out for market day. She had arranged the apples in the basket as carefully as she would cradle a fresh batch of eggs. “Uncle Herbert couldn’t believe how many we sold last week.”
“He’s not your uncle,” Ingrid snapped, and Katherine stopped fussing over the fruit to look at her. “Sorry. It’s just—he’s not. He has no dowry for you. He will not find you a hand in marriage. He owes us nothing, Katherine, and one day he will take the life we’ve become accustomed to and pull it out from under us just like Father did. If you’d realize that, you’d want to leave as badly as I do.”
Katherine sighed. “Oh, Ingrid.”
They’d had this argument before.
Sun slipped through the cracks in the barn and shone on Ingrid’s younger sister. Though the hours in the sun had tanned her complexion (as she always refused to share Ingrid’s large, worn straw hat) and hard work had callused her hands, Katherine sported these features with pride. Her dark hair was always tied simply and practically off her face, no matter how many times Ingrid had told her to wear it in the latest fashion like she tried to do. Despite this, Katherine endeared herself to all she met—from the farmer to the people at the market, unsure whether they wanted to spend the money for a premium apple. (The farmer insisted Katherine charge double the amount for hers.) Perhaps it was the sweetness that radiated from behind her amber eyes. But those eyes no longer worked on Ingrid.
“I’ll be nineteen at the end of the next month,” Ingrid said as she helped Katherine lift the baskets into the back of the wagon. “It’s time I make a life for myself. If you want this one, you can have it. I want more.”
Katherine frowned. It was not something she did often. “Where will you go? What will you do for food and clothing? Maybe if you ask Uncle—Herbert—for help finding work in the village, you could continue to live here and still have more freedom.”
Ingrid tilted her head. She hadn’t considered that option, but it could be the best one . . . for now. “Maybe.” She dropped the tarp over the back of the wagon, and the two began the long ride into the village, arriving just before the morning rush.
The marketplace was set up in the shadow of the churchyard. Some vendors sold out of the backs of their wagons; others walked around with baskets. Katherine preferred to set up a table and let people touch and smell the food they were buying. “It gives them a choice,” she always said. Ingrid had initially thought she was foolish. Who wanted to buy corn that someone had already half husked? Once again, she was proven wrong, because Katherine’s method always produced a line. Today, the villagers were waiting before they even arrived to set up their table.
“Hello, Katherine!” the owner of the butcher shop called as the girls began to unpack their wares.
Everyone knew Katherine. It was Ingrid’s name they had trouble remembering. She understood neither of them were the fairest in the land, but Ingrid pinched her cheeks in an effort to give them the right shade of pink and kept her clothes clean. She studied books and could hold a conversation, unlike so many of these peasants. Was it really so hard for them to remember her name, too?
“Hello, Sir Adam!” Katherine said, because she, of course, remembered everyone’s names as well.
“Your apples look even more beautiful this week than last. Anything new on the market?”
Ingrid hated ridiculous questions. “The crop is the crop,” she said plainly. “We don’t magically grow beanstalks overnight.”
Adam looked at her strangely, and she knew she had gone too far. Katherine touched her shoulder.
“Why don’t you let me sell this morning while you look around?” Katherine said lightly. “I’m okay here by myself.”
The move would help Katherine as much as it did Ingrid—Katherine always sold better when she was solo. She had that kind, patient persona that the villagers lapped up like a street dog with a bowl of water.
Ingrid glared at Adam. “Fine.” She grabbed a handful of apples and stowed them in a small sack. Sometimes she could sell them to the other stalls. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t give away the produce.”
That was another problem. Katherine was a sucker for a poor soul. If someone drooled over her apples but couldn’t afford to buy one, Katherine sometimes took pity and gave it to