The Magic Mirror and the Seventh Dwarf

by Tia Nevitt

  All of them had dwarflike features except for Dieter and Rudolph, both who seemed to be merely short. Rudolph was the tallest. She guessed him to be five feet tall or a little taller.

  Homey sounds and smells enveloped Gretchen as she walked through the Einhaus—the smell of cow and horse, the cluck of hens and the baa of goats. The interior walls of the house were much like the exterior, with broad beams making squares and right triangles, filled in with a whitewashed expanse. The low walls formed chambers where the cattle would be driven in at night. Above her on the low second level would be the grain and hay storage. The floor was dirt, and there was a wagon and a coach parked within. Ahead, she could see a large fireplace dominating the interior wall, with chambers underneath for ovens.

  When she had crossed about half of the house, she paused and called, “Guten Tag?” She could see someone small stand up and head her way. When she stopped in front of Gretchen, they stared at each other for a moment. Frau Marta had hair that must have once been platinum blond, but now was a darker blond streaked with gray. It was braided and wound into loops on either side of her head, in the traditional way. Her eyes were a crystalline blue. She was plump, with lines around her eyes and mouth that arranged her face in a permanently cheerful expression.

  “Guten Tag,” Frau Marta finally said.

  Gretchen reached up and pulled off her cap. It had a hole in the top for her topknot. “You must be Frau Marta. My name is Gretchen. I’ve traveled a long way to find you.”

  “Yes. Well, I see. I’m pleased to meet you. Do come into the kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry if my appearance startles you,” Gretchen said as she followed her. “But I found it necessary to travel as a man.”

  “Very sensible of you.” They emerged from the long hallway to the kitchen. “Please, sit down.” She gestured off to the side.

  Gretchen looked over at the long kitchen table, and then she stopped short. The chairs and table were all low! The seat of each chair was not ten inches off the floor, yet when she sat, she saw that the table was high enough to accommodate short arms. One end of the table was yet higher, with three normal-sized chairs around it.

  She looked around at the rest of the kitchen with delight. Everything was low to the ground as well—water pump, oven and stove, yet somehow it managed not to look like some child’s playhouse.

  “Well,” Frau Marta said as she sat opposite Gretchen. “I must say, word has gotten out about our place. Herr Lars came not two months ago, and now here you are.”

  “Herr Lars—so that’s his name,” she said. “I came with a minstrel named Johann. He described all of you and Herr Lars was the only one I didn’t recognize.”

  “Herr Johann is here?”

  “He’s outside with the men. He said he’d stay a night, and then come back after a few weeks.” She paused. “Frau—the minstrel told me that you are looking for other farmhands. I’m only a woman, and I don’t know if—”

  “You are welcome to stay here, Fräulein.”

  “Are you sure you have room? If not, I’ll stay in town.”

  “Oh, that’s too far away. We have plenty of room. You must stay back here with the family, of course.”

  “That’s very kind. But...Frau, I must be honest. I have come here in the hopes of finding a husband.”

  Marta’s brows flew up. “My, that is honest. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I wouldn’t want any hanky-panky going on, or for any rivalries to start among the men.”

  “Naturally. I wouldn’t say anything about it to anyone but you. I’m prepared to pay my keep, and I will conduct myself properly. I have no intention of throwing myself on the first man who comes along.”

  Her face softened. “I do know how difficult it is to find a man who...who is like us. I was lucky to find Dieter, even though he isn’t quite like us, and I’m lucky he is so good to me.” She pursed her lips as she studied Gretchen. “I am not in the habit of taking in boarders, so I think we should find some work for you.”

  “One of the men suggested milking cows. I can do that, at least, plus other farm chores. I grew up on a farm.”

  “Very good. That’ll do. I suppose I could use the help, but serving girls have never given me the proper respect, and I’ve learned to manage without.” She stood. “Well, let’s get you settled.”She opened the door to a stairway that led up to the second story. “You can use my sewing room. It’s on the west end of the house and is very bright and cheerful. I imagine you’ll want to change out of those clothes and clean yourself up.”

  “Very much so.”

  Frau Marta led her to a sunny room in the southeast corner of the house. The ceiling followed the roofline, making the room much taller than those downstairs. There were windows on both exterior walls, and there was a large cutting table and a sewing basket in the center of the room. There was also cot in the corner with a thick mattress and quilt, a washstand and a pegboard upon which Gretchen could hang her clothes.

  Marta filled the water basin with an urn she had brought, and she left.

  Gretchen sighed and removed her disguise, layer by layer, and tossed aside the cloth that had bound her breasts these long weeks. She rubbed her chafed breasts, glorying in their freedom at the same time she scrunched her nose at her own smell. What she really wanted was a bath, but she thought it would be too imposing to put her hosts to such trouble. She had just started to wash herself with the water in the basin when there was a tap at the door.

  “Fräulein? There’s a bath waiting in the kitchen. It’s only a barrel, but you should find it pleasant.”

  “Indeed I will. Thank you, Frau Marta. I’ll be right down.”

  Gretchen pulled her smelly shirt back on without the breast wrap, gathered up the clothes she intended to wear and went down.

