by Andi Adams
The queen gasped a dramatic breath and covered her mouth with her gnarled hand. "Oh my dearest angel… can it be true? That I have found her? I have been so desperately lost without ma petite fille." At the overwhelming emotion, the queen again faked heaving sobs.
The ringleader walked over to the horse that stood almost a foot over his head, and patted the woman on the foot. "There, there. There's no need for tears now. We will bring you to your granddaughter and, though we will miss her terribly, it will please us to reunite her with her proper home. Her real family."
At this, the little men looked overtaken with sadness. Even the gimpy one who kept quiet seemed to curl more into himself.
"You are too kind. Please, Messieurs, lead the way. I am eager to have my heart and soul, the key to my happiness, back in my possession where it belongs."
After waiting all day for their arrival, as she always did, Genevieve bounded out the front door upon the first noise outside, eager to greet the men from their long day at work.
"Oh, boys, you're going to love what I've prepared for… oh…I'm sorry, I did not see that you brought company." Genevieve offered a small curtsey. "My apologies, Madame."
Sib and Eron looked at one another.
"Company?" Sib said.
"Madame?" said Eron.
"Snow, of course, you recognize this woman… don't you?" Sib said.
"Her name is not Snow, it is Genevieve," said the old woman.
Genevieve sucked in a quick breath, and she watched the brothers look at her quizzically.
"Snow, what is she talking about?" Tyne asked.
"Gentlemen, please don't overwhelm her. I warned you she is a sick young woman. Her memory comes and goes. Sometimes she is lucid, and sometimes, not. I have been so worried she would forget even her own name or how to care for herself. She has mental ailments and it is no wonder she is having difficulty placing my face." She stepped a bit closer to the young girl. "Genevieve, my love, it's me, your grandmère. Come with me, ma belle. Let's go home."
From behind Genevieve, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, the gimpy dwarf extended his arms, full of sundry items. "Welp, yup, here ya go, don't let the door hit'cha on the way out…" He attempted to stuff the belongings into the girl's arms, but was thwarted by the portly brother, who'd intercepted the gesture. The gimp huffed and crossed his arms in defeat.
The old woman extended her twig-like fingers and offered her hand to Genevieve, but she backed away trembling.
"No, Madame, I'm sorry, but I do not know you. You must be mistaking me for someone else, but I can assure you I am not your granddaughter."
The old woman offered an uneasy clearing her throat and turned toward the little men. "Can we just have a moment, Messieurs? I'm certain, if given the chance, I can remind her—"
Sib took the stranger firmly by the crook of her elbow. "I cannot allow you to speak with her any further, Madame. You are upsetting her, and it is clear she does not know you. I believed your story to be possible, but it is unlikely Snow does not recognize your face. She has been with us for weeks now, and she has never once mentioned you or has never shown us gaps in her mental stability. So I'm afraid it is you that is mistaken. You must leave. Now."
The woman glimpsed over at Genevieve with one last pleading look and offered an apology for the misunderstanding. Sib and Flic stood on one side of Genevieve while Tyne, Eron, and Grog stood on the other. They stood together like a clan and waited for the woman to recede back into dark edge of the forest.
19
Genevieve was grateful when the dwarves ushered her back inside the cottage. They sat her down on a stool and circled around, five concerned little faces staring and waiting. Eron extended a glass of water to her, but she shook her head and dismissed it with a polite wave.
"I'm fine, really, a little confused is all."
Tyne asked, "Why did you grow upset when she called you 'Genevieve?’”
"I… it's a long story. Genevieve is my real name, my birth name. But once I left home, I chose to leave that name and that life behind." She furrowed her brow. "I'm certain I don't know her, but I wonder, how she knew my name?" Genevieve turned her attention back to them. "I am so thankful for your concern and your protection. It means the world to be to have such friends as you." She flashed them a tender smile and squeezed Tyne's hand.
"Your birth name wasn't all she knew," Sib said. "She described you perfectly. That's the only reason we felt comfortable enough with her story to bring her here. And the fact she knows you, but you don't know her, is certainly curious." He scratched his head and then he struggled to sit his not-so-nimble body on the floor by her feet.
"The other reason we believed her is because, though we've gotten to know a good deal about you over the past few weeks, we still don't know anything about where you came from."
"Yeah, what did you mean by 'the life you left behind?'" Grog asked. "Do you even have a family?"
"Aren't they missing you?" asked Tyne.
Eron chimed in, "I bet they are."
"Don't you miss them?" asked Sib.
"Don't you want to go back?" Grog asked.
A steady stream of interruption and inquisitiveness coursed louder and louder through the tiny space. Genevieve’s gaze darted from one to the other as the questions kept coming.
"Please, enough," Genevieve said. "All of you, please." To silence them, she raised her hands in the air and then set them gently back on her lap. "You don't understand, I don't have a family. You are my family now."
She searched their faces for a speck of understanding or satisfaction in her answer, and when she found none, she inhaled deeply before continuing. "The reason we haven't talked about it is because I don't want to think on it. Not for a minute. I have no desire to return to my past life. It was a life full of sorrow and devastation. It was far from a happy childhood, and it is for the best I was able to escape it."
