Ella: an Everland Ever After Tale (8 page)

Sibyl’s mouth was pulled down in a little frown, but Ella wasn’t sure why. She’d never met Roy—of course she hadn’t—and so had no idea if he would be a good husband for Mabel. But then, what did it matter?
Any
husband would mean that Mabel was gone from her life.

“I don’t think he’s the kind to love you, though, Mabel.”

Their oldest stepsister dismissed Sibyl’s quiet claim with an eye-roll. “
Love
? Who cares about
love
? He’s rich, darling; that’s what matters. Only fools care about love.”

Sibyl’s chin came up, and Ella felt a little burst of pride at the girl’s gumption. “I must be a fool, then. I’m only going to marry for love.”

Remembering all of the novels and fairy tale books that Edmund Miller had purchased for his youngest daughter, Ella bent back over the hem. Sibyl had always been the romantic in the Miller family; she used to insist on Ella taking her outside after the sun set to search for the first star of the evening. She’d screw up her little face, and whisper her wishing-chant to the heavens:
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…
Ella hadn’t realized that the girl was still so ideological; she wondered if this youngest stepsister of hers still wished on stars.

“For love? In this town? Who would
possibly
love you?”

Even Ella winced at Mabel’s dismissive insult. The Miller sisters were always chatting about their social events and teas; surely there were young men here who Sibyl could love? But again, her youngest sister defended herself. “Any number of them, I’m sure. Roy’s brother Max is handsome, in his own way. Or his friend Ox, who seems sweet. Or Casey Jones, or the three Gruff brothers, or even that handsome shopkeeper—you know, the cripple.”

Absolutely all of the blood in Ella’s body rushed to her ears to pound there, blocking out Mabel’s scowled response. She could tell from her older stepsister’s gestures that she didn’t think much of the town’s offering of men. Ella’s ears began to clear just in time to hear her finish: “…and as for Mr. Crowne, he’s entirely too reclusive.
Maybe
if he got out and joined the community a bit more,
spent
some of that money he must be hoarding, he’d be more attractive as a husband.” She ticked off his faults on her fingers, blithely unaware of her angry stepsister, crouched at her feet. “Maybe,
then
, you could consider asking him to court you.
If
he could manage it—how do you think he dances, with that crutch of his?” She dismissed him with a wave. “No, he’s not real husband material.”

Maybe not for you, you self-centered—
Ella clamped down on her thoughts, afraid that they might appear on her face. Better to not respond to her sisters’ discussion at all, than have them realize how badly she wanted to defend Ian. He was a good man, and didn’t deserve to be insulted by Mabel. She willed Sibyl to defend her choices, but their overbearing sister must’ve beaten the girl back behind her magazine again.

Unfortunately, that meant that Mabel turned her attention back to Ella, who wasn’t sure that she could speak yet, without betraying her outrage on Ian’s behalf. “I hope that you’ve got our picnic baskets planned, Ella. I absolutely do
not
want a repeat of last year’s fiasco.” Last year, Ella had had the audacity to pack two baskets with the same food. “Eunice and I are doing you the favor of decorating our own baskets this year, so that you’ll have time to cook.”
Decorating? You’re tying a ribbon around the handle, I’ll bet
. Mabel smoothed her hair back, and pinched her cheeks slightly, still intent on her reflection. Ella resisted the urge to poke her with a pin and claim it was an accident. “The very least you can do is make sure that we’re bringing different meals.”

Ella
hmmmm
ed, not willing to agree, but knowing that it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. Mabel didn’t think that was the appropriate response. “
What?
”

“I said—” Ella moved the pins to one side of her mouth, her hands still working quickly. “That’s fine. What does Eunice want in her basket?” Their middle sister was resting in her room with one of her frequent headaches, and the question was easier than asking what
Mabel
wanted, because she was sure to have a long list of demands.

