The Trouble with Wicked Stepmothers
by Diana Metz
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Constance who was loved by everyone in the kingdom. Everyone, that is, but her wicked stepmother, Morbella. No one knows why this evil queen hated her stepdaughter so much. Perhaps it was that her daughter’s skin was as white as snow and as smooth as satin, while Morbella’s tended toward spots and wrinkles. Maybe Morbella was jealous of her daughter’s long, silky black hair, when hers was a frizzed mass of dull brown. Perhaps Morbella was tired of hearing her daughter’s melodious voice, when her own had been compared to that of a toad croaking off key. Morbella’s magic mirror spoke of nothing but Constance’s beauty, intelligence and charm. But surely the real reason was that Constance was a nice person, and Morbella was not. The queen took the only path open to her: she tried to rid herself of her perfect stepdaughter.
At first Morbella tried to make life so miserable around the castle that Constance would run away. Morbella commanded Constance to perform the lowest of tasks, from mending rags, and scrubbing floors, to shoveling out the stables and plucking chickens. Constance carried out each chore without complaint. In fact, Constance completed her chores with such flare that it angered Morbella even more. The worn and tattered rags were transformed into beautiful quilts. The ballroom floor was so highly polished the queen slipped and broke her wrist. Constance spoke gently and rationally to the horses, cows, and sheep and convinced them they should go outside to relieve themselves. And the King was amazed at how comfortable his new chicken-down cushion was. Morbella could not win.
When Morbella had exhausted all her schemes to drive her stepdaughter away, she was forced to try more drastic measures. She sent her trusted Woodsman to take Constance into the forest and kill her. Constance cheerfully accepted the invitation for an afternoon stroll. As the Woodsman led the beautiful princess through the rough undergrowth Constance pointed out the colorful flora and the frisky fauna. Constance knew the names of every tree and bush, and could imitate the mating calls of seven different types of sparrows. She felt it her princessly duty to educate the Woodsman in the hibernating habits of the local chipmunks. Within an hour the Woodsman was singing camp songs with the princess.
The Woodsman wondered how he was going to live with himself after following through with the queen’s evil plan. But then he knew Morbella would never let his family live if he didn’t do as he was told. This was a very frustrating situation. The whole mess was made worse when they arrived at the appointed location. Constance noticed the deep gouge and dark stains on the tree stump in the middle of the small hollow of aspen. She saw the burley man pull a red silk kerchief and length of rope from his pack. She appreciated the high polish on his axe and was sure that he had sharpened the blade recently.
Though Constance cherished life, she knew when death was imminent and accepted her fate. She held out her arms to the Woodsman, wrists crossed. “Make the blow swift and sure.”
Tears streamed down the Woodsman’s face as he bound the princess’s hands and gently pulled the blindfold over the sweet blue eyes. The thud of the axe startled nearby sparrows into flight.
Just after sundown, Constance returned to the castle, pulling the Woodsman, properly bandaged, atop a neatly made stretcher. She explained to her stepmother the Woodsman had swung his axe incorrectly for the space allowed and accidentally hacked off a branch that fell and knocked him unconscious. Constance thought it polite not to mention the Woodsman’s rude plan.
The Woodsman’s incompetence was disappointing, but Morbella had more than one plot up her sleeve. Every self-respecting evil queen has at least one bottle of poison hidden away, and Morbella kept hers under a pair of blue and red striped stockings. After considering Constance’s healthy eating habits, Morbella chose an apple as her method of extermination. Her victory was assured when Constance gratefully accepted the fruit, explaining that she had gone without breakfast and was quite hungry. Morbella retired to her room to prepare for a luncheon party that afternoon. She practiced her most grieving expressions to find just the right one for when she and her guests would discover the lifeless body of the beautiful princess.
Constance was not as lifeless as Morbella had hoped, though. The princess volunteered to assist with the luncheon preparations and threw together her famous fruit salad. She diced peaches and rinsed berries and chopped nuts. The lovely red apple her stepmother had given her looked too delicious to keep to herself, she sliced it thinly and used it to garnish the individual fruit cups. After making sure the cucumber sandwiches were properly arranged, and the goose pate suitably chilled, Constance removed herself to her chambers.
Just before her guests arrived, Morbella went down to check on the preparations. Everything was perfect. In fact, the cucumber sandwiches looked so appetizing she couldn’t resist a quick nibble, and no one would miss the apple garnish from her fruit salad.
The luncheon guests were appalled to find their host sprawled across the dining table. They failed at all attempts to wake the snoring queen. From the sour, fruity smell on Morbella’s breath the ladies assumed the worst. Before the sun set, the whole town was whispering about the queen’s drinking binge.
