Chapter 13
ELLA
MAIER MANOR
How is it possible that breakfast could be quieter with five people sitting around the table than it had ever been when I was alone?
I push my spoon through my porridge, but my stomach aches too much to eat.
A quick glance at Father, mouth drooped into a frown as he browses through the estate books, warns me he’s in no mood for chatting.
If I were to pass him in the village, I’d hardly recognize him.
He lost so much weight, and I admit, I miss the beard.
Mother adored his shaggy beard. Even the style of his clothes is different now.
Finely cut, tailored, expensive. Something I’m sure we can’t afford now that I know the state of our coffers.
“The food is tolerable,” Stepmother says, interrupting the silence. She sneers at her brioche roll as if it were infested with maggots. “That is a consolation, at least. I plan on hiring another cook as soon as possible.”
“But we have a cook,” I say. “She’s excellent and has been with our family for my whole life.”
“Marianne and Bertha must be given the finest foods as they are of age to marry,” she carries on, completely ignoring me. “No husband wishes for a scrawny, malnourished wife.”
“I don’t think you should worry about Bertha, Mother.” Marianne giggles as she sips the special herb tea she brought with her. “She would never be mistaken as scrawny.”
“How dare you!” Bertha’s spoon clatters to the table, her face blooming red. “At least I’m not bone thin. Men won’t even notice you with—”
“Enough!” Stepmother lifts her hands. My stepsisters go silent, shoulders stiffening. Even seated, the woman radiates authority. “I wish to meet the entire manor staff. You’ll ensure this happens, won’t you, darling?”
Father jerks his hand up from the accounts and frowns even deeper.
“Herman!” Father bellows, slamming the book down.
I jerk in my seat as if the book physically hit me. I know exactly why he’s angry. But he can’t be too upset. With the harvest sold and those jewels, we got further ahead than he should’ve expected.
“Whatever is the matter?” Stepmother asks.
Herman rushes into the room, bowing. “You called, Master Maier?”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Father rises from his seat and hefts the books, shaking them in Herman’s face. “Where did the money from the crops go? There should be more than is listed here. Have you been stealing from us?”
“We were desperate.” Herman swallows. “The servants demanded their pay, and when the money ran out, I used the funds from the crops that came in.”
“But you paid the servants double, you idiot,” Father points out. “Why would you do that?”
Herman glances over at me. The choice is mine. Play dumb and let Herman take the fall. He’d do that for me, and it’d be the smart thing to keep Father’s wrath from flowing my way. But it was my choice to give the servants double wages. I stand, looking Father in the eyes.
“That was my decision,” I say.
There’s a momentary silence as Father turns to stare at me, confusion furrowing his brow. A strand of his perfectly combed hair falls over his eyes.
“Clarify,” he growls.
“There was no money to pay the servants.” I grip the side of the table.
“The coffers were empty as you took everything when you left. As time passed, servants started leaving since we couldn’t pay them.
I sold some of Mother’s jewelry, but it wasn’t enough.
Our only hope was to sell the land off to Dr. Wissen or pay the staff a reward for helping harvest the crops. ”
“Lucky servants,” Marianne murmurs.
“Please, tell me there’s enough money for new dresses,” Bertha begs.
“Who do you think you are to pay the help double?” Stepmother demands.
“If I hadn’t, there would be no help left and the grain would still be on its stalk buried under this morning’s new snowfall,” I shoot back. “There would be no food in that bowl if it weren’t for me.”
“Good heavens.” Her eyes widen at my insolence. “Such a high opinion of yourself.”
I stiffen and look away, trying to keep my anger in check.
“You had no right, Ella,” Father says.
“Before you left,” I counter, “you told me to let the estate go to hell for all you cared. Do you remember that?”
“Mercies.” Frau von Maier presses her handkerchief to her mouth.
My two stepsisters look utterly stricken.
Understanding floods me. Hilda married my father believing he was wealthy, for he surely dressed the part.
Perhaps he told them about our magnificent manor, portraying it as a castle and painting a mirage of wealth and protection for a woman with two daughters.
That would explain their disapproval upon arrival.
We were never a wealthy family, always living on meager means year after year. Father used to promise someday we’d have enough money to host huge parties and gain the king’s notice, but Mother hadn’t minded. She’d say we always had what we needed.
“Those were tough days after your mother’s passing,” Father says, rolling his shoulders. “I was not myself.”
“The crop brought in enough money to pay expenses,” Herman explains stiffly. “If we are careful with the funds, I believe we should be able to survive the year.”
“Careful with the funds?” Stepmother says in a strangled voice. Her hand touches her throat. “Survive?”
“Are we destitute, Mother?” Bertha asks, her large blue eyes blinking in worry.
“Now I understand why you were attending the fire, Ella,” Marianne says slowly. Turning to my father, she says, “Ella may be fine with servants’ duties, but that’s simply beneath my highborn status. How am I to find a proper match with ash-covered dresses and rough hands?”
“No one is going to be destitute,” Father barks. “I will get this household back in line. And I will start with you first, Ella.”
I tremble as he points a thick finger at me. I’ve never seen him like this, so I’ve no idea what he’s going to do. This man with a snarling mouth and cloudy eyes can’t be my father.
“Bring your mother’s jewels to my study. That will be a starting point.”
Tears threaten to escape. I dash out of the room, needing to be as far from those eyes as possible.
It doesn’t take long to pull out the case of jewels I kept in my dresser drawer, but the thought of going back downstairs and facing them all is too hard.
I just can’t. I pull out Mother’s sapphire necklace, glistening in the pale morning light, and curl up on my bed holding it. It holds memories of a different life.
