Had Ruth had only one sister, perhaps a little closer in age, with interests so close to her and a similar character, perhaps they could have grown up in a little kindgom they had created on their own. They could have grown closer as the years went by and as Ruth went into the world first and grew accomplished, she could have guided Nesah down that similar path.

But they were born Meijers.

Ruth read correspondence about 10% faster than her brother, which meant she at least knew their sister was going to arrive when she did. She showed up with her bike and waited with her hands deep in the pockets of her bloomers-that-pretended-to-be-a-skirt. She wished Zechariah had left his fop in the pocket of the particular vest she was wearing, as if that could have made the train faster.

The train stopped, people got off and Ruth slowly started to walk down the platform looking for her sister. Ah! here. She looked about six weeks from turning good for picking and eight from being good marmelade. Ruth tried to convince herself to behave. She cleared her throat and greeted Nesah loud enough to be heard by Sophie, back in Paris. “Little sister!” she strolled down the platform. “Very punctual indeed. You look tired, have you eaten something? Shall we eat something now? You have more baggage than I expected, you think the carriage will suffice or shall I check if they have sherpa outside?” she had meant to be uplifting, honestly.