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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.
Chapter 7
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.
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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.”
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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!”