Like the nights Mother and I climbed the hazel tree’s boughs. We’d sit and count the stars and make wishes on those that fell across the sky.
Shouting in the hall drags me back to my harsh reality.
I clutch my own bluebird necklace Mother gave me as I peek out my door.
Stepmother is standing at the threshold of Mother’s room with two servants.
Last night, Father and Stepmother stayed in the guestroom since Mother’s room hadn’t been touched since the day she died.
I creep into the hallway, but remind myself that this was my house before it was hers.
“I want this room scrubbed down,” she’s ordering the servants. “Everything of value will be sold. All curtains, bedding, and garments must be burned.”
“Yes, Frau von Maier,” Jesse says.
“The news of our family’s state of affairs was rather shocking.” Marianne appears at my side. “We weren’t prepared for this reality. Mother is on one of her rampages, and I’m so sorry, Ella, but it appears as if everything of your mother’s must be destroyed or sold.”
She gives me a look of pity that makes my heart twist tighter.
I push past her and storm up to Stepmother. “You can’t burn my mother’s dresses and sell her possessions.”
“I most certainly can,” she replies, lifting her eyebrows in shock at my forwardness.
“Who knows what kind of sickness she had? We can’t risk contamination.
As for her possessions, it’s the least we can do after you nearly sank this household into ruin.
In fact, how do we know you aren’t sick, too? ”
It takes a moment to register her threat and the dangerous ground I’m on. Clenching my fists, I watch as Jesse sets Mother’s jewelry box into the basket along with a portrait of her.
“My mother died a year ago.” I march to the basket and begin picking out items I want to keep. “If I had her sickness, I’d be dead by now.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Stepmother’s gaze cuts to me as if she’s measuring me and I come up too short. “Everything must be sold, not given to you. Listen, young lady. You don’t want to cross my path. I can make your life miserable.”
Her gaze should’ve sent dread through me, but she doesn’t know I already lost everything when I buried my mother.
I lift my chin, tucking the painting under one arm and pressing the jewelry box and a dress against my chest. “I’m keeping these.”
“I think not.” Stepmother’s laugh grates my nerves like fingernails scraping stone.
I set my jaw and bolt from the room. The servants dart out of my way, mice fleeing a cat fight. When I reach the door, Marianne hovers by the entrance, wringing her hands. I try to brush past her, but she grabs my arm and pulls me into her room.
“Good for you, Ella,” Marianne says. “I can only imagine how hard this must be for you. Losing your mother must have been devastating. I’m terribly sorry you have to go through all of this.”
“It has been hard.” I sigh and rest the painting against the wall. “Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.”
“But now you have us.” Marianne hugs me. “I know Bertha and I fight terribly, and Mother is stern, but we’re your family now. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
My heart tightens, and despite my best efforts, tears push their way down my cheeks. These past months have been lonely. Sure, I kept busy with the harvest and spent the evenings with the servants rather than eating alone in the dining hall, but it’s not the same as having a family.
“If we sell your mother’s items, it’ll save us from destitution,” Marianne continues. “It’s all been so stressful. Mother and your father were just a little shocked, that’s all. If you could do this for us, it’d calm everyone down.”
She’s right. I sold off one of my mother’s necklaces for the very same reason. “Perhaps the jewelry box,” I offer. “I suppose it’s not that important.”
“But the painting and dress you should keep.” Marianne squeezes my hand. “It’ll be the perfect way to always remember your mother.”
“Yes, the perfect way.” I pass the box to Marianne.
She smiles warmly and hugs me again. “Poor little Cinderella. You don’t mind me calling you that, do you? I knew when I first saw you covered with ashes that we’d get along. I think it was destiny that brought us together.”
A headache starts pounding. This is all too much. “I didn’t sleep well last night,” I say dimly, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I think I’ll take this to my room and lie down for a little while.”
“Do you need me to send up tea for you? I have the perfect concoction for headaches.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
When I enter my room, I place the painting against the wall. Leaves flutter off my shoulder. Strange. I don’t know where they came from, but they remind me of Mother and our fall picnics under the hazel tree, leaves raining down on us. We’d gather them up and make wreaths with them.
“Everything’s so wrong,” I whisper to Mother in her portrait. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
My eyes swivel to her jewels on my bed. I planned on selling them before. What’s stopping me now? Marianne’s right. We are family, and with time, we can learn to get to know one another. Maybe even become friends. Besides, I still have the bird necklace she gave me when I turned sixteen.
I snatch the jewels and head to Father’s study. Standing before his desk, my hands tremble. A part of me desperately wants to give him these jewels, and yet another part screams to never let go of what is left of my mother.
I place them on the desk.
“I’m glad you made the right choice to bring those to me.” Father’s voice stings cold and heartless against my chest. “You made many poor decisions while I was gone, but that’s to be expected, as you have your mother’s blood running through you.”
“My mother’s blood?” What’s that supposed to mean?
“Ella, your mother was evil. Hilda suspects your mother was a witch of some sort, which is why I was so distraught after her death. It took time for me to be released from her spell.”
“A witch?” I gape at him, horrified. And then fury rushes through me. “You’re wrong. If anyone is a witch, it’s that woman you married.”
“Now, Ella. Be wary of the witch-blood that may have been passed on to you. We must watch you carefully.”
The room tilts slightly as the memory of my hands in the millpond swims through my mind. The heat from the fireplace curls its talons around my neck, choking me. Could he be right?
No. What he’s saying is impossible and a complete lie. Still, my world feels upside down. I backpedal toward the door. Father calls out final words of great wisdom, or perhaps a warning.
I just run.