Cinderella's Dress Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Shonna Slayton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Theresa Cole and Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Alexandra Shostak

  Print ISBN 978-1-62266-340-8

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-341-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2014

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  To my family.

  Prologue

  Once Upon a Time

  Nadzia tucked the cleaning rag into her apron in exchange for her feather duster. She held it out like it was a dance partner and placed her other hand against her chest in mock modesty. “Mnie? You’d like me to take this dance?” She looked around as if another maid had entered and was waiting to waltz in her place. “Tak, yes, of course,” she said.

  Humming the tune from the final song at the anniversary ball, she waltzed on bare toes around the queen’s dayroom with her feather companion. Mere hours ago, the ballroom had been filled with the sounds of stringed music and swishing skirts. There had been long tables of puff pastries and rows of men in cravats, and oh, how she had longed to be old enough to join the dancing. She breathed deeply to catch the scent of the hundreds of roses and gerberas and lilies still standing at attention downstairs.

  Nadzia bowed again to her duster and returned to her duties with a contented yawn. She stopped by the door to the queen’s bedchamber and pressed her ear to the ancient oak. Not a sound. Should she wake her? The queen had never slept so late.

  Nie. Let her sleep. Soon there would be no sleep in the household for months.

  Nadzia moved on to dusting the vases on the mantel. The round-bottomed red one was her favorite and she took it down to gently sweep the feathers into its neck. It would look lovely with a bouquet of gerberas from downstairs.

  “Nadzia!” The queen’s voice carried through the walls.

  The girl ran to the door and flung it open, the vase still in hand. “Yes, my queen?”

  She stood by her enormous fireplace, her bedclothes draped gracefully about her large and growing midsection. Her eyes were rimmed with red. The door connecting her chambers to the king’s shut with a loud crack, and she blinked before taking a step forward. Her hands shook as she pulled back her hair and smiled.

  “You are my most trusted servant and friend. I am sorry to have to send you away.”

  “Send me away, m’lady?” Nadzia squeaked. Her breath caught in her throat. She had served the queen since the day of the royal wedding. She had never so much as spilled a drop of tea nor scorched a piece of silk. To be sent away was to be shamed. What would her mother think to have her stumbling back up the mountain in disgrace?

  The queen, as if sensing Nadzia’s thoughts, shook her head. Her eyes were kind. “It is because you are my most trusted friend that I give you this task,” she said gently. “You will remain in my service, and I will continue to provide for you. You and Esmerelda. You must go to her in the mountains.”

  Nadzia’s knees regained some strength. The queen was not dismissing her.

  “My stepsisters…” The queen’s voice faltered. “They have married the Burgosov twins.”

  Nadzia dropped the vase. Glass shattered at her feet, red shards strewn on the cream tiles like blood.

  The queen flinched. “Once they have convinced their husbands to break the peace treaty, they will come for me.” She held up a muslin-wrapped package. “They will come for the dress.”

  Nadzia ran forward, cutting her toe on a piece of glass. She wrapped her arms around the queen’s neck. “Come with me. We will all be safe in the mountains.”

  The queen pulled Nadzia’s arms away and pressed the maid’s hand to her swollen belly. “My time is too soon. Nie, I cannot make it.”

  Nadzia felt the skin under the thin nightdress, taut as a round drum. And underneath, the child poking as if in a morning stretch.

  The queen lovingly stroked the muslin package. “This dress means the kingdom to me, and only you can keep it safe. Find Esmerelda, and leave this land,” she commanded as she shoved the package into Nadzia’s arms. Next, she pulled something from her pocket. “Thank you for lending me your necklace for the ball. It was a perfect match. But you must wear it now and always. It will be our sign.”

  Nadzia touched the amber pendant as the queen clasped it around her neck. Her mother’s necklace. It felt right to have it back again. The faint scent of old pine forest wafted up as the amber warmed to her skin. No other necklace emitted a scent such as this. It reminded her of home. Of safety.

  “Tell no one where you are going. Esmerelda has bound us together, and we will find each other. If not me, my daughter. It is her legacy. Do this for me, I beg you.”

  Chapter One

  Spring 1944, New York City

  Kate Allen, in proper hat and gloves, stared at the typed sign above the receptionist: There are no small parts; there are only small actors. Hmpf. Maybe in showbiz, but not in real life.

  Beside her stood her mother, Mrs. Allen, recently promoted assistant to the manager of Women’s Wear at Harmon-Craig Department Store. Her lips twisted while she examined the description of the movie role. “Girl Next Door. They don’t even give you a name. Well, you don’t need one. Once they see you on-screen, your future is decided.”

