Ashes and Roses, by Carma Lynn Park 3/5
Roses rustled. Petals floated down and clung to my dress. I got out a handkerchief to rub my face. It was too bad I couldn’t wear rose petals to the ball. But – I stopped – why shouldn’t I wear roses? I had nothing to lose by trying. I ran inside to get my sewing kit and brought it back outside. Carefully, I snipped off several half-open roses, leaving a couple of inches of stem; it was strange that whenever I thought there weren’t any more roses, I would find some hidden deep among the leaves. Then I slipped out of the dress and sat on the log, sewing in my petticoats. The rose bush hid me from the road, and besides, who was there to see? Everyone else had gone to the ball. The needle darted and flashed in the moonlight, sewing the roses in spirals around the skirt and edging the neckline. When it was done, I reached up and felt my braids. “Stepmother was right – too peasant girl.” So I twined the stems of buds together and set it on my head like a little tiara.
The stems would keep the blooms from wilting for a while. Until midnight, anyway, and that was hours and hours from now. “What is wrong with me?” I thought. “I’m acting just as if I were going to the ball. Even if I ran all the way, it would take until midnight just to get there.”
The old white horse in the Holsford’s pasture came up to the fence between the two properties and nickered at me. I stroked his nose and explained that I had forgotten to bring sugar lumps with me tonight.
How I used to love going riding with father. Wondering if my old bridle and sidesaddle were around, I went to the barn and pushed and shoved until the door grated back on rusty hinges wide enough to let me through. Yes, there they were, the saddle on its block, the bridle hanging on the wall in front of it. The smell of leather brought back so many memories that my eyes teared up, and I reached for a sheet that had been put aside for rags. A box was beneath it, and the moonlight showed Gabriella carved into the wood in delicate lines. At first I wondered at seeing my name, then realized it must have belonged to my mother. The lid opened easily, revealing a pair of gloves. I turned them over, looking for spotting or yellowing, but they looked like new. Below them was a pair of of milky-white slippers. In the moonlight, they shone like glass. My feet shook off the clogs, and they landed in the dirt with two thumps. Holding my breath, I put my toes into the slippers, and my feet slid right into them. I slipped the gloves over my red hands – another perfect fit. There was nothing more to wish for.
Humming, I saddled the old white horse, and he seemed happy to leave the pasture and trot down the road. When he puffed up the drive leading to the palace steps, I suddenly felt shy and foolish. Where had my senses disappeared to? I had to go back home. But I looked down at the dress and gloves and shoes. I’d already done so much work. No one would notice me if I stood quietly to one side and just watched. I’d leave at midnight, and all would be well.
I slid off the horse and stood for a moment holding onto a stirrup, leaning my cheek against the warm horsehide. Then I made sure the reins were knotted loosely at the horse’s neck. “I’ll find a ride back with Old Ben or someone. You’ll make your way home, won’t you?”
As soon as I let go, the horse trotted away, heading back the way we had come.
I lifted my skirt and forced my legs to climb the steps. A guard in handsome white livery bowed and opened the door. I cast down my eyes and wished for my two curtains of hair. Music was coming through the open doors on the right, along with the sound of voices chattering and the clicking of heels on tile. Inside awaited a man in more magnificent livery, with gold buttons and braids.
Beyond him was a smaller door that opened into a room where I glimpsed tables covered with heavy damask cloths that bore bowls and platters of delicious-looking foods. No one was in there. I darted inside before the man could announce me.
At one side, there was another doorway, this one opening onto the ballroom. Peering around the doorframe, I could see candles in chandeliers gleaming over an expanse of dresses and jackets. The people in velvets and satins I took for nobility, while others must be gentry from other towns. Some of the dresses had a puffed sleeve that would be perfect for Lavvy to show off her slender arms. The men wore jackets as colorful as the women’s dresses. Then I amused myself by spotting the people I knew and seeing how different they looked in their finery. There was the older Holsford girl, looking pretty and saucy despite her dress having too many bows.
And there was Lavvy. In the misty gray silk I had persuaded her to choose, she looked lovely and ethereal, twirling around the floor with Jack, her cheeks pink with happiness. Clasping my hands, I knew there was nothing more to wish for.
A noise made me turn and jump a little. A man in a plain black jacket had come into my hiding room. He didn’t seem to notice me, just stood for a moment as if unsure what to do, then prodded the fire with the poker. Maybe the room was supposed to be closed until later. My voice came out in a squeak as I asked, “Is it all right for me to be here?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. You’re quiet as a mouse.”
That was me, creeping around mouselike, invisible to nice-looking young men. At least he didn’t seem about to toss me out. I turned back to the ballroom.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” came from behind me.
I looked around and echoed, “Why aren’t I dancing?” Why couldn’t I think of something intelligent to say? Something like, something like – I was standing there staring as blankly as the fish on the silver platter, and I said the first words that came into my mind. “No one asked me.”
