The True Cinderella Story

Chapters 3-5

     We kept in touch with Amelia and her girls over the years, frequently visiting them as they only lived about a twenty minutes ride away and she and Mother had become fast friends.  So it was that, when the sweating sickness hit our house, Father, Mother, and Willa in particular, I was sent to Amelia’s house to be kept away from the sickness and hopefully not come down with it myself.  I stayed there for two weeks, hoping each day that news would come of my family’s healing so I could escape that house.

     It’s not like they were cruel to me, far from it.  It’s just that Amelia kept a clean house, and expected me to cheerfully jump in and pull my share along with her, Lilly, and Lacey.  And while I was no stranger to cleaning, after all, I was sixteen; her expectations were ridiculous!  Plus, my awkward, clumsy bumbling just didn’t fit in that house of grace and poise.  But on the beginning of the third week, a message came.  My parents and my little sister had died, and Father had asked Amelia to take care of me.

     She did so, of course, taking me in immediately and treating me like one of her own.  Which only meant that I had more cleaning to do, and felt more awkward and out of place then ever.  I took to doing the dirtiest jobs; not that I had asked for it, they just sort of naturally fell to me.  After all, I spent half the day covered in dirt from sprawling over the steps when heading outside, why should I get the dirtiest jobs?  It was during one such task, cleaning the fireplace, that I got my nickname.  Just for the record, Amelia is the only one I know who insists that the inside of the fireplace be scoured with soap and water every third day.  Anyway, I had just finished the messy task of cleaning the fireplace in my room when disaster struck.  I tripped over the hem of my skirt while standing up, dropping the hopper full of cinders and scattering them all over myself and my freshly washed floor.  From that day on, I was known as Cinderella.

     But life there wasn’t all bad, not really.  As soon as my endless chores were done, I was able to escape outside with my notepad and quill pen and draw to my hearts content.  I was actually quite good, if I do say so myself.  My best depictions were of people, my family especially.  I tried to draw a different picture of them every day, both together and separately, so I wouldn’t forget their faces.  It grew harder and harder as time went on, but still I kept at it.  In addition, I drew animals, trees, houses, whatever I could think of really.  It was the only thing that kept me sane.

     Life went on like this for two years.  Then, on my eighteenth birthday, a messenger arrived at our doorstep.  Very inconsiderate, those messengers, never taking time to consider what the people inside the house might be doing that they’d rather keep on doing then stopping to listen to them read a proclamation in their pompous, stuck up voices.  Humph. 

     You probably think you know what the proclamation said, and for once you are right.  The king was holding a giant ball in the princes’ honor.  But I’ll wager that you didn’t know it was in honor of him finally mastering the oboe.  Very difficult instrument, the oboe.  It took the prince almost four years to finally learn to play it well.  But I digress.  Now that the prince could play a suitable oboe, his father had decided it was time for the boy to marry so he’d have someone to listen to him play.  Hence, the ball for every eligible maiden.  It was to be held in one week’s time.  Honestly, what was the king thinking?  One week to get prepared for something as big as that?  There’s a man for you.

     Every spare minute of that week was spent preparing for the ball.  Well, almost every spare minute.  A couple of hours were spent trying to hunt down all the pearls to Lacey’s necklace after I accidentally broke it while trying to help her put it on.  After that, I was left to prepare by myself and Amelia helped the other two.  

     Finally, the big day arrived.  We were all washed and primped and dressed up, even me.  Our gowns were gorgeous, Lacey in pale blue, Lilly in deep pink, and me in bright orange.  Yes, orange.  It’s my favorite color, I’ll have you know.  And not because of pumpkins, either.  But my beautiful dress didn’t last long.  As I was stepping into the carriage after my sister, the heel of my shoe caught in my hem and with a loud rip tore it all the way up to the waistband.