The Ugly Stepsister (Excerpt only)

2. Strange New World

I wake up, my head throbbing, my arms sore, and my back in pain. I open my eyes and blink. Geez, I must be in an amazing dream, a dream where we are rolling in dough. I am lying in a big, king-sized bed with a huge canopy. Seriously. Even when Dad was with us, we couldn’t afford such a nice bed.

“Miss Katriona!” a woman’s voice calls.

I blink again, and gradually the room comes into focus. I cannot believe my eyes. The canopy isn’t a figment of my imagination, it’s hanging all over the bed, tied to wooden posts by velvet ribbons. A small table next to the bed holds a candelabra, with three candles burning! And there’s a dresser in the corner with a ceramic pitcher on it. The last time I saw a pitcher like that is in the downtown museum.

Okay, time to wake up. I pinch my arm. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Where do you feel it’s hurting, Miss Katriona?” It’s the woman’s voice again. I see her now, a middle-aged woman wearing a white cap, full-length apron, and black cotton dress.

I yelp. “Who...who are you? Where’s Paige? What are you doing here?”

She gives me a weird look. “You really hit your head hard, didn’ ya? I’m Martha, miss. I changed ya nappies when you are still crawling about this house.”

Now I give her a weird look. “What did you just call me?”

“Miss?”

“I mean when you called me Katriona. My name’s Katherine.”

She drops her jaw. “Good heavens, Miss Katriona! We’d better find a physician for ya, ya not talking right!”

What the hell is going on? I sit up, throwing off the blanket. It slides off my front, and I notice I am wearing a creamy white nightgown made of silk. A dozen pink-and-blue bows run down the front.

I leap out of bed as though on fire and rush to the mirror. Thank god, I still look the same. Maybe a bit thinner, but my hair’s still red, my eyes still gray. Then I notice my freckles have multiplied—they’re over my cheek as well as my nose. Damn. The nightgown is horribly old-fashioned--long-sleeved, high-necked, and runs to my ankles. I’m even wearing a ridiculous nightcap that’s tied under my chin.

Then a soft voice, younger than Martha’s, comes from the doorway.

“May I come in?”

I whirl around. A girl around my age, wearing the same servant’s clothes as Martha’s, is standing in the doorway. She has honey-colored hair tucked in her cap, large baby-blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face that, despite smudged by soot, is real pretty.

“I’ve come to sweep up the hearth, miss, if you please,” the girl says. She carries a pan and a broom—both of them look kind of crudely made.

“Er...” I look round the room and discover a real fireplace in front of my bed. With lumps of coal. “Who are you?”

“Lie back in bed, miss. You aren’t feeling well. We’ll get the doctor for ya tomorrow,” Martha says. Then, to the girl, she whispers, “she ain’t right in the head since she fell down the stairs. Doesn’t even remember who I am.”

The girl’s eyes widen. She takes a hesitant step towards my bed and gazes at me with fear in her eyes. “Don’t you remember me, miss?”

“Er...”

Martha nudges her and nods. “Told you so.”

“I’ll light up a new fire right away, the room’s getting cold,” the girl says. She catches an iron poker that’s lying near the grate and arranges the coal into a large pile. “Perhaps she’ll feel better tomorrow?”

Sounds like a good idea. My head is still hurting; I guess I’m still dreaming. In a few hours, I’ll wake up again, in my own bed in Oakleigh, Indiana. This is just a nightmare.