The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen (14 page)

“Hansel and Gretel were so terribly frightened that they let

fall what they had in their hands. The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said: ‘Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you.’

“She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Good food was set before them. Milk and cakes with sugar, apples, and nuts.”

Ivo’s stomach growls loudly and it startles me.  I laugh and he shoves me playfully. 

“I thought someone had let a bear loose!” I tease and shove him back. “Do you think you shall make it to Hay Market or will I have to carry you?”

“I’m not the one who swoons in the street.” He teases back and I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you going to finish the story or not?”

 “All right.  All right.” I say with a giggle as I try to remember my place in the story, but I cannot.

“The children were eating at the witch’s table.” Ivo prompts.

“Afterwards, two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen. Hansel and Gretel lay down in them and thought they were in heaven.

“The old woman had only pretended to be so kind. In reality, she was a wicked witch who lay in wait for children. She had only built the little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day for her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen sense of smell like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near.

“When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood, she laughed with malice, and said mockingly to herself: ‘I have them. They shall not escape me!’

“Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was already up. And when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty with their plump and rosy cheeks she muttered to herself: ‘That will be a dainty mouthful!’ She seized Hansel with her shriveled hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him.

“Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried:  ‘Get up, lazy thing. Fetch some water and cook something good for your brother. He is in the stable outside and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him.’ Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded.

“And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable and cried: ‘Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you shall soon be fat.’

“Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and believed it was Hansel’s finger. She was astonished there was no way of fattening him up. Four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin. She was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer. ‘Now then, Gretel,’ she cried to the girl. ‘Stir yourself and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, for tomorrow I will kill him, and cook him.’

“Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down her cheeks! ‘Dear God, do help us,’ she cried. ‘If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together.’

“‘Just keep your noise to yourself,’ said the old woman. ‘It won’t help you at all.’

“Early in the morning, Gretel had to hang the cauldron with the water, and light the fire beneath it. ‘We shall bake first,’ said the old woman. ‘I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.’ She pushed poor Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting. ‘Creep in,’ said the witch, ‘and see if it is properly heated, so that we can put the bread in.’

“Once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her too. But Gretel saw what she had in mind and said: ‘I do not know how I am to do it. How do I get in?’

“‘Silly goose,’ said the old woman. ‘The door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself!’ She crept up and thrust her head into the oven. Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh, how horribly she howled, but Gretel ran away and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death.”

Ivo laughs at this and I smile.

“Gretel ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable and cried: ‘Hansel, we are saved! The old witch is dead!’

“Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other! As they no longer had any need to fear her, they went into the witch’s house. In every corner stood chests full of pearls and jewels. ‘These are far better than pebbles!’ said Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever he could. And Gretel said: ‘I, too, will take something home with me,’ and filled her pockets full.

“But now we must be off,’ said Hansel, ‘that we may get out of the witch’s forest.’”

“I think I would have stayed until I had eaten the entire house,” Ivo says. I’d never really thought of that and I nod for I would do the same. I rather like cakes.

“The forest seemed to become more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father’s house. They ran as fast as they could and rushed into the house, throwing themselves around their father’s neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest. Their stepmother was dead. Gretel emptied her pockets until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after another from his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness.”

I finish the story just as we arrive at the market.

“Did your mother make it up?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I never asked.” I wish I could ask her now. I swallow hard. “She always told the story so well. I’d imagine someone else must have told her the same story when she was a little girl.”

He nods. “It is a strange tale.”

“It makes you wonder how people come up with such things, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Either way, it was a good story and you’re a good storyteller, just like your mother.” He says the words honestly, nonchalantly, as if he is commenting on the weather. Little does he know, it is one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received? He looks at the different bakers’ stands for the best price.

“Two cakes and two loaves,” Ivo orders. He gives up our pfennigs and hands me a loaf and a cake.

“So what about thieves?” Ivo said.

“What?”

“I doubt we’ll have to worry about witches when we live in the woods, but what about thieves.”

“Well, you beat that tree half to death today while you were asleep so you could probably handle a thief or two. Just teach me how to fight and we’ll be fine.”

“They travel in troupes! The two of us against eight or so criminals?”

“Well, I don’t know these things!” I say. “Maybe we find a place where no one else can find us.”

“That’s close to a city?”

“Fine, it’s not a great plan, but it’s better than the way things are now.” We eat one loaf and the cakes. Ivo stops at the front of my house.

“No, I want to walk you home. I can explain to your parents why we were so late so you don’t get into trouble,” I say.

“They’ll just think we’re lying or they’ll get into a fight over it. It’ll make things worse.”