The next morning Morbella had a headache that kept her in bed all day. Constance felt it her daughterly duty to nurse her stepmother back to health. Between dabbing Morbella’s forehead with cool cloths, Constance read passages of love sonnets. By noon Morbella would have strangled the princess herself if she could just sit up without the room spinning dizzily. It was time for extreme measures.
When Morbella was well enough to travel, she slipped away in the middle of the night and went in search of the gingerbread house of Bootha, The Witch. Over a cup of BitterBug tea Morbella told the witch of the horrendous treatment she had to endure from her stepdaughter. “I’ve done what I could for her, but she’s ungrateful and willful, and spiteful. She’s judgmental, and critical, and temperamental. She’s cruel, and mean, and rude. And…and…and she hates cats!”
Now Bootha knew better than to believe everything stepmothers said about stepdaughters, but if even half of what Morbella said was true, then this Constance had a curse coming to her. “Bring her by tomorrow afternoon. I will prepare a curse suited for such an appalling child.”
The next morning, Morbella occupied herself by picking out fabric and tapestries, and rugs for the sitting room she was going to make out of Constance’s bedchamber. For a few hours Morbella treated her stepdaughter with something close to motherly affection. The queen thought it only fitting the princess’s last hours be happy ones.
After lunch, Morbella ordered her riding carriage to be prepared and asked Constance to accompany her to visit an old friend. Constance could not resist a neighborly visit, especially to the elderly. She gladly accepted and fetched a beautifully knitted shawl she had finished the week before (elderly women always appreciated shawls). Morbella’s mood was so euphoric she didn’t mind Constance’s lengthy discourse on the uses of herbal remedies on the old and infirm.
When Constance saw the gingerbread house she was fascinated. She was anxious to discuss the architectural nuances of royal frosting joint compound and spun sugar insulation. As they walked up the path, Constance pointed out to her stepmother the importance of high-gluten flour in structural-cookie baking. Morbella was nearing her breaking point, and almost pushed her stepdaughter through the ornately decorated cookie door.
Bootha welcomed her guests into the parlor. They nibbled on black Russian teacakes and sipped brambleberry cider. Constance sat quietly and listened to the small talk of the two older women. Being an observant girl, Constance took note of the odd décor of Bootha’s home. Bats hung from the ceiling rafters, pots of wilted plants sat on the window sill, small cauldrons bubbled smokily on a large stove, jars that are best not looked at too closely lined a shelf, and a broom too stringy to sweep hung by the door. Constance was not a dim-witted young girl, and was now she glad that she had not suggested an ointment for the wart on Bootha’s nose.
Morbella poked Constance’s arm. “Aren’t you paying attention, girl? My friend has asked you to keep her company for a few hours while I run an errand.”
Constance apologized for her lack of attentiveness and said she would be glad to remain. Morbella nodded and went to the door. She and Bootha spoke quietly, then Morbella turned and said goodbye to her stepdaughter.
Morbella drove into town. She stopped into a number of shops and spoke to a number of people. She let it be known that her sweet daughter was well and had chosen to take a walk in the woods rather than come to town. No wind of blame would touch Morbella when the princess could not be found. The queen would grieve for a few months, and then join her husband at his hunting lodge.
As the sun began to set Morbella returned to the gingerbread house to see the witch’s handiwork. Would she find her stepdaughter hopping on the furniture, merrily catching flies? Perhaps swimming in a glass bowl? If Bootha had turned the princess into a songbird, Morbella knew just which gilded cage she would keep the twit in. She whistled a happy tune as she strolled up the peppermint walk and opened the ornate door. The happy tune died on her lips when she saw Bootha and her stepdaughter huddled at the kitchen table. The two were nibbling on cookies and discussing the contents of a thick, dusty book on the table between them. They looked up when the door was slammed shut. Bootha adjusted her new shawl and glanced defiantly at Morbella. Constance invited her stepmother to join them at the table. “Miss Bootha was just showing me her grandmother’s recipe for Persimmon Marmalade.”
Morbella glared at the witch and pulled her stepdaughter from her chair. “We’re leaving.” Constance waved goodbye as she was pushed out the door.
Bootha waved from the doorway. “You’re welcome to come and visit any time,” she said to Constance. As the carriage sped down the road, Bootha scratched her chin. “That sweet child needs protection.” There was a sly smile on her lips as she tapped them with her finger.