“It doesn’t matter what she wants, because you’ll be making fried chicken for my basket. It’s the least-terrible of the meals that you make, and would go well with potato salad, if you think that you can manage to make that without blundering completely.”

The hateful words were easy to brush off. Everyone always enjoyed her fried chicken; Lord knows Ian had.

At the thought of Ian, her hands stilled. As always. She couldn’t help but remember the intensity of his gaze when he’d held her hand there in his storeroom, and the way the heat had traveled up her arm and into her chest. He’d talked to her in a way that no man ever had. He treated her the way Maisie treated her; as a friend. And Ella loved every second of it. Loved seeing his smile, loved his teasing. She was still dreaming of him, but this time, her dreams were of more than just his kiss. Now that she
did
know what his touch did to her, she dreamed of grander things… a future together.

A sharp jab pulled her from her silly wool-gathering. Wincing, she carefully pulled the pin from her finger, careful not to get the drop of blood on the pink silk. A future with Ian? She had to scoff at her silliness. The man was handsome, successful, and well-off. She was a nobody.

“What are you doing with this, Ella?” Sibyl’s question distracted Ella from her less-than-pleasant thoughts. Her younger stepsister was stroking a bolt of yellow-and-white cotton that Ella had been foolish enough to leave out. Her mouth went dry at the realization.

“Nothing,” she managed to squeak out. Luckily, her work was hidden away at the back of the bottom drawer of the sewing bureau, where her sisters probably wouldn’t think to look. Eunice had ordered the material last year, sight unseen, and when it arrived, Mabel had absolutely forbidden her to wear it. She said that with the Miller sisters’ pale hair and skin, it made them all look like sallow corpses. Sibyl had obviously been disappointed, so Mabel relented and
allowed
Ella to make them all third-best summer nightgowns out of it.

There was still plenty of material left on the bolt, though, and Ella had thought that they might’ve forgotten about it. With the little bit of leftover lace from Mabel’s gown, and a few feet of the leftover white ribbon from Eunice’s gown, she’d thought that she could make a serviceable—but pretty—church dress… not that she was ever allowed to go to church with the family anymore.

Perhaps, in the very back of her mind, was the thought that—assuming her sisters’ dresses were completed successfully, and that their food was packed—she might be able to go to the picnic too, if she had a dress fit for the occasion. Not nearly as fancy as her sisters’… but nice enough for Ian—

She bit her tongue, giving herself something to think about besides
him
.

Unfortunately, Mabel was able to sniff out secrets. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Her sharp tone sent a spike of pain through Ella’s forehead, but she didn’t let it show. “It’s out, so it’s obviously for
something
. What are you doing with it?” She tried to turn, to look at the fabric, but Ella held her ankle with her free hand, keeping her still so that she could finish the hem.

She pinned up the last few inches, frantically wracking her brain.
Curtains!
“I was thinking about using some of it to put up curtains in the kitchen.” There was only the one window in there, and Ella definitely didn’t need it covered—the more light in there, the better. But Mabel liked things to be pretty. “I thought it would go well with the dark colors in there.” Now she was just making things up as she went, pretending to check that the hem was straight. “Maybe a few dish towels too? That way the room would be prettier, in case any of your guests wandered in.”

She held her breath, waiting for her sister to take the bait. Her friends were as snobbish and self-centered as Mabel was, but she
did
occasionally host teas where she invited eligible bachelors, and the word “prettier” was a sure-fire way to get her approval. She liked things to be pretty, no matter the work that went into them.

“Well, fine then,” Mabel
huff
ed, and turned back to preen at her reflection, and Ella gave a silent little sigh of relief. Her plans were safe. If she could finish up this hem before she had to start on supper, and if Mabel didn’t think of anymore lace to add, then the dress would be complete. She still had a final fitting to do on Eunice’s pale green silk… green the color of a pair of eyes behind spectacles—
Stop it
!

