Authors: Janette Rallison
There was silence for a moment.
“I think Prince Hubert would do nicely for her.”
“Prince Hubert? Who’s he?”
“In the kingdom to the north—he’s the fourth son. Not really in line for the crown, but a decent chap. I hear he’s kind to animals.”
Someone let out a low laugh. “I hear he talks to goats and sheep—in their own language. They don’t talk back, mind you, but he keeps trying. He tells people that one day he’ll make a breakthrough and discover the secrets of animal speech.”
More silence, then someone said, “Well, Snow White sings to the animals. The two of them will never be short of friends.”
107/431
“We should send a message to him.”
“He doesn’t read.”
“Is that smoke coming from the kitchen?”
“I’ll go north and read the message to him myself.” I didn’t hear any more of their conversation because I had to run to check on the bread, which was indeed burning. In my defense, the cook from the last fairy tale always baked the bread. Plus, did they really expect me to pay attention to the food while they were discussing my future with Prince Hubert?
As I pulled the smoldering loaf out of the oven, I tried to remember exactly what I’d told Chrissy I wanted in a guy. I’d said I wanted him to be more than just handsome and rich. He had to be nice and kind. And apparently Prince Hubert was kind. Kind of crazy.
Honestly, was she
trying
to get my wishes wrong and stick me with horrible guys?
I waved my hands over the bread in an attempt to cool it down. Perhaps I’d taken it out before it was completely ruined. It’s hard to tell with rye bread since it’s dark brown to start with. I hoped it was salvageable because I really didn’t want to look incompetent right now.
I had to present myself to the dwarfs as an intelligent, capable person so they wouldn’t try to marry me off to some half-wit prince before Chrissy showed up again.
108/431
My hand waving wasn’t very effective in cooling off the bread so I decided to flip it off the board, sort of like the way my dad flips pancakes when he makes them.
And that’s what I was doing when the dwarfs came into the kitchen to check on dinner.
Seven faces peered at me from the doorway. They wore seven different colored caps, and now that I saw them all together, I could tell how uneven and poorly knitted they were.
The one in the brown cap gave me a questioning smile. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cooling down the bread.”
“Thank goodness,” a dwarf in a red cap whispered.
“For a moment I thought she was trying to teach it to fly.”
The one in brown elbowed the one in red, then turned back to me. “Why don’t you put it on the windowsill?
That’s always worked in the past.” I put the bread on the windowsill, feeling their gazes still on me. Then I thought of the perfect way to learn the dwarfs’ names. I’d just call out a name and see which dwarf answered me. It would be easy. Ha—and they thought I wasn’t smart.
“Dopey?” I asked.
“Of course you’re not,” the one in the brown cap said.
“You’re just not used to cooking yet.” He went to the 109/431
cupboard, took out a stack of bowls and spoons, and handed them out.
A dwarf in a blue cap went to the soup pot and stirred it. He kept poking the spoon through it as though searching for something, then sighed, disappointed.
“Well, bring over your bowls and we’ll say grace.” The gray-capped dwarf looked into the pot. “Aye, it needs praying.”
“Sleepy?” I called out.
“I am now,” the gray-capped dwarf said. “Think I’ll turn in for the night instead of eating.” I tried one more time, searching the dwarfs’ faces.
“Doc?”
“Don’t be a pessimist,” The brown-capped dwarf said and handed me a bowl. “No one’s gotten sick from eating your food for days now.”
Why was this not working? Should I just come right out and ask them their names? We all took our bowls out to the dining room where a long table with short benches waited for us. One of the dwarfs took the bread from the kitchen windowsill, another brought a cellar of salt. When I sat down, I bumped my knees against the table because it was so low.
The blue-capped dwarf said grace and then they passed around the loaf of rye bread. The custom was to tear off a piece of bread and then pass the loaf to the 110/431
next person. This is what we’d done at the servants’
table when I was Cinderella. But that was when the cook made the bread. As Snow White I’d cooked the loaf so long it had turned into a rye brick, and each dwarf struggled to break a piece off. Finally they took to smacking it against the edge of table in order to get a portion.
