Gretel (12 page)

The moan from the floor had frightened Gretel back to reality, and she quickly re-focused. Her father wasn’t dead. She ran to him, stepping over his body and kneeling down to examine his face, which was bloated with pressure and contorted in pain. He was struggling to breathe, not because of any blockage in his windpipe, but because of the agony that breathing induced. Gretel could see the dried blood on his lips and chin, and when a weak coughing breath finally escaped his lungs, she could see the blood was coming from somewhere inside her father’s body.

Gretel’s next thought was that Hansel would be home soon, and she would have to mitigate the trauma caused by seeing his father in this condition, so vulnerable, sprawled unnaturally on the floor. Looking back on it now, she remembered that her instincts had been sharp that day, clear and unhesitating, and she was proud of the perfect steps she had taken: dialing the doctor’s number from memory, repositioning her father and covering him with blankets, encouraging him to breathe. Hansel was certainly scared when he finally saw his father that day, but Gretel was all smiles and stoicism, and easily calmed him with the promise that everything would be fine.

And it
had
turned out fine, with Gretel the hero. The doctor later credited Gretel with saving her father’s life through a combination of quick action and shock reduction. But, truthfully, she hadn’t really surprised herself at all: the world had unleashed upon Gretel the most lethal of blows—taking her mother—and Gretel had endured. She had thrived, in fact, and the scar tissue of the wound now insulated her from both terror and hysteria. It was her role now, she realized, to be nurturer and parent, and what she had been consciously unprepared to do a few short months ago when her mother first vanished, nature had activated within her.

And that had been the difference: the newly-nested concept that something else in the universe was in control of such important matters.

Odalinde glanced up at Gretel and then looked away immediately. “Gretel,” she said, the smile on her face unable to cloak the disdain in her voice.

“Hello, Odalinde,” Gretel replied in a similar tone, keeping her eyes on the woman as if challenging her to a conversation. The exchanges between the women had devolved to become strictly perfunctory, and if the nurse remained much longer, Gretel knew they would cease entirely.

But Gretel had considered that end unacceptable—Odalinde had become far too friendly with Father in such a short time, and there were too many unanswered questions. “How’s he doing?”

Odalinde looked up to meet Gretel’s stare, a look of defensiveness in her eyes. She blinked slowly a few times and nodded, resetting her demeanor, and with a smile said, “Much, much better.”

“Really? So not just
much
better today, but much,
much
better?”

Odalinde’s smile straightened and Gretel felt her own stomach tighten. The words had escaped Gretel’s mouth immediately, automatically, but it certainly wasn’t an unusual thing for her to say. There was a new combativeness to Gretel that had started that day with The System officer’s son, the day after her mother had gone missing. Gretel had become unrestrained with her challenges and often looked for a confrontation where none existed. And she needed—
needed
—to have the last word in any debate, no matter how explicitly her point may have been tested and discredited. This new quality had already resulted in more than one afternoon home from school, and kids who had previously spoken to her in class or on the walk home started avoiding her entirely. If she was honest, there wasn’t one person—other than Hansel—whom she could truly call a friend.

At first she blamed it on a perceived awkwardness from others about her mother and Gretel’s needing space to cope, and to some extent she thought that to be true; but those same kids spoke with Hansel quite easily, and even when they did speak with her, it wasn’t with sympathy or deference, but rather with an abruptness that indicated a certain disapproval and hostility.

But that was a price Gretel had been willing to pay. She owed it to her mother to become the woman she was meant to be, that her mother had always envisioned. Strong and confident, controlling the situation when it was necessary and appropriate. Gretel knew that she still had a lot of refining to do, and that her mother certainly wouldn’t have approved of her occasional rudeness or insubordination in school and otherwise. But if she had used her mother as an excuse to pity herself, to disappear into a tent of silence and demureness, that would have been altogether dishonorable.

There had been no official recognition of Anika Morgan’s death. The System had instead ‘Suspended’ the case three weeks into the investigation. But according to the opinions of most, suspensions were rarely taken up again without the emergence of obvious evidence.

