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Authors: Nancy Holder
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into a fortune. We can do it again.”
The two moved off. Questions pelted Rose’s mind like the raindrops on the leaky roof. What circle did they speak of? Who was “he”? Empty of answers, Rose listened to the rain, and she didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
After Ombrine fired most of the help, she passed their chores to Rose, who served the meals and cleared away afterward. She also did much of the cleaning and all of the mending. She was such a hard worker that Ombrine fired even more servants.
Rose’s soft hands became rough and her back ached most of the time. She remembered what her nurse had said, and made a promise to Artemis if she was ever in a position to hire people, she would treat them fairly and make their burdens light.
Although Rose heard no more talk of circles, Desirée often spoke of the need for more money ... and then she would look hard at Rose, as if she would shake more treasures loose from her. It chilled Rose, who worked even harder to make herself irreplaceable as a servant.
Then disaster struck again. A terrible disease moved through the livestock. The cows stopped giving milk, sickened, and died. The pigs, sheep, and lambs dropped dead. Ombrine commanded that no one should speak of it beyond the borders of the estate. When the pig boy suggested that their neighbors might have the same problem and may have found a cure, she had him flogged.
“The other estate holders are waiting like wolves for our downfall,” Ombrine said. “We must appear to be strong or they’ll take advantage of us again.”
On a grim gray afternoon, their last milk cow went the way of the others. Now, at supper, Ombrine, Desirée, and Rose ate in gloomy silence.Ombrine’s gown was patched and unfashionable, and dark circles ringed her eyes. But since Rose acted as her maid, her hair, at least, was beautifully arranged.
Rose had dressed Desirée’s hair as well, in a circlet and braids that looped around her ears. She let her own hair hang free, unaware that the rivers of wavy gold accentuated her delicate features and starry midnight-blue eyes. With the many chores heaped on her shoulders, she simply didn’t have the energy to spend on her appearance.
Finally Ombrine broke the silence.
“This is all your fault,” she flung at Rose.
“All your fault,” Desirée hissed, pulling apart a chunk of coarse bread. Even when their animals had been healthy, the Marchands no longer ate like nobility. Sometimes, when sitting down to table, Ombrine would stare down at their peasant fare, cover her face, and sob.
“Oui, Stepmother,” Rose dutifully answered.
“If your father were alive, he’d know what to do. Two men and two fortunes,” Ombrine said, sighing. “And the second loss was so unnecessary.”
“A waste,” Desirée concurred.
Rose put down her spoon and folded her hands in her lap. She kept her gaze lowered. To look straight at Ombrine was to invite her wrath.
“May I be excused?” she asked. “I’m not hungry.”
“More for us,” Desirée sang, picking up her spoon and reaching toward Rose’s bowl.
“How dare you behave so,” Ombrine snapped atDesirée. “We may have no money, but we are not beggars.” She gave Rose a sharp nod. “Leave. Be sure to clear the table after we’re finished.”
“Oui, Stepmother.” Rose scooted out of her chair.
“You have mending,” Ombrine added. “Quite a bit. You’ve fallen behind.”
“Oui, Stepmother, I’ll get right to it.”
“In your room,” Ombrine said pointedly.
Rose clenched her fists but said nothing more as she left the table. Her room was cold and drab, and Ombrine seemed to take special delight in forcing her to stay there as much as possible.
She lit a candle, went to her room, and sat down on her bed beside a mound of threadbare clothes. By the dim, flickering light, she took the first piece off the pile. It was Ombrine’s black traveling cloak. The wine stain had been patched over like a bandage on a
The two moved off. Questions pelted Rose’s mind like the raindrops on the leaky roof. What circle did they speak of? Who was “he”? Empty of answers, Rose listened to the rain, and she didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
After Ombrine fired most of the help, she passed their chores to Rose, who served the meals and cleared away afterward. She also did much of the cleaning and all of the mending. She was such a hard worker that Ombrine fired even more servants.
Rose’s soft hands became rough and her back ached most of the time. She remembered what her nurse had said, and made a promise to Artemis if she was ever in a position to hire people, she would treat them fairly and make their burdens light.
Although Rose heard no more talk of circles, Desirée often spoke of the need for more money ... and then she would look hard at Rose, as if she would shake more treasures loose from her. It chilled Rose, who worked even harder to make herself irreplaceable as a servant.
Then disaster struck again. A terrible disease moved through the livestock. The cows stopped giving milk, sickened, and died. The pigs, sheep, and lambs dropped dead. Ombrine commanded that no one should speak of it beyond the borders of the estate. When the pig boy suggested that their neighbors might have the same problem and may have found a cure, she had him flogged.
“The other estate holders are waiting like wolves for our downfall,” Ombrine said. “We must appear to be strong or they’ll take advantage of us again.”
On a grim gray afternoon, their last milk cow went the way of the others. Now, at supper, Ombrine, Desirée, and Rose ate in gloomy silence.Ombrine’s gown was patched and unfashionable, and dark circles ringed her eyes. But since Rose acted as her maid, her hair, at least, was beautifully arranged.
Rose had dressed Desirée’s hair as well, in a circlet and braids that looped around her ears. She let her own hair hang free, unaware that the rivers of wavy gold accentuated her delicate features and starry midnight-blue eyes. With the many chores heaped on her shoulders, she simply didn’t have the energy to spend on her appearance.
Finally Ombrine broke the silence.
“This is all your fault,” she flung at Rose.
“All your fault,” Desirée hissed, pulling apart a chunk of coarse bread. Even when their animals had been healthy, the Marchands no longer ate like nobility. Sometimes, when sitting down to table, Ombrine would stare down at their peasant fare, cover her face, and sob.
“Oui, Stepmother,” Rose dutifully answered.
“If your father were alive, he’d know what to do. Two men and two fortunes,” Ombrine said, sighing. “And the second loss was so unnecessary.”
“A waste,” Desirée concurred.
Rose put down her spoon and folded her hands in her lap. She kept her gaze lowered. To look straight at Ombrine was to invite her wrath.
“May I be excused?” she asked. “I’m not hungry.”
“More for us,” Desirée sang, picking up her spoon and reaching toward Rose’s bowl.
“How dare you behave so,” Ombrine snapped atDesirée. “We may have no money, but we are not beggars.” She gave Rose a sharp nod. “Leave. Be sure to clear the table after we’re finished.”
“Oui, Stepmother.” Rose scooted out of her chair.
“You have mending,” Ombrine added. “Quite a bit. You’ve fallen behind.”
“Oui, Stepmother, I’ll get right to it.”
“In your room,” Ombrine said pointedly.
Rose clenched her fists but said nothing more as she left the table. Her room was cold and drab, and Ombrine seemed to take special delight in forcing her to stay there as much as possible.
She lit a candle, went to her room, and sat down on her bed beside a mound of threadbare clothes. By the dim, flickering light, she took the first piece off the pile. It was Ombrine’s black traveling cloak. The wine stain had been patched over like a bandage on a
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