  Frau Marta had set up a folding screen in a corner of the kitchen, behind which was a barrel bath. Since the house was full of small folk, the bath was well equipped with ropes and steps, enabling her to get in and out by herself—something she never had been able to do even at home. The bath would have been barely adequate for a full-sized woman, but for Gretchen, it was luxury. She soaked away the travel grime and washed her hair.

  Once she finished bathing, she dressed in her frock and sat before the fire to comb her hair into her usual style. When she finished, she gathered up her things and went back to her room.

  By then, it was late afternoon. Soon it would be suppertime. She offered to help with the meal, but Marta advised her to rest from her journey. She lay on the cot, restless. Soon, it would be time for the evening meal, when the farmhands would dine with the family. Soon, she would formally meet the men from whom she hoped to pick a husband. Soon, she would know if coming here had been a mistake.

  The summons to supper woke her three hours later.

  Chapter Four

  Lars tried not to stare when Fräulein Gretchen made her appearance. Gone was the travel-stained and grimy youth, and in its place was a neat, clean blonde woman. Her eyes were all that remained the same. Her face was lovelier than he recalled. The heavy features that he hated in his own reflection seemed so right in her face, arranged in the best possible places. Her high cheekbones minimized the thickness of her jaw line. Her clever hairstyle minimized her forehead, drawing his gaze down to her clear blue eyes. Her neck was almost nonexistent, but better a nonexistent neck than one crowded with chins. His eyes strayed lower. Her bodice was firmly but not tightly laced against a trim
waist and breasts just large enough for her frame. Her hips were slender, and her arms, like his, were shorter in the upper limb than in the lower.

  While he stood there like a terrified colt on new legs, Rudolph leaped to his feet and sprang forward to offer his hand.

  “Fräulein,” he said. “I am very pleased to meet you. My name is Rudolph.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Herr Rudolph.”

  “I believe supper is almost ready...” He looked over at Frau Marta.

  “First, she should meet the rest of the household.” Marta said. “This is my husband, Herr Dieter Klein.”

  Gretchen curtsied.

  “Our son, Erick.”

  Again, she curtsied. Lars wondered if her knees ever ached, as his did. If so, then her curtsies were especially remarkable.

  “Our other farmhands, Herr Gunther.” A curtsy. “Herr Klaus.” Another curtsy. “And Herr Lars.” A third curtsy. Lars bowed low.

  Marta clapped her hands. “Well. Shall we eat?” She took Gretchen’s elbow and led the way to the dining table.

  They each took seats. The family all sat near the tall end, with Erick sitting next to his mother, and Dieter at the head in one of the tall chairs. Herr Johann sat opposite Erick. Marta placed Gretchen at her right hand and then gestured Herr Gunther to sit next to her. Rudolph lunged for the seat opposite Gretchen, but Lars was closer. He reached out and grabbed the chair an instant before Rudolph. Lars narrowed his eyes at the larger man, who, with a glower, yanked out the seat next to him. Klaus sat at the end.

  Gretchen seemed unaware of the incident. She was saying something with a smile to Frau Marta.

  “Yes, we have two meals here a day, breakfast and supper. For the farmhands, dinner is in the outer farmhouse, but you may eat here with me.”

  “So what sort of duties are you going to do here at the farm, Fräulein?” Rudolph asked.

  Gretchen glanced at Marta, who said, “She will be assisting me.”

  Lars was determined to ask the next question. “How did you hear about this farm?”

  Gretchen nodded to Johann. “He described everyone except you, Herr Lars.”

  Johann gestured with his bread. “You are already being added to my tales, Herr Lars.”

  “This place must attract some curiosity,” Gretchen said. “Have you had any trouble?”

  “Every once in a while, we are accused of sorcery,” Marta said, “but thankfully, the town bishop has always vouched for us. Other people think we’re cursed. Children sometimes come to throw things at us. And then, there’s the princess.”

  Gretchen looked startled. “Princess?”

  “Yes, the poor dear,” Marta shook her head. “Princess Angelika. She’s the queen’s stepdaughter and blossoming into the loveliest thing you ever saw. But the queen—she mistreats her, and sometimes the princess runs away and stays with us for a night or two.”

  “It’s envy,” Dieter said.

  Marta nodded. “Yes. It’s terrible. I fear for her sometimes.”

  Gretchen felt a stab of guilt. She’d never considered what it must be like to be the object of jealousy.

  After supper, they adjourned to the parlor. Gretchen was delighted to find some more small chairs, these equipped with soft cushions, high arms and footstools. Erick and Johann had to watch their heads in the low room. Gretchen sat in one of the small chairs, placed her feet on a footstool and then sighed as the ache in her lower back began to melt away.

  “Now. Tell us all about your journey here,” Frau Marta asked.

  That evening, Gretchen felt more like herself than any time since she was a young child. She laughed at jokes and told her share. She sang to Johann’s fiddle. She shared in the conversation. Not once did she feel uncomfortable because she was the wrong size. No one eyed her with that sort of fascinated stare that she had learned to ignore. And when the others laughed, they were laughing with her, not at her.

