Cinderella Is Dead(11)
“Your son—” She grabs me by the elbow and leads me to the main room of the workshop before I have a chance to finish my sentence.
She bends down, pulls the boy out from under the table, and wraps her arms around him, all the while glancing nervously toward the back staircase. Her son melts into her, grasping her tightly and sobbing. Tears well up in my eyes, and I have a hard time figuring out if it is my anger or my absolute heartbreak for the seamstress and her son that is getting the better of me. The seamstress gently nuzzles her nose into his hair. She spots the bag of ribbons in my hand.
“I see you’ve found your missing ribbons. I’m glad you remembered to come pick them up. You’ll look lovely.” If I hadn’t seen what just happened or the welt on her cheek, her tone would have convinced me that nothing was amiss.
“I didn’t mean to intrude—or maybe I did—but I saw your son and heard your husband upstairs.” The woman’s body tenses as if she’s bracing for what I might say next.
She stands, pulling her son up with her, and straightens out his clothes. He looks to be no more than seven or eight years old, but the bags under his eyes are those of a child who’s seen too much. She kisses him and points toward the room directly across from the main work area.
“You go get something to eat. Breakfast is on the table.” She smiles at him, and he looks to the stairs and nods. He embraces her again. She looks down at the boy. “Papa knows best, my love. You will grow up to be a good man, just like him.” The boy doesn’t smile as he disappears into the other room. The seamstress straightens out her dress, avoiding my gaze.
A sigh escapes me, and the seamstress glances over, her mouth turned down. “Don’t pity us. Please. That isn’t what we need.”
“What do you need?” I ask. I step toward her. “You don’t have to— I mean— I could—”
“What could you do?” The woman laughs lightly. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re one of those girls who thinks there’s a way out, aren’t you? That something will come along and make everything better.” She sighs and shakes her head like she’s angry. “I wish there were. I swear I do. I wish I could tell you to run, to hide, but it would never work.” Her voice is so low I have to lean in close to understand. “Nothing can be done. Not a damn thing.”
I want to believe there might be a way out, but with every passing day, that feeling fades. I wonder when this woman gave up hoping.
“You’ve got your ribbons, and I’ve got work to do. You’d best be off.”
I hesitate. “You deserve more than this.” We all do.
The woman pauses. I can see a small cut over her eye. Her lips part, on the verge of saying something, but she holds back.
“Please go.”
6
I slowly walk out of the shop to find Luke standing next to the cart. “Everything all right?”
“No,” I say, climbing up and taking a seat. “Let’s go.”
Luke glances back at the shop and joins me in the cart. I’m sick to my stomach as the cart starts to move.
“How many people do you think are poorly matched at the choosing ceremony?” I ask, numb. I try to wrap my head around what I just witnessed.
“Like a clash of personalities?” Luke asks.
“No. I mean like a man takes a wife and then mistreats her. Hits her.”
Luke looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You didn’t know that sometimes happens?”
“It happens all the time,” I say. “That’s my point. I can’t think of how terrible it is to have to deal with the king’s rules and then go home to have your husband beat you.”
“I understand,” Luke says.
“How could you? You aren’t being beaten in front of your own child. You’re not being forced to go to the palace for the ball. You’re what—twenty? And you say you’ve never been to a ball. We don’t have that luxury.”
Luke stares at me in silence. He pulls the horse into a slow trot, and we meander in the general direction of my house.
“Is there a reason you’re going so slow?” I ask.
He smiles warmly. “Just hoping to get to know you a little more before, well—”
“Before the ball?” I ask. “Before some man decides I’d make a pretty prize and everything in my life is changed forever?”
Luke looks a little taken aback. His big brown eyes dart around like he’s rehearsing what he is about to say. “You’re a rare person, Sophia.”
“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean,” I say, still skeptical of his intentions.
He continues to guide the cart along the road as others pass us. We come to a rise in the road, and Luke brings the cart to a full stop.
My heart ticks up. “What are you doing? Why are we stopping?”
Luke looks out over the wide swath of land to the east. The sun is high above the horizon now, casting an orange glow through the wispy clouds and across the apple orchards. The trees there are every shade of russet and gold as the land prepares to sleep for the winter.
He glances at me with his brow furrowed, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “I wonder if I might share something with you.” He is calm, soft-spoken. He seems very serious, and my curiosity is piqued. But I keep my guard up. Just in case.