Ellen Trupp shook her boyish bangs from her eyes with the likeness of a pony. There was a wistful glint in her gaze.

"I'd have given both my eyes to have gone with the girls last night. I had a trying time here."

Harriet nudged the girl with her foot. "Sit up, Ellen, for dear sake! Just because your hair is cut off like that of a boy doesn't mean you ought to act like one."

"It is the tryingest thing of my life!" the little girl responded, spreading her skirt as if it were some rebellious creature in need of discipline. "I know I oughtn't complain but this wretched thing won't grow evenly!" And she followed the statement with a wild tug of her jagged ends.

Marge lounged lazily upon the sofa with a book in her pale hands.

"Quit your pathetic whining already. Hopefully the misfortune of your hair has taught you something."

"To always do as I'm told!"

"Of course not, you imbecile! Always doing as one's told leads to slavery of the worst kind! Orders are given by people who wish to rule others, people who think themselves more important than they are. I'm not sure what I hate more, the ones that pride themselves on being so, or the fools who believe them to be!"

Rose Yorwind said in her high pitched voice as she examined the keys of the ancient piano no one learned to play,

"Enough, Marge, you'll fill her head with more nonsense than she can hold if you're not careful."

Marge shut her book with a snap.

"Little girls ought to be informed of the unfairness of the world just as well as they take to their studies, Rose. So don't lecture me."

"But I wasn't!" cried a sensitive Rose. She comforted herself with a few sad and untuned keys.

Ammie scrutinized her red braids in the glass. "What do you say to all that, Lia ? You're awfully quiet today."

I looked up from the paper doll I'd been dressing for Janie.

"I have nothing to add to Marge's handsome little lecture. I only wish to tell Ellen that to*some extent* children ought to do as they are told. Particularly when it involves the scissors."

I received a loud groan from the girl.

Glancing out the window I spied Quistelle guiding old Birch by the bridle, while Maple, being the tamer of the two, diligently followed. Eventually she treated them with a few carrots she kept in her pockets.

"She's an odd one you know girls," Ammie said, having come to stand beside my chair.  "She does the most horrid things and seems so..."

"Unashamed of them," Marge offered. "It would seem Lia approves of her ways."

"I have never said that."

"You won't deny it, will you?"

I felt everyone's eyes hard upon me, piercing my delicate flesh.

"She's just a little rough around the edges, that's all."

A holler of glee caused heads to rivet towards the window to witness our girl ripping across the grounds hanging on to Birch, her hair wild and disheveled, skirt tails screaming madly, and an expression of pure ecstasy.

"Just 'a little rough', Malstoyke?"

Violet entered the room with steaming jelly buns and oat cakes piled high on her ivory arms.

"What's all that noise?"

"Halstung's gone mad."

"Don't call her that. I hate the sound of it." I turned to Janie who was admiring her new doll clothes. "Be a good girl and tell Quistelle to come inside for tea."

Ammie eyed the contents of the platter with indifference.

"Where the girl has received her training must have been a witch's convent. Only they are comfortable doing what isn't proper for a lady. True vixens, I'd say."

"Don't say such things, Ammie," Harriet said. "Ms. Petruny won't have it."

"All of lower Gordorf agree that she's a queer wench," continued Marge. "She runs about barefooted with those filthy poor children down the way as though she were one of them. She was seen 'in discussion' with those lads belonging to old Bidder whose nothing but a roguish drunk. And she chants whenever there's a full moon!"

"And she's always so dirty," added Ammie. "I wouldn't go near her if anyone paid me! Phoebe says she has calloused hands, a very unflattering thing for a woman, I'd say, though I haven't seen it myself."

Violet handed out the tea. "Never mind her small imperfections, girls. Mrs. Ivanhallow did say to expect some queerness about her. And as far as I can see these are just trifling matters. Will you have milk today, Lia?"

"And after her conduct at the fair," said Harriet, taking a jelly roll, "it's hard to believe she had any true upbringing."

"She didn't have a mother, remember?" said Ellen, eyeing the jelly draining from Harriet's roll with the most focused expression. "That's what Ivanhallow said, and the old man never paid her any mind."

"She didn't say that!" The girl only shrugged at my directness.

"I don't know what to make of her future," said the little red head twirling about the room. "Don't imagine it will be anything great due to her lack of fortune and good connections. And her having been taken in by an adventurer no one knows a pin about is only one of the crux of the entire affair. Like Prue, a respectable man will never have her, though she is fairer in the face than I'd first imagined," she added grudgingly.

Marge rolled her eyes. "No one will care an ounce for that once they've learned of her birthplace. The tales of those mountains are known far and wide, and no amount of prettiness will save her from the fate she's doomed to have."

"What's wrong, Lia? You look upset at something."

I didn't realize I was frowning until Violet's mellow voice entered my boiling head. I hated the gleeful satisfaction in Finnicktoff's words and the cheerful glint in her eyes. I looked away sharply and wasn't pressed any further when Prue entered with one of the most handsome bouquets we'd ever seen. It wasn't long before the girls were all hovering around like flies.

"Aren't they beautiful?!"

"Where did they come from?"

