.
Still, I needed to know what I was up against. When I met this stepmother was she going to work me to the bone or try to kill me?
I noticed a bucket hanging on a peg by a door and walked over to it. “Um . . . would you mind answering a couple questions for me? Do I happen to have a brother named Hansel?”
The woman looked at me blankly. Her bushy eyebrows knit together.
75/431
Which probably meant no. I took the bucket from the peg. “Or does anyone—particularly any enchanted mirrors— consider me to be the fairest in the land?” Now she laughed. I caught sight of several blackened teeth. “What a notion, Ella. You, the fairest of the land.
Yes, in between the suds and the cinders the bards line up to sing your praises. Off with you, and don’t come back for your breakfast until the swine and the chickens are fed.”
So I was in the right fairy tale, but none of the versions I’d read mentioned any other servants. How long was I going to be here before Chrissy checked on me? I mean, sooner or later she was going to have to come back and grant me my other two wishes. I walked outside, shivering as I left the warmth of the kitchen. I didn’t have any shoes and the way to the barn was littered with animal droppings. I dodged around those like a dancer doing some odd hopping routine.
The cook may have thought I looked like Cinderella, but the cow clearly knew I was a stranger. Every time I set the stool and the bucket down beside her, she decided to take three steps forward. I would move the stool and bucket over, sit down, and she’d walk off again. For fifteen minutes I scooted around the barn in a slow cow chase.
76/431
An old man with a matted gray beard came into the barn carrying a bundle of hay. I didn’t see him at first because I was busy giving a lecture to the cow on ham-burger. He watched me for a moment then took a rope from the wall, looped it around the cow’s neck and attached it to a peg on the wall. “You feeling all right today, Ella?” he asked me.
“Not really, well, you see . . .” Any excuse I could come up with—and actually I couldn’t come up with any—would be a lie. I’d told Chrissy I wouldn’t lie but I was only a few minutes into this fairy tale and already in danger of having reptiles drop from my mouth. I looked at the man, bit my lip, and then let out a sigh of defeat.
“I don’t know how to milk a cow. Could you show me?” He did. He also showed me where to get the feed for the chickens and the pigs. He clearly thought I’d lost my mind, and kept eyeing me over like a shopper eyes de-fective merchandise. As he helped me with the last of the chores I said, “Thanks. You probably think it’s strange that I’ve forgotten how to do all of this, don’t you?”
He shook his scraggly head. “Not my place to say nothing about the master’s daughter. God rest his soul.” I took the milk back to the kitchen and held the bucket out to the cook. She cut slices of meat onto a platter and glared at me as though I ought to know better.
77/431
“Pour it in the pitcher and take it to the table. It’s a mir-acle the mistress isn’t already down and screeching at your sloth.”
I found a pitcher in the cupboard, then walked out the door, wandering around the manor house until I found the dining room. Two girls who looked to be my age sat at a long wooden table. I was expecting them to be hideous—I mean, so far I’d met two people in this fairy tale and neither had been attractive. For the girls to be known as the “ugly stepsisters” clearly indicated some sort of horrible deformity. But besides looking as though they hadn’t showered in, well, ever, they both seemed like normal, attractive teenagers. One was a bit tall and had dirty blond hair—in this case the term “dirty blond” being a description of cleanliness, not hair color—but her features were even and proportioned. The shorter of the two was a bit on the plump side, but not overly so.
Still, I needed to know what I was up against. When I met this stepmother was she going to work me to the bone or try to kill me?
I noticed a bucket hanging on a peg by a door and walked over to it. “Um . . . would you mind answering a couple questions for me? Do I happen to have a brother named Hansel?”
The woman looked at me blankly. Her bushy eyebrows knit together.
75/431
Which probably meant no. I took the bucket from the peg. “Or does anyone—particularly any enchanted mirrors— consider me to be the fairest in the land?” Now she laughed. I caught sight of several blackened teeth. “What a notion, Ella. You, the fairest of the land.
Yes, in between the suds and the cinders the bards line up to sing your praises. Off with you, and don’t come back for your breakfast until the swine and the chickens are fed.”
So I was in the right fairy tale, but none of the versions I’d read mentioned any other servants. How long was I going to be here before Chrissy checked on me? I mean, sooner or later she was going to have to come back and grant me my other two wishes. I walked outside, shivering as I left the warmth of the kitchen. I didn’t have any shoes and the way to the barn was littered with animal droppings. I dodged around those like a dancer doing some odd hopping routine.
The cook may have thought I looked like Cinderella, but the cow clearly knew I was a stranger. Every time I set the stool and the bucket down beside her, she decided to take three steps forward. I would move the stool and bucket over, sit down, and she’d walk off again. For fifteen minutes I scooted around the barn in a slow cow chase.
76/431
An old man with a matted gray beard came into the barn carrying a bundle of hay. I didn’t see him at first because I was busy giving a lecture to the cow on ham-burger. He watched me for a moment then took a rope from the wall, looped it around the cow’s neck and attached it to a peg on the wall. “You feeling all right today, Ella?” he asked me.
“Not really, well, you see . . .” Any excuse I could come up with—and actually I couldn’t come up with any—would be a lie. I’d told Chrissy I wouldn’t lie but I was only a few minutes into this fairy tale and already in danger of having reptiles drop from my mouth. I looked at the man, bit my lip, and then let out a sigh of defeat.
“I don’t know how to milk a cow. Could you show me?” He did. He also showed me where to get the feed for the chickens and the pigs. He clearly thought I’d lost my mind, and kept eyeing me over like a shopper eyes de-fective merchandise. As he helped me with the last of the chores I said, “Thanks. You probably think it’s strange that I’ve forgotten how to do all of this, don’t you?”
He shook his scraggly head. “Not my place to say nothing about the master’s daughter. God rest his soul.” I took the milk back to the kitchen and held the bucket out to the cook. She cut slices of meat onto a platter and glared at me as though I ought to know better.
77/431
“Pour it in the pitcher and take it to the table. It’s a mir-acle the mistress isn’t already down and screeching at your sloth.”
I found a pitcher in the cupboard, then walked out the door, wandering around the manor house until I found the dining room. Two girls who looked to be my age sat at a long wooden table. I was expecting them to be hideous—I mean, so far I’d met two people in this fairy tale and neither had been attractive. For the girls to be known as the “ugly stepsisters” clearly indicated some sort of horrible deformity. But besides looking as though they hadn’t showered in, well, ever, they both seemed like normal, attractive teenagers. One was a bit tall and had dirty blond hair—in this case the term “dirty blond” being a description of cleanliness, not hair color—but her features were even and proportioned. The shorter of the two was a bit on the plump side, but not overly so.
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