by Niamh Murphy
pointed to a huge, bare tree. Its thick trunk was gnarled and twisted with
knots and its huge branches stretched out over the riverbed. It was easy
enough to spot with Maeve pointing at it, but Gretel wondered if she would
be able to find it again when all the trees were green and the forest had
become a new world, along with its new season. “Once there, you can make
your way to the crest of the hill, you’ll be able to see my little farm, even
when the trees are heavy with spring blossom.” Maeve looked at Gretel, her
face solemn. “Can you remember that?”
Gretel thought, ‘River, oak, hill, farm’: it seemed easy enough. She
smiled. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll remember.”
“Good.” Maeve placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, she seemed
relieved and Gretel could only imagine that she must crave the company of
others. She decided then that she would definitely return to her. She would
ensure that the next village would be her final stop and, along with Hans,
she would find work and a place to live and would regularly visit Maeve.
She would settle down, the turmoil would be over and she could, at last, be
happy.
Although the traps were empty, Maeve still knew all the places to look
to find food. There were oyster mushrooms growing on the inside of a tree
stump and another set of violet mushrooms under some leaves, growing in a
ring. Gretel was cautious about picking them, but Maeve assured her they
were safe. There were little weeds with pointed leaves, growing all around
the forest floor. Gretel had hardly paid them any attention before and hadn’t
considered eating them, but they were gathered up, along with some cow
parsley. Maeve dug out some pignuts, little roots growing near a hedgerow,
and she seemed happy to be finding so much.
It was slow work and Gretel’s hands were cold and numb by the time
they had enough for three people. As the sun began to slowly fade, Maeve
suggested they begin the journey home. Gretel realised they didn’t have
much more time alone, yet there was something that had been bothering
her, and she wanted to ask Maeve before they got back to the cottage.
“What was his name?” she asked.
Maeve looked at her, confused.
“The man you loved...” Gretel prompted, “...the wrong man.” She was
trying to return to their conversation of the night before and hoped that
Maeve would open up to her.
Maeve looked at her intently as they walked and Gretel wondered if
she would answer, if she had pushed her too far.
“It wasn’t a man.”
Gretel was confused for a moment before Maeve continued.
“It was a woman.” She said the words plainly, not taking her eyes from
Gretel, who was stunned into silence.
Maeve had loved a woman.
She realised now why Maeve had been exiled from the village, why
she had needed courage from her lover, why it had been so difficult. Gretel
was shocked, confused and yet also... intrigued, excited by the rebellion of
it, the idea that two women could love one another, it made her wonder...
“Does it trouble you?” Maeve asked and Gretel realised she hadn’t
said anything.
“No.” She wanted to ask more, to find out more of the story to hear
everything, but her blood ran cold at the sound of a distant howl.
“Don’t worry,” Maeve said, sensing her fear. She reached out and took
Gretel’s hand, her skin soft and warm, her touch was gentle and strong. But
she was firm, pulling Gretel along and hurrying their pace.
Despite the wolves, Gretel felt safe.
Witch
“Hans?” Gretel said softly, wiping his brow. “Hans, can you sit up to
eat?”
His face was slick with sweat and his head burnt. He had been like this
since they had returned from foraging. Maeve had suggested that he needed
to sleep off the fever and they had left him for a few hours. But Gretel
wanted to see him eat something before the day was out, as he needed all
his strength to help him heal.
They had made a mushroom soup with a few green vegetables from
Maeve’s garden, as well as the fresh food they had brought back with them.
For a forest that had seemed so barren when she had first looked, the food it
produced was the heartiest she had known in months.
“How is there more food?” Hans asked, his words slightly slurred with
sleep.
“We went out to find some and Maeve had more in her stores.” She
waved the bowl under his nose and he sat up to take it, still suspicious.
“There’s no potion in it, this time,” she said, hoping the joke would make
him smile, but he frowned, looking around the cottage for Maeve.
“How does she have food while the rest of us have starved?” he asked.
“Perhaps it hasn’t been so hard here as it was in the north.”
“Perhaps she is fattening us up to eat us.” He whispered the words, and
she wasn’t sure if he was teasing her.
“Why would she fatten people to eat them, when she could just eat the
food herself?”
“Because she likes the taste of human flesh!”
“You are being ridiculous!”
“How do you think she stays so young?”
“She is young! She’s probably the same age as us!”
“How do you know for sure!?”
