ETHEL

Years Ago

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Wyverns,” said Ethel.

Ethel studied Master Annan for any clue that she was making some headway. The old woman stared at Ethel with her usual aloof curiosity, seated behind a desk absurdly large for so small a person. Above her teacher loomed a bookshelf half again as tall as any man, armored with the spines of countless texts, all seemingly selected for their dry content. Perhaps not as dry as her hair, thought Ethel, unable to keep from glancing on occasion at the woman’s solitary grey braid that reached to the floor, sweeping up dust whenever she turned her head. “Wyverns?” her teacher asked.

Having forced herself from bed earlier than was usual, Ethel thought she had accomplished the hardest task of her day. She was wrong. The overwhelming feeling of being pulled to sea by outward flowing tides fought her will, but she forced herself to remain calm, remembering to whom she was speaking. Had she needed to, Ethel could probably convince Master Annan that it was not even a day of learning, that the old woman had mixed up the days of the week as she was prone to do, and that she had come to teach a class that would remain empty. But Ethel had no need to confuse the woman. She wanted only to convince her of an undeniable truth: that the book she’d brought was worthy of being added to the curriculum.

“Wyverns,” Ethel confirmed with a nod. A family of wyverns, Ethel added, albeit only in thought. The intrigue of wyverns was as good a selling point as any, and sure to interest her fellow students. That, combined with it being so large a text, was sure to impress her old master, and for once the class would get to read something that would engross them. They might even thank Ethel for having recommended it, though perhaps that was a stretch.

Master Annan looked at her askew. “This is a class of literature, child. Wyverns are the subject of…science, I believe. You should give this book to Master…” She trailed off, lost in thought. It could have afforded Ethel a few minutes to think, but Ethel had already decided how to convince her master of the true merit of her submission.

“But Master Annan, look how big it is.”

Master Annan broke from her trance and did as she was told; she looked at the book in her hands. As if prompted by the realization that it was indeed very large, she let it fall to her desk, sending bits of dust flying from the surface.

“It is heavy,” she conceded, giving Ethel hope that she had pursued the correct avenue of persuasion.

Her master retrieved a ruler from the top drawer of her desk and used it to measure the book’s thickness. As Master Annan’s eyes widened, Ethel could not control her growing smile.

“It is over three fingers,” she said, setting the ruler down on her desk.

“So we can read it in class?”

Master Annan slid the book toward Ethel. “I am afraid not. We seldom read texts larger than one finger’s width.”

Ethel’s heart sank.

“And it is difficult enough to get your classmates to read those,” added Master Annan with a smile.

The sound of chairs being dragged along the floor alerted Ethel to the presence of her peers. No one ever arrived early, meaning class would be starting shortly as the wave of children flooded the room. Ethel acknowledged her master’s implicit dismissal with a curt nod and brought the book to her seat.

Wyverns? It is big? She chided herself for having so poorly explained why the book was of both substance and merit, though it made little difference. Her father was always right about these things. “Your master already has a list of texts, and more importantly, copies for the students,” he’d explained after she brought up her plan at last night’s supper. “Pay no mind to Alther,” her mother had said. “You do as you wish, as a princess is entitled.” Ethel hated how rude her mother always was to him, and worse, how she always called him Alther, even when speaking of him to her and Stephon. “I see no harm in trying,” her father agreed, his pleasantness undaunted by her mother’s ornery tone. “But remember, even if your master agrees and adds it to her list, your classmates may not enjoy it near so much as you. Even you might not have loved it, had you read it for the first time in class. It is our nature to dislike the things we are forced to do,” his assertion earning him a glare from her mother. Ethel had found that difficult to accept, believing she would love the story in either case. “Now eat your beans,” her father had concluded with a grin.

Giggling in the back of the classroom drew Ethel’s sudden attention. She was not blind to the ugly irony that giggling, a thing that should be welcomed by a girl her age, was instead a cause for anxiety. It seemed the only person who could giggle in her presence without Ethel worrying that she was being made a fool of was Griffin, but he was a year older than she and did not attend the same classes.

As she glanced back from her seat in the front of the classroom, Ethel saw the cause for the excitement. Matthus, one of the more clownish children, had something stuffed under his shirt. Ethel quickly turned forward, hoping none had noticed that she had looked, but more so, hoping she was not to be the object of their antics. Though her mother assured her she would grow out of it, claiming she, too, had been a plump child, Ethel had become increasingly self-conscious of her portly cheeks and rounded belly.

“Have a seat,” said Master Annan to the children in the rear. “Class is to begin soon.”

“He’s too big to sit,” cried one of the boys, provoking some chortles from the other students.

“What is the matter now?” As expected, their master was quite oblivious to the prank being played.

“It’s my swollen belly,” said Matthus.

“Oh, Matthus, did you eat something you should not have?” Master Annan had honest concern in her voice.

Ethel prepared herself for the coming joke about him having overindulged in sweets. At the start of the year, when invited to share something about themselves, Ethel had made the mistake of telling the class her favorite activity was eating pastries with her best friend Griffin. It had been a source of ridicule ever since.

“No, Master Annan…” Matthus spoke with emotion. “A babe grows in my belly.”

The tension that had been building in Ethel’s body released all at once. He apparently was not making fun of anyone in particular today, just messing about in a random attempt to provoke laughter and delay their lessons—a task in which he was succeeding. Ethel turned in her desk, further relieved to see every student was looking at Matthus.

“But that is only half the problem,” he continued.

“Be quick with it, Matthus. We must begin the day’s lessons.”

Matthus grinned with devious intent, a look that put Ethel ill at ease. “The real trouble is…” His gaze shifted, and with it went the eyes of every student. They whipped to Ethel, each eager stare falling on her like a scourge’s lash. “I have no clue who the father is.”

The room filled with the raucous laughter of each and every student, some covering their mouths, succeeding only in spraying their hands with mirth, others just openly howling. All, that is, except for Ethel, who turned slowly in her seat to again face forward. That the other children had begun to understand what her being the princess’s bastard truly meant was not a welcome evolution in their ability to torment her.

She opened the largest book on her desk, one about wyverns, and held her face as close to it as possible for one to believe she might be reading as opposed to hiding. It was too late to keep from crying, but she could at least keep them from seeing it.

It was for the best that Master Annan had refused to add this book to the curriculum. The others did not deserve it.