The brown-capped dwarf next to me smacked off a piece for himself and then one for me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It will soften right up once it’s soaked in porridge.”
“Thank you.” I dipped my bread into the porridge, blew on it, then put it in my mouth. Only a sense of manners kept me from spitting it back out. I’ve never been a fan of rye bread to begin with, but burned rye bread in bad porridge is worse. I made myself swallow, then took a long drink of water. It was really the only decent thing on the table.
The dwarf in the yellow cap coughed into his napkin, a clear sign that he was spitting his food out instead of eating it. “Are you all right?” I asked him.
“Me? Oh yeah. You know me, I’m just sneezing again.”
“You’re Sneezy?” I asked, glad to at least have one name figured out.
“It’s almost as though I’m allergic to dinnertime,” he said, coughing into his napkin again.
111/431
It wasn’t a compliment, but hey, at least I’d learned one name. Of course I still didn’t know the other six names and none of my efforts had helped reveal them. I fiddled with my spoon for a moment, then decided to come right out and ask them. After all, they couldn’t think me any more stupid than they already did.
“Um . . . which one of you is Dopey?” From across the table, the black-capped dwarf took a sip of his soup, made a face, and muttered, “That would be Reginald for putting you in charge of cooking.” The green-capped dwarf sitting next to him, elbowed him sharply. “Stop it or you’ll make her cry.”
“Reginald?” I asked. “Who’s Reginald?” The brown-capped dwarf beside me let out a sigh of patience. “I am. And sitting beside me is Percival. Next to him is Cedric, then Edgar, Cuthbert, and Ethelred.
Edwin already went up to bed.” He patted my hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn our names soon enough.” Another pat, this one decidedly forced. “Or if you don’t, you can continue to call us whatever adjective suits your fancy at the moment.”
“You’re not really Happy, Sleepy . . .” I let my sentence drift off. Why did they have different names than in the story? Then it hit me. I remembered what my English teacher kept telling us about different kinds of narrators in books, specifically unreliable ones. The story of Snow 112/431
White was told from her point of view, and unfortunately she was a raging idiot.
Still, I tried one more time. “No one here is Bashful?”
“Oh, I was plenty bashful when you walked in on me while I was taking a bath,” Cedric’s voice took on a parental tone. “But you’ll remember now that you must knock before you walk into the kitchen on bathing day, won’t you?”
My face burned with embarrassment. This is what I got for asking Chrissy to make me beautiful and loved and not throwing in things like respected or well thought of. I could barely bring myself to say anything else during dinner because every time I said something, the dwarfs spoke to me as though I were six years old.
I couldn’t even prove to them that I was a reasonably intelligent person because I knew nothing about them, mining, or the Middle Ages. Which was really too bad since we studied the Middle Ages in World History.
Yeah, who would have ever thought
that
would come in handy?
Finally dinner ended and I cleaned up. As I washed the dishes I analyzed my situation. The only advantage I had was that I knew what the evil queen would do next.
She’d come peddling apples, and although Snow White might have been foolish enough to fall for that trick, I 113/431
wouldn’t be. Even if I was incredibly hungry and an apple sounded really good.
If I didn’t eat the apple, I wouldn’t fall into that coma or trance, or whatever it was that happened to Snow White, and half-wit Prince Hubert wouldn’t have to awaken me with a kiss. I would just wait things out until Chrissy showed up. And while I waited I’d think of the perfect way to phrase my real wish so that Chrissy couldn’t possibly mess it up next time.
When it grew dark we went upstairs to the bedrooms.
Thankfully I had my own. It was cramped and dark, but I had a feather mattress instead of a straw one, and a warm fur blanket. All in all, a step up from being Cinderella. Although I still didn’t like being treated as though I were an idiot. Because I was smart. Even if I had nothing to show for it, like knowledge.
The next morning I decided I would prove to the dwarfs I was useful. I may not know how to cook, but I do know how to do hair. As we ate breakfast (more bread and porridge) I told the dwarfs I was an excellent hairdress-er and wanted to give them all haircuts.
Well, you have never seen people bolt down their food and run out the door so quickly.