"So when we found you, you were running away?" asked Eron, intrigue etched into his face.
“Sort of, yes. You see my stepmother is Queen Agrippine,” a collective gasp from the brothers interrupted her confession, but she continued without pause, "…and she has treated me terribly ever since I was a little girl. So many years of abuse and hatred, but I got on as best as I could, taking comfort in my studies, in the maternal warmth of a house-servant named Marnie who cared for me, and in the love of a servant boy named Oliver who… who…." At the mention of his name and the recollection of his fate, Genevieve's chest tightened and it was difficult for her to draw in any air. It was the first time she allowed herself to think on her final moments with him.
As she described Oliver's fate, her voice caught in her throat, followed by a quiet gulp. Eron, who also sat on the floor around Genevieve's feet with the rest of his brothers, patted her knee. Genevieve covered his hand in hers and patted it, too.
"Some of the details here are a little unclear to me," she said, "but Oliver had woken me one night after he overheard the queen's plan to murder me. He said we needed to run. So we took off, and after a few hours in the woods, Oliver was overcome with a malaise that struck him senseless. He couldn't speak. Couldn't move. He had made me promise if anything happened to him I would still run, with or without him. I…I didn't want to leave him. I would have rather died. But I know it is what he wanted. He wanted me to be safe, be…because he loved me. He must have been put to death after his capture. Agrippine would never have let him live after trying to help me escape."
Tears openly flowed down her cheeks, and Tyne reached into his pocket to offer her a handkerchief. Genevieve took it, gave him a small smile in return, and dabbed at her face with the soft cloth that smelled like pine needles and oak.
"I ran as far as I could for as long as I could, but without food or supplies, I became desperate and drank the first water I could find, which is thankfully when you happened upon me." She exhaled as if she had released a burden off her chest.
Five faces stared up at her, thei
r raised eyebrows, a clear indication of their shock.
Eron stuttered, “W…wait, does that mean you're...you're...."
"A princess?" finished Tyne.
"You mean, the Princess," Grog said.
Sib covered his gasp with his hand. "Oh my stars."
"Please, brothers, it doesn't mean anything," she said. "Clearly, I don't care about any of that seeing as I can never return to the castle or my former life, nor would I want to. If it's all right with you, I'd rather stay here. I'll tend to the house and to the chores. And now that I am getting better at cooking, I will take care of the meals. I will care for the garden to ensure we have a hearty harvest and I can—"
"We are appreciative that you do all of those things, but we would be happy to have you stay even if you didn't," Sib said. "We are thankful to have you here and are glad you are now safe from harm. You can stay with us for as long as you'd like. But, Snow, though I haven't known you long, I know you well enough to say you would make a fair and just Queen. Maybe one day you will change your mind and want to return to save your people from the wicked rule of your stepmother. No pressure, of course, but we are here for you if you need our help."
Genevieve fidgeted with her hands and the gold ring upon her finger. "I… I appreciate your offer, but I can never go back there. I… I'd rather stay with you if… if you are certain you'll have me. Are you certain? Even you, Grog?"
A gravid pause.
"Well, I guess it's all right," Grog said. "I mean, you're not as much of a pain in the ass as you initially were, and thank god your cooking has improved or else we might all be dead by now."
The group laughed and surrounded Genevieve, embracing her in a tight hug.
Sib drew back from the embrace and eyed her intently., "Now you must listen to me. After hearing you tell the story of your past, I feel I must insist you be extra careful while we are out of the house for the day. You answer the door for no one and you keep inside unless one of us is near."
The brothers nodded in agreement.
Eron continued where Sib left off. "Yeah, you can't be sure the queen did not discover you were never executed. So you must keep yourself inside and out of harm's way."
Tyne interrupted, "What if she does realize you are still alive? She could come for you. And if she comes while we're away, how will you protect yourself? She or her guards could cross that old woman who might give up your location. And clearly she must know you to some extent if she could describe you so well and knew your name and—"
"Shh," Genevieve said, attempting to soothe the men from their panic. "Don't you worry about me, mes amis. I will be fine. I have been here for a few weeks, and it doesn't seem as if she knows. Trust me, if she knew and she wanted me back, she would have sent her guards out to search the kingdom high and low until I was found."
The brothers exchanged nervous glances.
"I have an idea," Eron said. "What if one of us stays home with you every day? We'll rotate shifts so you'll never have to be alone."
Flic nodded overtly in a gesture of concurrence and raised his hand in the air to volunteer to take the first assignment of duty.
"Oh, boys, I couldn't ask that of you," Genevieve said. "Though it means so much you would offer, I know you must do what you can to sustain this household, and with me not bringing in any money, I cannot accept your generous offer."
She bowed to kiss Flic on the top of his head and turned back with a sharpened adamancy in her voice. "I must insist we continue as we have been. I will not allow her to uproot your lives as she has mine. She has had control for far too long, and I refuse to permit her to dominate my new life now that I have made it on my own."
"All right then, if you feel comfortable with that then it is fine by us," Sib said. "But if you change your mind at any time, you know we wouldn't mind staying — all you have to do is ask." Sib smiled at Genevieve and she smiled in return. And in those smiles, so much was said with no words at all.
