There was only once that Doctor Richard Harrison offered her a small scrap of kindness; in the form of that same mysterious and magical ring. It had made things a little bit awkward between them, which was all right, because at that time he gave it to her, Harriet was supposed to have died.

But luckily, or rather more unluckily for Harriet and the Pendleson Knights, things did not go anything like what was planned during that failed incident so long ago. She found out death was a lot more work than it was made out to be. It also took a lot more medication to get over death than they ever anticipated; bed-rest for nearly a month, sucking on menthol cubes for a sore throat, and counting the number of flowers wallpapered in the gaudy rooms of Miss Pickett's wing.

This incident left a scar on Pendleson’s conscience just like it did to her health, but Harriet was unwilling to see or acknowledge this.

“Don't worry, Harriet.” Pendleson laughed, waving a hand at the blooming trees and pulling off a leaf. “Time repeats. It's very forgiving like that.”

A strange sort of apology. She was used to the rhetoric and it made her tired.

“The ring won't help me. I'll keep the book.” She thought about forgiveness, then thought about apple trees, and then thought about Peck.

Everything brought her back to stupid Peck.

Stupid Peck and his stupid perfect face with that stupid perfect chin.

“Keep them both.” Pendleson told her, “You never know.” Her vivid eyes flickered as she forced the ring and book into a drawstring bag she kept inside her jacket.

“Don't tell me what I should know! I wish I forgot all of it. I just wish...wish I was normal!”

“Your mother gave you--”

“Never talk about my Mother!” She shouted

“--a gift.” Pendleson finished frankly. It was the same talk she heard a million times before and Harriet wasn't about to listen to it again.