Fractured Fairy Tales

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, including photocopying, recording, or transmitted by any means without written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, establishments, names, companies, organizations and events were created by the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events, companies or organizations is coincidental.

Published by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing

Text Copyright 2014 held by CHBB Publishing and the Individual Authors

Edited by Catherine Stovall

Cover by Rue Volley

The Maid and the Outlaw by Zoe Adams
Frosted Hearts by Leah D.W.

Luvia by Stephen T. De Marino

The One and Only by Victoria Kinnaird
Pixie by Pyxi Rose

No Turning Back by Nicole Daffurn
Weather Vain by K.C. Finn

Goldie by Samantha Ketteman

Curse of the Witch by Nicole Daffurn
Lorelei: The Nightingale by Catherine Stovall
Wayward Place by Pyxi Rose

A Pleasant Surprise by Nicole Daffurn
Raise by Lexi Ostrow

The Singing Bones by Sinead MacDughlas
Ivory Tower by Cecilia Clark

The Innkeeper’s Daughter by Andrea L. Staum
Hidden City of the Sea by Jeannette Joyal
Out of the Hat and into Wonderland by Nicole Daffurn
Echo by N.C. Thomas

Run Boy Run by Nicole Daffurn

Prince Charming by Jennifer Raygoza
Bloody Red by Jade Heart

The King’s Wizard (Excerpt) by Lillian MacKenzie Rhine

This book is dedicated to our readers.

Thank you for making our dreams come true.

The Maid and the Outlaw

By Zoe Adams

*This story is written in UK English*

The sun was setting on the Cinder family homestead. It stood tall and proud, the faint smell of fresh paint still lingering in the air. The lower windows gleamed, while the soft glow of candlelight came from the upper.

Freshly cut logs were thrown haphazardly in a wicker basket on the wooden porch. An old blanket was tossed on the railing. Occasionally, the frayed ends lifted, but fell back in a lethargic state. The grass was in sore need of a cut, while the flowers that had grown previously had been picked earlier that day.

To the back of the house, were the newly built stables, where the family horses were tethered. A murder of crows croaked mournfully from the eaves, before taking flight into the branches of the largest trees. Dust motes circled the air.

Mrs. Cinder lay on the marriage bed, the curtains drawn. Her face was pale and sweat beads gathered on her forehead. She clutched a white lace handkerchief to her mouth as she coughed and spluttered. Small blood spots appeared on the handkerchief as she pulled it away. Her husband sat beside her, a bowl of steaming broth on his lap. He mopped his wife’s forehead and squeezed her hand.

“Darling, my vision’s blurring. Send her in. I need to see her,” she said weakly.

Mr. Cinder moved the broth onto the bedside drawer. His wife coughed once more and his heart ached. Her illness had crept upon them as suddenly as an Apache attack, and he had tried his hardest to keep the family together—for his Ella’s sake.

Their daughter peered around the door. Her hair hung around her face in angelic blonde ringlets. Her blue eyes were wide with fear.

“Mama!” Ella cried, rushing to the bedside.

The mother coughed once more, grasping wildly for her daughter’s hand. When flesh met flesh, her heart leapt lightly.

“My dear girl, live a good life. The Lord will be with you, always, as shall I. Heaven awaits me. I hear the angels singing. Promise me, daughter of mine.”

“I promise, Mama.”

The mother drew her last breath and passed on, to the cries of her family.

A few days later, the service took place. The heat was unbearable in the churchyard. Many of the townsfolk came to offer their condolences and best wishes, from the livery to the bank. Ella dutifully shook each hand that came her way, and when the funeral came to an end, she remained standing by her mother’s resting place. Her thin body racked with sobs. Her father’s hand on her shoulder made her stiffen suddenly. When she gazed up at his shaven face and hollow eyes, she was reminded of the promise she had made.

She slid her hand into her father’s, and they stood silently, mourning the passing of Mrs Cinder.

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“Papa, what’s happening?”

As Ella returned from the general store, she was puzzled to see bags and boxes littering the usually empty hallway. When she entered the sitting room, she was shocked to find another woman sat in her mother’s armchair.

The woman was robust, clad in a dark velveteen frock. A bonnet sat in her lap. Her bottom lip protruded in an unattractive fashion. Ella tried not to stare.

“Ah, my dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your father has told me all about you.” She smiled.

“I’m afraid he’s never mentioned you, ma’am,” Ella said, curtseying politely.

