FIGMENTS OF THE HEART
Moriah LeeThe death of her mother was Eleanor’s first encounter with the real world. It was cold, hard, bitter, and real. Painfully real. Her mother had been sick for some time, but Eleanor had believed she would recover. There couldn’t be a world in which young girls lose their mothers, the ones who tell them stories of princes and princesses, play with them for long hours in springtime meadows, and braid flowers into crowns to place in their hair.
And yet it was. It was real in the form of the stiff, lifeless hand that she had clenched in her own, hot tears falling upon the chilled skin. The only thing that had been left of her was a pair of her mother’s slippers, golden silk, embroidered with the most delicate thread, yet it could never be anything compared to her mother.
Almost as astonishing to her was her father, who had buried his wife under the hazel tree behind the house, dried his eyes, and remarried in a month. He was “providing for her,” he had said. She was “ too young to
be bereft of all motherly influence.” It would affect her growth. But that haughty, cruel woman would never be anything like a mother to her.
Before she knew it, her father died, leaving her alone with two stepsisters and that insufferable woman who talked of nothing else but money, what to do, who would earn a living, what would become of them, and money. It nearly drove Eleanor mad. Then the layoffs were made; one by one, the servants left the manor, but the chores still needed to be done. That was when her life sank into an even deeper misery. She was made to scrub the dishes and do the laundry, draw water from the well and beat the rugs, sweep the ashes off the kitchen floor until she was covered with soot.
Cursed money! Gone were the days when she would lie in the meadow, twirling flower crowns around her fingers. Gone were the days of basking in the warmth of the sun, listening to the birds sing. Gone were they all because of her father, because of her mother, because of money.
“You can’t begin to know the extent of it,” she would tell their old milk cow as she tried to squeeze any precious drops she could from its shriveled teats. “The work is just grueling! I haven’t had a day of rest since ” She stopped, feeling that tremble of her lower lip. With a quick sniff, she looked away. “I never had to do any of this when mother was here,” she said softly.
One of her stepsisters had teased her about it as they were walking to the well in the forest. “Do you talk to the cow?” she asked as she lowered the bucket into the well. “I’ve heard you talking to it.”
Cinderella pouted, face flushing. “Then why would you ask me if I talk to her?”
Her stepsister let out a light-hearted giggle as she tugged on the crank, wheeling the bucket back up. “Does it talk back?”
Ifitdid,itwouldbemyonlyfriend,andIwouldnevertellyou.
“And they make fun of me, you know,” she told the cow afterwards. “My stepsisters, I mean. They think I’m daft for talking to you. But I’m not daft! You listen to me, don’t you? And you’d talk to me if you could,
wouldn’t you?”
OfcourseIwould,Eleanordear.
As so Eleanor did not stop talking to the milk cow. In fact, she had even brought the cow flowers from the meadow sometimes to brighten its dreary stall. One day, she wove some of the flower into a crown. “I’ve made you something,” she said as she entered the barn. She balanced the crown between the cow’s ears.
“Why thank you, Eleanor dear,” said the cow.
The poor girl nearly tripped over the milk pail when she heard the voice. It rang with a familiarity that kindled a warmth in her breast. “Mother?”
“Yes, Eleanor, it is me. ”
How the spirit of her mother had found itself into the body of their old milk cow, Eleanor didn’t know, but she could hardly care. Certain that the spirit of her mother had returned to watch over her, Eleanor’s countenance brightened, and her life began to seem happy. Sometimes, her mother would tell her stories as she milked, those stories that she had once told her of princes and princesses.
“How I wish a prince would fall in love with me,” Eleanor would sigh.
Her cow mother chuckled. “Any prince would be certain to fall for your beauty and loveliness, Eleanor dear. You are a princess at heart. Never forget that, dear.”
“I won’t, mother. I promise.”
Her stepmother had grown wary, though. That night at supper, she spoke up. “Eleanor, I must say something at this point. I know you talk to the old milk cow. Frequently as of late. I thought nothing of it at first, but… it’s beginning to worry me, Eleanor. I’m afraid you’ve grown too attached to it. The cow is getting old; it hardly makes a quarter of the milk it once did.” Her demeanor went somber. “We’ll have to butcher it soon.”
With a gasp of horror, Eleanor pushed back from the table. “You
can’t! The cow is—! The cow is my mother! You can’t kill her! Please!” she cried. “You must believe me!”