The ride home was not pleasant. The look on Morbella’s face kept Constance silent during the trip back to the castle. The princess was puzzled as to her stepmother’s behavior. Had Bootha done something wrong? Perhaps the queen’s errand had not gone as planned. At least she knew that her own behavior had been impeccable. When they arrived home Constance did not have a chance to suggest for her mother a hot bath and a cup of mulled cider, as Morbella stomped into the castle and up to her chambers. The queen didn’t make an appearance at supper.
In the darkness of her sitting room, Morbella wracked her brain for some idea that was guaranteed to rid herself of her unwanted baggage. She had heard of a peculiar little man that locked young princesses in a room and had them spin straw into gold, but with the queen’s luck Constance would come out with a shiny afghan. A friend had used a poisoned comb on her stepdaughter, but the affair with the apple had soured Morbella against the use of poison. Maybe she could contact the witch that worked up a curse using a spindle. Were there any more dragons around that ate princesses? If only she were lucky enough to lose her stepdaughter in the woods to be eaten by bears or wolves; she heard of that happening before. An idea began to take shape.
Constance was glad that her stepmother was in a better mood the next day, and was more than happy to accompany her on a ride into town. She sat next to her stepmother in the satin-lined carriage. The queen liked to drive her own carriage, but Constance thought she could use a lesson on handling the reins. Not wanting to upset her stepmother, Constance did not comment when they took the left fork of the road rather than the right fork which led into town. She thought it best not to remark on the roughness of the road or the closeness of the trees. As they turned off into a maze of side roads the ruts grew deeper and the trees closer.
The road ended abruptly. Constance couldn’t see anything but trees and she wondered what type of shop her stepmother was taking her to. Morbella dragged her stepdaughter from the carriage. “Wait here until I come back.” Not being totally inhumane, Morbella tossed a bag of dry bread crusts to her stepdaughter before she drove away.
Morbella laughed as she drove away. She couldn’t believe how easy that had been. She chided herself that she should have done that weeks ago. Morbella felt a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. She took a right turn, then a left, and another right. Or was she supposed to turn left? She didn’t remember seeing that fallen tree before. After another right and two lefts Morbella knew something was wrong. She should have been back on the main road by now. When the fallen tree appeared again it was pretty clear to Morbella that she was lost. The queen refused to panic and took the next left and two rights. The road began to widen and the sky could again be seen through the trees. To Morbella’s relief, she was soon in sight of the main road.
Morbella should have be happy to be out of the woods, but the little matter of her stepdaughter sitting by the side of the road dampened her enthusiasm. This was too much to endure. Morbella slumped in her seat, a defeated woman. “How did you find your way out?” the queen asked.
Constance stood up and brushed the dirt from her skirt. “It was easy, really. I noticed when you left that the wheels of the carriage had an odd shape to them. I just followed the tracks back here.” She walked up to the side of carriage. Did you know that you took the wrong turn just after you left me?” Morbella no longer cared. “I hope you don’t mind my meeting you here.” Constance said innocently. “It was getting dark and I thought you might be lost.”
“Come along, we don’t want supper to get cold,” Morbella said gloomily, motioning Constance to climb into the carriage.
Just as the princess prepared to step up into the carriage, a great noise came from the main road. Dust rose into the air as a magnificent white horse came to a sudden stop by the royal carriage. A knight with gleamingly polished armor swept off his helmet and gazed down at Constance. “Oh my Morning Dove, would you do me the great honor of becoming my lady?” Constance blushed prettily and curtsied. A muscular arm scooped up the princess and set her before him on the saddle.
Constance dusted off a smudge on the otherwise spotless armor. As they galloped off into the crimson sunset, Morbella’s stepdaughter waved her lace handkerchief and wiped tears of joy from her cheek.
Morbella stood, speechless. How dare she! How could that ungrateful child leave her in the middle of nowhere? And without so much as a ‘thank you for everything you’ve done for me’? That was gratitude for you. Morbella’s face became as red as the sunset, her teeth clenched, her eyes reduced to slits. Her breath came in short, angry puffs, the perfectly manicured hands became quivering fists, the lace-encircled throat swelled, the blue and red stockinged knees shook. Anger and rage built up within the quivering frame of the queen until POOF!
When the smoke cleared from the air the queen no longer stood in her carriage, she no longer wore her elegantly decorated gown, she no longer wore the blue and red striped stockings. The rings of emerald, diamond and ruby lay on the carriage cushions next to the ivory hair comb. What had been Queen Morbella was now an elegantly spotted orange slug who oozed miserably from the carriage and slid under a nearby bush.
Of course, there’s no need to tell you of the happily ever after life of Constance and her brave knight, for these things always come to pass in stories such as these.
Read more short stories by Diana Metz here...