Page 7 of The Pebbled Path

“Do you come to this stream often?”

“Every day at about this time.”

“Perhaps I will see you again tomorrow.”

She smiled softly. “I hope that you will.”

Hansel arrived at the log near the stream earlier the next day, not wishing to miss her arrival. After a time, his efforts were rewarded. The young lady arrived. Only after they had parted the day before did he realize he had not learned her name. The man with whom he lived was not aware of anyone matching her description who lived in the forest, nor did he know of any household that kept servants. But then, he’d admitted, he did not know everyone who lived in the forest. It was a vast and mysterious place, all the corners of which no one person had ever traversed.

But she was there again. She smiled when she saw him, the expression one of both pleasure and welcome. He returned it and joined her at the water’s edge.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

“To you as well.”

“I neglected to learn your name when we were together yesterday,” he said. “And I do not believe I gave you mine. I am Hansel, and I hail from the western kingdom.”

“I am Gretel, and I hail from the eastern forest.”

He offered a bow and she a curtsy, and they walked together along the banks of the stream. They spoke of plants and trees as they had before but also ventured to other topics. He learned that she enjoyed the sunrise, she liked to read though she hadn’t access to any books, her mother had passed away long ago, and her father was far away.

He, in turn, told her of his childhood home, of his parents, his brothers and sisters. He told her of the carving he did and the furniture he built. He told her of his dream to one day sell his goods throughout the area. However, when he asked her what dreams she had for her life, she gave a vague response, devoid of any real answer. Was there nothing she longed for? Surely there must be.

“If your life could be anything at all,” he asked, “what would you choose?”

“I haven’t time for pondering such things.” She bent and picked up her water pails, they having circled back to the spot where she’d left them. “I must return. My mistress will be cross if I delay.”

He helped her balance her yoke. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I will try.”

She was not there the next day, though she was the day after that. The days passed in that same unpredictable pattern. The time he spent with her drew him ever more to her. He sensed her situation was not a happy one, yet she was not an unhappy person. The burdens she carried, figuratively and literally, were not light, yet she was not crushed by them.

She was a woman worth knowing better. Somehow, he would manage precisely that, even if he had to petition her strict mistress directly.

Chapter Four

Though Gretel’s trips to fetch water had brought her tremendous joy over the past weeks, her time in the enchantress’s cottage grew more miserable by the day. The enchantress frequently grew short-tempered, impatient, and ill. Just when Gretel felt certain her horrible mistress was beyond recovery, she would improve, sometimes overnight, sometimes over the course of a few days.

The transformation always followed the same pattern: The enchantress’s health grew incredibly fragile. Gretel was banished to the basement before her usual time. While down there, she heard voices, yet never saw anyone come or go during the day, never heard the enchantress mention visitors. In the mornings, the furniture would be moved about in nonsensical ways.

Always, whether the pattern repeated for days on end or only one night, the enchantress would improve, returning to her previous state of health and vitality. And Gretel always knew when her early banishment would end by watching the garden. A new pillar of rock would appear in the wall one morning. The enchantress would become hale and hardy, and Gretel would remain above ground for the usual amount of time each day.

She did not know precisely what was happening above her during that time, but she worried greatly. What could she do, though? She had not yet found a spell book or a guide to potions or anything that might help her make sense of what she was seeing, certainly nothing to help her escape. Her one consolation in the loneliness and worry was Hansel—dear, kindhearted Hansel.

More than a month had passed since she had first made his acquaintance. They spent more time together than they had at first. She asked him to meet her in the mornings, rather than the afternoon. With her mistress asleep, she need not rush back to the cottage. Her time was more her own. This meant being inside the cottage more often when the enchantress was awake. It was a misery, but she was willing to endure it.

Her papa, she felt certain, would have liked Hansel. Indeed, the man with whom Hansel lived reminded her of Papa. At least, she thought he did. She often grew confused when thinking of him, as if bits and pieces of her memory were hiding just out of reach. Had she been away long enough for that to be possible?

As she walked in the direction of the predetermined meeting place, Gretel attempted to remember how long she had lived in the enchantress’s cottage and found, to her astonishment, that she was not entirely certain. Had it been months or years?

“Gretel.”

Her eyes darted upward, her gaze having dropped to the path as she pondered the inexplicable gaps in her memory. There stood Hansel. She hadn’t yet reached the place they had intended to meet.

He offered her one of his friendly smiles and a deep purple wildflower. “I knew you lived in this general direction.”

“Why would you not wait where we had decided?” Worry rendered her question more forceful than she would usually have asked it.