Until age fourteen I loved to climb. The last day I did so remained vividly with me even now. No one was to blame for it. No one did a thing wrong, not in their understanding of the world and what was right.

Children knew innocence, and children knew cruelty, and it was fine for all children to partake in both, until the very moment they could identify which was which. For that day would be the day they were no longer children and they must answer for what they'd done.

My day came with Edmond. Our siblings' were still a long ways off.

The two brothers dressed in white no matter where they went. Grandmother doted on them. I'd been jealous at first until she compensated me by giving me far more attention than previously.

So, as she set the two out to play, she pulled me into a hug and handed me a picnic basket with a pat on the cheek.

For Bella, she gave a cold glance then waited.

I marched out, basket held in both hands, and Arabella skulked away, ashamed.

No matter if Arabella were down, I'd get her to grin eventually.

"I bet you we have cakes!" I announced.

Bella's eyes lit up. She fixed her bonnet and hurried to reach me. "Did you do as I requested?"

Hatless, I gave her a proud smile and boasted. "Of course!" My voice dropped as we ran together. "I told her I now hated strawberry and wanted apple jam."

Bella beamed. We held the basket between us and raced.

One thing interesting about the brothers was their method of play. Bella and I always stayed close. The boys always parted ways. Each would look for adventure then report back what he'd found.

It was not a terrible idea, but once Bella and I decided on a good place for our basket, we instead held hands and debated who to follow.

Raphael took dangerous leaps and always found mischief. Edmond was more cautious and studied all he saw.

Thus, we chose Raphael.

No sooner had we entered the forest, that the brown-skinned boy raced toward us, cheering.

"Look!"

It was a robin's egg. Bella peered at it, awed. When she picked it up, Raphael pointed to where the nest was. He'd climbed and so I understood his meaning when he grinned.

He said few words but jumped up to catch a branch. Not to be outdone, I hiked up my summer dress and raced him.

The nest at the very top was a treasure.

Bella tried her best but had to come back down. "It's far too high. You'll fall and break your neck and I won't cry for you!" she complained.

It was the panic in her voice that made me look from the eggs to Raphael. With a shrug, he climbed back down again. I watched the nest.

How lovely to see life about to come.

But as I started down, Bella yelled back up, "But won't you bring it to let me see them?"

I paused. Bring it? The nest? The entire thing?

She wasn't coming up, and the eggs weren't coming down on their own. For a long moment, I debated what action to take. But Bella begged and I gave in.

"Oh, all right. Wait." Getting down again with eggs tucked into my skirts was no easy task but I managed.

Bella loved them. I had to admit that the color was perfect; they matched her eyes.

"Oh, but if we could have this color in our jewels and clothing. Wouldn't it be lovely?" she asked me.

It would but I couldn't celebrate with her. She tossed one egg to Raphael who barely reacted in time to catch it. He laughed and threw it back.

When it broke against the tree, a gasp came.

Edmond.

He'd found us and the anger on his face transcended the fast, rage-filled words he lobbed at his brother.

Though we could not understand it, Raphael shook off the insult and turned to run.

"Wait, it's nearly time for lunch!" Bella warned. But he darted away so she shoved the remaining eggs into my hands and chased after him.

That left the two of us. Edmond was slow to approach. His anger radiated with each step.

Once he looked at the eggs in my grip, he picked the first up and held it to the sky.

Cracked.

The next gasp was mine. Frantic, I lowered them to the ground and checked the others. All cracked.

It wasn't too far from the one Raphael and Bella had broken.

"They're just eggs," I said, tears stinging my eyes.

Because they weren't just eggs. They'd had an owner, a place they belonged.

When I focused on Edmond, I wondered for the first time if he had a place he belonged as well. Would his mother, like these chicks' mother, return to an empty nest and cry that he wasn't there?

I thought to ask but Edmond took the eggs from me and said, "Best to be gentle." He met my gaze, adding, "Even when you don't think it's needed."