With a jovial bounce to her voice, Genevieve asked, "So… who's ready for dinner?"
The brothers stoked the fire, which provided the only source of heat on such a bitter night. As they prepared for bed, Genevieve trembled under the thin veil of her nightclothes. She had come with very little, and there was no market or material to make or buy clothes. Most days she wore a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs gifted to her from the little men.
Tyne, the tallest of the brothers, had routed through his belongings and found several articles that came close to almost fitting. The other brothers had searched too, but Sib and Eron's clothing was too loose, as they were more rounded in their middles, and therefore her clothing sat upon her petite frame like a potato sack. Flic too had difficulty finding anything of value, as he was by far the smallest of the brothers. And Grog didn't even bother looking.
In the end, they managed to muster some day-clothes for her out of the scraps they pieced together from their own wardrobes, but for a nightdress, they manipulated a bed sheet, which was rather threadbare, and fastened it about her waist with tapestry cord. It was far from the fashions she had known at the castle but, in her position, she wasn't about to complain.
After the misunderstanding earlier, Genevieve couldn't quiet her mind and was the very last to go to bed. She was cold down to the bone and was thoroughly shaken, even though she did not voice her worry to her brothers. The fire would continue to burn throughout the night, but her bed was not close enough to feel the blaze upon her skin.
She rubbed her hands together, the friction tingling between her palms, and mustered the courage to leave the fire's side. Though she insisted they keep them for themselves, the men had already sacrificed what blankets they could. They swore they were accustomed to such temperatures, and it was evident she was not. But before she stood up from her spot on the floor, a small figure appeared as a silhouette draped in the orange light of the fire.
"Here."
Grog handed her a pair of ruddy worn slippers.
Genevieve looked at him blankly. An awkward moment of silence remained suspended between them as the snores of the other brothers filled the space.
"Here," Grog said. "I'm not going to hold them all night. Take 'em."
His voice was forceful and sarcastic, but not harsh. He shook the slippers at her until she reached out and took them. She stared into his hazel eyes.
"And uh…sorry for trying to get rid of ya earlier. It’s just that umm—" he shuffled his feet and cast his eyes downward.
"Th…thank you, Grog. I…I don't know what to say." She was shocked, bewildered, and captivated by his change of heart. "Not just for these," she gestured with the slippers, "but for allowing me to stay. I know it's not what you want."
"Yeah, whatever, don't mention it." And with that, he turned abruptly. She noticed his little bare feet hobbling back in the direction of his bed.
Genevieve glanced at the slippers again. Her eyes creased at the corners as her mouth formed a wide smile. Certainly, it was no small task welcoming her into their home, sharing their space and their goods, and she fully understood the inconvenience it posed, especially to Flic who insisted she keep his bed. The more time she spent with them, the more she not only appreciated their sacrifices, but each one's personality and individual flair.
Sib, so knowledgeable and paternal, was the patriarch who saw to it things ran smoothly from day to day. It was because of his compassionate heart and intelligence she was even alive at all. Eron was a plump man who sort of waddled as he walked. But Genevieve loved his laugh, which not only shook his gut, but also the walls of the cottage when it rang. He would hold his stomach and tilt his head back, allowing the fiery red locks to flop about on his head. The sound would ricochet off the walls, almost doubling its volume to cause reverberation within her bones. It was so uninhibited she couldn't help but laugh along with him.
Tyne, more quiet and pensive, was lanky and awkward, with big ears and even bigger feet. He was the tallest of the brothers, and his hair wa
s always unkempt. But generous in spirit and willing to lend a hand, he never had to be asked to help. Flic, the youngest, was also the runt. He got all the hand-me-downs from his brothers, so the clothes he wore never fit properly. He was silent as a monk and only gestured when it was necessary. More often than not, he didn't need to since his facial expressions were animated enough.
And Grog, who was squat and slightly hunchbacked since he compensated in his posture for his clubfoot, was slowly becoming Genevieve's favorite.
Genevieve loved each and every one of them and was determined to contribute in the best way she knew how to the betterment of their tightly woven community, and she was grateful for all they had taught her in the short time she'd been with them.
The next morning, she had big plans for the day while the men went to work: to make blackberry jam to go with the biscuits she was preparing for dinner. She knew blackberry jam was Tyne's favorite, and today was his birthday. She took a moment by her bedside to thank the gods for her blessings, something she hadn’t done in quite sometime. She bowed her head in prayer for her new family, her new domestic skills (though they were coming along more slowly than she'd liked), and her inner contentment at being appreciated and loved by these wonderful little men.
Once finished, she shuffled in her ill-fitting slippers to the fireplace, which was still alight with a soft crackling glow. She looked through the window and noticed a figure lurking outside. Shrouded by a dark cloak, the figure sidled past. Genevieve stood frozen, unsure what to do.
Perhaps it is only a passerby. Nothing to fear.
But when has there ever been a passerby before? We are so deeply hidden in the wood, it's difficult to imagine a random person would simply happen upon our cottage.
