This is a reposting of a story from a few months ago that sort of fell off the turnip truck meanwhile. For anyone finding it who hasn’t read it before, probably the comments won’t work. But I hope you’ll enjoy it and come to comment next time at Original Poetry, Fiction & Memoir, for Fun & progress.
“Because they’re idiots, Cindy. That’s the way their father —my first husband— insisted they be raised. So, how else now are they going to survive? And no, don’t say what you’re thinking. This way at least has a veneer of civilization to it.”
“My Dad made you think he had enough money to dower them well, didn’t he.”
“He nearly spelled it out. Why he wanted a widow like me so much, a widow with two nearly-grown daughters, that he’d go to that pretense — I’ve never understood it.”
“Oh, Stepfmoni, no one does anything for just one reason, so don’t take too hard what I should tell you, okay? But I think he believed that you’d inherited enough from the girls’ father’s business that it could help save his own and then he’d be able to give back all he’d used. And that you must have helped keep your first husband’s business going, so you’d be good for your second husband’s business, too.”
“Is that why you didn’t make a fuss when he said he was going to propose to me?” Stepfmoni asked in some curiosity.
“Well, he was my Dad, after all. I wanted him to be happy. And it’s been lonely since Mom died. I could tell you were smart and nice the minute Dad introduced us, so it seemed like your daughters would be too, and I’d have a family I could really talk to again. If I’d known how deep in debt Dad was, that would’ve been one more reason, is all.”
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“I’m sorry it turned out this way, Cindy.”
“Not your fault both your husbands came into family businesses they were too spoiled to handle well.”
“Maybe not,” her stepmother said bitterly. “But it is my fault my own daughters are too spoiled and stupid to have any hope of earning their own livings. I could have fought for them the way your mother fought for you. You’re educated and you know all kinds of practical things, too. She really did right by you.”
“You’d have liked her.” Thinking back, Cindy smiled a little and refused to let sorrow darken her memories. “And I think she’d have liked you, too. Just imagine if we’d all known each other years ago. Your daughters could have come and had lessons with me when we were little, so what if the tutoress might have charged a bit more. Nothing you couldn’t have squeezed out of your housekeeping budget somehow. And then we’d all have gone to dame-school together, and that would’ve been two more girls standing together among all those grabby, loud, combative boys.”
“Well, all that’s water under the bridge, now. I’ve got to get these girls well-married before anyone realizes they’ve got nothing but looks to their name and nothing but fashion and popular songs in their heads. That damned prince and his shoe fetish. I only wanted my girls to meet some of the honored businessmen’s sons. Where else except court galas could that happen? They’re not up for court intrigue or duties, even if the prince does marry one of them. And he’s such a dim bulb himself, he really needs a wife who’s sharp as a whip, or the kingdom’s going to fall apart, get invaded, and there goes the economy. We’ll all be begging and hooking in the streets then.”
“You really don’t want the prince for either of them?”
“God, no. You’d do much better in that job. My girls are caring and sweet enough, and they do know enough how to be good moms and wives in prosperous families, but beyond that, they’re just not … equipped.”
“Okay, then, I think I know what to do,” Cindy said. “Here’s all this borscht I was making for dinner tonight. We put an eighth of a cup or so into each of two sausage casings and knot the casing ends, see? And we give each of the girls a casing and a knife — oh, they can use the two fancy daggers mounted on the escutcheon in the front hallway. About damned time the purchase of that coat-of-arms did some good.”
“Coat of arms? Purchase?”
“Sure,” Cindy said impatiently. “From the chamberlain’s office. How else do you think business families get elevated above the hoi-polloi and the royal treasury stays solvent?”
“Service to the kingdom, surely.”
“Purchase money is a service to the kingdom. Just ask the king’s counting-house.”
“But that means all you girls have titles, and me too, doesn’t it? That should be something we could parlay, somehow.”
“Stepfmoni, doesn’t get distracted. I have a title as Dad’s child, and you have a title as his wife and widow, but that doesn’t mean zip. The titles don’t come with any land or wealth, and they revert to the crown again the instant you and I are six feet under, so the viceroy can sell them to some other business family that imagines it’ll help them get next to a more prosperous clientele.”
“Oh.” Stepfmoni wilted. “That’s disappointing.”
“So was the emptiness of the bank account after Dad blew so much on that buy, and then on paying a cabinetmaker to carve that godawful escutcheon and attach a pair of antique knives onto. We get to keep that monstrosity, by the way. It’s just some hunks of painted wood and dress-weaponry. Nothing that belongs to the crown.”