  She belonged. And she knew that coming here had been the right thing for her to do.

  * * *

  Later, Lars, Rudolph, Gunther and Klaus went to the bunkroom for the night. It was never a pleasant time. Klaus would sit on his bunk, whittling by candlelight, hardly saying a word. Gunther often waxed vociferous and sometimes talked long past the time when Lars was drifting off to sleep.

  But worst of all was Rudolph. Mostly he bragged and tried to throw his weight around. So far, Lars thought he was only testing him, trying to provoke him. And so far, Lars ignored it. Lars didn’t want to jeopardize his place here—especially now.

  Rudolph walked up to Lars as soon as he entered the bunkroom.

  “You stay away from Gretchen, Stump,” he said, standing too close and looming his five-foot frame over Lars. “She’s mine.”

  Lars glared at him. He bitterly regretted telling everyone the name he had used when he was a fool for the royal court. He had intended to leave that nickname behind forever, and he never expected one of his own kind to flog him with it.

  “I believe you mean Fräulein Gretchen,” Lars said, “and she belongs to herself.”

  Rudolph shoved him. Lars’s short legs couldn’t break his fall, so over he went, boxing his ear against a bedpost as he went down. His ear rang and he pushed himself up unsteadily, the world a white haze of pain.

  “Now see here!” Gunther said, jumping to his feet.

  “Shut up, old man!” Rudolph said.

  Gunther shrank away. Lars understood that Gunther had tried to stand up to Rudolph once and had gotten a thrashing for his trouble.

  Slowly, Lars got to his feet. “You really ought to be careful,” Lars said as he stood crouched over, his right side to Rudolph.

  Rudolph sneered. “Why should I?”

  “Because—” Lars stomped his heel into Rudolph’s knee, “—I’m closer to your kneecaps.”

  Rudolph howled and went down. To his surprise, Klaus threw aside his whittling and jumped on him. Lars piled on, wrestling down Rudolph’s right arm with one hand and grabbing his beard with the other, yanking his head off the floor.

  “I may be little,” Lars said, “but I stopped being bullied years ago. If you think that kneecap is painful, then just try something else. And as for Fräulein Gretchen, you keep your respect around her or I’ll personally unman you.” With that, he slammed Rudolph’s head into the floorboards with a thunk.

  Lars jumped off him and pulled Klaus clear. Rudolph got up and backed away without a word. The bunkroom was silent.

  Lars waited until he heard Rudolph’s heavy snore before he went to sleep.

  * * *

  The cock crowed well before dawn. Gretchen arose, dressed in her kirtle, pulled on her clogs and went downstairs to the cow stall. Since the cow didn’t know her, she took a few extra moments to get acquainted before she settled on the milking stool and started milking.

  A door slammed opened with a bang. Loud laughter entered the main hallway. Gretchen grabbed the milk pail and stood.

  “Not so loud, please!” she called. She couldn’t quite see over the stall wall. The cow swished her tail in her face and Gretchen blinked, her eyes stinging.

  It silenced. Rudolph’s face appeared over the wall.

  “I’m sorry, Fräulein. I didn’t see you there.”

  Gretchen rubbed her eyes, settled the cow and sat again. To her discomfort, Rudolph continued to watch. She kept her attention on her task as she said, “I trust you’ve seen a cow being milked before, Herr
Rudolph.”

  “Of course, Fräulein. Forgive me.” To her relief, he moved on.

  She was not as displeased as she sounded. She was unaccustomed to the attention, but she also didn’t quite trust him. Short as he was, he wasn’t quite shaped like Gretchen, and she thought of him as just like every other normal-sized person. And that meant he probably thought of her as misshapen.

  The cow provided a good supply of milk, and she filled the milk barrel, holding back a portion to allow to it separate into cream for later churning. Then she went to collect the eggs. She retrieved almost three dozen and took them to Frau Marta.

  “Oh, good work! Would you like to take them to market?”

  “To market? All the way back in the city?”

  “No, there are a few farms in the forest, and we have a small market set up at the crossroads until midmorning. It’s small enough that the tax man ignores it. Just get your bonnet and head down the road, that way.” She gestured in the opposite direction from whence Gretchen had come the previous day. “Get as much sugar and coffee as you can bargain for.”

  Gretchen took her bonnet and headed out. The woods were pleasant, and the road was slightly overgrown, as if it didn’t get quite enough traffic to keep the weeds at bay. Due to her fragile burden, Gretchen kept her eye on the road as she walked, and thus she didn’t see the maiden until she spoke.

  “Fräulein? You must come from the dwarf farm.”

  Gretchen looked up at a young woman. Her heart iced up in immediate jealousy of the girl’s grace and beauty. Her rare black hair had escaped its bonds and tumbled with careless charm about her shoulders. Gretchen had thought Gisela beautiful, but next to this girl, Gisela would be the pale prettiness of a star as compared to the sunset. Her pale blue eyes regarded Gretchen from a perfect heart-shaped face. The girl’s lips were the red of new-plucked apples, and her movements as she walked—