Anger simmered just beneath the surface of the carny's put-on smile as he turned to the schoolteacher. "These your kids, ma'am?"
"They're not, no." Peter's second wife shrank with the admission but as she stared him down she swelled with a new wave of courage. "But I feel as a shaper of young minds I should be responsible for them nonetheless."
The carny's smile widened like a jaws of a trap about to spring. "Well, then, if you feel responsible for them, you can be the one to pay for damages."
"Damages!" The eyes of the schoolteacher widened and she straightened as though she had been struck. "We shall see about that. What exactly happened here?"
"We just wanted that magic mirror." Tilly studied her boots, arms crossed. "But the game's rigged."
"I see." With the way the woman swayed from heel to toe, hands folded behind her back, Tilly thought she resembled a lawyer cross-examining at the stand. "Is that true, sir?"
"The deck is always stacked in favor of the house, ma'am. That's just business. These kids gotta learn they're not paying for the prize, but the experience." He waved an arm in the air with a demonstrative flourish. "The county fair is all about making memories."
The roll of Sprout's eyes behind her smoked goggles was almost palpable. "'All about making money' is more like it."
Tilly shushed her with a nudge.
"Oh, I agree, sir." Peter's second wife tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "But memorable moments aside, there's certain expectations that must be met, otherwise it's false advertisement. What are the rules of the game?"
"Ring the bell and win a prize," he rattled off, second-nature.
"Quite, yes." She nodded. "And did the girl ring the bell?"
"Fairly sure people in the next county heard it." This time, Tilly was shushed by her younger sister. They both waited, hot and unimpressed, for the carny's official answer.
He seemed oddly reluctant, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally coming to the truth of it: "She might have, sure enough, but she busted up in my game in the process. That's going to eat into profits."
"Profits? That's your primary concern?" The schoolteacher pinned a finger to the man's chest. "Have you not paused to consider the legal ramifications of this incident? If your ramshackle game had fallen on either of these poor, sweet children, lost profits would be the very least of your worries. It's gross negligence, that's what it is."
A frown put a wrinkle in the carny's forehead as he stared down at her pointed finger. "But the fact is my game didn't fall on them—"
"—But it could have! Why, the glass shrapnel from the lights could have easily put out an eye. And such a racket, too. Heaven forbid if one has a weak heart," she tsked. "And here you are trying to pin the damage on someone else. Sir, I ask you, if a bridge falls apart while someone is crossing it, who is the one who pays for repairs? The person who crossed or the person who built it?"
"Well, normally I'd say the person who built it—"
Peter's second wife smiled triumphantly. "Exactly."
"—But it depends on if the person crossing was using the bridge as intended," the carny finished with a shrug. "You don't bring an elephant across a rope bridge, ma'am. And that girl right there is an elephant in a denim jumper."
Both adults turned to look at Tilly. Heat rushed her face. The ensuing silence beckoned her to say something, anything, to defend her position, but she could only work her mouth like a fish flopping on the riverbank. Her grip on Sprout's hand tightened.
Mercifully, the school teacher stepped in again. "Blaming your dubious construction on a child. How terrible. The whole incident paints a very poor picture of your organization indeed. I shudder to think what might happen if some pillar of the community—perhaps a schoolteacher such as myself—wrote a strongly-worded letter to your employers about this incident."
The carny's expression withered. "Lady, you're making a mountain out of a molehill."
"Perhaps I am, but I suppose that's for your employers to decide," she snapped, before a particularly devious thought made her nose wrinkle. "Your future career prospects are looking grim, sir. Can you imagine, fired from a traveling fair? My goodness, if they won't take you on, who will?"
There was a long pause. Tilly couldn't decide if the carny's mouth was twisting in thought or because losing money brought him actual, physical pain. At last, his shoulders dropped in defeat. "Fine. Take the mirror."
"Splendid!" Suddenly Peter's second wife was all smiles. "Your stunning attention to customer satisfaction won't go unnoticed, sir. Now, go ahead, children. Take your prize."
Sprout and Tilly exchanged disbelieving looks, but eventually navigated through the trails of broken glass leading up to the prize shelves. Thankfully, The treasures therein seemed untouched by the recent wave of destruction. As tall as Tilly was, she still couldn't quite reach the top shelf, so instead she stooped and cupped her hands to give Sprout a boost. The younger of the Lafayette sisters pulled the mirror from the top shelf, hugging it tight to her chest as she climbed back down.