“There has to be something we can do,” I say.

“Addie, he isn’t going to kill me. I can take a punch or two,” he says, and before I can argue he is walking toward his house. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t get the beating he’s going to get tonight and there is nothing I can do about it. The knot in my stomach twists with guilt and worry.

The week passes dreadfully slowly. Galadriel was gone by the time I returned home on Monday. Father buries himself in work which is just as well for I can’t stand to look at him. The only time I step foot in his workshop is when he’s at market or when I’m on my way out.

Ivo’s father has buried his whole family in work since he was too “sick” to work Monday. Luckily, Erik had passed out again Monday and that saved Ivo from a beating for returning home late. By Wednesday morning, I needed to be busy so I could keep from thinking about how much I missed my mother and how much I hated my father. I needed to escape the walls of this house, so I went to Ivo’s and offered to help them work.

I suppose I was less than helpful, for when I wasn’t looking one of the goats kicked over a nearly full milk pail. Erik screamed something about how his blind grandmother, God rest her soul, could milk a goat better than me and sent me home. Usually I would just take his insults, but now that I know what a bastard he is, I had screamed right back at him. So what if I cannot milk a goat? I doubt that whore-mongering drunkard could ever make a turn shoe.

I made shoes yesterday while Father was at the market, but that offered little distraction from my hatred for him and that whore Galadriel. But I earn a pfennig for each shoe I sell, and perhaps if I save enough coin Ivo and I can run away.

When Father returned, I went to the market. I talked to Michael as he packed his leather up for the night. He told me that Otto and his wife had taken sick with the fever. Otto’s mistress, Ilsa had taken sick as well. For a moment, I felt a little guilty for being so angry with Father for at least he’s still alive, but then I thought of how I found him in my mother’s bed with Galadriel and the sentiment quickly passed.

I haven’t spent a single pfennig on cakes this week which is a feat for me. Each time I walk by the confectioners’ stands and smell the doughy sweetness, I’ve had to tell myself that a coin spent on cakes is a moment longer in my father’s house. The house where he bedded a woman only a week after my mother’s death. The thought turns my stomach enough to keep the coins in my pocket.

My father had been coming home late each night so I ate every meal alone. But not this evening. This evening we eat sitting across from each other. It makes it hard to eat at all.

“How’d you get the welt on your face?” Father asks through a mouthful of cabbage.

“Erik threw a boot at me.”

“What did you do to make him do that?” he asks. Of course. It must have been my fault Erik threw a boot at me, I think angrily.

“Nothing. He mistook me for Ivo. His sight’s about as good as his dead grandmother’s.”

“He managed to hit you with the boot, didn’t he?” Father laughs, but I don’t think I shall laugh at anything he says ever again so I huff and roll my eyes.

Father drinks his ale and I get a piece of parchment I’ve been saving to make a list of supplies Ivo and I shall need when we run away together. Father doesn’t even know what I am writing since he can’t read so I don’t bother hiding it from him.

“Writing love letters to Ivo?”

“No,” I spit. “Shall I write a love letter to Galadriel for you?”

He grunts and looks down.

“Do you love her?” I continue.

“Addie, don’t.”

“I suppose it does not matter. It doesn’t change what you did. You bedded another woman in Mother’s bed. And you didn’t even have the decency to wait until Mother’s body was cold.”

His slap falls hard on my already welted cheek and knocks my head back. I rush my hand to the wound and my mouth falls open.

“I said don’t.”

“You struck me!” I say with surprise.

“You gave me cause,” he replies gruffly.

“What have I done, but defended my own mother? She isn’t here to defend herself!”

“Would you like another?” Father asks.

“Another wound for defending my mother?” I spit. “I’ll wear it like a badge of honor. Slap away if it makes you feel better,” I say through my teeth and look him directly in the face. I won’t give him the pleasure of seeing me brace for his strike.

He huffs and rises from the table.

“Are you going to marry her? Is she going to come live with us?” I say quickly. He stops where he stands and I think maybe I’ve put the thought in his head. I wish I could take it back.

“You think Galadriel’s…” he pauses to laugh, “… going to live with us? I must have hit you harder than I thought.”

It is a rather foolish idea once I think about it. Why would Galadriel leave her land and titles to live in a cobbler’s house? Perhaps the question I should have asked was: ‘Are we going to go live with her?’ But I don’t dare to put ideas in Father’s head, so I do not ask.

As I stir the pottage I wonder if anyone will go to St. Laurentius tomorrow. Father hasn’t said where we shall go and that worries me. I hope he doesn’t think I shall go to St. Laurentius. I’ll never go back there and if he, or anyone else for that matter, tries to make me, I shall walk right up to the altar and spit in Soren’s ugly face.