He bowed. “Do you care to dance?”
I protested, “I didn’t mean to – that is, I wasn’t hinting – besides, I can’t dance. My stepsisters always took the lady’s part, and I was always the gentleman.”
His dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Alas, and I never learned the lady’s steps.”
Yes, he was very nice-looking, especially when he laughed with his eyes.
He went on, “We could practice in the hall. No one would see us there.”
I hesitated, longing to waltz. “Will you get in trouble, leaving your duties?”
He hesitated, looking bemused. “What do you imagine my duties are?”
“Well, you’re not dressed up as grand as the doorman, so maybe you’re a footman.” Then I thought he might be offended, so I added hastily, “Although your coat is of excellent fabric and cut.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“I must be far off the mark. Let me see your hands.”
He held them out for inspection.
I noted, “Your hands are too smooth and white. In fact, I don’t believe you’re a servant at all. What are you doing poking around in here?”
“Actually, I’m a distant cousin from a poor branch of the family. The king and queen took me in, and I make myself useful. The prince gives me his cast-off clothes. That’s where the jacket came from.”
I nodded. “I know just what you mean. When Father died, Stepmother kept me on, and I do what I can to help out.”
He said, “I like your dress. It looks different somehow. Did your stepmother give it to you?”
I blinked back tears, remembering how Stepmother had given me the old green dress and then refused to bring me to the ball.
He pretended not to notice, but put his hands under one of mine. “Now it’s my turn. You’ll have to take off your glove.”
I thought of my red, chapped skin and drew my hand back, ducking my head.
He was polite enough not to insist, but said, “I know a place where we can watch the dancing and not be seen. Come on.” He took my hand again and pulled me along, down the hall and up some stairs and down another hall and around a corner. The music was as clear as if we were in the room with the musicians, and he pointed to a long horizontal slit in the wall. “A peephole is worked into the wall decorations. No one will know we’re here.”
Several minutes passed while we stood companionably side by side. Here I was, at the ball, and I had a friend. At last I thought to ask, “Which one is the prince?”
My new friend said, “He probably ran off to avoid flirtatious girls and their pushy mothers.”
“No, really.”
Finally he pointed and said, “The one on the dance floor in red and gold.”
“He looks very disagreeable. I can’t think why anyone would want to marry him.”
The cousin made a strangled noise.
I blushed and dropped my eyes. “I’m sorry, he’s your cousin.” Why must I always blurt out what was on my mind? I tried to smooth things over but succeeded only in babbling, “Of course, some people look cross, but it’s because of lumbago or stomach pain. Or they may be quite pleasant, really, and their faces are just set in that expression.”
To my relief, the cousin seemed to find my remarks amusing. He murmured, “Very disagreeable,” and choked with laughter.
The king and queen sitting in carved wooden chair on the dais didn’t look as intimidating as I’d expected. They had lined faces and gray hair, and they looked tired, although they smiled politely. The king leaned over to the queen and said something. She looked around the room as if searching for someone, and turned to the king, shook her head, and shrugged. He leaned back in the chair frowning slightly.
“They don’t seem to be having fun.”
“The king and queen? They worry about their son. Whether he will be as happy in marriage as they have been.”
My eyes went to the prince, who was now dancing with Priscilla. “I reckon it depends in part on the kind of person he is and in part on the lady.” My new friend must surely have seen many ladies come and go. “What do you think of the girl he’s dancing with now?”
“The most gorgeous creature in the room, and her dress is magnificent.”
That pleased me, because I had worked hard on that dress. Now I spotted Stepmother, elegant in black and silver, beaming as the dance came to an end and the prince bowed low over Priscilla’s hand.
The prince’s cousin held out his hand. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
We revolved up and down the hall, slowly at first, and it was hard to concentrate on the steps, with his arm around me. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I am the one who’s supposed to lead, you know.”
I had to laugh, and then it went more smoothly. It all seemed like a dream, where anything could happen as long as you didn’t wake up.
He bent his head so it was very close to mine. “I will always think of you with the scent of white roses.”
Then I remembered that I had to leave before the roses wilted, and looked down. Several were already starting to look limp and faded. Somewhere a bell began to toll, one, two, three... the strokes continued, 10… 11… 12…
“Oh!” It had been fun to play the lady and dance with the prince’s cousin. But I had to face it; I was no better than a servant girl. He wouldn’t be standing here with me if he’d seen my hands. What would he think if he saw me at home with ashes on my gown, smelling of the kitchen? I pulled away and picked up my skirt and ran down the hall.
Behind me I heard him call, “Wait!”
The guard in front barely had time to leap over and push open the door for me. Stumbling down the stairs, I lost a shoe, but escaped into the shadows. Glancing back, I saw the prince’s cousin at the top of the stairs, looking left and right. He was shouting, “Where are you? Come back! I don’t even know your name.”