"Who are they for?"

"Oh, look! There's a card and something attached to the little ribbon."

"Does it say who sent it?"

"Set it down, Prue, so we can have a good look at it already!" demanded Marge.

"They're obviously for Lia," said Harriet, smiling at me.

"Why her?!" said Ammie and Rose in unison.

"Because everybody loves her," said Janie, wrapping her thin brown arms about my waist.

"Oooh! I'll bet eighteen tenyers they're from Eres Dacklefoy!" Harriet teased making me blush. "Ammie overheard him tell Mr. Henfield how pretty you looked last night."

"I forgot about that," Ammie muttered with a saddened look.

Marge only scoffed.

"I don't think—"  but I was shut up when the flowers were shoved into my hands and I was ordered to read the tag and note. With trembling fingers I looked at the tag. I stared stupidly at it.

Ellen Trupp peered around me to have a look.

"As sure as the east winds reach Gordorf!"

"What does it say?" said Violet.

"Who sent them?" said Marge trying not to sound curious.

I looked up at them. "They're for Quistelle."

The silence that followed was so thick I imagine a falling pin would've cut through it as sharply as a blade.

Everyone's eyes settled over my shoulder.

Quistelle gazed hesitantly at us, tugging at her dress and constantly pulling her sleeves far down over her wrists. Phoebe Fiatson, stationed at her side, gave us a reproachful look.

"What's wrong with you gaping geese? When she's unkempt, you stare. When she's clean and neat, you stare even more! You're nothing but a bunch of ungrateful, no-good magpies! I'll have Petruny take your eyes out if anyone says a word against her sitting with us, you hear?"

"I'm sure they did," I said while discreetly tapping my left ear. "And it wouldn't be right of them to say any such thing as you suggest. Because as they very well know, perhaps better than everyone else in this room, it isn't 'the proper thing for a lady to do'."

There was no mistaking the twitch of Marge's jaw or the set of Ammie's lip. Even Harriet averted her eyes.

"Something's come for you, darling," I said, holding out the flowers as though they were pure magic, only slightly disappointed they weren't for me. "Aren't they lovely?"

"For me? There must be a mistake–"

"There's been no such thing. Take them, dear." 

She slowly took them from me.

"How pretty!" said Phoebe, taking a whiff. "Must've come from the upper parts 'cause they don't grow down here."

"Think she has rich relations Ivanhallow forgot to mention?" said Ammie as though sorry the thought never crossed her mind before.

Quistelle raised the bouquet to her face and gently inhaled its sweetness. "They are breathtaking."

"Come now, everyone's waiting to hear what it says and from whom it came." I was a little too excited for I'd already glimpsed the name on the card.

Eventually, after some more convincing and with Violet peering over her shoulder and Phoebe at her elbow, she read aloud:

Dear Miss Palton,

It is my sincerest wish that this letter finds you well. Your participation in last night's event was in fact the most entertaining thing I've witnessed thus far in Gordorf. Do tell me of your next attempt at amusement, I should be most honoured to attend.

Respectfully,

Richard L. Dayne

Though it was short and straight to the point, it had to be read again by different hands before Marge was willing to accept that it had indeed come from 'the great man' himself. She'd even snatched it herself, her black eyes tearing across the paper with venomous speed as if the words would flee the moment they realized who was surveying them. She tossed it back.

"It was a mistake," she said more to herself than anyone else. "It has to be. Why, he doesn't even know her!"

Prue disappeared smiling to herself and returned with a fresh pot of tea.

"Wasn't it thoughtful of him to send those?" I said, as Violet poured the tea.

"Oh, yes. Very thoughtful of him... No sugar, please, Miss Partridge. It does something awful to my nerves, I think." She looked back at her bouquet and smiled. "They are quite lovely to look at and they smell wonderful." 

"You ought to put them in a jar of water and vinegar," Violet suggested, passing over her cup. "They'll keep longer that way."

Phoebe gallantly offered to do it and she marched away with an important air, proclaiming the man to be Saint Nicholas himself.

Susan Hunchet finally made an appearance after visiting Lestrom's to purchase the newly stocked blush pink satin she wanted Mrs. Satcher to make into a dress.

"Lia, dear, your aunt is waiting for you at thye door." She looked about the room. "Why all the peculiar faces? Has no one missed me?"

"You're the least of our concerns," said Marge dismissively.

I gave Quistelle's hand an affectionate squeeze.

"Stay near the house while I'm gone will you?" And to Violet, "Keep an eye on her and don't let her do anything rash; she's been mocked enough for one day."

Susan stopped me at the door. "Tell me what's happened before you go, will you?"

"Oh, don't fret about it, dear lamb. I'm sure Marge will give you all the details," and with a syrupy smile for the frowning imp, I glided out the room to a waiting aunt.

"You must have had a fine time," she greeted me. "Mrs. Ivanhallow loves it when you're in good spirits."

I pecked her cheek with a kiss. "Let's just say there's an important letter belonging to a friend that has made my day."

"An important letter?"

I shook my head with a smile. "Don't pry now, Aunt Winnie. I need to thnk things through for I think I've witnessed a sparkle of inspiration!"