Read Online Just Like Magic by Elizabeth Townsend - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Townsend
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about everything, the more I wanted to stay in the graveyard and cry, but I still had to catch the butcher’s cart back home. So I washed my face with cold water from the church pump, retrieved my box, trudged back to the road, and had a hot and weary wait for the butcher amid fading chicory, Queen Anne’s lace, and bumblebees.
The butcher finally drove up, fully half an hour late, mopping his brow with his large red handkerchief. I clambered up into the cart as he hove my box into the back of it. The smell of a raw side of beef assailed me.
“Have a nice visit at the graves, missy?” the butcher inquired.
“Very,” I said tightly, staring straight ahead.
“Ah,” he said. “That’s good, that is.” And he pulled his hat down over his forehead, picked up the reins, and clucked to the horse.
When I was finally home, when I had dropped the box on the hall floor and sunk down on a chair in the kitchen feeling stiff and numb, Archibald padded up to me and placed a paw on my knee. Then he laid his chin on my lap, his anxious brown eyes gazing up at me through tangled fur. And I leaned over, hugged him, and started crying again.
Next morning I felt drained, and my eyes were puffy. I washed slowly, staring into the little mirror I had appropriated from the dining room. The face that stared back at me seemed like a stranger’s. I dressed slowly; each garment I put on seemed to require strength I didn’t have.
And when Gerta came storming down the stairs, demanding breakfast, I reacted slowly.
“Ella! Where are my eggs?”
“Eggs?”
“Yes! You know, breakfast?”
“Oh, breakfast.” The idea seemed overwhelming. “I’ll fix it in a little while.”
“While we starve!”
From upstairs Lucy shrieked, “Gerta!”
“I’m down here!” Gerta hollered.
Lucy descended halfway down the stairs. “Listen to what Her Royal Highness says—she just sent me a note—”
“Really?” Gerta flew up to Lucy’s side. “Let’s see!”
“We’ll speak of it upstairs.” Lucy looked down at me with a sneer. “This doesn’t concern Ella!”
I shrugged my shoulders. “It never does. But what do I care?”
Lucy turned back up the stairway with a swirl. “Of course, you wouldn’t care about a ball for the prince! For his twenty-first birthday, with simply everyone there! But since you haven’t debuted—not that they’d invite someone like you anyway—”
“Then you needn’t tell me about it! Just go away, Lucy!” My voice was a bit choked. Even as battered as I felt that morning, I still felt the sting. A ball for the prince had been the height of my ambition for the past decade. And I had no chance of going. None. I didn’t want to hear a word about it.
But the echoes of rapture were sounding all over town, and I couldn’t escape it. As the weeks went by, even Henry had his say about it. He was weeding in the garden one bright early September morning. “Do you know, miss,” he said, panting slightly as he attacked some bindweed, “they say this’ll be the biggest party ever held at the palace? More footmen, more food—”
I made an I-don’t-care face. I was talking to Henry again. Why not? Ignoring him hadn’t gotten me anywhere. “All I know is, the date hasn’t even been announced, and Gerta and Lucy are already arguing about who will get their invitation first.”
“I heard about that, too,” Henry volunteered. “The invitations’ll be writ in gold and delivered by messengers on horseback.”
I looked at him askance. “What’s wrong with the post?”
“Not special enough, miss! Why, this here ball is very important!”
“So everyone says.”
“But it’s true!” He lowered his voice. “They say the king has told the prince, it’s time.”
“Time? What do you mean?”
“Time to find a proper princess to marry.” He pulled up some onions with a grunt.
“A princess? Why a princess?”
“That’s what they all say, miss.”
Well! If that was what the servants were saying, it might be
The butcher finally drove up, fully half an hour late, mopping his brow with his large red handkerchief. I clambered up into the cart as he hove my box into the back of it. The smell of a raw side of beef assailed me.
“Have a nice visit at the graves, missy?” the butcher inquired.
“Very,” I said tightly, staring straight ahead.
“Ah,” he said. “That’s good, that is.” And he pulled his hat down over his forehead, picked up the reins, and clucked to the horse.
When I was finally home, when I had dropped the box on the hall floor and sunk down on a chair in the kitchen feeling stiff and numb, Archibald padded up to me and placed a paw on my knee. Then he laid his chin on my lap, his anxious brown eyes gazing up at me through tangled fur. And I leaned over, hugged him, and started crying again.
Next morning I felt drained, and my eyes were puffy. I washed slowly, staring into the little mirror I had appropriated from the dining room. The face that stared back at me seemed like a stranger’s. I dressed slowly; each garment I put on seemed to require strength I didn’t have.
And when Gerta came storming down the stairs, demanding breakfast, I reacted slowly.
“Ella! Where are my eggs?”
“Eggs?”
“Yes! You know, breakfast?”
“Oh, breakfast.” The idea seemed overwhelming. “I’ll fix it in a little while.”
“While we starve!”
From upstairs Lucy shrieked, “Gerta!”
“I’m down here!” Gerta hollered.
Lucy descended halfway down the stairs. “Listen to what Her Royal Highness says—she just sent me a note—”
“Really?” Gerta flew up to Lucy’s side. “Let’s see!”
“We’ll speak of it upstairs.” Lucy looked down at me with a sneer. “This doesn’t concern Ella!”
I shrugged my shoulders. “It never does. But what do I care?”
Lucy turned back up the stairway with a swirl. “Of course, you wouldn’t care about a ball for the prince! For his twenty-first birthday, with simply everyone there! But since you haven’t debuted—not that they’d invite someone like you anyway—”
“Then you needn’t tell me about it! Just go away, Lucy!” My voice was a bit choked. Even as battered as I felt that morning, I still felt the sting. A ball for the prince had been the height of my ambition for the past decade. And I had no chance of going. None. I didn’t want to hear a word about it.
But the echoes of rapture were sounding all over town, and I couldn’t escape it. As the weeks went by, even Henry had his say about it. He was weeding in the garden one bright early September morning. “Do you know, miss,” he said, panting slightly as he attacked some bindweed, “they say this’ll be the biggest party ever held at the palace? More footmen, more food—”
I made an I-don’t-care face. I was talking to Henry again. Why not? Ignoring him hadn’t gotten me anywhere. “All I know is, the date hasn’t even been announced, and Gerta and Lucy are already arguing about who will get their invitation first.”
“I heard about that, too,” Henry volunteered. “The invitations’ll be writ in gold and delivered by messengers on horseback.”
I looked at him askance. “What’s wrong with the post?”
“Not special enough, miss! Why, this here ball is very important!”
“So everyone says.”
“But it’s true!” He lowered his voice. “They say the king has told the prince, it’s time.”
“Time? What do you mean?”
“Time to find a proper princess to marry.” He pulled up some onions with a grunt.
“A princess? Why a princess?”
“That’s what they all say, miss.”
Well! If that was what the servants were saying, it might be
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