“Thrice?” I repeated.

“Three times,” he said as though I didn’t know what thrice meant. Which I didn’t, but still—in the movie 101/431

there was only the time with the woodcutter and the poisoned apple.

“We already explained to you that the old lady peddler was Queen Neferia in disguise,” he said slowly. “She tried to kill you with the poisoned comb and with the belt. Which is why you are not to go shopping anymore, no matter how pretty the wares, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Now that he mentioned it, I vaguely remembered that in the Grimm version of Snow White, the queen had come twice before her trip with the apple and nearly killed Snow White with other deadly items.

And when you looked at it that way, Snow White had to be pretty idiotic to keep falling for the same trick.

I took a few steps in silence and realized what this meant. In this wish, apparently I was stupid. Or at least the dwarfs thought I was. I was going to have to set them straight about that right off.

We came to a clearing in the woods where not only one house stood but an entire village, complete with a church, a mill, stables, and a well.

“Go into the house,” the dwarf told me. “I’ll ring the church bell to let the others know you’re safe.” He let go of my arm and headed toward the church. I stood there staring at a row of cottages and wondering which one was the dwarfs’ home.

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He turned back to check on me and when he noticed I hadn’t moved, he said, “Well?”

“Which one is our house?” Okay, so this wasn’t the best way to impress him with my intelligence, but what else could I do? He rolled his eyes, let out a sigh, and took me by the hand again.

“This way,” he said and led me toward a large cottage in the middle of the street.

Oh. I should have guessed it was the biggest one since it had seven men living in it.

He might have said more, but just then two more dwarfs appeared out of different cottages as though going on a door-to-door search. One wore a gray cap, the other a black one, but both had long gray beards and wore the same baggy brown clothes that the first dwarf had on. They hadn’t seen us yet, so the dwarf beside me waved at them. “I found her! She’s fine.” The one in the black cap let out a relieved sigh. “I’ll go ring the church bell to let the others know.” He turned and trotted off toward the church. The one in the gray cap walked toward me, smiling.

I tried to guess his name. “Happy?”

“Of course we are,” he said. “We were worried that the queen had taken you someplace.” He took hold of my other hand and the three of us went into our cottage.

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The dwarf in the brown cap took on the frustrated tone of a parent as he spoke to me. “You’re far too trusting, Snow White. You’d like to help every stranger and animal that comes your way—and that’s admirable—but there are things to fear in the forest: bears, and thieves, and your stepmother. So you mustn’t go walking there by yourself again, agreed?”

Instead of answering him I looked around at the cottage. A rough-hewn table and benches sat before me, nothing like the intricately carved furniture in the Cinderella manor. Large beams spread across a low ceiling. If I stood on tiptoes I’d probably bang my head.

Everything seemed narrow and cramped. How could I promise them to stay inside all the time? Stairs in the corner of the room must lead to the bedrooms. I wondered if I had my own room. Even as Cinderella I had my own room. Okay, it was a hovel off the kitchen with a straw mattress, but at least I didn’t have privacy issues.

“Agreed?” the dwarf prompted.

I couldn’t answer him for fear that lizards would drop out of my mouth. Instead I said, “Can we talk later? I’m a little hungry right now.”

“Yes,” the first dwarf said. “It’s past time for our supper. We’ll wash up while you see to the porridge.” 104/431

“Oh.” I’d forgotten that in this fairy tale, Snow White did all the cooking and cleaning for the dwarfs. Great.

Just great. More chores.

I walked out of the main room and into the kitchen.

Off in the distance, I heard the church bell ring. To me it sounded like a scolding parent. Ring! Ring! Our beautiful but idiotic charge has been found wandering around the forest for no apparent reason! Ring!

In the kitchen I found a pot of split-pea soup already hanging in a kettle over the fire. I’d learned from my stint as Cinderella that the cook never took the soup off the fire. They didn’t have refrigerators to store it, so they just left it there cooking day after day and kept adding more beans and vegetables to it. Of course my WSM and stepsisters never ate the soup. It was just for the servants. The nobility ate meat, wheat bread, and all sorts of pies that, trust me, after three weeks of eating porridge and rye bread, smelled fabulous.

Apparently here at the dwarfs’ home we all ate like servants. A lump of bread dough sat rising on a board. I slid it into a dome-shaped oven that was built into the side of the hearth.

Then I picked vegetables from a basket on the floor, cut them up, and added them into the pot. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the 105/431

pot, nine days old. I used to think that was just a nurs-ery rhyme, not a way of life.

From the kitchen, I heard them discussing me as they came into the main room from outside. “One of us will just have to stay at the cottage and keep an eye on her.

That’s all there is to it.”

“You know we can’t do that. The mine takes all of our time.”

“Let’s see if Widow Hazel wouldn’t take her in during the day, maybe teach her something useful—”

“No, remember when she learned how to knit? Now we’re stuck wearing these dreadful hats.”

“Not so loud! She’ll hear you.” In a lower voice, one of the dwarfs said, “H. A. T. S.” Apparently Snow White didn’t know how to knit or how to spell. I left the soup and stood by the doorway so I could hear them better.

“Besides,” another dwarf said, “we can’t pawn her off on our neighbor forever. We need to find her a proper husband.”

“You’ve tasted her soup. What kind of man would be willing to take her for a wife?” There was a long pause, then one of the dwarfs said,

“One who’s wealthy enough to have a cook. After all, Snow White’s a beauty and from a royal line. And you couldn’t find a more caring lass.” 106/431

A general murmuring of consensus floated around the room and some even threw out names in suggestion, until one of the dwarfs said, “None of those men would have her—not when her head’s as empty as her dowry.” Another murmuring of consensus rose from the room, which I resented. My head was not empty.

“Aye, we’re doomed. We’ll be eating burned bread for the rest of our lives.”

“And chasing after her every time she wanders off into the forest.”

“And worrying that the queen will try to poison her again.”

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.”

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“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?