Similarly, Heinrich Morgan’s dedication to his wife’s disappearance lost momentum. He had driven the Interways for the few days following her disappearance, but his poor health, as well as an increasing build up of hopelessness, had left him spending most of the ensuing days in bed. Thankfully, he had been self-sufficient in the basic necessities, and Gretel had mostly avoided him. It wasn’t until the day she found him on the floor that she realized how bad his state was, and Odalinde had shown up at the house only days later.

Gretel held Odalinde’s look without blinking. If Gretel had been able to retract her last words, to erase the last few seconds of this scene, she would have. But it was said, and she would let the words play out. And besides, that feeling of instant regret had become typical to Gretel, and on some level it was comforting.

“Do you have schoolwork, Gretel?” It was a common play of Odalinde’s to take the role of the mother. “Your father isn’t been pleased with how it’s been slipping of late.”

And there the line was crossed. For the most part Gretel had not resisted Odalinde periodically slipping into the character of the maternal head of the house. She was the adult, after all, and performed most of the duties that role required—less one, Gretel hoped and assumed. But Odalinde had increasingly used her own intimacy with Heinrich as a weapon against Gretel, becoming the filter through which any expression of her father ran. “Your father is ready for you” or “Your father wants you to know that he loves you.” And so on.

And indeed, even the disciplining and disappointments were now being contracted out. Of course, Gretel knew that Odalinde had to be lying in some of the cases, but Gretel had confirmed too many of the reports with her father to dismiss them out of hand.

Gretel clenched her teeth and glared at Odalinde, holding the look for a long moment before walking away, muttering as she left, “My mother would have hated you.”

She spoke loudly enough that Odalinde certainly could hear her voice, though Gretel couldn’t be sure she could understand the words. If she did, she didn’t reply.

What Gretel was certain of, however, was that the words were true.

Gretel hurried into her room and closed the door, and immediately snatched the book from the top shelf in her closet, holding it to her chest as she lay down on her bed. She hadn’t learned any of what the bizarre symbols meant since the day she brought the book home from Deda’s, and she hadn’t been able to find anyone who could translate it. Gretel had hoped that Deda would be able to tell her more about it, but she had seen him only once since that night, and on that occasion he had been distant and cold. The other candidates whom she had hoped would at least have knowledge of the book didn’t, and, in fact, had never even heard of the term ‘Orphism.’

But the book had become a security blanket for Gretel, and even though she didn’t know what it was about, she always felt better with it in her hands.

Gretel lay still with her eyes closed and took deep breaths, imagining what she usually did during the quiet periods: her mother walking through the door, weary from her unbelievable ordeal, a wry smile of relief on her face. Occasionally, the image made her hopeful, but mostly it made her cry.

The creak of the bedroom door shattered Gretel’s vision, and she turned to see Hansel slump in, his mouth slightly open and eyes half-closed. Gretel frowned at him and turned her body toward the wall. “What do you want Hansel?”

“I’m hungry,” he whined.

“Odalinde is finished with Father; ask her to make you something.”

“I did. She said there’s no food.”

Gretel turned back toward her brother, slightly alarmed. “No food? Is she sure?”

Hansel shrugged. “I haven’t eaten today, Gretel.”

Gretel’s heart began to race, and she soon realized she hadn’t eaten either. She, however, had gotten used to not eating much, and to share her portions with Hansel when she could stand it. But never had she not eaten all day. And Hansel! Hansel needed his food. He was a growing boy!

Gretel put the book aside and lifted herself from the bed, suddenly aware of her empty stomach. She left Hansel standing by the door as she exited her room and crossed the hall, opening her father’s door without knocking. She heard him groan in his sleep as he shifted in his bed.

“Father,” she whispered loudly. He moved again but didn’t turn to her. Gretel registered the bowl on the side table, half-filled with soup. “Father,” she repeated, her voice booming this time, commanding attention as if in preparation to scold him.

Heinrich Morgan raised his head with a grunt and turned wide-eyed toward his daughter. “Gretel? What is it?” His voice was raspy and slow, his eyes cloudy and disoriented.