  The receptionist frowned and handed Mom a clipboard to sign. “Go ahead and take a seat. They’ll call her in a few minutes.”

  Simply thinking about having her name called made Kate’s stomach lur
ch. She’d never auditioned for a movie before. Sure, she’d gone on plenty of go-sees for modeling ever since her mother had decided Kate had something special. Her old modeling coach (before Mom fired her) assured them the nerves would go away with practice, but that wasn’t happening. Neither were the jobs her mother expected. Aside from the department store fashion shows, they’d only landed one—a local shoe advertisement. Apparently, Kate’s feet had talent.

  After finding two empty seats, Kate sat beside a brunette wearing a flowered drawstring dress from Altman’s. She smiled at the girl, who was too busy biting her fingernails to notice. Kate stared at her own hands, cleverly tucked into white kid gloves so she wouldn’t be doing the same.

  “Anything from Dad?” she asked, trying to cut off any advice before her mom started in.

  “No,” Mom answered distractedly as she rifled through her wood-framed handbag. “Our fashion show tomorrow has me scatterbrained. I’ve got so much to do in the next twenty-four hours.” She looked up from her purse. “Well, you’re the prettiest one here, that’s for certain.”

  She said it too loudly, and the mother sitting across from them frowned. Oh boy. Kate looked out the window at the wiggling spring leaves on the Norway maples.

  “It’s the truth,” Mom said in a softer voice, but again, too loud. She took out a cigarette.

  Kate pulled at the pearls on her gloves while the sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Sometimes Mom could be altogether embarrassing.

  By the time Kate’s name was finally called, her nerves were as tight as the girdle Mom made her wear.

  “Sadie Young, Yvonne Whitehouse, Katherine Allen, Fran Marshall.”

  Fran Marshall? Kate sucked in a breath. Anyone but Fran. When Kate landed shoes, Fran landed a national baking soda campaign. She was all Mom talked about.

  “Oh, look! There’s Fran.” Mother smiled and waved across the room to catch Fran’s attention. “We were lucky to book her for the fashion show when we did.”

  Ignoring the exchange, Kate stood and smoothed her aqua-blue skirt, questioning every decision she had made that morning. From the gloves, to the skirt, to wearing her grandmother’s antique amber necklace. Kate touched her throat where the necklace should have been. There was no hidden lump under the collar of her blouse. She felt the color drain from her face. Of all the things to lose.

  The necklace wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment. The only reason she wore it today was for courage. Babcia always knew the right things to say and do, and Kate thought the necklace might help steady her nerves.

  While her mother was busy signaling Fran, Kate surreptitiously searched the floor, looking in between beige slingbacks, colorful Mary Janes, a peep-toe, and several wedges. If she didn’t find it, Mom would kill her.

  As she retraced her steps to the receptionist, she kept her gaze on the ground. It wasn’t there. She made a move to go outside and check the street when Mother grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “This way.” She pushed Kate toward the other girls, hastily putting out her cigarette in a silver ashtray along the way.

  “No mothers,” the clipboard woman snapped. “Just the girls.” She turned on her heel and led the group forward like a conga line.

  Kate followed, eyes forward, waiting for Mom to spout off some insult in Polish, but the employee’s stern expression must have made her sit back down.

  Bright lights pointed at a platform up front where a scene had been set: a blue sofa with some flowered pillows and a blanket, a chair, a coffee table, and a rag rug. Three men sat in front of the stage at a table littered with papers, coffee cups, and three overflowing ashtrays. There was also a record player.

  Would she have to dance? If she still had the stick of Wrigley’s her mom made her spit out, she would have swallowed it right then and there. No one had said anything about dancing.

  The rest of the auditorium plunged into darkness that went on forever. Her whole school could be watching, and she wouldn’t know it.

  “All right, girls,” said the man with wire-framed glasses. “One by one, go sit on the sofa. Tell us your full name, then say the line, ‘I can’t wait for the boys to come home.’”

  A coed—from Barnard College, judging by her sweater—started them off. She sashayed over to the sofa and sat down, crossing her ankles. “Hi, I’m Sadie Luanne Young, and I can’t wait for the boys to come home.” Sadie Luanne Young beamed as she stepped back in line.

  And Kate believed her. She probably couldn’t wait for the boys to come home. Most likely, she was one of the girls down at the canteen dancing with the soldiers every night before they shipped out. She was perfect for the role. She’d lived it already.

  Fran stepped into the living room scene next.

  Kate clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Visions of past auditions flashed through her mind. She’d heard it from enough talent agents: “You’re a beautiful gal, love the long lashes, can live with the brown locks. No poise. Take some classes.” Why would today be any different? She should walk out now and find her necklace before someone else did. Why even go to the trouble—

  The casting directors were looking at her. It was her turn. Wait. When did the other girl go?