“Never mind about that now. I’d like you to meet my girls.” She clapped her hands twice. A pair of girls wearing matching dresses, and feathers in their hair stepped inside. They had glassy eyed stares as they stood diligently behind their mother.

“I know you’ve had a hard time, my dear. But everything’s going to be fine. Just fine.”

And so life was fine… for a few days at least. Being helpful and dutiful, Ella went out of her way to assist with tasks, however small. From hanging the washing in the yard, to mucking out the stables, she gave a smile and began to work.

Sadly, the stepmother had other plans. She took Ella’s bonnets and fine dresses, and replaced them with dirty ripped bandannas and plain dresses made of scratchy material. Turfed from her room, she was sent to sleep in the attic, amongst cobwebs and insects. Often, she couldn’t stay awake long enough, and was found asleep by the hearth. They taunted her, calling her ‘Cinderella’ and from that day on. She had become the family maid.

“Why, Ella Ella Cinderella, don’t dirty up my kitchen! Take your dinner to the porch. Don’t step back in until it’s gone and you’re clean!” the stepmother would say on an evening.

“I hope my dress is cleaned for tonight. The men would hate to see me in something so ugly and vile!” the sisters would moan in unison, as Ella fixed hemlines and adjusted sequins. For her two stepsisters often visited the saloon in the hopes of snaring a rich farmer or catching the eye of a passing traveller.

One summer evening, Mr. Cinder announced that he was to travel out of town for a few days. The stepmother made a fuss, but when she was promised a gift, her anger turned to excitement. When he asked his stepdaughters what they would like, they proclaimed the finest dresses and beautiful jewellery.

When he asked Ella what she would like, she was preoccupied with the skinning of rabbit with a Bowie knife. Asking her again, she jerked out of her focus and nearly sliced into her finger. Surrounded by scraps of fur, she thought about the impossible and all the things she would love. To have her mother back would be wonderful, but she knew she couldn’t bring the dead back to life.

“I don’t need anything, Papa. Just travel safe and come back for me.”

The stagecoach he rode home on was filled with gifts for his family. Jewellery, hats, dresses—all packed and wrapped neatly. He patted his jacket pocket, a small smile on his lips.

When he arrived at the homestead, his stepdaughters were waiting on the porch excitedly. They eagerly unwrapped their gifts, high pitched squeals escaping their mouths. They draped their fine jewels around each other’s throats with glee. His wife paraded around in her new bonnet, proclaiming she would rival every woman in town.

In the fields, he found his Ella. She had his old Winchester rifle in the crook of her arm. He watched as she loaded it carefully, raising and cocking it to the left of a cluster of trees. She squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out clear over the fields. As the smoke eventually cleared, she lowered the rifle. Heading into the grasses, she returned with a rabbit dangling by its ears.

“Nice shot.”

“The darn critters have been eating our crops,” she sighed and pushed her hair further under her bandana. “Welcome back, Pa.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small leather pouch. It rattled as he shook it. As she opened the pouch, her mouth created a perfect ‘O’.

“They’re only bullets,” he said softly, and turned away from her.

Her thanks stuck in her throat, as she watched him walk away. Hanging her head, she made her way home, the rabbit slung over her shoulder. She scuffed her boots across the hard ground, kicking up dust as she went. Replacing the rifle in the closet, she strung the rabbit up in the kitchen. Seeing that she was alone, she headed to the stables with purpose. Working quickly and quietly, a horse was saddled and ready to go.

Digging her heels sharply into the mare’s side, she galloped out of the open stable doors, through the homestead gates and headed towards the town. The mare’s hooves sent clouds of dust into the air, and Ella tugged her dress collar up to cover her mouth. She thundered down Main Street, ignoring the people who stared openly at the sight. She was sure she looked like a wild savage as she urged the horse towards the graveyard. The light wind whipped her face, and she felt all her cares disappear.

She pulled the reins sharply, sending the mare teetering onto her back legs. Holding firm, Ella calmed her before, gently trotting towards the railings. Sliding from the saddle, Ella tied the horse to the hitching rail to the left of the entryway. She gazed up at the moon breaking the night sky that had crept upon her and sighed. The mare nudged her shoulder urging her forwards, and Ella made her way to her mother’s grave. She started to tidy the slowly wilting flowers that she had laid here only a day earlier, but the tears that fell from her eyes obscured her vision.

When Ella returned to the homestead, her stepsisters were already home from the saloon. They were flouncing about the sitting room, gesturing wildly with folding fans.

