“Gretel,” he says, and takes my arm. I can tell he wishes he didn’t need my help, but doesn’t want to spare the energy to say so. He leans on me until we get to the table, then sits down in one of the seats next to mine. He’s always been kind. If only life was as kind to him as he deserved.
Hansel brings the other two plates. He sets one in front of his father, and one at the spot across from me, then sits.
“Father,” he says. “Mary from next door is coming to stay for a few days. I have somewhere I need to go.”
Hansel’s father takes this in and gives Hansel a solemn nod, sadness in his eyes but no surprise on his face. He knows what happened. He wept when we returned. I can only imagine what went through the widower’s mind when we were gone. The poor man. Life is cruel and it spared him none.
“You have everything you need?” he questions quietly.
“Yes,” Hansel answers. “We’ll leave after we eat.”
He picks up his fork and slices one of his sausages in two. Hansel’s father and I follow his lead. I bow my head and concentrate on my breakfast. It’s simple food, and it smells delicious. It’s been a long time since anyone cooked a meal for me, and I find myself wanting to memorize it.
In case I don’t come back.
And because Hansel hasn’t willingly given me even so much as a smile in so long that it makes these eggs and these slices of toast and these sausages precious beyond the worth they hold when food is so scarce.
We eat without speaking. It’s almost possible to pretend that we’re just slow to wake up and enjoying a comfortable quiet breakfast together and not swallowing our own heartbreak…or hate, in Hansel’s case.
He’s cooked the eggs just as I like—on the fluffy side—and he clearly made the bread himself. There’s not much to go around, but it’s hearty. The sausage is spicy and gone too soon.
Hansel finishes first. I’m not far behind. When I move to get up and collect the plates, Hansel jumps to his feet and stacks them first, then strides determinedly to the sink. He lets them drop into it with a loud thunk and grabs a scrub-brush from a hook on the wall. There’s practically nothing to sweep up—none of us wanted to waste a crumb—but I grab the broom from its corner and slide it across all the floors.
I’ve just put it back in its place—and Hansel’s putting the last plate on the rack to dry—when there’s a knock at the door.
Hansel doesn’t glance at me. He goes to the door and opens it.
“Mary,” he says, and bends down to give Mary a hug.
“Hansel,” she says warmly, patting his back, and then she spies me over his shoulder. Her eyebrows shoot up toward the sky. “Gretel!”
Mary’s a petite, kind-faced woman who bustles in and puts her arms around me without hesitating. I have to swallow a lump in my throat as I hug her back. The village blames me for what happened. Nobody will say it to my face, but I know they’re all thinking it—and honestly, I agree with them. Things could have been so different for all of us. I was the one who begged him to come with me. I needed to see if there was anything out there. I regret it and the town regrets my existence.
But Mary pushes me a step back and looks me up and down. “You look well,” she proclaims, and pats my face. “I hope you’re not intending to be gone long. You’re not, are you?”
“No, I’m not planning to be gone long,” I tell her, and let go. Her shawl covers most of her; the older woman’s gray hair is braided beneath the cloth.
She heads to the table next and helps Hansel’s father up from his chair. The two of them go across to the fire, and Mary settles him in, tucking a blanket over his lap and fussing over him. They’ve both suffered loss and in each other’s company they can be alone together.
They’re not gone, but they’re far enough away that it feels like Hansel and I are alone in the kitchen.
His eyes are dark with emotion as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ll need to change,” he says. “I’ll prepare the horse and the wagon. We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”
Don’t you want to talk first? I bite back the question. “I won’t take long.”
He nods, his jaw clenching, and looks away.
I hurry to the hooks by the door and get my bag, then hurry to the narrow bedroom. I don’t have much to change into. A warmer underdress. A wool sweater. My thickest socks.
I smooth out the sheets on the bed and tuck the blanket back in.
When I emerge a few minutes later, Hansel’s waiting by the door with his bag slung over his shoulder. Mary and Hansel’s father are with him. Hansel’s father pats Hansel’s shoulder.
I go to join them, my heart heavy. I don’t want to take Hansel from his father. I can’t do this without him. I wish none of this had ever happened. I can’t escape the fact that it did.
Selfishness comes over me and I nearly change my mind. But she has to die, once and for all. I need to make sure the witch is dead.
Hansel gives his father one last goodbye and heads out the door. Mary embraces me. Hansel’s father squeezes my shoulder as I move toward the door.
