I walk upstairs and mark a new “X” on our wall to keep track of Father’s trip. Then I suck up my pride and look over at Izzie.
Slumped on the chaise, her eyes are glued to the pages of an old book.
How many times can she possibly read Snow White?
“Father should’ve returned by now, don’t you think?” I ask.
“Not necessarily.” She flips a page. “It’s only been four days.”
“It’s been six, Izzie.”
“What?” She shuts the book. “Are you sure?”
I nod, pointing at the wall. “Tomorrow will make seven. I’ll check the tavern in a few.”
“No, no, no. There’s no need for you to do that.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You don’t need to go there at all.” She presses a hand against her chest, and her face pales as white as a ghost.
“Um…Do you think we should go search for him, then?”
She jumps off the chaise without answering my question.
Hastily pulling open her chest of drawers, she tosses clothes onto the floor like a madwoman.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” She mutters to herself, rummaging through box after box.
“Pick up all my things and stuff them into my largest satchel, Belle,” she demands. “Then you need to prepare two lunch pails for me.”
“Izzie, what exactly are you—”
“Now.” She turns around, glaring at me. “Save whatever sarcastic remark you’re tempted to say and do it now.”
“Fine.” I oblige and smear butter atop two sweet loaves before tucking them inside a pail with fruit. Even though she’s behaving like an utter bitch, I make a third pail and add cheese for good measure.
She undresses and redresses, tying and retying her favorite cerulean ribbon around her ponytail, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.
When I’m done packing all her things, she’s full-on bawling.
“Why me?” She cries. “Why?”
A small part of me wants to console her, but I’ve played nice enough this week. Hopefully, she’ll stop soon so that I can read the rest of my book in peace.
After buckling her shoes, she walks over to me and places her hands on my shoulders.
“I’ve never said this before, but I’m sorry I didn’t stick up for you as much as I could’ve over the years,” she whispers. “I should’ve protected you from Father’s wrath more … I know that deep down you hate him and you’d be ecstatic if he died, but I won’t be.”
“Then why are you speaking as if he’s already dead?”
“He just never understood you.” She shakes her head. “You’re so damn difficult to love at times.”
“Is this conversation going somewhere, Izzie?”
“Although I’ll never be able to forgive you for turning down Prince Charming that day, I can understand why you did.”
“Can you really?”
“Um hm.” She presses a kiss against my forehead. “You feel unworthy of love because you know that no man will ever love a classless, unsophisticated woman like you.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s exactly the reason.”
“I know. I’ve read about it.” She hugs me so tightly that I can barely breathe, and while she tells me how life as a spinster “won’t be so bad,” I insert her into my dragon-burning fantasy. I smile as the fire reduces her body to nothing but ashes as well.
“Well, that’s enough of that.” She finally pulls away from me. “Since I’m his favorite, I’ll go look for him alone with Madeline, okay?” she says. “If it takes me too long to return, you should come look for me.”
“I think we should reverse roles, Izzie. You’re not that good on horseback, and you don’t know your way around the woods.”
“I’m smart enough to figure it out.” She pauses. “Do you think there are spiders in the woods? If so, is there a way that I can avoid them?”
I stare at her blankly.
“I’ll just scream if I see any,” she says. “That’ll scare them away.”
I refuse to waste any sarcasm on her.
“I’ll prepare some water gourds for you,” I say, heading outside.
Filling them, I screw the tops on tight before walking to our second horse, Madeline—the one Father took from me and gave to Izzie—and secure them on the saddle.
“You’re well aware that my sister is an idiot, Madeline,” I whisper against her neck. “Take the path I always show you and send me word through the birds if she encounters trouble.”
Madeline nods as Izzie bursts through the door.
Without saying another word, I help her onto the saddle and adjust her bags. I even offer her a pair of gloves, so she won’t feel insects crawling over her hands.
“Goodbye, Belle.” She wipes a stream of tears away. “Wish me luck.”
“I’ll come look for you if you don’t return in two days,” I say.
“Make it four.” She jerks the reins. “Take care.”
Madeline gallops toward the woods, and when I can’t hear the hooves hitting the ground anymore, I head inside and light a fire in the hearth.