The Stepsister's Tale

“Oh, I don’t know—what’s in it?” She peered at the label. Lately, Jane had noticed, Mamma was having difficulty threading needles and making out small print.

“Mamma?” Jane asked. “What are these boxes?”

“Oh, Jane,” Mamma said. “I’m glad you’re here. Look, can you read what this label says?”

The man tilted the box. “‘Serafina’s gowns,’” Jane read. “Who is Serafina, Mamma?”

Isabella appeared at the door, her eyes red and her face swollen. “Serafina was my mother, and those gowns are mine. Just like the jewelry that your mother stole. She can’t have my gowns, too.” A fat tear slid down her pink cheek.

“Isabella, I already explained it to you,” Mamma said wearily. “I did not steal your jewels. I am merely keeping them for you until you are old enough to wear them. You might lose them if I were to give them to you now, and in any case they are not suitable for a girl your age.”

“But they’re mine,” Isabella sobbed. “You can’t have them. You’ll sell them. I know you will.” Jane pressed her lips together. Maude might sound like a child, but at least she didn’t sound like a spoiled child.

“We will discuss it later,” Mamma said. “Poor Jacob is getting tired of holding that heavy box.” And even though the man’s shoulders were so broad that he would have a hard time squeezing into the South Parlor, the wooden crate was indeed sagging in his arms. Mamma pointed. “Through there, and into the bedroom on the right.”

“On the right?” Jane asked as Jacob turned sideways and maneuvered his way in. “But that’s our room.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mamma said, “but there is just no space anywhere else. We can’t put them in the rest of the house with the—” She stopped. With the mice and bugs, Jane thought, but of course Mamma wouldn’t admit that there was anything of the sort in their house. “They have to go in your room,” Mamma finished.

“Margaret.” Harry was standing in the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I must ask you to remember that Ella has been through a great deal lately. Her dear mother has died, she was uprooted from her home, and now she has two new stepsisters who dislike her. You must be patient with her.”

“I know how to be patient with a child. My own two girls—”

“And that’s another thing.” Harry cut her off. “The way they act is disgraceful. They are filthy and shoeless. They must comb their hair, at least, and wash themselves.”

Mamma said apologetically, “When I am away, they run a little wild—”

“They are too old to run wild,” Harry said over his shoulder as he turned to go back in the house. “Please, be sure they clean themselves up before I see them again.”

Mamma stood with her hands on her hips, her head on one side, looking at Jane. She considered Jane’s ragged dress, her dirty knees, her bare feet. “Where’s Maude?”

“In the dairy.” Jane’s heart sank. She knew what was coming next.

“I’ll fetch her. I want you two to take a good bath and then comb all the tangles out of your hair. And find some shoes,” Mamma called as Jane headed toward the kitchen, feet dragging, to put water on the stove. Heating the water bucket by bucket and then bathing and drying would take hours. At least it wasn’t winter, when the water would cool long before they were through.

She had almost finished filling the great iron washtub when Maude came in, scowling. Yes, Jane could see that her sister would appear a little wild to a stranger, with her hair a brown tangle, her callused feet dirty, her knees scabbed, her fingernails blunt and filthy. She suddenly felt resentful at the way the newcomers were forcing her to see everything—her home, her clothes, her sister, even herself—in a new and unflattering light.

“Why do we have to get washed?” Maude complained. “It isn’t church day.”

“We need to get cleaned up a little. He says we’re too old to run wild. He thinks we’re living in the city, with dukes coming to visit.” Maude giggled. “You can have first bath.” Jane unhooked her sister’s dress and let it drop to the floor. Maude eased into the hot water. When they finished, they left their clothes in the tub to soak and put on their Sunday dresses.

They sat in the late-summer sunshine of the courtyard and took turns teasing the tangles out of each other’s hair. Jane worked on a particularly nasty knot at the top of Maude’s head as Maude squirmed with pain. When Jane straightened to ease her back, she saw Isabella watching them.

“What are you staring at?” Jane asked.

Isabella didn’t answer for a moment, and then she said, “You look—different.”

“Different how?” Maude demanded, and Jane wondered whether “different” was good or bad. She didn’t want to ask for fear of being ridiculed, so she bowed her head to her work again. Maude said, “Ow! Janie, stop it!”

“Wouldn’t a comb with wider teeth be easier?” Isabella asked. Jane’s hand halted, suspended above Maude’s head. “I have one,” Isabella said. “I’ll go find it.” She glided into the house.

