Chapter 40

The next day, I hurried to the Fairy Tree early, worried that Cynthia might visit it before I had the opportunity to carry out my plan. I gently folded up the gloves, wrapped them in a small, old satchel I knew Cynthia wouldn’t recognize, and placed them in the Fairy Tree hole. I then retreated back to my spot, where it was easy to see, but difficult to be seen, and waited.

I tried to focus on my work, but it was impossible. I kept wondering if Cynthia would come today, and if so, when. Armed with the knowledge that we were making her a dress, that shoes were being made for her, and that soon she would have gloves, I could hardly contain my excitement. I missed the fun Curtis and I used to have, preparing some prank for Hubert, then lying in wait for the moment of his arrival. But this time, there was no bucket of water that would be dumped on someone’s head. This time, the end result was going to be wonderful! Perhaps this was how Algernon had felt as he hid trinkets for his daughter and stepdaughters in the tree, waiting for us to pull out our prizes.

Finally, I heard the familiar footsteps. Eagerly, I watched from between the trees as Cynthia approached the tree, murmured words I couldn’t hear, then reached her hand into the tree. And this time, instead of her shoulders slumping and her walking sadly away, she froze. She pulled her hand out, clutching the small satchel.

She looked around. I didn’t move a muscle, fearing that she would spot me spying on her. But luck was with me. Cynthia returned her gaze to the bag, and slowly opened it. She removed the gloves, one by one, from the bag, and held them up, marveling at her discovery. Then, experimentally, she tried them on.

I had guessed well; they fit her perfectly. She flexed her fingers and rotated her hands. Her face broke into the widest smile I had ever seen on her. It had a transformative effect. No longer did she look sad, aloof, and distant, but radiant with joy. She raised her face toward the heavens, speaking words I couldn’t hear. But I understood the intent. I couldn’t help but smile myself, warm not from the summer sun, but from the happiness I knew I had brought to someone else.

All that day, my work seemed easier and moved quickly. Once Cynthia went to bed, Mother and Comfort and I worked steadily on the dress. It became a routine, our eyes had dark circles because of the lack of sleep. But it was worth it. Ever since receiving the gloves, Cynthia’s complaints decreased and she had a more cheerful demeaner.

One evening as we worked on the gown, Comfort asked why I wasn’t planning on attending the ball.

“You know,” I answered.

“No, I don’t!” stated Comfort emphatically. “Tell me why.”

“Because… I don’t have a bunch of friends from the old days,” I said evasively.

“You have Curtis.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

I hesitated. I had never confided in Comfort and Mother what I had written to Curtis. “Because I wrote and told him we can’t ever be together.”

Mother gasped. “Oh sweetheart! When did you do that?”

I looked down at the hem I was sewing. “After he wrote me a letter when we first moved here.”

“Don’t worry about that letter. You should go.” Comfort sounded so casual, so uncaring that I had written off Curtis, that I gaped at her.

“Don’t worry about it?”

“Nope.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because it never got sent.”

Comfort’s pronouncement stunned me. Mother and I stared at Comfort as she continued to baste a sleeve onto the gown.

“What do you mean it never got sent?” I demanded.

Comfort snorted. “Oh please. You thought I was going to send that letter you handed me when you were all dramatic and emotional? You are such a terrible liar. I saw through it right away.”

I sat, mouth open. “You didn’t send it?”

“I waited until you had left and I opened it and read it.”

“That was private!” I said, outraged.

“No kidding. That is why I opened it,” Comfort said with a laugh.

I was shocked. “So… So… it was never sent?”

Comfort laughed again. “You keep asking that. No, I never sent it. I burned it.”

“But he never wrote back! If he hadn’t gotten a response, he would have written again!”

“I wrote to him.”

Now I stood up, unable to sit any longer. My needle and thread tumbled to the ground. “Comfort! What did you say?”

Comfort looked at me appraisingly, as though sizing me up, to decide how much she should tell me. “I said that you needed a break, to give you time, and that you still loved him.”

Mother and I were staring, dumbfounded, at Comfort. “You had no right!” I said accusatorily, pointing at Comfort.

“I had every right to help my sister avoid the biggest mistake of her life,” Comfort said, unabashed. “Do you love him?”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Why not?”

“Because he is engaged to someone else!” the words burst from me. I covered my face. “He is engaged to someone else,” I repeated the words quietly. For once, Comfort had nothing to say.

“Are you sure?” Mother asked. “How do you know?”

I gulped. “I heard someone say that Hubert isn’t engaged to Aria anymore…that he broke it off and Curtis took his place.”

“Oh.”

“So I still can’t go to the ball.” Tears began to trickle down my face and drip onto the fabric of Cynthia’s ball gown.

“He probably needs closure,” Comfort tried to say. “So do you.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that. I just can’t.”

I picked up the needle and thread I had dropped. “I can’t do any more tonight.” I went back up to my room.