My Fair Godmother

by Janette Rallison

  “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 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.

  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.

  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.”

  “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 pot, nine days old. I used to think that was just a nursery 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.”

  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.”

  “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.

  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 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 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.

  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 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 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 hairdresser 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.

  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.”