"Miss Kate!" Kiernan exclaimed, pointing. "What happened to your toes?" "What?" I glanced down, half expecting to see a leech or a cut or some other trauma, but there was nothing odd. "What are you talking about?" "Your toenails. They're all --it looks like blood!" "Oh," I laughed. "That's just nail polish. It's chipped off in a few places." "It looks like paint." Kiernan sniffed disapprovingly. I sighed. This was one of the anachronisms that Katherine would probably have caught as I prepared to leave. Did young women paint their nails in the 1890s? Had nail polish even been invented yet? I had no clue. "Well, it is paint, sort of," I said. "Me mom says..." He shook his head and fell silent. "What does your mom say, Kiernan?" He didn't answer. "No, really, I won't be angry. What does she say?" "She says only whores wear paint," he said, staring down at the grass. "They usually wear it on their faces, though. I never even heard of painted toes."