I have nowhere to go. No other family. No skills to trade for money. I could get hired on as a maid or possibly a seamstress, but I don’t expect that would be any improvement over where I am now. I’d still be washing chamber pots, cooking, and mending clothes.
Besides, it would leave my stepsisters alone with their father. They might be unkind, but they can’t take care of themselves, much less him. I pity them. They need me. Besides, if I left, would he do to them what he did to me?
Awful thought. If I left and he hurt them that way, the guilt would eat me alive.
“It’s a royal order, Ellie.”
“I know.” I force a smile. “But imagine if he did choose me, Mrs. Baker. Who would care for the Tremaines if I went off to be a princess?”
I laugh. Mrs. Baker doesn’t.
“Come inside,” she insists.
The scent of freshly baked bread makes my mouth water and my stomach growl. I shift the heavy pack on my shoulder and discreetly touch my lips to make sure I’m not drooling. Mrs. Baker moves around the counter filling a cardboard box.
“Here. These were squished. That one is a day old. I can’t sell them. You could use a good meal.” She thrusts the box into my hands and pats her hips with a rueful smile. “I certainly don’t need them.”
“Please, I can pay you.”
I’m torn between not wanting charity and thankfulness for the gift. Mostly, I’m embarrassed she felt compelled to try and help me.
“There’s no need, Ellie. You make sure you keep these all for yourself, now, you hear?”
Hot tears scratch the backs of my eyelids. She is so kind, yet her charity is humiliating.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and flee.
I can’t run very far or fast carrying several pounds of foodstuffs and a carton of pastries. I stop at the edge of town. Inside the box I find more pastries than I could possibly gorge myself on. I perch on a fence in the sun and cram a croissant into my mouth, leaving the cream puff, the cupcake, and the muffin for my sisters.
But after I make quick work of the apple, I also eat the muffin. Beneath it, I find a broken star cookie with one leg broken off. I leave that one for Anastacia too.
Time to meet the witch.
A thundercloud blots the sky overhead as if in warning.
4
ELINOR
Keepingthe baker’s box from disintegrating in the rain proves almost impossible. I end up folding the soggy paper over itself and holding it under my oilcloth cloak. It’s not exactly what you’d call a fashionable garment, but it does the job of keeping me dry.
The rain starts with a downpour and a crack of lightning, but it quickly fades into a miserable drip. I pick my way along the path until the witch’s cottage comes into view. Smoke puffs cheerfully out the chimney.
“Miss Ellie!”
Maxine waves me inside. Her gray mane is barely contained in a thick braid dotted with beads that clack every time she moves her head.
“I brought you something.” I offer her the squished box of pastries.
Maxine seizes the broken cookie. “My favorite! Anise.” It’s gone in three bites. She bustles around her overstuffed little cottage, pulling out innocuous-looking herbs, not-so-innocuous-smelling gooey things I don’t want to examine too closely, and dried bits and bobs of gods-know-what.
“I suppose those sisters of yours want more glamour?” she asks.
I nod and stow away the remaining pastries. “Does it ever make you feel bad?”
“Does what make me feel bad?”
“Poisoning them with magic.”