Her stepmother scoffed. “Eleanor, don’t be ridiculous. The cow is not your mother.”
“She ismy mother! She talks to me! Her spirit came back to me, please! Don’t kill her!”
“Be silent, girl! The cow will be butchered. How else are we to make some money to put food ?”
“That’s all you ever care about!” Eleanor shouted at her. “Money! Money! Money! You make me work day and night for the sake of money! You’ve never cared about me. You could never care about anything else, could you? Cruel woman!”
“You dare talk to me in that tone?” her stepmother roared. “Were it not for the sacrifices we’ve made, we would be living on the streets! You girls would be harlots, selling your bodies to survive! I would have to feed you with my own flesh! Is that what you would have?”
Despite how Eleanor pleaded and begged, the cow was taken to the butcher’s by one of her stepsisters, who brought her back some of the cow’s bones when she returned. “I thought you might want something,” she said.
It was a cruel prank, one that nearly broke Eleanor’s chest open. With defeat whelming in her stomach and anger, hot, red, flaring anger burning her chest, Eleanor took the scrubbed bones. She almost pitched them at her stepsister with all the force she could muster, but she could only turn and run past the meadow to the hazel tree, where she collapsed to her knees and sobbed. She scraped at the dirt just enough to nestle the bones under the tree’s roots, and with shaking hands, she buried them.
She felt as if she could die. There was nothing she wanted, only for her life to end right then and there. She opened her mouth to cry out for God to take her, but only sobs left her throat.
The weeks drudged on one after the other, and Eleanor was near certain
she couldn’t take anymore. Her life had returned to its old, miserable depths.
But there was the ball.
The duke was looking for a wife for his son, and why, every eligible young maiden of the land was invited to attend, even her stepsisters, even herself. She had approached her stepmother in her study one evening after the chores were finished. “Stepmother?”
She looked up to see her from her desk. “Yes, Eleanor?”
The girl donned a demure demeanor. “I would like to go to the duke’s ball.”
“Eleanor, how would you attend? What would you wear?”
“Well, I have my mother’s slippers, the golden ones. I could wear those. As for a dress, I…well if I had some fabric, perhaps I could sew ”
“Fabric? The only fabric we have are stained tablecloths and dusty curtains. And even if you did go, what do you have to your name that the duke should chose you for his son?”
“I have… Ihavetheheartofaprincess,” she said quietly, barely louder than a whisper.
Her stepmother looked at her above the rims of her glasses. “The heart of a princess?”
“My mother told me so. She said any prince or duke’s son, for that matter could fall for me, and I am an eligible young lady who has every right to attend the duke’s ball ”
“Your mother told you many stories when you were younger, did she not? Your late father once mentioned this to me.”
“She did. She would tell me of princes who rescue princesses and fall in ”
“Your mother told you rubbish.”
The interruption sucked the words from Eleanor’s mouth.
“She sheltered you from the world and fed your mind on magic and fairytales, Eleanor. You think a duke’s son would marry you! Out of what? Love? Because your mother said so? If only, Eleanor, but that world
only exists in stories and dreams. Your head may be in the clouds, but you are here.You are in the realworld, not one of fairytales.”
“You don’t know anything!” cried Eleanor before turning from the study and running to her room. She flung herself onto her bed, burying her face into her pillows and letting out a scream. She wouldn’t let that horrid woman tell her anything. Anything! Who was she to tell her anything? All she had ever done was made her life pain! Not caring for her, denying her everything, murdering her mother! She would neverforgive her for that! Never! Never, never, never !
Youareaprincessatheart.Neverforgetthat,dear.
Her stepfamily had begun to leave her behind when they went to church on Sundays; she would lie in her bed listless and not answer any call, and her stepfamily, deciding she was too melancholic to do much of anything, allowed her to remain in that state undisturbed, hoping the bout would pass quickly. Once they had gone, Eleanor would drag herself out of bed and sort the beans that were her chores, at least grateful for the empty house and silence. It was one such Sunday when she sat upon the kitchen floor, her fingers sifting through the beans in search of any pebbles. She slumped, an aching weight creep into her breast. OhhowIjustwanttogo tothatball!
The flutter of wings caused her to look up. A dove perched on the windowsill, cocking its head at her. “How are you, dear?”
“Why, I’m ” She stopped. “Mother? Is that you?”
“It is, dear. You look upset. Now whatever is the matter?”