"Now, I think it's in everyone best interest if you, and do pardon my Grimmish," the carny said with a flutter of his eyelashes, before his expression hardened, pointing back down the midway, "GET THE HECK OUT OF MY STALL."
Tilly blinked. Sprout wiped a bit of his spittle from her goggles. "Yes, sir."
"Have a nice day," he hissed through gritted teeth.
The pair immediately took their leave, but the older one hesitated, looking back to the school teacher who was hot on their heels. Tilly smiled shyly. "Thank you kindly for your help, ma'am."
Peter's second wife did not return the smile. Instead, as soon as the test-your-strength game disappeared from their line of sight, the woman clapped a hand on a shoulder of each of the Lafayette siblings. "Oh, no, I'm not finished with you yet."
They were steered behind the Haint House, where the surprised shrieks of terrified fairgoers nearly drowned out Tilly's protests. "But, but ma'am—"
"No 'buts.'" The school teacher whirled them around to face her. "You're very lucky I came across you two charlatans when I did. Who knows what sort of trouble you could've gotten yourself into with your silly hocus pocus?!"
"We really didn't mean to, ma'am," Tilly answered. She looked to Sprout for support, but her sister only hugged the magic mirror tighter to her chest, gaze lowered. "That mean old carny took Sprout for a ride. I was just trying to even the odds a little."
"I'll not hear a word of it. This isn't even the first predicament you've gotten yourself into today. Don't think I didn't see you with that police officer this morning, Tillomena," the woman snapped, arms crossed.
"He thought I was a drunk!"
That seemed to take some of the fight out of the school teacher. She exhaled slowly, stewing on a rebuttal. "Well, you can hardly blame him. Your kind has a reputation for such things. He was only doing his job."
Tilly didn't respond.
"Where is your mother?" Peter's second wife asked. "I would think that Mrs.—Ms.—Lafayette knows better than to let her children participate in what's essentially unreported gambling."
"She's at home, ma'am," Sprout finally spoke up, but her voice was small. "She's too ill to come to town right now."
"I see." It was clear from the pursing of her lips that the school teacher was thoroughly unconvinced of Mama's sickness. Her anger waned in the passing moments. "Girls, please tell your mother to enroll you in my classes. What happened on the midway just now is proof that you need guidance. If you could've read the signs, you would've known—"
"I did read the signs, thank you very much." Tilly frowned. "I can read, write, and do addition just fine, ma'am. We both can. We didn't do anything wrong back there."
"You would think that, wouldn't you." The shock in the woman's face slowly dulled to a pained sort of acceptance. "Tillomena, there's no excuse for going through life ignorant. Someone has to show you the correct way of thinking. Reasoning, logic, culture; how to be a young woman in this ever-changing world. You don't have to be like your mother, or her mother that came before her, growing pumpkins in a backwards weed patch."
Tilly's dirty nails bit into her palm. "With all due respect, ma'am, I can think of no greater honor."
"You don't understand." The school teacher heaved a sigh. "I know I won't be able to undo the damage done to you in a single conversation, but please consider pursuing a meaningful education. Both of you. I can see a glimmer of hope still left in you. It's not too late."
"Much obliged for the concern, ma'am, and for helping us out with that carny." It was the most truthful statement Tilly could muster, being very bad at lying. She took Sprout by the hand and led her back onto the midway. "Y'all have a nice day at the fair."
Sprout plopped down on a bench near a lemonade stand. "All things considered, I kinda hope Peter does bury her in his pumpkin patch."
"That's not very nice," Tilly said as she joined her, but deep down a small part of her couldn't help but agree. She pushed the thought from her mind, leaning forward on her knees. "C'mon, let's take a look at that mirror."
Sprout finally uncurled from around their prize. At first glance, nothing about the mirror seemed to be particularly magical; no more extraordinary than the pretty gilded hand mirrors Tilly admired in the general store from time to time. Its frame looked like curling, flowering boughs, while the handle was shaped to look like a nude woman glancing up to admire her reflection, her modesty preserved by twisting vines. With a giggle, Sprout held it aloft like a gallant knight rising victorious from battle. "Abracadabra!"
"Aw, c'mon, that's not how the old stories go," Tilly said, wrestling it from her sister. As she pulled it from Sprout's grasp, Tilly caught a glimpse of her reflection. She froze, stock still.
Sprout tilted her head. "What's wrong?"
Tilly's voice was barely a whisper. "I think it's already working. Look."