Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Gretel
I don’t expect to fall asleep quickly, or even at all. But I climb into the narrow bed Hansel offered me, pull the worn blanket around my shoulders, and I’m dreaming within seconds.
I dream of the summer, as it was before everything fell apart. Soft, green grass under my bare feet. The stream running through the forest. Market days in the village that went late into the long summer nights.
I dream of dancing by the bonfire in the town square at midsummer and walking home with Hansel, laughing. Our feet ached so badly he had to pick me up and carry me the last stretch, but I would’ve kept dancing if he wanted to.
We were only children. We knew not what was coming.
I dream of birds singing in the morning and rain falling on the roof at night and the sound of people laughing at the tavern in the distance.
That was what our village used to sound like. It doesn’t anymore. The fog has driven people inside, and they only come out when they absolutely must. The bitter cold doesn’t help.
But in my dream, it’s warm and sunny, and everything looks how it should. The fog hasn’t taken over the village. The fields haven’t burned. There hasn’t been a famine.
Hansel still smiles at me. I can’t make out most of what he’s saying, but just from his expression, I think he’s talking to me about taffy.
He always wanted taffy.
We must agree to go get some, because at some point in the dream I turn around and find him eating a piece. He offers me some, and it’s sweet. I haven’t tasted sweets like this in so long.
In the dream, I close my eyes and savor it.
I don’t know when it ends. I don’t know if it does.
When I wake up, I think I’m still there. For a moment there is peace and hope. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that.
Still in the summer I dreamed of. I’m warm under the covers, and the pillow is soft under my head, and it smells like Hansel’s cottage. I can’t remember why I’m sleeping here. Did I run here for shelter from a storm? Did we stay up too late talking?
My heart sinks as the memories of last night come back to me. One by one, the memories school me.
It wasn’t a late-night conversation or a summer storm that brought me here. It was the witch. Her curse and our torment.
I’m in this bed, in Hansel’s house, because I forced myself out of my house and to his doorstep. I came inside and looked him in the face while he glared at me. I told him about the rocks leading to my house, and the rocks in my living room, and how I know she’s back.
We’ll talk in the morning, Hansel said.
I keep my eyes squeezed shut. The mattress might be thin and hard, and the blanket is threadbare in places, but I’m warm and safe for the moment, and I don’t want the moment to end.
I give myself to the count of five, breathing slow and pretending I’m still asleep, then get up and wash my face in the little basin in the corner.
It’s freezing outside the bed. The heat from the fire doesn’t reach into the tiny bedrooms, and if it did, it would be a waste of firewood. I was warm enough while I slept.
Once I’ve dried my face, I tug the blanket off the bed and wrap it around my shoulders. It’s early, but I can hear movement in the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and leave the tiny bedroom. It’s right next to the slightly bigger room where Hansel sleeps. I peek in and find the blanket made up. It doesn’t look slept in. I didn’t hear him get in bed before I fell asleep.
The only thing that makes it easier to go to the main room is that the fireplace is there, and it will be warmer. I’ve been craving heat, like everyone else in town, so I square my shoulders and go, my thick winter socks almost silent on the floor.
Hansel’s in the kitchen. One look at him tells me he hasn’t slept.
There are dark circles under his eyes, and he’s wearing a burdened expression along with yesterday’s clothes.
He’s got his coat on, and his back is to me.
The fire crackles in the hearth, throwing off as much heat and light as when I went to sleep.
There’s a bag hanging on the hook by my cloak and my bag.
Hansel has already packed.
Hope springs in my chest. I can’t go back alone. It was torture the last time and I don’t know what waits for me. But she haunts me. I have to go and see this to the end.
I pray he comes with me and seeing the bag offers me hope.
I want to hide under the blanket. I want to disappear, just like I wanted to disappear yesterday. But I can’t go back now. I need to be certain Hansel understands that what’s happening is real.
I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders, my chest clenching, and pad across to the kitchen table.
Hansel cracks an egg into a pan on the stove, then glances over his shoulder at me. He lifts his chin in a quick acknowledgment, but doesn’t say a word.
