Hellen

Charles’s face looked terrified as he stared at Charlotte, the unconscious patient, with an arm that looked broken. My brother didn’t move, so I rushed to a newspaper stand and took one of the papers, despite the salesman’s protest as I ran off without paying. Then, I rushed back to the river, where I slid across the ice to Charlotte. I pulled a stick loose from her shoes and then called to Edmund, “Have you got more thread?!”

He nodded and pulled a spool from his coat pocket. He threw it to me. I caught it and immediately started to unravel a foot or two. I began to wrap Charlotte’s arm tightly in the newspaper, with the stick placed next to her arm (underneath the paper). I tied the newspaper with the thread, just tight enough so that it wouldn’t cut off her circulation but also so that the newspaper wouldn’t fall loose. 

I warned Charlotte about the next thing, even though she was still unconscious and probably didn’t even hear me. 

I set her arm by quickly twisting it, so her elbow was facing the right way. Charlotte awoke at that and let out a bloodcurdling scream. 

I covered my ears. “Okay!” I said. “No need to be dramatic!” 

She stopped screaming and stood up. “Hellen?” 

“Of course, it’s Hellen, who else looks like that?” Charles remarked. 

“You do,” Charlotte replied like it was obvious—because it was; we’re identical twins. 

“Still, my hair is short and tidy. Hellen sort of just gave up on trying to be proper and ladylike.” 

“Well, technically you aren’t being proper either, Shakespeare,” Edmund cut in. “You don’t even wear wigs at formal events. I don’t either, but you’re one to talk about not acting properly.” 

Charles rolled his eyes. “So, Count Paris, have you heard about any illogical marriages lately?” 

“Will you just let it go, Shakespeare? Oh, I have a better idea. How about you go back to your little cottage in London?” 

“Stop!” I said. “You two used to be friends! Best friends at that. You can’t keep fighting all the time, just because you both want to marry one girl. You’re fourteen! You two shouldn’t be getting married at this age anyway! Think of the average marriage age. It’s sixteen. Like I said, you guys are fourteen. You’ve got some time before two years from now. One day, you two will understand that life isn’t as simple as marrying some girl and selling tarts and cakes every single day.” Charlotte gasped, offended. “There’s more to life than that. You don’t understand what women go through. They’re forced to have ten children every lifetime. Guys don’t have to go through that pain. It’s not like I’ve experienced it,” I added from the look on Charles’ face. “but others have, like our mother, Charles, who had five children in just fifteen years. Edmund, if you marry Charlotte, I insist that you don’t have children. Alice would agree. Your mother would agree a little bit, though I think she still wants to end up with grandchildren.” 

Charlotte agreed with me by nodding really quickly. Charles and Edmund stared at each other for three full minutes. Eventually, Edmund broke the silence. “We were really that good of friends?” 

“Apparently. Hellen realized like a week ago and told me.” 

“Yet you continued to argue with me about such a dumb concept.” 

Charles said, “I’m a bit stubborn sometimes.” 

I interrupted the conversation and told the boys that we had to get back to New Haven. I told them about the two horses that we had up by Hartford. Charles and I began the journey up the river to find Hank and Harriet (those are the names Charles and I had given to the horses).