Gretel sighed. Hans had been cooped up in the little cottage for longer
than he had ever been before, even with a childhood illness he had never
been so restricted for so long. His fever was making him suspicious and the
time alone was letting him dwell on his dark thoughts. But even knowing
this, Gretel didn’t have the patience to listen to him speak ill of their
hostess.
“Maeve has taken us in, fed us, kept us warm and tended to your
wound, but you condemn her as a witch: is that what you really think she
is?” Her voice rose slightly and she was conscious that Maeve was only in
the next room.
But Hans didn’t answer. He looked away and grunted, non-
committally, before tasting the thick mushroom soup. He was used to being
in charge, taking care of Gretel and making all the decisions, so it was hard
on him to be tended to like a child. But until his leg was healed, he would
just have to get used to it.
“There is more in the pot,” Gretel said, leaving him to it. She did not
feel in the mood to sit with him all night.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to bed, Hans, I’ve been out all day and now I’m tired.”
She didn’t look back as she closed the door to the bedroom. She didn’t
enjoy arguing with her brother and wanted to see him healed as soon as
possible, even though she knew it would take her away from there.
“How is he?” Maeve asked.
In the semi-darkness, Gretel could make out the figure of Maeve lying,
curled up, in the bed. Suddenly Gretel felt nervous at being so close to her
in her state of undress, at the thought of sliding into bed with her, of
sleeping next to her.
“He is well enough to argue,” she said, turning her back on Maeve and
beginning to take off her clothes. It
was too dark for Maeve to see anything
and yet she still felt modest in front of her, and the thought crossed her
mind that she shouldn’t be getting into bed alongside her at all.
A part of her had intended to tell Hans about Maeve’s revelation. The
part of her that never kept secrets from Hans, ever since they were children
they had told one another everything and yet when it came to Maeve... it
was different. She wasn’t ready for Hans to know, not just because he
would see it as another reason this woman was sinful, but also because it
was something Maeve had told her, only her. It was their secret, something
they shared, and Gretel wanted to keep hold of that.
As she removed her outer layers of clothes, stripping down to her
undershirt, she imagined Maeve watching her in the darkness, waiting for
her to climb into bed next to her. She was nervous, her heart beat a little
faster, she struggled to undo her buttons as her fingers shook and she
struggled to see in the dark.
Something made her wonder if perhaps Hans could be right: perhaps
Maeve was sinful, perhaps the village had been right to drive her out,
perhaps there was a reason that she could find food while the rest of the
world starved.
Gretel remembered how afraid she’d felt when she had first seen
Maeve, when she’d seen her throw an axe some twenty feet and strike down
a wolf. How she’d watched her carry the wolf, a weight that Hans would
have struggled with, all the way back to the fort and yet she didn’t appear to
be any stronger than any other woman. Gretel wondered if there was
something different, something other-worldly about Maeve, she was
certainly different to any other woman she had ever known.
“Are you alright?” Maeve asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Gretel lied, realising she had been taking a long time to get
undressed. She quickly stripped down to her undershirt and climbed into
bed, as if to prove that she was alright, and as she lay in the bed, staring
straight up in the dark, she could feel the weight and the warmth of Maeve
next to her, just within her reach.
She had been afraid of her at first, but the fear had gone quickly and it
had been replaced by something else. All she felt now was warmth, trust
and contentment. Gretel felt safe and at ease around Maeve in a way that
she had not felt with anyone else. She loved her brother and her family, of
course she did. But she did not long for their presence in the way that she
longed to be near Maeve.
It was madness to think evil of someone who made her feel so good.
Gretel lay wrapped in the warm blankets, listening to the breathing of
the woman next to her, and she knew she was safe. She wanted to reach out:
there were only a few inches between them, so it would be easy to take her
hand, hold her and embrace her. If she was brave enough she could feel the
whole length of Maeve’s body against her own.
As Gretel moved her hand just a fraction closer to Maeve, her heart
began to pound harder in her chest. Suddenly she was afraid of how Maeve
would react and the tiniest distance was an infinite chasm hanging between
them.
For a moment Gretel was jealous, jealous of the woman who’d had
Maeve’s affection. How easy it must have been for her when Maeve was in
love with her, how strong it must have made her feel, how invincible. In
that instant Gretel wanted to have that kind of love, the love of someone as
strong and as beautiful as Maeve, and she pledged to herself that if she ever
received it, she would never forsake it.
But as the heavy weight of sleep pulled at her, all thoughts of the
future, of plans and dreams, melted into the dark.
THE ROOM HAD GONE COLD.
