ELEVEN
Dorothy
I want to hate the silver slippers.
Mostly because of how badly Lacosta wanted them. I hate coveting what others want. It’s a character flaw. Childhood trauma aside, sometimes I wonder if my resistance to committing to Edward was in part because everyone else wanted Edward.
Handsome, strong, and kind, Edward would make anyone a fine husband. And several of the women in town made it apparent they thought so too.
Rosemary Bishop was one such woman. She competed with me on everything, including Edward. On more than one occasion, I would show up at the Gilbert farm only to find Rosemary there in her finest dress, hair curled and half tied in a ribbon, her cheeks pink. She would come bearing gifts—fresh baked pies or sweet tarts. Edward would always look embarrassed, as if entertaining Rosemary were somehow a betrayal of me.
I knew I should have felt that way.
But I didn’t.
And sometimes that made me feel worse. Sometimes I thought about inviting Rosemary out to coffee so I could take her hand and tell her we didn’t have to be enemies, that it was the world pitting us against each other, making us fight forscraps. As if marrying a man was our only chance at happiness and a future.
We are so much more than this, Rosemary.
Once it became clear that Edward did not return her favor, she left our hometown and enrolled in the university to study astrophysics.
When I heard the news, the jealousy hit me so hard, I stewed in it for days.
Rosemary had escaped. She’d decided on her future and ran with it.
I sigh and readjust the handle of the picnic basket. I have a lot of ground to cover to make it back home, but I think I have a lot of work to do once I get there too.
As soon as I know Em and Henry are safe, I should walk over to the Gilbert farm and have an honest conversation with Edward about what I want and what I want to do with my life.
Yes, I’ll marry you, Edward. We’ll build a house together, start a family.…
I suddenly feel ill.
That’s not what I want.
But how do I know?
What if it’s just my fear of commitment rearing its ugly head?
Toto barks at me and I come to a stop. “What is it?”
He’s sat back on his hind legs, tail swishing in the grass. I scan my surroundings. I veered off course while lost in thought.
Toto trots to the left.
“This way?”
He yips, confirming.
“Are we headed west then?”
He bounds ahead.
“I’m assuming that’s where the Witch of the West lives, but the Witch of the North pointed this direction for the Yellow Brick Road and the Emerald City. Maybe the city lies between?”
Toto gives two sharp, confident barks.
“Okay. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you knew what you were talking about.”
