile. 

“I said,” She repeated, “say it.” Even Bernia stood silent as she watched. 

“It’s your mother’s house.” I felt like a failure when Ella said it. A hostage to something that was outside of my control. 

“And say you’re lucky to be our servant.” 

“She’s not your-” I began.

“And I’m lucky to be your servant,” Ella cut in. 

I thought that Correen would keep going. That this would somehow never end. But her smile looked satisfied as she turned her back towards us. I imagined grabbing her by the hair and never letting go. But my body wouldn’t move and Ella still hadn’t let go of me. 

“Don’t forget your place,” Correen stated as she walked past Bernia. She didn’t even bother to see if her sister was following her. “Dirty Ella.” 

The momentary doubt on Bernia’s face was replaced with glee as she chased after Correen. “Dusty Ella! Muddy Ella!” She cackled. “Moldy Ella! Cinders Ella!” It felt like she shouted different insults for as long as I could see them. When they were finally out of sight, Ella let go of me.

I heard her hands drop into the water with a dull splash. What could I say? What could I do? I wanted to say that she could come home with me. I wanted nothing more than to tell her she never had to go back home to that prison. But my mother would never allow for another mouth to feed. 

“Ella-” I started and realized I was crying. She was the one in the water and I was crying. “I’m sorry.” I was sorry that I was useless. I was sorry that I was powerless. I was sorry that this was our life. So I knelt down in the water with her. I let my knees sink into the rocky mud and the water soaked into my skirts.

When she looked over at me, she was smiling. It was beautiful even as full tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“Look Esther,” She choked out. A small rock in between her fingers. It was teal with speckles of white across it. “It looks like a robin’s egg.”

The Present

I wasn’t going to be useless to Ella anymore. I swore that to myself as I clutched the fabric to my chest. 

“That was fast,” My mother mused out loud as I opened the door with my hip. I smiled briefly at the blacksmith’s wife who was on her way out; she had probably ordered a dress for her niece that she’d taken in. Two other women from the village stood in front of my mother. The whole day would likely be locals in and out in their need for ball wear. I doubt we were going to have much time to eat, nevertheless anything else. 

I set the bolts on the counter and hurried towards the stairs before my mother could find me another task. 

“I only got six for now,” I called over my shoulder. “I wanted to check with you before getting more.” She’d have to give me more money regardless if she wanted me to get a large stock of dress-worthy fabrics. 

From my bedroom, I could still hear the exchange of measurements. Elaborate belts were in fashion. The Queen had set a trend with shorter hemlines to show off her boots. My mother only indulged in this polite chitchat to keep her customers happy. But I could pick out the tedium in her tone that no one else would hear. Her exclamation about the upcoming popularity of emerald-colored dresses sounded cheerful and excited, but I knew she’d rather start on the dresses than make small talk. Time was, after all, money.

My mother wasn’t particularly nosy about my belongings nor was she a snoop. So I’d simply stashed my money in a pouch in my bedside drawer. I didn’t even bother sitting as I dumped the contents onto my bed. The coins jingled together with a few pretty rocks I’d found with Ella when we were young. The speckled blue rock Ella had given me lay there as a reminder. I picked it up and squeezed it tightly in my hands as I sorted the coppers together. Altogether, it made three silver and some leftover coppers. It was less than I thought. The copper wouldn’t be good for much other than extra thread, if I even needed it. 

Math pounded my temples as I shoved everything back into the pouch. The ball gowns we’d made before needed about ten yards of fabric. Viola's two bolt sizes were twenty and forty. We rarely bought the small bolts because they just weren’t profitable unless there was a specific commission with nicer fabrics. 

With only three silver, I wasn’t going to be able to buy a silk bolt and a linen one. But if there was a nice tiretaine fabric. . . 

It was silent as I hurried down the stairs. The women had gone but this only felt like a lull before a storm. Mother was scribbling down something on paper and didn’t look up as I inched towards the counter. I’d stuffed the pouch into my bodice and didn’t want it to jingle right next to her. 

“Miss Lilianne liked the rose color, she’ll be having a dress in it. Good choice.” I nodded; the rose shades were always popular regardless of the current trends. Once my mother finished writing, she felt the yellow one between her fingers. “This is a nice color too. Very spirited.” There was more scribbling and I took the lull in instructions to urge my plans forward. 

“What other shades do you want me to fetch?” Luckily, she hadn’t noticed I’d yet to bring the usual bread back. Her mind was likely miles off. I just set her money purse on the counter. 

“At least,” She started as she checked a list. “Get six more flax bolts. Three tiretaine, no four. And whatever you think looks attractive. If there are any nice green silks, get those as well. Greens are the color of the season. But no mossier than this,” She said and tapped on the olive green I’d picked. “It’s–”

“Emerald in fashion at the moment,” I said with a laugh. “I heard.” Mother mumbled something to herself as she counted out coins from her moneybox. Then she scooped them into the purse. 

“You’ll have 65 silver for fabrics. If there are any others you think look nice.” That was over a gold coin’s worth. It was well over our budget for the season. Usually, she’d be with me with that much money. If only to help me carry everything. It was a good thing our home was on the edge of the market. I’d be nervous carrying that much silver otherwise. I would have been pleased that she was trusting me with so much money and planning, but it felt cumbersome instead. When I nodded, she gave me a tired smile. “Thank you.”