Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) (8 page)

No matter. His mother had always told him if he truly fell in love, they would not stop it under any means. He smiled. How he loved his father and mother. They had their faults, yes, but their hearts were so good. Even his father was so generous and kind. It was not fair to have one of the best hearts in the world, only to lose him so soon. What did that signify? What was the point of taking such greatness from this earth when he could do so much more alive?

His mother did not know, but Anthony had slipped into his father’s room earlier that morning. He was asleep in bed and so did not stir when he came to hold the king’s hand. Not so long ago that hand had been full of strength and valor, now it was frail and limp.

Anthony had pressed his lips to his father’s knuckles and urged him silently to get better. He needed his father—he needed this man so very much. The whole kingdom did. But even that simple act, the act of holding his hand, did not wake the man up.

After a few minutes, Anthony had stood, wished his father a good morning and brushed it all aside. Leaving to dress himself and prepare for the day. By the time he had met his mother, he had nearly forgotten all about that moment with his father—even then, it was easy to tease her to see if he could distract her from the questioning of Ella and allow her to reveal the truth of his father.

The truth his father would not last the month.

Anthony stepped backward into one of the trunks and sunk slowly to the ground, his knees giving way as he hit the dirt.

Urgh! He whipped the branch against the side of the tree and tossed it out into the orchard.

What does it matter if the king were dying? Let us celebrate by throwing a ball for the whole kingdom to dance and be merry!

Why?

Why must they live in this farce?

Why cannot things be real—forces met and faced and challenged? He folded his arms and placed his head upon them. He loved his parents, oh, how he loved them. Their life, wit, charm… laughter. But he needed more sometimes.

Sometimes he needed true strength as well.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AFTER ELLA HAD GRABBED some bread and cold meat, making a quick lunch of it, she collected a few of the pastries she had helped create this morning and brought them down to the orchard to share with John. It took a moment to locate him, he was tucked among the back trees and sitting upon the ground.

As she approached, she saw he was in a moment of deep reflection. She halted.

Should she turn back? Should she announce her presence? Hesitant on what to do, she stood there for some time in the middle of the orchard before she concluded with his actions and downhearted posture that perhaps he did need someone to speak to. Quietly, she walked through the grass and dirt to sit down beside him, placing the pastries and the napkin they were folded in, next to the tree. “Hello,” she simply said when he looked up.

John did not say a word; his green-brown eyes traced her features as one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile.

She could see great worry deep within him. Nudging her arm against his, she asked, “What is wrong?”

He continued to stare at her, those long lashes hooding his eyes for a moment, and then opening to reveal great pain as well as the worry.

“John, what is it?” she asked, her heart lurching. “Whatever has happened, share it with me so that I may carry some of your burden. It is not fair to shoulder it all on your own.”

He suddenly leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth.

Ella gasped, her mouth moving forward, clinging to his. She could feel his hand come up and hold her shoulder, his other arm going around her back to bring her in closer to him. Her nerve endings exploded in a warmth of delicious sparkles all over. Never had she felt such an onslaught of emotions and life and brightness as they bounced and flickered upon her. This was heaven. This was where she wanted to be always.

She pulled away first, her lungs needed precious air, but found it hard to comply with the quivering gasps her mouth was taking. She looked at him, her eyes soaking in every emotion he bared for her to see. He, too, was having a hard time breathing.

But it was she who spoke first. “Forgive me.”

John shook his head. “Do—do not apologize. Something that beautiful should be celebrated, not pitied or forgiven.”

“Can I ask why you kissed me?” she asked, her eyes begging his lips to do so again.

“I do not know. I only knew that if I did not right then, I might have lost the gumption to do so.”

A surprised chuckle burst right out of her. “Indeed?”

“Yes.” He smiled, his arm still resting around her waist.

“So
now
will you tell me what is wrong?”

He pulled her in close, turning her back to nestle against his chest. She heard a long exhale of breath and felt the strands of hair near her ear move. “I do not know what to tell you. Where to start. Even if I could share, I would not know how to.”

“And you said that
I
did not trust people.” She grinned and snuggled in a bit closer, loving the sound of his voice vibrating through his chest into hers.

“Touché.” He took another breath and then answered, “It is not that I do not trust, it is simply I have never been taught to share. I do not know how to. I only know how to hide my fears and heal others.”

She found his hand near her waist and brought it up for both of hers to hold on to. “Why do you not start at the beginning?”

“The beginning?”

“Or the most pressing. What is it you wish to share more than anything, but do not know how to express as you wish?”

“What do I say?”

“Exactly what is on your mind.”

“My father is dying,” he burst out.

Her whole body froze a moment, before she whispered, “I know what that is like. Go on. Tell me more.”

John tightened his hold around her as his jaw came to rest on the top of her head. “I love him—I love my father so much, as much as I love my mother. But neither of them will admit that he is dying—not even to themselves.”

She almost asked if perhaps that was a good thing, if it was better they did not focus on the negative situation, but then stopped herself.

“They tell me he is fine. But I know otherwise. I see it. I see that he is fading fast. Oh, Ella,” he whispered as he placed a kiss on top of her hair, “I know he will die in just a few weeks, if not days.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He clasped his forearm with the hand she was not holding. “He is already gone. He cannot move from his sickbed, and this morning I was with him for several minutes and he did not wake up. Not once. Even when I held his hand.”

“Oh, John. I am so sorry.”

He held her tighter. “I worry about so many things. I worry about how to take care of my mother and his responsibilities when he has gone. I worry if I can do all he needs me to do without him there guiding me and helping me through it. I worry that I will never be able to get over my grief of him passing, or how I will cope without our walks and hours of talks and laughter. I worry I will not be half the man he was and many will blame
him
for that.”

