During the long evenings, we sat in the family parlor, which was called the Yellow Room, but in truth, the only yellow thing about the room was the upholstery on the cushioned chairs. Day after day, we stared at the same white walls with the same loops of ivy painted at the very top. There were no balls or concerts. No hunts. Our evenings were spent playing chess, reading, or inventing whatever new form of entertainment would keep us from going mad. That is, all of us but Josepha. While Amalia and Karl created elaborate battles with toy soldiers, Antoinette and I made up new card games. We did what we could to make the best of life in isolation, but Josepha was intent on sulking.

“This is no use!” Josepha exclaimed, slamming her book shut. “I can’t read another philosophy book or any more history.”

“All this studying will make you a better ruler,” Amalia said, looking up from the toy soldiers strewn about before her.

“What’s the point? I’m going to die anyway.”

All of our heads snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“I know I am going to die because of Maria Josepha,” she said with a sigh, as if we were supposed to know this already. “We share the same name, and that means we are going to have the same fate. I know it. She died of the pox, and so will I.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” I said.

“Oh, please!” Josepha’s face reddened. “You went to Mother and had us all call you Charlotte because you didn’t want to be connected to our dead sister. And you call me ridiculous?”

“That’s different. I didn’t want a secondhand name. If I shared the fate of our deceased sister Carolina, I would have died a long time ago.” It was a horrid custom, which I despised, that after the death of a child, the next born would be given the same name, as a way to remember the one that had passed. I was the third Maria Carolina. The first had died shortly after her first birthday of severe muscle spasms. The second, born in between Leopold and Johanna, lived barely long enough to be christened.

“You know nothing of these matters. You’re just a child,” Josepha retorted.

“I know enough not to believe in silly superstitions.” Rolling my eyes, I looked at Antoinette. “Come on, let’s go to our rooms.” She got up and quickly followed me.

The moment we got to our bedroom, Antoinette fell onto her bed. “I swear, if I have to spend one more day with her, I think I will give myself the pox.”

“She’s like an old lady,” I said, coming to join her on the bed. “What if we escaped?”

Antoinette looked at me curiously. “Escape? How?”

“Trust me,” I said with a devilish grin.

I learned early that with a well-placed bribe, almost anything could be accomplished. A bit of gold, or even some the jewelry I no longer had use for, when placed in the right maid’s palm would allow us the freedom my sister and I so craved. It was with this lesson in mind that we managed to have Brandis occupied while Antoinette and I made our escape.