“Oh mother, the duke is throwing a ball to find a wife for his son, and all the young maidens of the land are invited to attend, and I… oh mother, how I wish I could go, but my stepmother told me I could never attend because I have nothing to wear and nothing to my name.”
“Eleanor, dear,” said the dove, “do you still believe what I told you?”
“Of course, mother.”
“Then come. Follow me.”
Rising from the floor, Eleanor followed the dove out into the afternoon, behind the manor and past the meadow, all the way to the hazel tree. The dove perched on a branch above her. “Do you remember when I was the old milk cow?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“One of your stepsisters brought you back my bones, and you buried them.”
“Yes, mother, I did.”
“Dig them up, dear.”
Obediently, she dug until her hands clenched around something, which she pulled out. The most beautiful string of diamonds was in her hand, dusted and caked in clumps of soil, which she brushed off until it was pristine and gleaming. Shortly after, she found the most beautiful gown of golden silk, so magical that the dirt seemed to fall right off it.
“Now you will be able to attend the ball, won’t you?” cooed the dove.
“Oh thank you mother! But… what shoes shall I wear?”
From the tree, the dove tossed down into her lap a pair of golden silk slippers, embroidered with the most delicate thread. “Will these do?”
At the sight of her mother’s slippers, she held a hand to her mouth, trying not to cry. “Oh mother!Your slippers!”
“They are your slippers now, Eleanor. But you must hurry, dear. The ball will begin soon. You don’t wish to be late, do you?”
“Yes, mother. Oh, thank you!” Eleanor wiped some tears from her eyes as she gazed down at the finery in her arms. And so, with no time to waste, she washed herself, donned the gown, and brushed and did up her hair in diamonds, leaving some for her neck. Last, she slipped her feet into the golden slippers, and she was off to the duke’s ball.
It was all she could have dreamed up. The grand windows of the ballroom loomed over her, chandeliers lighting her path over marble so clean she could see her reflection in it. Flowers decorated the columns and banquet tables, laden with the most lavish of dishes, and all throughout the night, such music! There was so much to take in, like the gorgeous and
elegant young ladies, her compatriots and competitors, though she was hardly concerned about them, for the duke’s son stared at her more so than any of the other girls, and he would dance only with her. He was tall, built yet lithe of frame, with golden locks, pink lips and cheeks, the bluest eyes she had ever seen. When the young man had come up to ask her to dance—Eugene was his name—her breath had nearly been taken away, for he was exactly as she had pictured a duke’s son must look like, even a prince.
“What is your name?” he asked as they swayed in the center of the floor, all eyes on them.
She batted her eyelashes bashfully, savoring the feeling of her hand in his, his gentle yet secure hold on her lower back. “Eleanor, my lord. ”
“Eleanor,” he echoed, a smile playing on his lips. “Would you take a turn about the grounds with me, Eleanor? The ballroom can grow tedious over time, and the gardens are lovely in the moonlight.”
Moonlight?Just as she opened her mouth to accept, she became aware of just how dark it had gotten outside. Her stepfamily would no doubt return to the manor soon. “Oh… I’m afraid I mustn’t. I should be getting home.”
“Oh, I see.” The disappointment masked by politeness flattered her. “But I will see you again, yes?”
“Yes, you shall, my lord. Good evening, my lord,” Eleanor said as she pulled herself away from him and bowed. He was about to make another reach for her and offer to escort her home when she had disappeared into the swirling throngs. When she reached home, she hid the gown, the diamonds, and the slippers by the hazel tree, just managing to resume her post by the basket of beans when her stepfamily returned.
“Oh, you’re out of bed, then?” asked one of her stepsisters.
“At least you’re not sick,” said the other.
“Have you finished with the beans?” her stepmother asked.
Mouth going dry, Eleanor looked down at the basket before her, but to her astonishment, the beans had all been sorted, pebbles and rubble
gathered in the pail.
“Well, I won’t scold you for breaking the Sabbath,” said her stepmother. “At least supper will be finished before midnight, and you’re out of bed.” No more was said.
It was her dearest secret, the afternoons when she would slip away from the estate while her stepfamily was away, don the gown and diamonds, her mother’s slippers, and dance until sunset with Eugene. She had even kissed him once, behind the trellis in the gardens, and how sweet it had been! Never had she thought such bliss could be found at the touch of two lips, and her love for him grew like a fanned flame. He was kind, thoughtful, and tender with her in a way she had always longed to know.