But cuddled beneath the blankets she was warm. Curled up next to
Maeve she felt the warmth of her body hot against her legs. Maeve’s hair
swept across the pillows and the scent of it filled Gretel’s nostrils as she
watched her sleep. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay where she
was, listening to Maeve’s gentle breathing. In the dim morning light that
crept through cracks in the shutters, Gretel could see the outline of her
forehead, the gentle curve of her cheeks and her slightly parted lips. She
could watch her sleep forever.
She started to wonder about the woman who Maeve had loved, what
she had looked like, how it happened, how they knew, what it had been like
to kiss. She looked at Maeve’s lips and wondered what it would feel like to
kiss those lips, to feel the softness beneath her own.
Then Maeve turned, slowly opening her eyes and smiling shyly as she
saw her. But Gretel pulled back, embarrassed at being caught watching her.
“Morning,” Maeve whispered sleepily.
“I should check on Hans,” Gretel said, sliding out from beneath the
covers and quickly getting dressed in the cold air, hoping that Maeve hadn’t
seen her watching, and wouldn’t guess what she had been thinking.
She left the room without saying anything further, but gasped when
she saw the chair by the fire was empty. Hans was gone.
She started forward, wondering what could have happened to him,
thinking he must have fallen to the floor in a feverish sleep, but he was
nowhere to be found. She started to panic, thinking perhaps the wolves
could have dragged him away, or he might have limped off in the night. She
rushed to the door, thinking he might be struggling somewhere in the
woods; he could be unconscious and dying, but the door swung open before
she reached it.
“Morning!” Hans said as he saw her. He closed the door with his
elbow as his arms were stacked full of firewood. “This is the last of it,” he
said. “I’ll have to go out and chop some more today.” He moved to the fire
and began tending to it as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Hans!” Gretel managed to say. “You’re walking!”
“Well spotted!” he laughed. He stood and walked over to her, turning
about like a bride in a new dress. “It’s still a little sore, but it is very well
healed.”
“This is wonderful!” she said, truly delighted to see him so well and so
happy.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said, a little sheepishly, and suddenly
Gretel was reminded of their argument, of Maeve and of what it meant now
that Hans could walk.
“That’s alright,” she said, but the words stung in her throat, as she
realised her time here was almost over.
“You’re walking!” Maeve said, coming into the kitchen. She smiled at
Hans, but didn’t look at Gretel.
Gretel wondered if she’d offended Maeve by backing away like she
had.
“Yes!” he said, smiling at Maeve for the first time since they had met.
“All thanks to you. We can be on our way as soon as we’ve made up for
your loss.”
“I’m sure you can stay a little longer,” Maeve said, “perhaps until the
spring has broken.”
“I’ve been out in your yard,” Hans said, ignoring her protest, “the
fence needs repair in some places and I could
restock you with firewood. I
think that would be a fair exchange for what you’ve done.”
Maeve glanced at Gretel briefly, and in that look she saw her own
feelings reflected. Neither of them wanted to be parted. Even if it was just
the thought of food, warmth and shelter, it would be hard for Gretel to say
goodbye, and yet she knew there was so much more for her there than that.
For the first time in her life she considered parting from Hans, the
brother she had been close to since they were born, the brother that had
been there for her at every step along the way. Hans had always insisted
they would stay together, and that even when they each got married, they
would live next to each other and their children would all be raised together.
She knew she couldn’t leave him, she knew that after all the times he had
been there for her, she could hardly turn her back on him now. How would
she even explain it to him? How could she begin to explain the pull that she
felt and what it meant? She wasn’t even sure how to explain it to herself.
“I think it would,” Maeve said, and Gretel heard the sadness catch in
her voice.
“Would you like me to come out with you again today?” Gretel asked,
hoping that Maeve had plans to go out and hoping that the few hours they
had left could be spent alone together.
Maeve looked at her and smiled. She nodded. “That would be lovely.”
A New Beginning
The wood was quiet and still.
But it was no longer cold enough for her breath to turn to mist on the
air. The winter was starting to fade, but it only seemed to highlight to Gretel
how little time she had left.
The two of them hardly spoke as they gathered food, Maeve had taken
her to a different patch of the forest and there was even more to be found
than the day before, so it wasn’t long before the basket was full and they
were able to head back to the cottage.
But they walked slowly, neither talking, neither of them able to find
the words to admit how painful their separation would be, and neither in a
hurry, not wanting to cut short the precious time they had.
Suddenly, Maeve grabbed Gretel.
“Look!” she whispered, pointing to a bare branch high above them.
“Do you see it?”
“See what?” Gretel asked, peering hard into the trees.
