Cindy and Ella (The Fairy Tale Twins)

Chapter 6: Ella

"I asked why he was smiling. He said, 'That's my daughter up there.'" Merle sits on her chaise lounge, slipping beads onto a string, one by one. It always seems to soothe her.

"I remember." I keep my eyes on my book and hope she doesn't continue the story. I've heard it before. Whatever spirit of fate decided that Merle and my father should be seated side-by-side on the night of my first play, it was not a friendly spirit. But she seems to cherish the memory.

"He was so kind." She lifts the string to check the pattern she's created. Various bowls of shiny beads are propped around her on small tables, along with extra candles. I can barely tell night has fallen behind the heavy drapes. We've been in miserable darkness all day.

The clock on the upstairs landing begins to sing, and I notice Merle counting the chimes. "Eight o'clock. Shouldn't they be home?"

Yes, actually. But to agree would only ignite her fears. "Oh... they probably stayed open late because of the crowds. I'm sure they'll be home soon." I'm impatient, too. I miss Cindy. I've had no one to talk to on my level for days. We sort of think out loud to each other, most of the time. I can't do that with anyone else.

"He was so kind," Merle murmurs again. "Walked home with us. Do you remember?"

"Of course. I was there, too." Out of compassion for the lovely widow, Father had insisted on accompanying her home, with me and Cindy in tow—and Jeremy. A sullen boy of sixteen, he did not speak a word to me or Cindy the entire way, looking almost afraid of us. We thought him so dull and shy.

Wish he had stayed that way.

Merle slips a few more beads onto the string. Usually, her creations become necklaces, which we sell at the bookshop, hanging them on little hooks by the counter. They don't make us much money, but that doesn't matter. It's something for Merle to do.

Merle shakes her head, almost smiling. "I thought he was the answer to my prayers. I felt so desolate when Reginald died. Jeremy was almost a man himself—not my little boy for much longer. When I met Bertram... I thought he was sent to me. Someone I could grow old with. But in the end—" she gives a joyless chuckle "—two fleeting years were all I was given. Two years. And here I am."

Here we are. But she never told me that part before, that she thought Father was the answer to her prayers. Would have made sense, wouldn't it? How can life be so senselessly cruel, denying people the one thing they need most?

I put my book aside. "That necklace is pretty."

Merle smiles. "I'll make a pair of them for you and Cindy—once I know the color of your ballgowns. Have you ordered them yet?"

I shake my head. Merle has at least achieved some acceptance of the ball, and no longer seems to mind we're going. Though the crowds pouring into the kingdom distress her, I think on some unconscious level the excitement has rubbed off. Now she wants to be sure we represent the family well, and she listens with pleasure to my description of the red dress.

"You should come to the ball," I say even though I know she won't. "The queen might be happy to see you. Wasn't she your friend at one time?"

Merle shakes her head. "She won't want to see me."

"Why not?"

"I made a mistake. A bad one—though it wasn't on purpose! She couldn't forgive me. But no lasting harm was done. He turned out fine."

I'm on tenterhooks now. "Are you talking about the prince?"

"I never talk about the prince!" Merle snaps.

"Then who turned out fine?"

"Mind your business. Shouldn't you have supper on the table?"

I sigh and stand. "I was waiting for Cindy and Jeremy." The stew has been simmering for hours and we can eat it whenever we're ready. I stalk out of the sitting room. But as I'm crossing the foyer, I hear "Ella! Ella!" coming from outside the front door. I tug it open to see Cindy rushing up the walk, her flushed cheeks visible even in the dusk. "Look what I have!" She lifts a small scroll of paper in her hand. "Met the messenger just as I got here! It's from the theater!"