Abby

It was still dark when Ivy shook me awake. "Let's go," she said. "We're losing daylight."

"How," I asked, rolling over onto my back, "can we lose daylight if there isn't any daylight to lose?"

"Just get up, Abigail," Dinah said, her voice thick with sleep. She stumbled from our bed into the main room, where I could hear her try to rouse Sophie from her stupor.

"Come on, darling, it's time to get up."

Sophie's response was a strange combination of a roar, a whine, and a grunt.

"Let's go. Ivy says it's time to go."

I sat up, leaning back on my hands and looking at Ivy. "Nice to have at least one drone in your ranks, isn't it?"

Ivy glared at me. "Just get up. We have a lot to do today."

Our gowns were still damp. I pulled mine over my head, fighting a shiver when the cool fabric molded to my skin. Dinah secured the laces with surprisingly nimble fingers, then moved onto Ivy's. As soon as Dinah left the room, an argument broke out between Sophie and Ivy about the hair ribbon that had mysteriously disappeared from Sophie's braids, but before it could turn nasty, Dinah reappeared carrying apples in the front of her gown.

"Eat." She handed us each an apple. Her tone brooked no argument.

Ivy, Sophie, and I sat on a crudely-made bench and munched on our apples while Dinah wound Ivy's hair into a knot at the base of her neck and secured mine in a single braid down my back. We'd each begun our second apple when Sophie decided that she wanted three braids instead of two.

We all saw Ivy's countenance darken, but Dinah interfered before the oldest and youngest could resume their quarrel.

"It's fine, Ivy," Dinah assured her. "It won't take any time at all. Sit still, Sophie."

While we waited for Dinah to finish braiding Sophie's hair, Ivy and I filled a canvas bag we'd found with apples out in the small orchard beside the house. The morning was still misty when we set off.

Sophie skipped ahead, and I watched her three braids bounce up and down on her back.

"She looks absurd," Ivy said.

Dinah was carrying an apple in her teeth as she pinned a final stray curl out of her face, and only shrugged in response before crunching into her breakfast.

"She usually does," I said mildly.

We let her stay a few feet ahead of us for the first twenty minutes that we walked, but once she began to sing, Ivy called her back.

Sophie pouted and began to shuffle alongside Dinah.

"What if she sang quietly?" Dinah asked in appeal to Ivy.

"What if she didn't sing at all?" I asked, irritated with her airy, undeveloped voice.

"We're still too close to the palace," Ivy said pointedly, and Dinah let the matter drop.

"Here, have another apple, darling." Dinah tossed one to Sophie, and she munched happily upon the distraction. We walked in silence for a few minutes, gravel crunching beneath our feet and apple crunching beneath Sophie's teeth, before she began to hum.

I pinched her arm.

"Ow! Di-nah! Abby pinched me!" Her face contracted, and it was clear she was trying to work up some tears.

Dinah glanced quickly at Ivy, evaluating her level of irritation with Sophie and me, then settled for a look of appeal and a soft, "Girls. Please."

I rolled my eyes but left Sophie alone. Though her chomping really was quite repulsive.

Ivy

"I think we should choose our own names," Dinah said. "They'll be easier to remember that way."

"Not all of us try to forget things just because we don't like them."

"Hush, Abby," I said. Dinah had grown more adept at hiding it when something hurt her feelings, but I saw it now on her face as she blinked and looked away.

It was now midmorning, and the day had grown warmer as the sun made the ascent to its zenith. The forest seemed louder than the grounds around the castle walls did at this same time of day.

"I want our fake names to start with the same letter as our real names," Sophie announced, her trio of braids bouncing on her back as she walked.

"Fine," I conceded. "Just choose."

"You first," she said, beginning to skip. A bluebird flitted past, and Sophie waved to it.

"Idolatry," Abby suggested.

"What kind of a name is that?" Sophie wrinkled up her nose.

"It isn't," I said.

"Ilona," Sophie said.

"Indemnity," said Abby.

"Ida."

"Ida what?" Abby said, making a face before continuing on with her absurd suggestions. "Inure."

"Ingrid," Sophie said.

"Inexact."

"Ianna."

"Incoherent."

"Imogene."

"Don't you have a doll named Imogene? Indolent."

"Yes—it's a beautiful name!"

Abby's eyes gleamed. "How about Inconspicuous?"

Dinah burst out laughing, and Abby looked pleased with herself. "See? A perfect fit that will allow you to blend it easily."

Sophie didn't seem to understand the joke. "I think Ivy's new name should be Iris," she said.

"No," I said firmly, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Sophie asked, pouting.

I hesitated. "It's too… pretty."

"You say that with such distaste," Dinah teased.

"I think it fits," Abby said, and this time she wasn't making fun.

"I do too," Dinah agreed.