“Wait,” I called to Reginald, because he was farthest away from the door and thus last to leave. “I’m good at it, really.”
He turned back to face me, hands out in an apologetic manner. “You with scissors near our heads? It’s just not a good idea, Snow White. Trust me on this.” He pulled his cap down tighter over his ears as though to discourage me further and added, “Remember, don’t let anyone in unless they’re from the village—no matter what. And if anyone comes poking around, you run right over to Widow Hazel’s home and tell her about it. She’ll send someone to ring the bell and then the townsfolk will gather to help you.”
“Which house is Widow Hazel’s?” I asked.
115/431
He stared at me with a hopeless expression, and I thought he might break down and cry. “It’s the one right next door.” He pointed in that direction. “Right there.
You’ve been there half a dozen times already.”
“Oh. Right. Widow Hazel’s. I won’t forget again.” He let out a sigh as though he would have liked to believe me but didn’t, then hurried after the others.
I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, then went behind the cottage and did the laundry. This involved hauling water from the well, pouring it in a barrel with soap, putting clothes in, and pounding them with a wooden stick. I was hanging their little tunics and leggings up on a line to dry when I saw her.
She wore a dark brown dress, a white wimple that covered most of her graying hair, and carried a basket under one arm. Her face was wrinkled, but she didn’t look frail or even that elderly. She smiled in my direction and I noticed that, like many of the occupants of the Middle Ages, she was missing several teeth.
I dropped a tunic on the ground and didn’t bother to pick it up. The queen had come for me already.
She walked slowly toward me. “There you are. Working hard and just as pretty as a robin.” I shook my head. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not Snow White.”
116/431
She laughed as though I’d been joking, then reached into her basket and pulled out a perfect red apple. “I’ve brought you a gift. Would you like something to eat, my dear?”
I took a step back from her, wishing I had some sort of weapon. “I’m not really the fairest in the land. I’m just the only one who has all of my teeth, that’s all.” Then I saw the laundry paddle. I picked it up and held it up like a baseball bat. “Get away from me.” She took a step back, her brows wrinkling. “Snow White, what’s come over you? Is that any way for a proper young lady to act? Put down that stick at once.” I suppose it was bound to happen. You just can’t put a modern, self-empowered girl into medieval times and not expect her to snap. I’d already had to bite my tongue and let myself be ordered around by Cinderella’s stepfamily. I was not about to stand by and let myself be poisoned.
“You want to see what I can do with this stick?” I yelled. “I can make applesauce! Take a step closer and I’ll show you how!”
She did not step closer; in fact, she ran in the other direction. Which is when I realized I couldn’t let her get away. In the fairy tale, she poisoned Snow White and that was the end of her plotting, but in my version of the story, what would the evil queen do when she failed in 117/431
that attempt? She’d try something else and I had no idea what—maybe send a dragon or an army or who knew what to destroy me. I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t let her return to the castle.
I ran around the side of the cottage after her. For an old woman, she was surprisingly fast, but I sped after her, stick in hand.
We reached the road that ran between the cottages.
The old woman kept running, right toward the center of the village. Which would prove to be her final mistake.
“Help me!” I yelled at the doorways we passed. “Come out and help me!”
We reached the well and the old woman ran around it, putting it between the two of us. We both caught our breath, panting as villagers came out of their homes to see what the noise was about.
They jogged over to us, making a circle around the well. As soon as they got within earshot, the old woman clutched the basket to her chest and pointed a finger in my direction. “Snow White has gone mad!”
“Don’t tell them your lies,” I said back. “I know who you are.”
“Of course you know who I am,” the woman said. “I’m your neighbor.”
My next few breaths came especially hard. I lowered my stick and squinted at her as though this would 118/431
somehow change what she’d just said. “You’re . . . you’re what?”
“I’m Widow Hazel. I live right next to you.” There was a murmur of consensus among the crowd and all of their gazes turned to me.
I pointed accusingly at her basket. “Well, if you’re really Widow Hazel, why did you try to give me one of those?”
She took out an apple and held it in her hand. “This?”