“You can have it,” Stepfmoni said generously, assuming a lordly pose.
“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of depriving my father’s bride of such a work of art,” Cindy countered grandly.
“But I insist!”
“So do I!”
They both laughed, and sat down again. Stepfomoni asked, “But what do the girls need the daggers off it for?”
“For the borsht-filled casings.” Cindy was so intent that she leaned forward and begun gesturing with her hands. “See, on the day the chamberlain said he and the prince are coming here, you’ll have to persuade the girls to wear the dagger-sheaths at their belts like people used to as a kind of jewelry. And they’ll have to hide the casings in the tips of their right stockings, the foot everyone puts a shoe on first. Unless they’re otherhanded. Are the girls otherhanded?”
“Nope, they’re ordinary that way, too.” Stepfmoni smiled tiredly.
“Good. So, when the prince’s chamberlain has them each try the shoe on, they have to put their right foot out to him, and no matter if it fits or not, they have to act like it cramps them, as if their foot’s too big, and bring out the dagger and pretend to cut off a toe to try to make it fit. But really just pierce the casing so the borscht leaks out looking like they did it! They’ll be ruled out of the running for the shoe not fitting, sure as salt!”
“And for looking crazy trying to make it fit.” Stepfmoni frowned. “If word gets around of what the prince and the chamberlain think they see, we’ll have to make up some story afterward so this doesn’t blow up into yet something else to ruin their chances of good marriages. But it could work! Cindy, I think it could!”
“Sure,” Cindy said. “Anyone who thinks a fitting shoe predicts a good royal marriage will believe a girl would maim herself to manage it. The things even royals believe, you know?”
“But one of the girls should put the casing in the heel of her stocking,” Stepfmoni said. “If they both seem to cut off the same part of their feet, the chamberlain or the prince will suspect something. Oh, Cindy, it’s a great plan, but what if it ruins the girl’s chances to marry anyone else once this self-mutilation gets out. It’ll sound like they’re insanely greedy. Or just insane, period.”
“No, no, don’t worry. Because look. Once they’re seen dancing as nicely as usual the same evening, everyone will consider the whole cut-off-toe/cut-off-heel a huge gossipy exaggeration. Everyone knows how society loves crazy rumors. Nothing will change except that the prince took an interest in them for a brief moment. That’s only good for their reputations.”
“Their total lack of dowry might never even come up. At least, not in public. The prince’s interest will make other gentlemen be interested, too,” Stepmonie said slowly, marvelling. “Cindy, you’re brilliant. Will you let us dance at your wedding?”
“I don’t want to marry the prince! God, no. And I bet the king and queen are just putting up with this shoe nonsense to get him to work it out of his system. Then they’ll find him some king’s daughter who knows how to run a country once they’re retired.”
“But then, why’d you pull all those stunts just to get to go to that first ball at the palace?”
“I wanted to see the furnishings and kitchen fixtures and things there, what’s for show and what’s really for comfort and works well. A royal family can always afford both. I can tell the difference, my Mom saw to that. But it’s not like any well-off family is going to invite me to tour their home. So, I thought if I was a ball guest at the palace, none of the servants were likely to stop me going where I liked and looking at whatever I wanted to. And they didn’t!”
“But what on earth did you want that for?”
“After the girls are married off and you find another widower, I want to turn this house into a bed-and-breakfast. Nothing fancy or all that ambitious. Just a modest place business-people and visiting relatives of prosperous townsfolk would be comfortable in, fresh veg and fruit from the garden, and all that. I figured the palace would be a good place to get a glimpse of what’s needed for housing guests.”
“It’s true your Dad left the house and garden to you in his will, and they’re free and clear.” Stepmonie mused. “The barn and pasture beyond the garden and the mill on the river are mine, that’s about it, but the mortgage on them is mine too. You’ll do a good job with your plan, if you can pull it together.” She grimaced. “A better a job than me finding a third husband who wants a mother of adult daughters and some property saddled in debt. Well, nevermind.” She shook dark thoughts away. “What did you find out at the palace?”
“Turns out Mom kept this place in good shape,” Cindy said. “None of the plumbing or windows or heating systems at the palace were all that much better in quality as far as I could see, and I got a pretty good look. Everything guests can see is way fancier, of course. But down in the kitchen and the laundry, it’s a lot like here. Mom did a good job. She managed the pasturage and mill, too — Dad could never be bothered with such a mundane, ungentlemanly livelihood. He was always after the next shiny business killing. And it killed both of them, her from the overwork, him from taking one gamble too many.” She wiped away a tear. “I miss them both. Even if Dad was kind of a starry-eyed, snobbish idiot.”