I hated it when Dinah looked at me like that. She was so good and sweet that I felt like a brute in comparison, despite the difference in our height. I let her have her way. "Fine, I don't care. I'm Iris. Who's next?"

"Me!" Sophie sang. "I want to be Wilma."

There was dead silence.

"Wilma?" Dinah repeated. "That… doesn't start with an S."

"I think it's a lovely name." Sophie pouted.

"Wilma?" Abby repeated. "Honestly?"

Dinah began laughing again.

Sophie looked at us all with wide eyes. "What?"

Dinah laughed harder.

"It's not funny!" Sophie said, rounding on Dinah, who only put her arm around Sophie's shoulders and laughed harder, using her for support. "Stop it," Sophie said, pouting and pushing Dinah away.

"Forget Wilma," I said over Dinah's giggles. "If I have to be Iris, then you have to pick something that begins with an S."

"Oh fine," Sophie huffed, scowling and kicking the ground. The act ordinarily would have sent dust flying, but since it had rained so hard the day before it only left mud on the toe of her shoe, and Sophie's scowl deepened. "Well, I can't think of any good names," she said.

"Sanctity," Abby said, straight-faced.

Dinah had nearly stopped laughing at that point, but Abby's suggestion sent her into a fresh round of giggles.

"Sanctimonious," Abby continued. "Severe. Savant. Solitude. Silence—oh, that's an excellent name for you, Sophia." She sighed, running a hand over her hair to smooth it (Abby hated the thought of ever looking the least bit ruffled or unkempt). "So many options, yet only one will win out in the end."

"I ha—" Sophie broke off abruptly, looking quickly at me. I returned her gaze with a serious look, and I could have sworn she almost paled. Clearly my instruction yesterday never to use that phrase toward one of her sisters again had not fallen on deaf ears.

"Fine," she said, snapping her head forward and lifting her chin. She gave a hurt little sniffle. "I won't be Wilma. And I don't want any of your stupid names, either!" she snapped at Abby. "I'll be…I'll be…"

"Salacious," Abby said. "Ow!"

Dinah withdrew her fingers from Abby's arm, where she'd just pinched her. "Don't," she said, glancing at Sophie, clearly grateful our youngest sister had no idea what the word meant.

"Sara," Sophie said decisively. She clearly had not been paying attention to the interactions of the last few moments. "I'll be Sara."

Dinah, Abby, and I all looked at one another. Dinah studied Sophie momentarily, then nodded. "I think it suits her." She smiled. "It means 'princess.'"

Sophie's face brightened immediately. "It does?"

Dinah nodded.

"Good," I broke in briskly. "That will suffice. So, tell me, Susan, where are you from?"

Sophie frowned. "I don't… remember."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Good, because your name's not Susan."

"Oh, right. Sara. My name's Sara."

"Oh, very artful," Abby said. "So natural-sounding. I'm confident no one will suspect a thing."

"All right, all right," Dinah said. "That's enough. We still have plenty of time to practice until it's natural using the false names and giving the false answers. We haven't even decided yet where we'll be from. Shall we all be from the same place, or different ones?"

"Different," Abby and I said at the same time, then glared at one another. Speaking in unison was so cute, and Abby and I both hated to be cute.

The conversation continued much as it had before, with various arguments arising and being ignored, feelings being hurt and healed, ideas tossed up and some snatched up with others quickly thrown aside. We finished choosing names first, because, in my mind, that was the easiest matter to address.

Once Dinah became Davina, and Abby became Abra, however, we had to decide who was going with whom.

I could see that Sophie hoped she'd be paired with Dinah, and while I was inclined to give her what she wanted, something held me back. I tried to imagine the two of them fending for themselves, imagining what sorts of trouble they could fall into and how they would pull themselves out. And, as hard as I tried, I simply could not see them coming out of a scrape successfully. They were both too sweet, both too soft.

Abby and Dinah knew what I was thinking before I said it, but it was to their credit that neither one protested.

"Sophie will go with me," I announced. "And Dinah and Abby will go together."

"That's not fair!" Sophie burst out. "I wanted to be with Dinah!"

Dinah took her hand. "Don't fret, sweet. Ivy's right. This is the best combination. An older girl and a younger."

"But…But why can't I go with you? Make Abby go with Ivy. Ivy's so mean to me. She hate—doesn't like me."

"Nonsense," Dinah scoffed. I didn't hear the next few words, but her tone was clear enough: warm and sweet and comforting. I felt a strange sort of ache inside of me. My sister thought I hated her? Was she merely being dramatic, or was there something substantial to her accusation? I felt a deep pang of guilt and regret, but, at a loss for how to cope with it, I simply lifted my chin and walked on.

