I found the weight of it in my pocket oddly comforting on the walk home as the sky lowered and the sleet turned to snow. I clung to the faint, improbable hope that the charm would work, and that the worst of winter’s fury would hold off until my father returned home.

•   •   •

“You could try to be happy,” Aspen said to me when I sat down by the fire later that afternoon. Her face looked slightly apologetic, and I felt the wooden wolf brush against my leg through my skirt.

“I am,” I said, meaning it for the space it took to say the words. Of the three of us, Aspen had adapted most gracefully to our new life. The close-mindedness and homogeneity of the mountain valley did not seem to get under her skin the way it did mine, and it probably helped that people tended to like her wherever she went. She plopped down on the hearth beside me, her concern hatching into something far more dangerous.

“You should wear rouge. You look quite pretty, with your cheeks and lips all red.”

“Thanks, Aspen.” I made a face at Juniper, who giggled.

“If you just took a little more care with your appearance . . .” she trailed off, evidently dreaming of the boundless opportunities this would afford me. She ran her fingers through my hair, arranging it to fall around my face in an effort to soften the sharp edges.

“You’ve got looks enough for the both of us,” I said to her, catching her hand with mine and stopping her before she got carried away and urged me to try on one of her more fashionable dresses. There had been a time when I was jealous of my younger sister. Beauty opened doors and greased wheels, smoothing the road ahead. It also had its price. People didn’t really see Aspen, only her face and her hips. At least when people looked at me there were no illusions.

“And you’ve got the brains,” Aspen said to me.

“What does that leave me?” Juniper asked, her young face full of concern.

Aspen and I exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

“The brawn,” said Aspen.

“That’s right. Looks like you’ll have to get used to mucking out the barn and hauling all the water,” I added.

Juniper, who was growing so quickly she had a hard enough time walking and talking at the same time, glowered at us. “You’re both awful.”

“Be a dear, Junie, and get us something to drink? It’s Rowan’s birthday, after all.”

“Do you think father knows he’s missing it?” Juniper peered out the window at the darkening sky as she spoke.

“Of course he does,” Aspen snapped, irritation lacing her voice. It was not enough to disguise the worry lurking beneath it. The wind caught in the chimney, and the howling sounded disconcertingly like the cry of a wolf.

•   •   •