Eugene himself came to love her ardently as well, and he grew increasingly upset when she had to retire from the ball. “Can you not stay an hour longer?” “Will you not dance one more dance with me?” “Eleanor, my love, must you leave so soon?” His grip on her hand would get tighter as the dreaded evening approached, more and more reluctant to let go of the object of his affection. And how Eleanor savored it all! Eugene had become the balm that soothed her weary soul. Because of him, her life at the manor had become bearable, tolerable, even. She would dance in the kitchen with the broom, longing to feel the weight of her gown’s skirt brush against the marble floor, the dizziness of being twirled in Eugene’s arms.
Her stepfamily began to give her strange glances as they passed her, eye her with odd looks during supper. They would ask her things, questions, but despite the overwhelming, giddy rush of love that wanted to burst from her breast and tell them of the ball and Eugene, she kept silent.
“Mother, I think she may be ill,” she overheard one of her stepsisters tell their mother one night.
“She seems… not right in the head these days,” agreed the other.
“She used to finish her chores while we’re away, but now they’re left unfinished.”
“And don’t you think it odd, mother? How muddy she is when we return from church?”
“She used to just lie about the house, but now… I think she should get some fresh air.”
“There is plenty of fresh air here, girls,” said her stepmother. “I think she may need something else.”
But resolute as ever, Eleanor continued to steal away to the ball without a care as to what they might think of her. That Sunday afternoon, she danced with all her might, the slippers on her feet giving strength to her aching legs that knew every step to every dance, and dancing with Eugene, it was almost as if she were waltzing upon clouds. She let him take her into the gardens to their spot behind the trellis and hold her so tight against him that she could just feel his heart beat. As his lips closed over hers, she pulled him closer, tighter, deeper, her hands stroking the back of his neck and those blonde baby hairs at his nape. The bliss of it all, she needed more of it, all it could give her. She had no need for air, for balance, or for light. All she needed was this.
Just then, a thunderous chime began to ring out through the night air. With a gasp, she pulled out of the embrace, realizing how dark the sky was; the stars were beginning to twinkle. “Oh! I must go!” she cried, breathless.
“Eleanor, my love.” Eugene took hold of her hands. “Stay, just for a moment longer. I have something I must ask you. I have wanted to ask you for some time.”
Oh,Iwantto!HowIwantto!“I-I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Wrenching her hands out of his, she tore through the gardens, bushes scraping against her golden gown and tearing at her diamonds. She had stayed out too late, and her stepfamily was surely returning now. She ran, feeling tongues of fire lick at her heels and jolt up her calves, and she could hear Eugene calling out for her, over and over, voice frantic and growing ever distant, but still she ran.
Her ankle twisted, and with a shriek, she stumbled to the gravel. Oh,
myshoe!One the golden slippers had slipped off her foot. She reached out for it, but seeing the moon so high in the sky, she picked herself up as fast as she could and ran on, leaving the slipper behind her.
She was in a mess when she reached the manor. Her gown was so dirty and torn that it looked just as good as rags. All her diamonds were gone, her hair was disheveled, but she was home. As quietly as she could, she slipped through the kitchen door, where she was greeted by the stern face of her stepmother.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, lifting the hem of her skirt to reveal the single golden slipper on her foot. “What is that? Where did you get that?”
Eleanor was too stunned to answer.
“Foolishgirl!” her stepmother muttered under her breath as she took her by the wrist. “What has gotten into you?”
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
“I’ve called a physician for you, but you must beherewhen he comes, mustn’t you? I won’t have you run off again to do what? Only the Lord knows.” She dragged Eleanor, who protested and fought, digging her heels in, up the stairs to her room, where she closed the door behind her, the dreaded sound of the key turning in the lock trapping her in. “Get some sleep, Eleanor. Dr. Grossman will be here in the morning.”
“Nothing is the matter with me!” the girl shouted through the door. “I’ve no need for a doctor!”
“Oh? Have you a good explanation for your behavior, then? Or will keep silent?”
Eleanor sucked her lips into her mouth. Should she tell her everything? Would it clear her name, or would it damn her? Letting out a shaking breath, she gulped. “I’ve been attending the balls while you and the others are away,” she admitted quietly. “That’s where I’ve been.”
“The ball?” Her stepmother’s voice sounded incredulous.
“I’ve gotten to know the duke’s son well. His name is Eugene. Tonight, I spent too long with him, and I had to run home. That’s why I
look like this. That’s why I returned late.”