The steps creak as Father stomps up them slowly. He’s worked all day in his shop and we haven’t spoken since he struck me yesterday, which is fine for I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to hear him speak. I don’t want to smell that mix of leather and ale that announces his presence. My stomach is in knots for I deeply do not want to sit at the table with him. I would take my food in my room if it weren’t for my wanting to know where we shall go for tomorrow’s Mass.

Neither of us speaks and the entire meal is silent besides the occasional slurping. I do not dare to ask him my question for I am sure he’s still angry with me. He could make me go to St. Laurentius as punishment for yesterday. Neither of us speaks so I leave the table and go to bed not knowing. I am not tired. It isn’t even dark. I just want to sleep. I want to do nothing, to be nothing for just a little while.

***

I dream that we don’t go to church, but everyone else in the city does. There is a heavy pounding coming from the workshop, followed by a splintering crack as the door breaks in. The house shakes as a dozen pairs of feet stampede into Father’s workshop. Their hollers drown out my own screams and I rush down the stairs to see a mob of men whose fists rain down upon someone, something in the middle of them. I cannot see who they are beating, but I know it is Father. I scream, but no one looks. I run and slam into the pack, beating on the back of one of the men-at-arms. He turns, backhands me, and I fall to the ground.

Father is dragged, barely conscious, from our house and suddenly I am at the gallows in the middle of Hay Market. Soren declares Father a heretic. Those who do not know him throw garbage in his bruised and swollen face as he is dragged to a cross lying on its side. Rather than hang or burn him at the stake, he is to be crucified. Not upright like Christ, no that is too great an honor. Soren orders for Father to be crucified sideways, hanging from one arm, slowly melting into death.

Blood splatters as Soren’s henchman, Johan, hammers foot-long nails through Father’s wrists. Soren salivates over his revenge like a child salivates over hot cakes at the confectioner’s stand. Johan pounds the nails with a
knock-knock-knock.
The sound continues over and over.
Knock-knock-knock, knock-knock-knock, knock-knock-knock….

***

I thrust upwards with a rush, escaping the nightmare and throwing my sheets several feet into the air. A cold sweat coats my skin and the cool air chills me to the bone. I hear the knocking again, though I know I am awake.

Father’s feet thump across the floor and down the steps. I sit frozen, paralyzed with the still-vivid fear from my nightmare. My mind relaxes enough to run through the people who would visit so late.

“Hello, Ansel,” says a calm voice. “May I come in?”

“Did anyone follow you, Elias?” Father asks.

“I don’t believe so,” Elias replies, with an air of feigned puzzlement.

“I respect what you’re doing and if it weren’t for Addie, I might’ve been with you,” Father sighs. “Of course, if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

“Can we at least talk about this?”

“I’m going to the cathedral tomorrow,” Father says slowly.

“Your wife—” Elias begins stupidly.

““Do not use her as a pawn in your rebellion!” Father bellows, no longer watching his volume. “What happened to her was one man’s fault.”

“That
one
man represents the Church and all that’s wrong with it. They live like princes while the people succumb to the fever. They won’t even give our loved ones funerals without bribes.”

“I’m going tomorrow.”

“But—” Elias interjects, trying desperately to win over a man who is immovable.

“I’m going,” my father says shortly.

“I understand. The people shall do what you do, Ansel. If you go, Airsbach goes, too,” Elias sighs.           

“They’ll go anyway, Elias, for the safety of their families. Good night.”

Elias sighs. “Good night.”

I figure Father would slam the door in Elias’s face, but he shuts it gently. Does he think I am still asleep? I climb down the ladder into the main room as Father heads back to his bed.

“Don’t,” he snaps, walking past me.

“What?”

“We’re going tomorrow,” he orders, turning the corner to his bed.

I don’t hate him so much after the dream I just had and throw myself at him and hug him tightly.

“That won’t work.” His arms wrap around me slowly, like they’d forgotten how to.

“I’ll go,” I say looking into his face. “I want us to go as long as it isn’t to St. Laurentius.”

“Good. Then go to bed. Mass starts in a few hours.” He pats my back and I ease my vice-like grip on him. Both of us head to bed.

I turn and ask, “What kind of rebellion is Elias starting?”

“Go to bed. And don’t ever ask me that question when other people are around. Don’t talk about Elias at all,” Father says in a steady voice, walking toward me. His stare could have frozen boiling oil. It demands immediate compliance.

“Yes, Father.”