She shook her head slightly, trying to focus on her plans. She’d do Eunice’s fitting tomorrow. Sibyl’s blue dress was much simpler than her sisters’, since she was younger, and could be finished a bit closer to the picnic with no one the wiser. That would give Ella a few hours each day—and maybe some at night, if she was willing to stay up and work in the kitchen—to piece together the sections of the yellow cotton she’d already cut. Even if there was no ribbon or lace left to trim with, she could always make a few small ruffles out of the scraps. And then, after the picnic was over, of course, she’d have to actually make curtains for the kitchen.

Assuming that Papa wasn’t livid at her for daring to request to come along. Of course, since this was the year that Ella was absolutely set on getting Mabel and Eunice married off, she hoped that he’d have other, happier things on his mind.

“Ella, Papa wants to see you!” Eunice’s sing-song gleeful call from the hallway, combined with the direction of Ella’s thoughts a moment before, caused her heart to stop for one terrifying moment. But then she remembered to breathe again, knowing that her sister had no way of knowing what she’d been considering.

When Eunice breezed into the room, Mabel spun around on the ottoman, knocking Ella back on her heels. “What do you think, Eunice?”

To give her credit, the middle Miller sister wrinkled her nose when she took in the gaudy confection that was Mabel. “Isn’t it rather… lacy?”

Mabel sighed dreamily, having stopped her spin in such a way that she could twist over her shoulder to see the dress’s bustle. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Ella could tell that Eunice was about to say something hurtful—Eunice wasn’t as mean-spirited as Mabel, but just as blunt—and hurried to intervene. “Did Papa need me for something?”

The distraction worked. Eunice grinned spitefully when she turned. “Oh yes, Papa needs to see you right away in his study.”

Glad that she’d just finished with Mabel’s hem, Ella packed away the rest of her pins and placed the box on the vanity by Sibyl. Was it her imagination, or did her younger sister look a little pitying when she watched Ella leaving the room? On the way out the door, Ella called back, “Please leave the dress on the dummy, and I’ll hem it when I get back.” Mabel ignored her.

When she reached the door to Papa’s study, Ella took a moment to roll her sleeves back down to her wrists, and straighten her apron. Papa was always very particular about her appearance, saying that there was no reason for her to look like she’d spent the morning in the ash heap…
even if that’s where I was
. She also checked her reflection in the window in the hall, making sure that all of her little flyaway hairs were plastered down. Papa hated her hair—had hated Mama’s hair too—saying that it made her look like a “gypsy devil.” Since Ella had absolutely no idea what that meant, or what to do about it, she just kept her hair tied back tightly.

Straightening her shoulders, she knocked on the door. When his stern “Enter!” sounded from inside, she slipped through.

Papa’s study fit him. It was sparse—his desk and two chairs, and nothing else—and imposing, with a wall of books that Ella snuck down to read sometimes. Mama used to read them to all of the girls, but when she’d died, Mabel and Eunice had quickly lost interest. Her stepfather was a big man, gruff and gray, who didn’t want much to do with the same things that his daughters enjoyed. Still, he recognized that they were his heirs, and allowed them to have whatever they wanted.

“Good afternoon, Papa.” He still hadn’t acknowledged her, carefully perusing the
Cheyenne Leader
newspaper that she laid out for him every morning. Some days he was out on the range with the hands, working to support the cattle empire he’d built. Other days he was here in his study, working on his ledgers and correspondence, and giving orders to Mr. Heyward; those were the days that made Ella nervous. His inattention just made the pit in her stomach bigger.

Finally, he folded the paper carefully, and placing it on his desk, frowned in her direction. His stare wasn’t pleasant, not like when Ian looked—

Ella hid her wince.
I’m not thinking about him right now. I’m not
. She couldn’t afford to, not in front of Papa.

“Mabel showed me her dress yesterday.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk, and Ella blinked at the unexpected beginning. “It’s… She seems quite pleased with it.”