Cinderella: The Cinder from the Ash

Chapter Three

"I have a surprise for you." Evangeline met Ella on the porch. "Come on, before Mama catches us."

"Eva, wait. I have to put the meat away. Where are you taking me?" Ella half protested her stepsister's tug on her uninjured arm but followed her into the house.

"Shhh..." Evangeline held her index finger up to her lips. "Come into the kitchen."

"What about Mama and Esmae? Where are they?" Ella whispered.

"Esmae is in her room, resting. She told Mama she had 'a headache', but I believe she is faking. Mama wants her to bathe before the ball, but Esmae is convinced the prince will not care. Mama believes differently."

"But the ball is still weeks away. Surely it can't hurt if Esmae bathes before then." And my nose would greatly appreciate it. All the perfume in the world didn't disguise the fact that her youngest stepsister smelled worse than the pigs in their pens.

"She got it into her head that not aging precludes the need for basic hygiene." Eva shrugged. "I have no idea why Mama allows her to get away with it."

"I'll never understand why she sees bodily filth as an asset," Ella agreed.

"You know what Esmae is like once she gets a thought into her head. But she is not my concern." She smiled. "Did you believe I had forgotten what today is?"

"This is all quite mysterious, Eva. What have you done?"

"Kitchen," her stepsister replied, tugging Ella toward the open doorway. "You go inside first," she instructed.

Ella walked into the kitchen. On the far left stone wall, reaching all the way up to the ceiling, was the main fireplace, large enough to hold three adults standing side by side. The spit used to cook meat was dusty and adorned with cobwebs. That fireplace hasn't been lit since Papa disappeared. Then again, why would it? She sneezed. The smaller fireplace had been lit recently, and the still smoldering embers softened the air from chilly to tolerable. The long wooden table in the center of the room held a plate with two half pears on it, drenched in cinnamon and honey.

"Happy birthday, Ella," Evangeline said.

"You made me baked pears." Ella put the butcher's basket onto the table, tears prickling her eyes. A faint memory tugged at her heart. Mama, my actual Mama, and cinnamon among the scent of warm honey and sweet pears baked to perfection.

"I know they're your favorite," her stepsister replied, "and it's been a long time since I cooked. For a moment I felt...alive." She smiled. "Now, empty that basket and come sit. Enjoy your pears."

"I'll be right back," Ella replied as she picked up the basket and headed for the cellar. It took little time to hang the brains on the hooks dangling from the ceiling and walk back up the creaky wooden stairs. Hearing voices, she paused at the top step.

"Please, Esmae, be kind. It is her eighteenth birthday." Evangeline's light voice sounded clear through the wooden door.
"And I will never be eighteen," Esmae snapped. "If I cannot enjoy my majority, why should she?"

Ella pressed her ear against the door.

"Are you jealous that Ella's father saved her from the spell?" Eva's voice was incredulous. "That is hardly her fault, Esmae! Neither is it her fault we were turned. She was barely born when the spell happened!"

Tears formed in Ella's eyes. That's what a true sister is, always defending me, whether I'm there or not.

"Then she should have turned with us," Esmae retorted. "I will never understand what you find so fascinating about her."