  Kate chewed her lower lip while making her way to the sofa. She picked up a pillow and hugged it when she sat down. “I’m Katherine Marie Allen,” her voice edged out. Realizing the pillow might look like a shield, she put it back, rearranging it with the other pillows until it looked right.

  She swallowed and spoke louder. “I can’t wait for the boys to come home.” She jumped up and folded the blanket, placing it just so on the back of the sofa. On her way past the chair, she angled it so it was easier to get by. The directors should have thought of that already.

  Back in line, Kate stared somewhere over the casting directors’ heads. Did I just rearrange their furniture? Josie’s going to die when I tell her. Oh, please let this audition be over with soon.

  The man with the glasses cleared his throat. “Next, girls, we’d like to see you jitterbug.” He snapped his fingers twice, and a teen-age boy walked out to the center of the room. Oh no. The boy had been at the back of the room the whole time. He’d seen her moving the props around. As he drew closer, the other girls whispered eagerly to each other.

  He was tall with flipped-back dark-brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a button-down shirt with the top button open and a white T-shirt underneath. Kate had no idea who he was, but based on the reactions of the older girls, they did.

  He smiled at each of the hopefuls, and when he looked at Kate, her ears burned like the New York asphalt outside.

  The man closest to the record player leaned over and switched it on. Out blasted the Andrews Sisters’ “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”

  Kate smiled in relief. She’d danced a hundred times to this old song. It would be a cinch after all.

  The boy grabbed Sadie’s hand, and the two jitterbugged in front of the casting table. Working his way from girl to girl, he finally reached Kate. He grinned and held out his hand to her. “Care to dance?”

  When Kate made eye contact, her stomach did a jitterbug of its own. She didn’t expect his eyes to be so Frank Sinatra blue. Blue like the early-morning sky. She shyly ducked her chin, forgetting for a moment this was an audition.

  Without warning, he yanked her in front of the three men and their clipboards and swung her around like she was a teen-age Shirley Temple. He pulled her close and whispered, “Relax, doll, you’re doing swell.”

  His warm breath tickled her ear, and she leaned into him. Girl Next Door might be an okay role after all. She could help the war effort by increasing morale, and have fun at the same time. She put a little extra oomph into her next kick…

  But before she knew it, she was flat on the floor, her elbow smacking into the wood with a painful pop. The poor boy let go of her hand as he stumbled to keep from falling on top of her.

  Kate flinched. She couldn’t have done worse if she�
��d tried. And all in front of Fran and that blue-eyed boy.

  The music stopped, and the hush in the room stretched thin like the silence after an air raid drill. The boy lifted Kate to her feet. He shrugged, let go of her hand, and walked back into the darkness.

  She kept her eyes glued to her saddle shoes. Her tailbone smarted, and her elbow felt like the skin had rubbed raw and started bleeding.

  No one asked if she was okay. It took every bit of self-control she had to stay put and wait for the directors to finish their notes and say something. It didn’t matter anyway. All she wanted now was to get out and find her missing necklace.

  When Babcia had given her the family heirloom she had said, “You seem a little lost. Perhaps this will help you find your way.” The necklace had come from Poland, and Babcia had given it to Kate during the days after Pearl Harbor was bombed but before she became so ill that speaking was the same as gasping for breath. What was a silly audition compared to a war?

  The man in the middle spoke for the first time. He had a deep, leading-man-type voice. “Thank you, ladies. If we’re interested in you, we’ll be in touch.”

  Kate flew to the door, beating out the other girls. Quickly, she pulled off a glove and wiped at her tears before anyone could see them.

  Mom stood on the other side of the door, a fresh cigarette in hand, and tried to get in the room. The assistant held up her hand like a stop sign. “They’ll let you know if they want her to come back. We’ve got your phone number.” She stepped around them and called for the next group of girls. “Margaret Tannenbalm…”

  Dozens of pretty heads turned to watch them walk out. Kate tried not to look at Fran, knowing she’d have that self-satisfied smirk on her face. But when Kate walked by, Fran tilted her head in a tough-break-when-your-mother-embarrasses-you kind of way.

  Kate responded with a small smile. Maybe Fran had a heart after all. Maybe they’d seen each other at enough auditions that they could be friendly.

  Then Fran laughed.

  Kate’s half smile fell. Why couldn’t Fran act like a decent human for once?

  Outside, Kate tilted her head back, begging the wind to cool the sweat along her forehead. Worst audition of them all. Movies ought to be rationed like butter and sugar.