Maude snapped her mouth shut audibly and looked up at Jane, but Jane just shook her head in bewilderment. “Maybe she’s settling in, like Mamma said,” she suggested. Maude looked skeptical.

Isabella reappeared holding a tortoiseshell comb, its handle covered in gleaming silver. “Here, let me.” She gently worked the comb into the end of the tangle, smoothing and straightening Maude’s hair. Her small hands were so deft, and the comb had such wide, even teeth, that Maude could have felt scarcely a twinge as Isabella worked. Jane saw her sister’s shoulders drop as she relaxed. One smooth lock followed another as Isabella worked her way around Maude’s head.

As Isabella continued and Maude smiled up at her, Jane, too, lost her tension. Maybe Harry was right. They had not been upset when their father died, but a mother was different, Jane thought, feeling a twinge of sympathy. Maybe Isabella had just needed some time to feel comfortable with them. Maybe tonight she would move into their room and the three girls would stay up late talking, and tomorrow they would show Isabella how to find eggs and tell her which trees were best for climbing, and Isabella would tell them about the boys she knew and would show them how to curtsey like the ladies in town and—

Her daydream was interrupted by a shriek from Maude. Isabella held a long damp strand of hair in one hand, and she appeared to be twisting the comb deeper into it. Jane leaped to her sister and slapped Isabella across the face.

Harry came running and shouted, “Stop!” He pulled Isabella to him, shoving Jane away so hard that she fell in the dust. “What do you think you’re doing? You brat!”

Mamma came running. “Girls, what happened?”

Isabella was sobbing. She lifted her face from her father’s vest, and the marks of Jane’s fingers were clear on her cheek. “I was helping. I was combing that one’s hair, and the comb got stuck. I was trying to pull it out and I think it hurt her and then she—” Isabella pointed to Jane, who quailed but stood her ground “—she hit me. And she broke—” her voice shook, and she swallowed before going on “—she broke my mother’s comb. Her beautiful comb that came from Spai-ai-ain.” She sobbed as she held it up. Two of the brown teeth were missing.

Mamma swung to Jane. Her eyes were hard. “Jane?”

“She was hurting Maude,” Jane said loudly.

“She did it on purpose,” Maude broke in. “Janie had to hit her to make her let go.”

“She’s lying!” Isabella cried, her pale skin flushed.

“I don’t lie!” Maude shouted back. She ran at Isabella, but Jane managed to catch her.

“Stop it!” Jane hissed at her sister, who wriggled to get away. For answer, Maude pinched Jane in the tender spot inside her upper arm. Jane gasped and almost let go. She looked at her mother, begging for help with her eyes, but Mamma stood as if thunderstruck. She neither moved nor spoke.

“Be quiet, all of you!” Harry said. “Margaret, I expect you to punish these girls. Come, darling,” he said to Isabella. “Come inside and let me put some cool water on your face.” He shot a ferocious look at Jane and went into the house, carrying Isabella, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

With a sudden twist Maude managed to break away, sobbing loudly, but to Jane’s relief she ran off toward the woods instead of into the house after Isabella. Jane hesitated, rubbing the sore spot on her arm. It was red, and she knew it would bruise. Mamma raised a hand to her mouth and turned away.

Jane’s hurt and indignation drained away like whey from cheese. She was suddenly so tired that she could barely keep to her feet. Maude must have run to Hannah Herb-Woman’s house, where she would be consoled and soothed, to be sent home with an apple or a slice of new bread to fill the empty hole in her heart.

And where do I go? Jane asked herself. Who will comfort me? Not Mamma, certainly. She knew that Mamma would never refer to the incident again, as though nothing had happened.

She went inside to start supper but didn’t want to see Harry and Isabella. If Harry was going to wash Isabella’s face, he must have taken her outside. Creeping through the dank kitchen, she heard the squeak-squeak-squeak of the outdoor pump as someone worked its handle. She peered through the crack of the door and saw the man kneeling before Isabella, wiping her face with a large handkerchief. Were there really tear tracks to remove? Jane wondered. Had the girl really cried?

Isabella suddenly gave a large hiccupping sob that must have startled the man, for he rocked back on his heels and stopped what he had been doing, the handkerchief dangling from his hand. “Ella?” he asked, almost fearfully. “Ella, darling—”

She had bent her head and stood twisting the hem of her gleaming dress in her fingertips. She murmured something.

“What is it, my own?”

She raised her head, and Jane was shocked at the misery in her pale face. “Father, please take me home.”