Behind me, Dinah had adopted a mock whisper. "Ivy and Abby fight far too often to live without the mediators," she said. "They need the two of us with them to keep things from getting out of control. You can do that, can't you? Help Ivy, wherever it is you go?"

"But I wanted to stay with you," Sophie moaned. She sounded absolutely pathetic, and I felt my guilt evaporate as a wave of annoyance rushed over me.

"You're going with Ivy," Dinah said, and I was surprised at the firmness of her tone. I glanced at her over my shoulder, but she was too absorbed watching Sophie to notice. "And it will be more than fine."

Her features were soft, not at all tense, but her eyes were bright, and I hoped she wouldn't cry. Tears at that moment would have likely prompted Sophie into hysterics.

Sophie's face crumpled, and her chin wobbled, but she didn't cry. Beside me, Abby gave an exasperated sort of sigh.

"That's settled, then," she said. "Now how are we going to disguise ourselves?"

That night, in an old barn near a field of abandoned corn, we discovered a pair of scissors and set to work.

Long hair was a luxury that few could afford. Because we were all unmarried, my sisters and I had to either wear our hair down or low on our head. Only married women were permitted to wear their hair piled on the tops of their heads. But commoners, even married women, rarely did anything to their hair other than cover it up.

I was the only one wearing a dark underskirt, so we used it, and cut the fabric into large, messy triangles. Dinah apologized repeatedly, insisting that we should use hers instead, but I refused. I was actually pleased to be rid of the thing.

Headwear prepared, I laid the four scraps aside and turned to examine Dinah's hair. I lifted one of her thick, dark curls, and Sophie whimpered.

I opened my mouth to chastise her, but Dinah spoke before I was able to. "None of that," she said. Her eyes were shut tightly, but her voice was firm. She flinched at the sound of the first curl being snipped, but after that she sat rigidly still as curl after curl fell to the floor, and her waist-length hair shrank until it only touched her shoulders.

Dinah's dark curls mingled with the hay scattered on the ground. She squatted and picked one up. She touched it with one finger, then closed her fist around it tightly. Taking in a breath, she straightened, letting the curl fall from her fingers as she did. Without even touching her new haircut, she picked up one of the crudely-made head cover and tied it at the base of her neck.

We were all staring at her. She stared back.

Her dress was too fine, but from the neck up, she was utterly convincing.

Abby broke the silence. "I'll go next."

I handed the scissors over to Dinah, who handled them with ease, in contrast to my awkwardness.

After cutting Abby's hair so it rested on her shoulders, she paused, one hand on her hip. "All the village girls I've seen that are around your age have—"

"No," Abby said.

"Abby."

"I'm not doing it."

"Doing what?" Sophie asked.

"It's not happening," Abby said.

"Getting a fringe," Dinah explained.

"No."

If she and Dinah hadn't been so pale, I might have laughed. But there was something unsettling about all that dark hair strewn across the wooden floorboards of the hayloft. The significant physical altering of appearance served as a sobering reminder that our lives had changed in a way none of us could have predicted.

"You have to," Dinah said. "I'm sorry." She sounded sorry, and when she snipped the first piece of hair over Abby's forehead, she and Abby both cringed.

Dinah tied up Abby's hair for her when she was finished, imitating the village girls by leaving the childish fringe to hang on her forehead. Abby's jaw was tight.

She gave Sophie a messy haircut to make it appear as though she'd given it to herself, and I had Dinah cut my hair so short that it curved on the back of my neck, and didn't quite reach my chin.

When we finished, we stood in a circle, looking at one another. Dinah cupped the bulky scissors that had done their work well.

"We have to alter our gowns," she said.

"In the morning," I said. There had been enough snipping for one night.

No one argued. We adjourned to the corner of the hayloft farthest from our discarded hair and curled up in the hay. Dinah sneezed twice.

"I think I'm allergic," she said.

"We'll move," I said.

"No. It's fine." She laid down and covered her head with her arm. Sophie snuggled up beside her, and Dinah uncovered her head long enough to tuck a piece of hair that had fallen onto her forehead behind her ear.

I drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours. Abby woke first, and we shook the other two awake a few minutes later. We sat silently in the hay for another hour, watching the glint of the scissors as Dinah cut into the expensive fabric and tied strips of the dresses together to make them look older.

We slept at irregular hours, so that sometimes we would travel all day and sleep all night, or travel all night and sleep during the day. Once we traveled from long before sunup until only mid afternoon, and slept until the next morning.

We practiced calling one another by our false names, and tested Sophie while she was falling asleep, training her to react correctly even if she was exhausted. I tested Dinah right after I woke her each time, and she got better. I tried everything I could think of to trick Abby, but it was pointless. She might as well have been born with the name Abra.

It didn't seem possible, but we were ready, or as ready as we were ever going to be.

Five days and a lifetime later, the sun was just coming up, and we walked into Dowdren.