Soot & Ashes

Four: Soot & Cinders

Poor little Cinders, as she thought of herself, shut up in a dark drafty kitchen. The shutters over the windows blowing to and frow, knocking against their frames. She shivered on the floor with fright, curling up as close to the fire as she could.

Poor little Cinders, forced to work? It couldn't be. Her father couldn't be dead, those wretched girls couldn't have taken her place, her power. She'd sobbed thinking about this, sobbed until she fell into a sleep so deep she didn't think she could wake from it, until she did wake.

She felt a shocking, wet, freezing cold sensation drench her. Ethel Cinders snapped up, her eyes opening to see her stepmother standing over her with an empty bucket, still dripping the last remnants of water from its rim. "Get up child, at once!" The woman ordered.

Ethel was a stubborn girl so she crossed her arms and pouted out her perfect lips. She wouldn't bend so easily. This was her house. She couldn't be told what to do!

Having no patience for Cinders attempt to protest Mary pulled her up by the hair and made her stand on her feet, squealing for the sharp pain in her crown. "Up! Get to work. I will not repeat myself again."

Rubbing her sore head, Cinders finally nodded and did just as she was told.

When it was time to do the woodcutting, Cinders couldn't lift the axe even to move it a little. It was so heavy and her fingers were so sore from her other chores. A knock came to the kitchen door just then. She searched up, wiping away her tears as she was too proud to wear them. There at the door stood Susan.

"I shall take the axe, if you like. I've become rather fond of chopping wood." Of course Susan's mind was not on chopping wood at all, but on the boy she would find deep in the forest waiting for her.

Cinders frowned at her stepsister. "Why should I accept help from you?" She stuck her nose in the air, looking away from Susan.

"Because you cannot even lift the axe to carry it. You won't be able to bring back any wood and mother will be furious with you." Susan walked over to Cinders and looked upon the old, worn axe longingly.

"Why should you care anything about me? Don't you hate me for how I've treated you like that witch your mother?" Ethel snipped.

"Oh no," Susan shook her head, looking at Cinders with the kindest eyes. "I find it hard to hate anyone." She reached her hand out to Ethel, resting it on her arm. "Although I did hate how I was treated, treating you that way solves nothing."

Slowly Cinders turned to look at her stepsister, her eyes becoming sad and her heart becoming heavy. "You would really help me?"

"Of course." Susan replied.

Cinders after all but a mornings work threw her arms forward around her stepsister and embraced her, sobbing happy tears this time. "Yes, thank you! I've worked so hard I think I shall die without your help!"

Startled, Susan was not quite sure what to do. She comforted Cinders as best she could, patting her on the back and smoothing down her hair. It was the first time Ethel Cinders had ever been tender towards her.

Once she had gotten out from Cinders arms she took up the axes with a bit of a wobble before she headed towards the door. 

Before she could reach her hand out for the doorknob, she heard a scolding voice behind her. "Just what do you think you are doing young lady?!" It was her mother.

Susan turned sheepishly, her hands shaking and her knees knocking together. "I..." She stuttered, "I wanted to help. I don't think it's right making Ethel do all this work, I always had help from Arabella."

Mary Cinders was furious, her face had turned an unhealthy hue somewhere between red and blue. She looked as if she could burst she was so angry. Her hands on her hips, her eyes aflame, her teeth ground hard together in her mouth. "Susan," She snapped, "hand the axe to Cinders, and leave the kitchen at once...do not try my patience." She growled after a moment.

Susan frowned down at the floor, about to step forward, about to hand the axe to her stepsister. Only she stopped herself and shook her head. "No."

"What did you say?" Mary's voice was raised in contempt.

"I said no. I won't support you putting someone else through what I myself and my sister had to bare. I cannot do it." Susan stood up straight, her head erect and looked her mother straight in the eyes although she was so nervous she was trembling all over.

Ethel looked at her in amazement, a little piece of her cold heart warming and aching. It was as if it had been asleep until that moment, unaware it could feel, or be felt for.

"Fine," Mary Cinders snapped, "then it appears you are no daughter of mine anymore. You can be Soot and Cinders for all I care!" Then she reached forward, grabbing Susan by the arm, making her drop the axe. "For your tongue you shall have a lashing, no one talks to me with such disrespect... Cinders take up the axe and go to chop wood. Soot will take the rest of your work load this evening." The cruel, icy nature of Mary's words made both girls shudder.

Ethel bent down to pick up the axe and she just managed with a huff. But she flinched as she saw her stepmother take a hard swipe at Susan just as they were leaving the kitchen. She had never felt bad for her stepsister before, but all of a sudden she couldn't shake a heavy sad feeling that was hanging over her head as she trudged outside, dragging the axe behind her.