“Ella Ella Cinderella, there’s a new arrival in town. He was in the saloon tonight. And my Jesus, he sure is handsome. We’re going back tomorrow, so you better make sure that the dresses from Pa are ready!” the elder stepsister said.

The next day, Ella set to work even earlier than usual. She pressed the new dresses for her stepsisters and shined their shoes. As she polished their rings and necklaces, she felt her hopes rise. Maybe this would be the night she could go out too. She’d only passed the outside, and the tales her stepsisters came back with only ignited her fire.

When the sisters were getting dressed, Ella stood shaking in the doorway and made her suggestion. Her sisters laughed, laughs so unkind it was as if a rattlesnake had bitten their vocal chords.

“Ella Ella Cinderella, have you seen how dirty you are? Like we’d take you dancing in that tatty old thing!” The younger sister plucked a loose thread from Ella’s sleeve.

The stepmother made her way into the bedroom, a case of polished jewellery in her hands. She sighed. “Dirty dishes won’t clean themselves.”

Adjusting the sleeves of her dress, Ella headed outside, tossing pebbles at the mice that scurried in her wake. She hooked the rope into the iron rings and firmly tied it to the handle of the bucket. She let it fall into the darkness below, where it splashed upon contact. She began to pull. Once, twice, thrice, and she paused for a breath. Then she started again. And again. As the bucket reached the top, she pulled it carefully to the well top, unhooked the rope, and started back. Water occasionally slipped over the side and dotted her arms, but her determination kept her strong.

In the kitchen, she scrubbed each dish until they sparkled bright. Holding the heavy iron cook pot made her arms ache, but she kept going, even when the water soaked through her dress. She rubbed down the surfaces, and by the time she was finished, her stepmother stood in the doorway, ready to inspect.

Ella stood by the stove, ringing the cloth in her hands, waiting for the answer.

The stepmother looked over each dish, smirking as she did so.

“Have you got a dress? Do you know how to dance? Feed the animals, and I might reconsider.”

Swallowing hard, Ella hurried out to the stables. The doors were unlocked, and when she checked the feed barrel, she was dismayed.

Nearly empty. Darn it!

Sighing, she pushed her sleeves back, and climbed onto an upturned box. She reached for the shelf where the new sacks where stored and shrieked as one toppled onto her, knocking her from the box. Wind escaped her lungs. The bag split. Grain spilled. Swearing under her breath, she leapt over the sack and started to unbolt the horses.

At the sight of the food, the horses started forwards immediately. Taking what they wanted in great amounts, Ella started to pull them back. Feeling proud of her idea, she put the animals to bed. No grains were left behind. Hauling the sack to the barrel, she poured in the remaining feed.

Wiping her dusty hands on her dress, she entered the house. Her stepfamily stood waiting in the hall. The sisters giggled behind sequined fans, and the stepmother stood with her hands on her hips.

“You can’t come. It’s as simple as that. Maybe another time, Ella Ella Cinderella!”

As her family stalked away, high laughter mingled with bird calls. Ella felt the tears glide along her cheeks. Brushing them away furiously, she stamped to her attic bedroom. Snatching up the old house broom, she furiously beat away the dangling cobwebs, but fury still welled within her. Hands shaking, she threw it into a dusty corner, when it slammed into something.

Curious, Ella hunted for the broom. It lay on the top of a dusty trunk. She blew away the filth that had settled, coughing as she did so. Rattling the lock a few times, she sighed. It wouldn’t budge. She slumped onto the floor and gave it a sharp kick. The lock shattered.

When it creaked open, Ella was shocked.

“Mama,” she whispered.

Inside were her mother’s old clothes. There was everything from frocks, to blouses, to long skirts. They still held that soft fragrance of prairie bluebells that she had worn. So many memories…

Without thinking, she took a smart pale blouse and rumpled skirt. Thoughts began to race around her head as she dressed. What if she was recognised? Eschewing the thoughts, she scrubbed the dirt from her face, and pinned her hair atop her head. She also took a pair of her father’s old spectacles and a pair of clean boots.

The walk to town was broken only by the sound of crickets chirping softly. The moon occasionally slid behind a cloud, and the wind brushed her face, almost in a lovers caress— not that she’d had any lovers to speak of.

When she arrived at the saloon, she was terrified. Drunken shouts filled her ears, and she felt like turning tail and running home. Swallowing her fear, she pushed open the doors.