We remained there for a moment and when we stood, wrecked with shame, I looked up at the nest, now empty. It had been fine right there without me. It had been perfect.

Now, as I stood by the window in my grandmother's house, so far from that forest and that crime scene, I witnessed something unsettling.

Cinderella planted both feet when her father tried to drag her into the carriage. I did not know where they were going or when they'd return.

This morning for breakfast, I'd promised to spend the day with her. But when her father arrived home at lunch, he'd said nothing to me.

Now, he picked Cinderella up to take her to the carriage and my breath left me. All life left me. In the blink of an eye, I was down those steps. I was racing through the hall, I was thundering from the house, and I was dragging her off his shoulder.

"That is not how you treat someone," I screamed.

He turned on me, a cold gaze I'd never known but would grow accustomed.

"Why are you still here?" he demanded.

I didn't have an answer. I missed that chance when Cinderella clung to me, crying, "Governess, please. I'll go with the governess. I promise."

Gareth tried for her, but Cinderella sidestepped him. At the next attempt, I realized I'd moved in anticipation as well.

"Where is it you need to go?" I demanded. "I'll take her."

He gazed at me, a look so volatile that I nearly lost hope.

Kissing under his teeth he said to the driver, "You bring them," before readying a horse for himself.

Within minutes, he was gone and I stood there with my new charge, a frightened young girl.

"Okay," I soothed. "It's all over now. Come. Let us go where we need to."

She gripped me like a lost soul clinging to a mortal coil draining of life. Eyes closed, body still hunched over, she inched toward the carriage.

Getting her in was a chore in the time it took but I waited. That surprised me; having this much patience was rare on my part.

"Come now. Am I to pick you up like a baby?"

Under her shivering came a chuckle. Her head still hung, eyes shut tight, gripping my dress, she inched toward the carriage.

Something about it frightened her, but I couldn't say what.

"Perhaps it's the horses," Edmond said, approaching. "I'm sure she'll calm once inside."

To my surprise, he put me into the carriage without much effort and Cinderella, still clutching me, followed. Once the door closed, I peered out and told Edmond, "Have the cook prepare something nice for when we come back."

Edmond nodded.

We set off.

From what Cinderella muttered, head still hung and pressed against me, she was to visit her grandmother. The woman had come once, taken one look at Edmond, and vowed never to return.

"I bet she's very nice," I insisted, more so because I wanted to believe it. I needed to.

Each bump had the girl fighting back a shriek.

"Governess," she said after thirty minutes, "I'm going to be sick."

"Oh, no!" Two raps on the roof had the driver stopping. I spilled out of the carriage in time to drag Cinderella along with me. Up came lunch and breakfast, again and again.

She was in tears by the time I cleaned her face and fixed her beautiful hair.

The girl shivered.

I didn't understand it. She also made no motion to enter the carriage once more.

"Cinderella, darling, we must go." Despite the fervent headshake, I caught her arms and asked, "Is it the carriage that you hate?"

Eyes shut tight, she whispered, "Mother passed in it."

Stunned, I watched her.

Had she really? Now when I looked back at the vehicle, I no longer saw the black as safe, but rather...encompassing.

I dipped low and tried to meet her gaze. "Then let us pretend it is something else."

She still trembled but managed to glance at me. The sight of the carriage at my back had her hanging her head yet again.

"Come. It's not a carriage. It's..." I scanned my surroundings but spotted only one thing. "It's a pumpkin," I declared. "And there's nothing frightening about a pumpkin, now is there? Who's ever heard of a ghost in a pumpkin?"

She chuckled but not enough to put me at ease.

"Come now," I insisted. "We are a long way from home and a long way from town."

But her posture never changed, and I was unsure of what to do.

"It's a pumpkin," she whispered, creeping closer to it. "It's a pumpkin."

Pride filled me when she held the door and, after a long pause, climbed in.