“Your mother managed the pasturage and mill?”
“She had to. They couldn’t afford to hire anyone but the miller and the dairyman, after all.” She laughed humorlessly. “Mom made all the appointments and deliveries and collected all the fees and kept the books. She even forked out the milking parlor, to sell the manure to people’s gardeners, because the miller and the dairyman weren’t going to do it all themselves. And then Dad fired the dairyman, to save money, he said. He didn’t think there was any difference between a dairyman and miller, that all working people know how to do each other’s jobs and have no pride in the own work, and plenty of time on their hands. But there was no way the miller could manage, of course. And the cow-owners took their animals somewhere else, naturally. Cows don’t milk themselves, and what’s the good of owning a cow for the milk and cream and butter if you don’t get any.”
“Wait, does that mean the mill is still operating?”
“Sure. We wouldn’t have any borsht at all on the table, otherwise. Nor firewood for any of the hearths, nor — why, what did you think we’ve been living on since Dad died?” Cindy stared at her, completely puzzled.
“Honestly, I never gave it a thought ‘til now. Yes, I had a lot to do with my first husband’s business to try to keep him from wrecking it. And I did alright. But I’m used to having everything I need and most of what I want, too, because I managed that well. Then my husband died and his family took control again. When your Dad said there was no great need for me to work anymore, that he would handle everything, I was so glad to not have to work that hard and still keep up appearances anymore. It was a miserable balancing act. So, I believed him, I guess, because I wanted to. To not have to be concerned with anything except appearances.” She sighed. “My daughters are such lovely girls really, even if they are a little too much like your father. He was so beautifully spoken, and always so well turned out, and he had such fine friends and business associates, and they and their wives all had such lovely taste, such civilized pasttimes. God, I’m as stupid as my daughters about everything that matters.” Stepfmonie got up restlessly and paced the kitchen, a frown drawing her brows tight, one clenched fist thumping into the other palm as if to keep from punching the kitchen’s stone walls.
“You’re not stupid,” Cindy shook her head impatiently and put both elbows on the table, shoving her basket of unshelled peas aside. “The prince with his notions of marrying some girl whose foot fits a sculptured shoe — that’s stupid. I don’t know where he got that idea, but I swear it wasn’t from me, I had perfectly ordinary dancing slippers on. Could I have run down the gravel drive of the palace fast enough to escape him if I’d been barefoot? Someone’s feeding him a line of nonsense and caught him hook, line and sinker, for reasons of their own.”
“That chamberlain maybe? He’s got a sly way about him.”
“That would be my guess,” Cindy agreed. “He wouldn’t want to lose his job, come the transition of power from the king to his son some time in the future. But look, my point is that you shouldn’t beat yourself up over what you fell for yourself. Dad just got you caught up, the same as he did everyone else. Everyone else. It was like he could cast a spell, he was that charismatic a guy. Stepfmonie, are you hearing me? Don’t waste a minute being angry at yourself. It won’t do any good anyway.”
Stepfmonie had stopped in her tracks and was staring at Cindy. “Do you think, I mean, is it possible, that my shae of the property from your Dad might all still be in good shape? Like you said the house and garden and mill are? Because your mother knew how?”
“They must be. Dad couldn’t have gotten such a big mortgage on them otherwise.”
“Well, that’s the answer then. If you’re willing.”
“Me?”
“Cindy, I don’t want to have to get married again. I don’t want some man holding that mortgage over my head as if the property I’d bring to a marriage to him was worth nothing and me along with it, a lie just to have the power in the marriage.”
“Makes sense you’d feel that way. I mean, I would too, I think. But you said you need to get the girls married well before you can decide anything else, so we need to focus on how to get them to see that the prince is actually a pig in a poke and it’s in their own best interests to fake the toe and heel bleeding in order to—“
“I’ve changed my mind,” Stepfmonie said firmly.
“About wanting the prince for your daughters? Oh, Stepfmonie, really, I don’t think that’s—“
“No, not about that. About not deciding anything else first.”
“Oh,” Cindy said. “So, you’ve decided something?”
“Yes, as I said, if you’re willing.”
“Willing about what?”
“Cindy, would you consider a business partner? To run this whole place just the way your mother used to?”
Cindy did.
And in not too long, once they’d gotten the shoe nonsense out of the way, they were all living happily ever after.