“Do not be so hard on yourself; you are better than you think you are.”

He whispered, “But mostly—mostly I worry that I will never forgive him for letting his pride kill him. For not coming forth and asking for help. For not saving himself when he had the chance. And for leaving my mother and I to pick up the pieces after he has gone.”

Ella sat silently with him upon the ground for some time. Eventually, she rocked very slowly back and forth, back and forth within his arms. He followed her lead quick enough and they were soon swaying together, allowing the moment and their hearts to heal what the other could not.

When he stilled enough to calm his troubled mind, she turned around within his arms and sat upon her knees. Coming face to face with those glorious hazel eyes, she reached her hand up and placed it upon his shoulder. With her other hand, she brushed aside the light brown locks of hair that had become mussed from his fingers running through it. When her eyes met his again, she said simply, “Thank you. Thank you for sharing with me.” She then leaned down and kissed his nose. “You are more wonderful than you believe you are.”

Confusion flitted across his features.

“You do not believe me?” She grinned slightly and then said, “Here, I shall show you how I think of you. Would you like that?”

“You want to tell me how you feel about me?”

She thought about it and then smiled a genuine smile. “Yes. Something similar. It is more how I see you.” She leant closer and set her arms upon his shoulders, her mouth just mere inches from him. Then she kissed his brow and said, “This brow of yours, it protects a kind and curious mind; a mind that cares for and thinks of so many other people than just itself. This is a mind that truly sorts out the trials of others and finds ways to make their life easier. It is a selfless mind. I do believe I love your mind.”

She pulled down a bit and kissed his nose. “This perfect nose leads you where you want to go. It offers you direction and safety. It is a nose of a leader—not of one who is self-possessed but of one hoping to direct himself well and be all he can be.”

She skimmed her lips over to first one cheek and then the other. “These cheeks, oh, how I love these cheeks. They hold within them a captivating smile. An easy and cheerful grin—one that forgives others and happily lives in this world, learning how to cope with all of the muck he has been given. These cheeks are what allow you to press on, allow your humor to shine through.”

She then kissed each of his eyes. “These eyes see so much more than anyone does. They see past the pretense and shadowed life someone is crafting about them to the truth and the heart of the matter. They know and understand so much more because they see so very much more. These eyes even saw me, when no one else did. How I love your eyes.”

Using her hands, she turned his face first to one side where she kissed his ear and then to the other. Once she kissed him she whispered, “Your beautiful ears hear the words no one dares to speak. They know a soul and listens for a heartbeat that needs lifting, a life that needs saving and an outlook that needs revisited so that they may feel the rays of sunshine upon them once again. Your marvelous ears hear all that cannot be told.”

Pulling back she then tilted his head up and kissed his jaw. “This jaw is stubborn, it is strong, it is a man who will do right at any cost and will not stop until a wrong is righted. It is loyal, it is good, it is proud, but, oh, so very worthy. How I love your firm jaw. It is exactly what every man should have—what every man should be.”

She took a deep breath and faced him again, her gaze meeting his, before traveling down to his grinning lips. She kissed him there, a soft full kiss and said quietly, “These lips—these lips hold the answers to your beautiful soul. They create a world full of beauty greater than any lips I have ever known. They rejoice, they play, they care, they love. Your lips are flawless. And quite possibly have locked within them the most joyous of kisses a girl could know. I am forever in gratitude of those lips, for the simple words you speak and the actions you do with them—they very clearly leave me breathless.

She drew back and blushed. “Now do you see? Now do you understand how it is I see you?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JOHN COULD NOT STOP grinning like a fool. Who was this woman? How was he ever fortunate enough to have such a being in his life? His heart and mind raced as he tried to process all that she had said to him. Words he would have never thought of to describe himself, but said with such sincerity, such sweetness…he was quite simply moved.

How was it no one had seen her before? How was it she was living here in this home and not swept off her feet by another lucky man?

“One day you are going to make a man very fortunate he found you.”

“Me?” She laughed. “No, no, I am sure it will be quite the opposite. I am much too strong and hasty in the things I say at times. I would like to get married one day, perhaps. I would like it very much.” She shrugged and pulled farther away from him, sitting back. “But I am so far from a proper lady, I am afraid sometimes to wonder who would ever want me.”

He grinned, positive a man would sweep her up very soon. Mayhap even someone she met at the ball. “Oh, do not worry. I am sure you would be loved by anyone who spent time with you.”

She glanced up, her eyes meeting his, searching his features, before biting her lip and looking away. He could see the beginnings of an even redder complexion showing itself. “I hope—I hope I was not too forward just now. I would not want to make you uncomfortable.” She turned back toward him. “And please, in anyway, do not think that what I said to you just now was me complicating things between us. I know you see me as a friend. I am well aware and fine with how things are.”

John had no notion of what she was speaking of. “But you did say some of the most wondrous things. A man would call himself fortunate indeed to hear from your lips again.”

“Yes, but I know—I know that the custom of kissing one another could be construed as a proposal of sorts, but I would like to clarify that to be sure, I do not take it that way. So you have no need to worry.”

She was correct! How could he have been so foolish? To kiss a woman did allow for certain liberated thinking to take place within her mind. It would naturally unearth a whole slew of complications if the impulsive man had not thought clearly through them all. He stared at her a moment—his mind racing through the unjustness of his impulse. He had meant to thank her for her kindness, for her gentle prodding into his life, her caring nature. And then she was sharing with him her vision of how she sees his character. How every man wishes he could be seen by a woman someday. His heart began to thump wildly. He would need to travel home first to sort through his feelings before he began to ascertain them all. But this—this was not right. He could not, absolutely could not fall in love with the girl and she him, while she believed him to be John.