“The duke’s son?” There was a lengthy pause, one that made Eleanor hold her breath. “Eleanor, the duke’s son is to be married tomorrow. He’s to marry one of the Winchester girls.”
The girl gasped. “That can’t be! That can’tbe!”
“Apparently, he had fancied another, but due to some circumstances which I do not know, he’s to be wed to her. It’s been the only gossip to be had in town.”
“He has the wrong girl! He was going to ask me, I’m certain! He was about to ask me, but I had to leave before he could! He has the wrong girl! I’m the one he truly wants!”
More silence. “I pray the doctor can cure you, Eleanor, for if it is not in his power, it can only be in God’s.” Her footsteps began to recede down the stairs.
“No! You must let me see him! Please! Please!He has the wrong girl!” Eleanor pounded her fists on the wood, hoping to rattle it in its hinges, but it stood firm against her beating.
It couldn’t be! She knew how he had held her, kissed her, gazed into her eyes, how softly he had said her name. It couldn’t be! If only she had stayed, let him ask. She would have said yes, yes, oh of course, she would say yes, and the matter would never have come to this. One of her slippers would not be lying abandoned on a garden pathway.
Stifling her sobs, she sniffed and wiped her eyes dry, rushing to the window to peer down at the ground below. The drop was too high for her to manage. She would have to climb. Climb… using what? What? Sheets. She would use sheets.
Wresting the sheets from her bed, she set to work, knotting them together in a frenzy until she had fashioned something of a rope. Tying it to her bedpost, she threw open the window panes and slung the rope over the sill into the cold, night air. A gust of wind buffeted her face, stinging her skin, but she slung a leg over the sill and began to lower herself to the ground. Halfway down the wall of the manor, she heard a voice calling for
her from the door. It was one of her stepsisters.
“Eleanor? Eleanor, I have supper. Would you like some?”
She slid down the rope as fast as she could, dropping the last few feet to the ground. And then she began to run. She ran as fast as she could, for no doubt she would soon be followed. But she had to find Eugene, reach him before he married another, tell him—tell him!—that she loved him, that she would marry him if he would have her. Eugene!Waitforme! Please,waitforme!
“Eleanor!” the calls of her stepmother were now behind her. “Eleanor, come back here!”
She didn’t dare look behind her. She wouldn’t lose him. She wouldn’t lose this! It was all she had, all she would ever have!
She heard the flap of wings, and she looked up to see the white dove riding the air above her. “Mother!” she gasped.
“Follow me, Eleanor,” her mother said, beating her wings hard. “I know where Eugene is.”
So she let the dove lead her until just at the break of dawn, she crashed into clearing in the woods where the well was, coming to a halt. There on a white horse was her Eugene. The young man looked up as she approached, face brightening at the sight of her. “Eleanor?” He slid off the saddle, starting toward her.
“Oh, Eugene!” She ran to him and threw herself into his arms, those arms that held her just as tightly, even though she was covered in dirt and rags. “Say it isn’t so!” she cried, “That you mean to marry another!”
“No, my love. Of course not.” He pulled apart to gaze into her eyes, tucking a strand of her tangled hair behind her ears. The most loving smile was on his face, and she could almost cry at the sight of it.
She buried her face into his shoulder, letting her tears flow freely. “Takemeawayfromthisplace,” she breathed, holding him close. “Take meaway,andneverletmeseeitagain.”
He kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. “Asyouwish,mylove.” He swept her off her feet and into his arms, setting her on the back of his
horse.
Just as he was about to mount, her stepmother came to the clearing, panting. Her eyes widened at the sight of them, face contorting into fright. “Eleanor! Get away from there!”
“No!” she shouted back at her. “No, I’ll never go back with you!”
“Eleanor, getdown!” She ran at her, reaching out to grab her arm, but Eleanor pulled herself away as if eluding the bite of a snake. She wobbled and swayed, threw her arms out in search for balance, but it had been lost. With a shriek, she desperately reached for her stepmother, but it was too late. The girl fell down the gaping hole of the well’s mouth, lost to the darkness before there was a sickening crack of a body hitting water.
Her stepmother gripped the rim of the well and leaned over, trying to make out any form in the gloom, but she saw only the faintest ripples of light on the water’s surface. “Eleanor!” she screamed. “Eleanor!”
From the depths, a single, golden slipper rose to the surface, bobbing among the ripples until they dispersed and settled. The silence was crushing, and the water went still.