It’s been years since I’ve spoken to him in confidence. After what happened, when we came home, there was concern that drifted us apart.
We have to talk, but I can’t say I’m in a hurry to start the conversation.
The quiet used to be comfortable between us.
Now a thick tension hangs in the air and makes my throat ache.
The last thing I want to do is talk about the past, or the witch, or the stones, so I sit there in silence while Hansel cooks.
I can’t help looking at him.
He’s taller than he was when we were younger. His shoulders are broader. He’s on the slim side, but then—everyone in the village is. That’s what happens when there’s a famine, and a wildfire, and when most of us are on the edge of starving.
I wish I could get close to him, even if it was just under the pretense of staying warm.
I want to go to him and put my arms around his waist and let my nose brush the back of his jacket.
He was the only friend I had. And when we parted, I had no one.
And neither did he. No one could understand what we’d been through.
But everyone thought it wise to keep us apart.
I could press a kiss to his back so lightly he wouldn’t notice.
I could simply feel him—his sturdy muscles and his strong heartbeat.
I could feel his warmth.
Readjusting the blanket, I sit quietly and press my thighs together under the table.
My whole body screams to get up and go to him.
My body doesn’t care that Hansel hates me.
It just wants him, in every way there is to want someone.
I can’t stop wanting him. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t want me anymore.
Not as a friend and not as anything more.
He’s always had a hold on me, like something out of a fairytale. It was Hansel I dreamed about at night. When I was younger, my dreams were sweet. Taffy and holding hands and smirking at one another.
When I got older, and Hansel got tall and handsome, my dreams got less sweet and more…
sinful. I dreamed about his body under his clothes and his hair wet from swimming in the river and how his mouth would feel on mine.
The childish love I felt for him became something hot and irresistible.
I learned what a craving was because that was the only word I could find to describe how I wanted him. Needed him.
To take away what was and protect me again like he once did.
I shake my head and pull the blanket as tight around me as I can. I didn’t come here because I’d hoped there was still hope for us.
Hope abandoned us long ago.
The rocks. The witch.
Thinking of her, even for a few seconds, turns my blood to ice. I focus back on watching Hansel cook.
His hands are large—a man’s hands—but capable as he cooks the eggs and warms the bread in the pan the way I used to love when we were kids. Hansel adds a few sausages to the pan as well, which makes my heart twist all over again.
Food is hard to come by in the village. What little there is costs more than it ever has before. Hansel and his father don’t have much—nobody does—and yet he’s going to offer some of it to me.
The aroma of the breakfast fills the cabin.
Hansel takes down three plates from an open shelf near the stove and puts food on one of them.
My mouth waters as he carries it to the table and puts it down in front of me, along with a fork and a folded napkin made from cloth that used to be the color of a robin’s egg and is closer to gray now.
I look up to thank him and find his eyes burning into mine. His eyes are still so beautiful, and so angry, that I can’t say a word.
“We’re going to find that house,” he says, his voice soft. “And I’m going to burn it down. I’ll show you there’s no witch. She’s dead.”
The bitterness in his words is at odds with the warmth of the plate.
He’s wrong. She’s not dead, and she’s been trying to lure me back. The determination in Hansel’s expression steals my words. He doesn’t understand. He never has. I wish he were right though. We killed her and I wish she’d stay dead. The horrors are too much and we were only children.
“I—” I swallow thickly, struggling to breathe and get my thoughts in order.
I want you to be the person you were. I can’t say that to Hansel.
Not when it’s my fault he’s like this. I’m glad you’re angry.
No. I’m not glad he’s angry. I’m not glad any of this happened.
But he looks fierce and full of life, and he used to look like that when we were kids.
Only he was fierce about me, and not this.
Meekly, I admit, with the only words I can find, “I don’t remember how to get there. ”
Hansel’s eyes narrow a little more. “I do.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you—”
“I’ve been back before.”
My heart jolts with surprise. He’s been back? I had no idea he went to the witch’s cottage without me. I honestly didn’t think he ever would—even if I were with him. My hands ache around the fabric of the blanket.
My lips part with shock, but I can’t think of a word to say.