ME, CINDERELLA?(40)

“Then why would they kill it?”

“For fun.”

Brynn looked back once at the dead fawn, and for the first time Eliot saw hatred on her face, knotting her features sharply in a grimacing frown. She pulled away from Eliot and stood alone. A small shudder ran through her limbs, and she pressed her lips tightly together.

“I don’t…I don’t understand people sometimes,” she said.

Eliot wanted to reach out and take her into his arms, but he could not. Impotent to assuage her, he waited until she turned and then helped her down the snowbank. They walked silently back to the house, and Eliot closed the door behind them, locking out the snow.





The next morning I woke earlier than Eliot and dressed in my new warm clothes. Venturing outside, I stayed well within the immediate grounds, hoping to avoid repeating the shock of yesterday’s discovery. My dreams had tossed me through the night in fitful starts, filled with images of death—deer skulls and rotting corpses, and a man hooded in black.

To my surprise, Eliot emerged only a few minutes after me. His breath left white puffs in the air as he trampled through the snow-beaten trails to where I stood among the low garden hedges.

“I brought bread,” he said. He held out a fist of crumpled crust, and I must have looked at him like he was crazy, because he burst out laughing.

“Not for you,” he said. “For the birds.”

“What birds?” I looked around. Earlier I’d heard chirping from the hedges, but now the grounds were silent. In the middle of the gardens, scattered in places, were large stone bird baths, but there were no birds in sight.

“Hold on,” he said. “They’ll come.”

Pursing his lips, he let out a high whistle, and threw a few crumbs into the air. I looked around.

“I think the birds are all asleep,” I said.

“Ye of little faith,” he said. He whistled again, and again threw a piece of bread into the air. My hand shaded my eyes and I watched as a small bird darted up from inside of one of the hedges and caught the bread in midair.

“Ha! Did you see that?” Eliot’s face shone delightedly.

I threw bread in the air, coaxing a few more of the small birds to come out.

“What are they?”

“Wrens, I think,” Eliot said. He scattered bread on the ground, and soon the air was filled with the whirring wings of the birds stealing crusts from each other.

“Can I have some more?” I said, turning to Eliot.

“Here.” He took my hand, and I tried not to blush as his fingers touched my wrist. He held my hand out in front of me, toward the wrens, and placed a few crusts in my palm.

“Be very steady,” he whispered, and I blushed. His body was so close to mine; even through my coat I thought I could feel his heat.

The birds, at first wary, soon realized that we were nothing to fear. A small wren with eyes like tiny black beads flew up and landed on my outstretched finger.

“It doesn’t weigh anything!” I said. Its tiny claws scrabbled at my fingers for hold, tickling me into giggles. The wren pecked a crumb from my hand and flew away, but was soon back. So were a half-dozen other wrens, all vying for attention and crust on my palm. I could have squealed in excitement but I didn’t want to scare away the little birds. Soon all of the bread was gone.

“Do you have any more bread?” I turned to Eliot; he had an odd expression on his face that fled the moment he met my eyes.

“Sorry, no more.”

I held out my empty hand anyway, and a larger bird flew up to my hand. It had red alongside its head and tail feathers, but when it realized my palm had no food, it beat its wings and in one swift motion rose in the air and away.

“It’s good luck to see a jay.” Eliot said, and we both watched the bird flap its way toward the woods. “It means spring is coming early.”

“I can’t wait,” I said.

“Not a fan of the cold?”

“I just want to see what it looks like here in springtime.” I motioned towards the woods. “It must be beautiful.”

“Very,” Eliot said. I turned my head up toward his and touched his shoulder lightly.

“I’d like to go visit the cemetery on...Fiumei, I think?” I wasn’t sure how to pronounce the road.

“Oh?” Eliot’s face had gone still, empty. “Why’s that?”

I withdrew my hand quickly, flushing. Despite his touch earlier, he must not want me to get closer. “I have family buried there.”

“Of course, yes. I’ll have Marta take you.” He stepped away from me and glanced toward the house. “I’m not sure if she’ll have time today, but perhaps later.”