Ella Enchanted

chapter 2

LEAVING BEHIND a grieving husband and child. We must comfort them." High Chancellor Thomas wound down after droning on for almost an hour. Some of his speech had been about Mother. At least, the words "Lady Eleanor" were spoken often, but the person they described -- dutiful parent, loyal citizen, steadfast spouse -- sounded more like the high chancellor than like my mother.

Part of the speech had been about dying, but more was about giving allegiance to Kyrria and its rulers, King Jerrold, Prince Charmont, and the entire royal family.

Father reached for my hand. His palm was moist and hot as a hydra's swamp. I wished I had been allowed to stand with Mandy and the other servants.

I pulled out of his grasp and moved a step away. He closed the distance between us and took my hand again.

Mother's casket was made of gleaming mahogany carved with designs of fairies and elves. If only the fairies could leap out of the wood and cast a spell to bring her back to life. And another one to send Father away. Or maybe my fairy godmother would do it, if I knew where to find her.

When the high chancellor finished, it was my task to close the casket so Mother could be lowered into her grave. Father put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me forward.

Mother's mouth was stern, the opposite of its look in life. And her face was empty, which was awful. But worse was the creak as the coffin lid went down and the dry click when it closed. And the thought of Mother packed away in a box.

The tears I had swallowed all day erupted. I stood there before the whole court, crying in an infant's endless wail, unable to stop myself.

Father pressed my face into his chest. Perhaps he appeared to be comforting me, but he was only trying to muffle my noise, which couldn't be muffled. He let me go. In a sharp whisper, he said, "Get away from here. Come back when you can be quiet."

For once I was glad to obey. I ran. My heavy black gown tripped me, and I fell.

Before anyone could help me, I was off again, my knee and hand stinging.

The biggest tree in the graveyard was a weeping willow -- a crying tree. I plunged through its leaves and threw myself down, sobbing.

Everyone called it losing Mother, but she wasn't lost. She was gone, and no matter where I went -- another town, another country, Fairyland, or Gnome Caverns -- I wouldn't find her.

We'd never talk again, or laugh together. Or swim in the River Lucarno. Or slide down the banister or play tricks on Bertha. Or a million things.

I cried myself out and sat up. My gown had changed in front from black silk to brown dirt. As Mandy would have said, I was a spectacle.

How much time had gone by? I had to go back. Father had told me to, and the curse was tugging at me to obey.

Outside the privacy of my tree, Prince Charmont stood, reading a tombstone. I had never been so near him before. Had he heard me cry?

Although the prince was only two years older than I, he was much taller, and he stood just like his father, feet apart, hands behind his back, as though the whole country were passing by on review. He looked like his father too, although the sharp angles of King Jerrold's face were softened in his son. They each had tawny curls and swarthy skin. I had never been near enough to the king to know whether he also had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, surprising on such a dark face.

"Cousin of mine," the prince said, gesturing at the tombstone. "Never liked him.

I liked your mother." He started walking back toward her tomb.

Did he expect me to come with him? Was I supposed to maintain a suitable distance from his royal self?

With enough room for a carriage to pass between us, I walked at his side. He moved closer. I saw he had been crying too, although he had stayed upright and clean.

"You can call me Char," he told me suddenly. "Everyone else does."

I could? We walked in silence.

"My father calls me Char too," he added.

The king!

"Thank you," I said.

"Thank you, Char," he corrected. Then, "Your mother used to make me laugh.

Once, at a banquet, Chancellor Thomas was making a speech. While he talked, your mother moved her napkin around. I saw it before your father crumpled it up. She had arranged the edge in the shape of the chancellor's profile, with the mouth open and the chin stuck out. It would have looked exactly like him if he were the color of a blue napkin. I had to leave without dinner so I could go outside and laugh."

We were halfway back. It was starting to rain. I could make out one figure, small in the distance, standing by Mother's grave. Father.

"Where did everyone go?" I asked Char.

"They all left before I came to find you," he said. "Did you want them to wait?"

He sounded worried, as if, perhaps, he should have made them stay.

"No, I didn't want any of them to wait," I answered, meaning Father could have gone too.

"I know all about you," Char announced after we'd taken a few more steps.

"You do? How could you?"

"Your cook and our cook meet at the market. She talks about you." He looked sideways at me. "Do you know much about me?"

"No." Mandy had never said anything. "What do you know?"

"I know you can imitate people just as Lady Eleanor could. Once you imitated your manservant to his face, and he wasn't sure whether he was the servant or you were. You make up your own fairy tales and you drop things and trip over things. I know you once broke a whole set of dishes."

"I slipped on ice!"

"Ice chips you spilled before you slipped on them." He laughed. It wasn't a ridiculing laugh; it was a happy laugh at a good joke.

"An accident," I protested. But I smiled too, tremblingly, after so much crying.

We reached Father, who bowed. "Thank you, Highness, for accompanying my daughter."

Char returned the bow.

"Come, Eleanor," Father said.

Eleanor. No one had ever called me that before, even though it was my real name. Eleanor had always been Mother, and always would be.

"Ella. I'm Ella," I said.

"Ella then. Come, Ella." He bowed to Prince Charmont and climbed into the carriage.

I had to go. Char handed me in. I didn't know whether to give him my hand or to let him push up on my elbow. He wound up with the middle of my arm and I had to grasp the side of the carriage with the other hand for balance. When he closed the door, I caught my skirt, and there was a loud ripping sound. Father winced. I saw Char through the window, laughing again. I turned the skirt and found a gash about six inches above the hem. Bertha would never be able to make it smooth.

I arranged myself as far from Father as possible. He was staring out the window.

"A fine affair. All of Frell came, everyone who counts anyway," he said, as though Mother's funeral had been a tournament or a ball.

"It wasn't fine. It was awful," I said. How could Mother's funeral be fine?

"The prince was friendly to you."

"He liked Mother."

"Your mother was beautiful." His voice was regretful. "I'm sorry she's dead."

Nathan flicked his whip, and the carriage began to move.