Gretel got right to the point. “There’s no food, Father. Hansel hasn’t eaten today. Nothing.” She paused, debating whether to say her next line. “But I see you have.” She stared at the bowl on the table. Heinrich followed her stare and studied the bowl, confused.

“No food?” The words came out clumsily, as if Heinrich were repeating a nonsense phrase, mimicking what he’d heard to make sure he’d gotten it right. Heinrich looked back toward his daughter and over her shoulder to the door. “Odalinde?”

Gretel turned to see the nurse standing behind her at the threshold, a smiling look of mock sympathy on her face, the way a mother might observe a crying toddler who has fallen after trying to take his first steps.

“I’ve only to go to the market, Heinrich. There’s been so much to do around here, what with the children and your condition, that I’m afraid I’ve gotten behind on the shopping. There’s not much money left, but enough.”

“And the crops? Has anything come in?”

Odalinde looked away from her patient and down to the floor, embarrassed for him. There would be no harvest of any kind this year, and even she didn’t have the stomach to say otherwise.

Why would father think a harvest was coming? Gretel thought. There had been no one to work the fields since his injury and mother’s subsequent disappearance, and he couldn’t possibly think Odalinde was tending them. As it was, their crops had been in decline for years, and without severe attention and care, it would have been impossible to keep them bountiful.

“Not yet,” she said, and a more serious look enveloped her face. “But Gretel has no reason to worry.” Odalinde placed a hand on Gretel’s shoulder. “I’ll head off now for some rice and bread, perhaps some sweets. I’ll be back shortly.” She flickered a glance at Gretel as she began to walk out, and then turned back toward Heinrich. “Oh, and I’ll take Hansel along.”

The back of Gretel’s neck tingled at the nurse’s words, and for the first time she suspected Odalinde was more than simply unpleasant and course. Perhaps, Gretel thought, she was malevolent.

“I could go, Father. I can drive the truck—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gretel,” Odalinde interrupted. “It’s part of my duties. And you’ve yet to do your schoolwork. Now let your father rest.” She grabbed the knob of the door and shut it, corralling Gretel out to the hall in the process.

Gretel would have put up more resistance, but she saw that her father had laid back down and was again drifting toward unconsciousness. She would be surprised if later he even remembered the conversation. Something wasn’t right with him lately, and it was more than his spleen.

“Hansel’s staying here!” Gretel snapped after they were out in the hall, and she immediately walked over to her brother who had migrated to the living room. She stood slightly in front of him, protectively.

Odalinde raised her eyebrows, “Really? Perhaps we should let him decide.”

Hansel locked eyes with his sister; there was defiance in his stare. “I’m going with Odalinde, Gretel. She’s going to buy me a sweet bun with jam.” A meager smile drew across Hansel’s face as he looked timidly toward the nurse. “Right Odalinde?”

“That’s right, Hansel. Or whatever you want.” Odalinde turned to Gretel, “I’d ask you to come along too, Gretel, but what with your father’s condition and your schoolwork and all.”

Gretel looked away from Odalinde to her brother. She could see the fear on his face, but it acted only as a backdrop to his hunger, and she was suddenly glad he was going to town. Gretel knew Odalinde wouldn’t hurt him—in fact, she was pretty certain that the nurse would buy him the treat that was promised. And if not, at the very least he would be offered a sample of fresh breads or pastries from one of the stalls at the markets.

But there was an obvious motive underneath Odalinde’s gesture; whether it was simply to win Hansel’s favor and divide the siblings or something more nefarious, Gretel couldn’t be sure. As far as today was concerned, however, Gretel knew her brother was safe.

Gretel watched as Odalinde unlocked the cabinet beneath the sink and fetched her bag, squatting insect-like in the opening as she sifted through the satchel, inventorying the contents. The cabinet, tall and narrow in design, had previously been used as storage for household cleaning items and canned goods; but Odalinde had requested her own private depository when she arrived—’one that was secure from children’—and Heinrich had obliged her and cleared out the cabinet, customizing it with a lock. The reorganization had made for a messy kitchen at first, but as the canned goods and supplies dwindled, counter space was no longer an issue.