Chapter 41
The gown consumed us for two full weeks.
Night after night, after Cynthia had gone to bed, Mother, Comfort, and I gathered around the candlelit table, trying valiantly to keep each other awake as we made tiny stitches, determined to give Cynthia the perfect gown.
In all that time, we didn’t speak of Curtis again, nor did Comfort press me about attending the ball.
In order to keep my pain in check, I had to confine my wants and wishes into a box and lock it away.
I didn’t have time for grief or feeling sorry for myself.
Every ounce of my energy was put into Cynthia’s gown.
It was the most beautiful creation any of us had ever attempted.
The bodice curved close to the figure, trimmed delicately with light-pink ribbon that softened the lines.
Long sleeves clasped at intervals, falling into trailing fabric that swept to the floor like liquid silver.
Below the waist, the skirt blossomed into fullness, the hem pooling into a generous train.
By the final night, our eyes were raw with exhaustion and our fingers were pricked sore, but when we lifted the gown and let it fall in a sweep of shimmering fabric, my mouth fell open. It wasn’t simply a dress. It felt like magic stitched by human hands.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, awestruck.
“Hopefully it can hide her feet,” Comfort sighed. “The cobbler didn’t have any availability, and I didn’t have enough gold to tempt him to make an exception.”
“I already took care of the shoes,” I told her, pride edging my voice.
Both Mother and Comfort looked up in surprise.
“How?” Comfort demanded. “Did you find a used pair to buy?”
I smiled. “Thomas is making them. He said they would be ready tomorrow.”
Their faces went blank, then became horrified.
“Thomas the glassblower? Surely you aren’t giving her glass shoes!” Comfort exclaimed. “She’ll be bleeding after her first step.”
“Thomas said they won’t break,” I told them.
“They’re glass!”
“He’s using a new technique to harden the glass. He is confident they won’t break.”
Mother sighed. “I hope you’re right, dear. I hate to think what would happen if Thomas is wrong.”
“When do we give her the gown?” Comfort asked. “At least we know this won’t break and cut her to pieces.”
“I know a place she’ll find it,” I answered. I didn’t want to say the exact spot for fear that Comfort would ridicule our stepsister.
“Let’s have her find it on the day of the ball,” Comfort suggested, her eyes gleaming with excitement. I was glad she had decided to be enthusiastic to the idea, rather than resistant like she had been at first.
“Very well,” Mother agreed, pressing her fingers against her temples with a weary smile. “Truly, leave the shoes tomorrow, then report to us in the evening. Heaven knows your sister and I will have our hands full enough with our students.”
It was true. It seemed like every girl in town was taking lessons on dancing, poise, etiquette, singing, and any other subject that they felt might help them in the slightest for the ball.
It was all any of them ever talked about.
Each imagined herself leaving the small rural town and trading that life in for one of comfort and ease at the castle, wed to the crown prince of the land.
“If they knew who the prize was, I doubt they would be this excited,” Comfort had snorted more than once, but only in private.
The next morning, I hurried to Thomas’s workshop, my heart fluttering.
He met me with a grin and presented the shoes, swaddled in cloth.
When he unveiled them, light leapt across the room.
They glittered like diamonds instead of glass, each curve and facet catching the sun until they seemed less like shoes and more like bottled starlight.
I cradled them in my palms and inspected every angle. They were impossibly delicate, no bigger than the shoes I had borrowed from Cynthia’s room as a model. Would they fit her correctly? What would happen when she stepped in them?
“They won’t break,” Thomas assured me, as though reading my thoughts.
He plucked one shoe from my hands and struck it against the wooden counter.
I gave an automatic shout of alarm, expecting it to shatter, but a crystalline note rang out, pure and bell-like, and not a single crack marred its surface.
I exhaled shakily. “Thomas, that’s extraordinary. Thank you.”
“Let me know how they work out,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “If it works, I may make a few more pairs.”
I promised I would report back, then hurried away with the shoes bundled carefully in my arms. Cynthia was going to love them.
At the Fairy Godmother Tree, I checked and rechecked the clearing.
No one was nearby; no one would see me. My hands trembled as I placed the wrapped shoes into the hollow.
The sun was up high enough that I was tempted to unwrap the shoes for a few moments just to watch them sparkle in the sunlight, but I resisted.
Every moment I was near the tree was a chance I might be seen, so I stepped back into hiding, my pulse thrumming.
I didn’t have to wait long. Cynthia appeared at her usual hour, skirts swaying, her walk a little weary from morning chores. She paused at the tree, bowed her head, and whispered something only the leaves heard. Then she reached her hand into the hollow.
Her gasp reached even me.
She drew out the bundle, staring as if the world had shifted beneath her.
Her eyes darted around the clearing, wide and searching, but only for a moment.
Eagerness overcame caution. She sank to the grass, unwrapped the shoes, and let out a breath as the glass caught the sunshine.
They genuinely looked as though they’d been made of magic.
She slipped off her frayed old shoes, and gingerly tried the glass slippers.
Thomas knew his craft well. One shoe fit Cynthia perfectly. The other seemed to be a touch too loose, but still close enough to work. She rose, uncertain at first, then took a tentative step. Another. The shoes caught the light with each movement, scattering rainbow prisms across the grass.
Then she began to dance.
It was clumsy at first, as though she feared they would shatter with her weight. But soon she spun confidently, lifting her arms up as though in an embrace, and waltzed with an invisible man, alive with happiness.
At last, she slipped the shoes off and changed back into her old shoes before running back down the road, clutching the glass slippers to her chest.
That evening, as Mother, Comfort, and I inspected the gown one last time and added a few final stitches, I told them of the shoes.
I described how they caught the sunlight, how Thomas had shown me that they were indeed unbreakable, how Cynthia had danced after trying them on.
I didn’t mention the Fairy Godmother Tree and merely said she had discovered the shoes along her walk.
Mother’s face glowed with quiet pride as she listened. “I have the kindest daughters,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “You two took on the challenge of earning a living and still find time to care for others in need. I couldn’t be prouder of you, and I know your father would be as well.”
She wrapped her arms around Comfort and me, hugging us tightly, and then we drew back to gaze at the gown spread before us.
Candlelight gleamed across the silk, the ribbons, the train.
Tomorrow was the day of the ball. Cynthia would have the clothing she needed and she would be able to have her chance at attending a royal ball, just as she’d dreamed of.
For that one moment, in the quiet circle of our love, everything felt whole.