Page 6 of The Pebbled Path

Just as the house had changed overnight, so had the garden, but in a far larger way than the mere movement of furnishings. A new stone pillar had been added, one as tall and wide as the others. When had it been placed, and by whom? And why was this new rock dripping water like the others if it had only recently arrived?

The enchantress must have placed it there. That, no doubt, was the reason for Gretel’s discomfort. Even this secluded corner of the tiny world Gretel now occupied bore the mark of her taskmaster, a master she feared she would never escape.

Chapter Three

In the far western corner of the kingdom, a young man named Hansel, who possessed a particular talent for woodworking, both of an intricate and practical nature, determined that, should he hope to find any success in his chosen profession, he would do well to make his home in a place near a large supply of wood. Only a forest would do.

He packed his tools and his few belongings, kissed his mother and father farewell, and journeyed to the large eastern forest. Fate appeared to be smiling upon him, for he found on his first day near the legendary woods a woodsman who lived alone. Someone had recently given up claim to the empty room in his house. He did not speak of his recent tenant in any specific terms, but he seemed generally pleased with his situation and asked no money in exchange for a place where Hansel might lay his head. He required only that the younger man help with those chores that age made difficult for him.

Hansel ventured the next day out into the forest, though not very far. The next day, he went a bit farther. The next day, farther still. If these woods were to be his home, he needed to become familiar enough with them to not get lost, and he needed to learn to love them. One could not expect to benefit from the bounty of a forest otherwise.

Farther and farther he went, making note of each variety of tree, discovering which were softest and most easily carved, which were stronger and better suited to the building of furniture. He noted those that were more abundant and those he would need to harvest with caution lest none be left. He spent his days on the winding paths amongst the thick stands of trees. And he did, indeed, grow to love his new forest home.

After nearly two weeks of daily exploring, Hansel came upon a stream. The water flowed cool and clear, tumbling over rocks and twisting around tree roots. Sunlight danced over its ripples, filtering down through the canopy of leaves above.

He found a fallen log, one of a perfect height for sitting on, and allowed himself a quiet moment to take in the beauty of the scene. This would be the perfect spot for working on his more intricate bits of carved art.

Footsteps broke the silence. He turned to see a young woman nearly his own age approach. She had not seen him yet, and he watched her approach the stream. A yoke sat on her neck, a bucket swinging on each end. She had come to fetch water.

Hansel had not seen another soul in the weeks he’d spent in the forest. He could not countenance missing the opportunity to make the acquaintance of perhaps the only neighbor he had outside of the man with whom he lived.

“Do you come to the stream often?”

His words startled her. The yoke slipped, and she struggled to right it. Hansel leaped from the log and moved to assist her.

“My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

She shook her head, watching him with concern. “I have never seen anyone here before.”

“I am newly arrived in this part of the kingdom,” he said. “Do you live in the forest?”

“Yes. All my life.”

He took one of her buckets and, lowering it into the stream, filled it.

She smiled at him as she filled the other bucket and set it on the stream bank beside the first. “What has brought you here?”

“I am a woodworker. Where better for me to ply my trade than in a place filled with trees?”

“And what place is more filled with trees than a forest?”

A thought entered his mind, one he spoke aloud. “I imagine you know the forest well, having lived here so long.”

She nodded. “The forest is like a friend to me. I know it very well.”

Sensing in her one who shared his enjoyment of trees, he asked about the forest and if she liked one variety of tree better than another. She responded with all the enthusiasm he felt. She told him of a fragrant variety of evergreen found along the northern edge of the forest, not far from where he now lived. She spoke of a small bush with a thick trunk, the wood of which was a deep shade of red. His curiosity was not met with dismissal on her part, but appreciation. He felt certain he could talk to her all the day long and never grow weary, never run out of things to say.

Alas, after a time, she took up her yoke and water and began to walk away.

“Must you go?” he asked.

“I must.” She seemed to regret her departure.

“May I walk with you?” he asked.

She immediately shook her head. “My mistress is very strict, and she watches me closely. I must return alone.”

Her mistress. She was a servant, then.