Ella Enchanted - By Gail Carson Levine Page 0,50

could even be back in a few days.

Until I saw him or heard from him, I would endure. I stayed out of my stepfamily's way as much as possible, and the longer I worked as a scullery maid, and the filthier I got, the less Hattie and Mum Olga tormented me. I think they gloried in my squalor as proof of my baseness.

From Olive, though, there was no respite, and to escape from her, I hid. My most secure hideaway was the library. Although I never dared stay long, I was able to steal half hours reading Mum Olga's dusty tomes. No one ever thought to look for me there, or to visit for pleasure.

I don't know whether I was more anxious to hear from Father or from Char. I kept thinking about Char and wishing to talk to him. If I thought of a joke, I wanted to try it on him. If I had a serious idea, I wanted his opinion.

Although weeks passed without an answer from Father, my first letter from Char arrived only ten days after I'd sent mine to him. Then letter followed letter for the first six months of his absence, while I heard nothing from Father, and saw nothing of him either.

As I had directed, Char sent his letters to Mandy, who pretended to have an admirer. Hattie and Mum Olga were vastly amused at Mandy's romance, but I failed to see why it was any more absurd than Mum Olga and Father.

Char's hand was large and round, the letters evenly spaced, each fully formed -

- completely unlike my crabbed, spiky writing. His showed a balanced, honest nature, while Areida used to say mine proved me imaginative, impulsive, and always in a hurry.

Dear Ella,

My name has been changed. Here they call me Echarmonte, which sounds more like a sneeze than a name. They can't pronounce Char, and I can't persuade them to call me Echare. They are so formal. They say "by your leave" more often than they say anything else.

The Ayorthaians think before they speak, and often conclude, after lengthy meditation, that nothing need be said. The loudest beings in an Ayorthaian council are the flies. The occasional bee that finds its way in is deafening.

I long for conversation. The ordinary Ayorthaians are talkative, but the nobles are not. They are kind. They smile easily. But speech for them is a single word, occasionally a phrase. Once a week they utter a complete sentence. On their birthdays they grant the world an entire paragraph.

At first I chattered to fill the silence. In response, I received smiles, bows, thoughtful expressions, shrugs, and an occasional "Perhaps, by your leave." So now I keep my speeches to myself.

In the garden this morning I overtook the duke of Andona. I touched his shoulder in greeting. He nodded companionably. In my mind I said, "The flowers are marvelous. That one grows in Kyrria, but that other I've never seen before. What do you call it?"

In my imagination he answered me, naming the flower, saying it was the queen's favorite and that he'd be happy to give me seeds.

But if I had really asked about a flower, he'd probably have continued strolling.

He'd have thought, "Why does this prince clutter up a lovely day with talk,? If I don't answer him, he may breathe in the sweet air, feel the gentle sun, hear the rustling leaves. Perhaps by now he regrets his question. But perhaps he thinks me rude for not answering him. However, if I speak now, I may startle him. Which would be worse? It would be worse to have him think me rude. I must speak." But, exhausted by his cogitation, he'd have energy left for only one word, the name of the flower.

I'm writing nonsense. In my first letter I had hoped to impress you with my brilliant prose, but that will have to wait for my second.

Not many of my imagined conversations are with the duke. Most of them are with you.

I know what I would say if I were in Frell. I'd tell you at least three times how glad I was to see you. I'd speak more about Ayortha (and with fewer complaints), and I'd describe my trip here, especially our adventure when one of the packhorses shied at a rabbit and tore off. But then I might turn Ayorthaian and trail off into silence, lost in smiling at you.

The trouble is, I can't guess at your response. You surprise me so