"It's a pumpkin," rattled from her mouth with no pause.

I watched her in there, arms crossed, doubled over, and wondered if she'd been present when her mother took her last breath. Had her brute of a father even offered comfort? Had he put her in that carriage after the fact without considering purchasing a new one, even if he had to sell something to do so?

We move things to where they suited us; we moved people. I never made Arabella climb that tree to see those eggs because she was afraid and I saw no reason to force a girl to travel in a state of panic, reliving something excruciating for every moment of it.

I told the driver, "Find your master and tell him we've turned back." After I opened the door and took Cinderella's hand, one tug had her leaping out onto me.

Though reluctant, the driver stared us down, upon realizing my earnest request, he carried on with an empty carriage.

Sun shining brightly down on us, I watched it until it was nothing more than a black dot on the horizon, wondering what I'd just done.

After a time, I took Cinderella by the hand and started for home. My last remaining handkerchief did little to clean her face. She still cried.

"Oh, what is the matter?" I asked, cheerful. "Look at us! Two lovely ladies out for a stroll."

The gravel under our feet serenaded her sniffs. "I'll never be a lady this way. Ladies can ride in carriages."

I tightened my grip then pulled her to a stop. "Oh, posh. Plenty of women grow faint at various things. Look at us. Look how far we've come before you lost your composure." I crouched down and peered up at her. "I'm not cross with you but I must insist that you straighten up. We women mustn't carry our feeling so bare. Do you understand? It will leave us vulnerable."

"But we're walking—!"

"Yes. We are walking. On a beautiful day," I declared. The energy coming from me brought terror. Each time I tried to find the earliest emotions I had to match them, nothing came after her birth. I felt reborn here on this highway. "Come. Don't you trust me?"

With that, one final sniff followed before Cinderella picked her head up.

"But when you realize how difficult it is to teach me, you'll leave. You'll...."

Our eyes met and she waited for my assurances. And why not? I'd offered up as much until this very moment.

But I never assured her in this and she'd more than noticed.

"You will be a lady. A fine lady."

She took one step and nearly fell.

I didn't look at her foot, instead, I met her eyes. They shimmered but she didn't cry. Disappointment made it difficult for her to manage it.

Once I worked up the nerve to crouch down, it was as I feared. The child's cheaply-made shoes had split at the side.

I let out a breath and unlaced mine.

Cinderella protested, "No. It wouldn't be right. I've already caused so much trouble."

But no one could see my feet easily in my dress. Hers—hers were more than obvious.

"You wear these. I have a spare."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

By luck, we wore the same size. She looked rather smart in her white dress with my black boots.

Her admiration faded once her eyes settled on me. She'd realized the lie.

"But you haven't any."

"Why, of course I do!" I hiked up my dress and flashed one bare foot after the other. "Don't you see them?"

Face grim, she muttered, "You're mocking me."

I had to laugh. She was so like me. Hadn't Arabella's imagination influenced her at all, even a tiny bit? Taking her face in both hands, I told her, "What have I said about making life what you want? We're not walking home abandoned," I exclaimed, hands stretched out, "because we're taking a lovely stroll. And now I am wearing the finest slippers."

Holding the pose felt foolish at first but after a minute, I could not bring myself to stop.

Slowly, a blush crept up Cinderella's face and she let out a laugh and extended her arms as well.

"Only those truly refined can see it!"

Relieved, I declared, "Truly! The finest glass slippers."

Cinderella was aglow. "Governess, may I wear glass slippers as well?" A glance to my left showed me a clear path through the fields. I knew a shortcut from childhood. In truth, my shoes cost far more than I'd care to admit. Grinning, I gave her a firm nod.

The laces I'd painstakingly done up came out in a rush and Cinderella snatched up her own broken shoes and declared, "Only those truly refined."

As she let out a laugh, I grabbed my shoes from her and darted into the field. She gasped and followed.

"The refined mustn't cheat," she scolded, hot on my heels.