by Jane Yolen
I suppose I should have been afraid, but they weren’t scary at all. Even when they began questioning me, I felt instantly that they did it because they wanted to help.
“Vy are you here?” Graybeard asked.
“And look at you, poor child,” added Baldy, “you’re filthy. Vat a terrible time you must have had.”
Their sweet concern broke down the wall around me and tears began to fill my eyes. I scrubbed at them with one fist, which only made things fuzzy.
Gott im Himmel offered me a large white handkerchief, rather the worse for wear. It had dark smudges on both sides, but then—I supposed—so did I. I took the handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes.
“Start from the start,” Graybeard said softly.
“There’s . . . there’s an awful lot to tell.” My voice was suddenly quite shaky. “And a lot of it is awful.”
They laughed again.
“Ve haff quit vork for the day,” Baldy said, “so ve haff much time for tales.”
Gott im Himmel added, “And ve luff a good story.”
“There’s little good about it,” I said.
Graybeard held a finger up. “Let us be the judge of that, child.”
Nods ran all around the circle.
Then Graybeard introduced them all to me. He was Jakob, Baldy was Karl, Gott im Himmel was really Philip. Redbeard was Friedrich, called Freddy. The short one was Klaus. And the dark-bearded one was George. Hardly the kind of alien names in Papa’s books. Which had too few consonants and a lot of apostrophes.
“Und how long since you’ve last eaten?” asked George.
I thought a minute. “Since yesterday morning? A bit of lamb’s-quarters and a handful of ramps.” I pulled the last couple of ramp bulbs out of my pocket. The leaves were broken and wilted, the bulbs crushed. A pungent garlic smell filled the air.
“Get the child some tea,” Jakob ordered, and Klaus wandered off at once, I guessed going into the kitchen.
“Und some sausage and küchen,” Freddy called after him.
“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what küchen was but hoping it tasted good, though at that moment anything would have tasted good. Even more ramps.
The küchen turned out to be a little apple cake, very moist and sweet. And along with it came bread and butter, sausage, and mashed potatoes. A feast.
“Ve have only tea or beer or vater to drink,” Jakob said.
“Ve’re not used to being visited by little girls.”
“Little girls on the run,” added Freddy with a shrewd guess.
“I’m not so little,” I explained. Then, not wanting to be impolite, for I was taller than the six of them, I added quickly, “After all, I’m nearly thirteen. And I can shift for myself.”
“So it seems.” Jakob nodded with approval and I felt myself swell a bit with pride.
That’s when I told them the whole story as I knew it, starting with Mama’s death and going right up till that very moment. It took a better part of an hour in the telling, even though I left loads of it out. The bread and sausage and küchen kept me going, and the teapot seemed as endless as the cooking pot in the old fairy tale.
When I finished my story, Philip laughed. “Ursula knows her job.”
I was confused. “Ursula?” I looked around. I’d seen no one who might be Ursula.
Seeing my confusion, Philip said, “The bear.”
“The bear?”
“Yah,” added Klaus, “she must have seen you needed help and shooed you into the house. Then she came and got us from the mine.”
“The bear. Shooed. Me.” I put a hand to my brow, stunned.
Freddy added, “Ve raised her from an orphan cub. She’s the family pet.”
“And our guardian, too,” Karl added, raising a finger. “Don’t forget that.”
The others chuckled.
“Now that she has your scent and ours together, she’ll be on the vatch for you, too,” Jakob told me. “Just in case Stepmama . . .” He left the rest hanging, but I knew what he meant.
However, I told myself, Stepmama will never think to look for me here, on the far side of Elk Mountain, in a small house, with a bunch of little men, and guarded by a bear!
“Thank you,” I said.
“Bitte schön,” said Philip.
He was right. It was a very bitter story.
Of course, once I was fed and safe, and fully delivered of my tale the way a mother is delivered of a difficult child, I realized how truly filthy I was. The little men—for now I thought of them that way, not aliens at all—drew out a metal tub from under the kitchen sink and heated up water in the kettle though it took some twenty kettles to fill it up to the top. Then they gave me three towels and a bar of pinkish soap.
“Ve make the soap ourselves,” Klaus said shyly. “Smell it.”
I took a long sniff. “Mint,” I said. “Very fresh.”
He was pleased I knew it. “And vakening,” he said.
I thought I knew what he meant. The scent would wake me up.
They placed fresh clothes for me on a wooden rack near the bath.
“These were Mutti’s clothes,” George said. “Mama, you vould call her. She is no longer vith us. Perhaps they fit you.”
“I know how to alter dresses,” I said, for we’d learned that in home ec. “If you have a needle and thread.”
“Ve haff even better—ve haff Mutti’s sewing machine,” he said. “Do you know how to use a treadle?”
I grinned. I learned that in home ec, too!
They gave me my choice of three outfits. My favorite was a sweet little red and white dress they called a dirndl that had a full skirt, gathered waist, and fitted bodice just my size. The other two were floral cottons, one with blue flowers, the other with yellow, and they were both just right, only needed a bit of hemming. Their mutti must have been tall, for all that they were tiny men.
“I think these are beautiful,” I said, “but this one”—I pointed to the dirndl, not daring to touch it with my filthy hands—“is much too pretty for me to wear.”
“Mutti vore it to church,” said Jakob.
“Und venever there vas a music party,” added George.
Karl sighed. “How Mutti loved to dance.”
A music party! I tried to imagine such a thing and failed. I’d not been to a party that I could remember, except when Papa married Stepmama, in seven years or longer. But I was not here for a party.
“This one,” I said, choosing the more sensible blue cotton dress.
“You vill look wunderbar in it, child,” Jakob said. “But you need not choose. They can all be yours. Mutti needs them no more.”
The little men had also set out some of Mutti’s underthings on the rack, though they seemed ill at ease handling them. They left a pair of their mother’s shoes as well. Luckily, they fit me and that was a blessing since I’d no idea how to alter shoes. Especially not such sturdy brown leather shoes, which would be perfect for walking up and down mountains. All the way to Virginia.
“How long has your mama been gone?” I asked them.
“She died vhen Villy was born,” said Jakob.
“Which of you is Villy?” I looked around. Then I put my hand over my mouth. What if Villy had died just as our baby had died and been buried with his dear mama?
“Villy is at the uniwersity,” Jakob said. “He is learning philosophy.”
“Und linguistics,” Freddy added.
I didn’t know what either of those things were but filed the words away in my mind to unpack later. But then I thought—if Villy was at the university, he must have been born at least eighteen years ago. More and more mysterious.
“He vill not be a miner like us. Ve promised Mutti,” Freddy said.
“He’s a true American,” Klaus added. “Not born in the old country, but here in the big bed.”
I wondered where the old country was, wondered about Villy, whether he was short like his brothers and bearded. Whether he had red hair or black hair
or no hair at all.
“Do Mutti’s clothes suit you?” Philip asked.
“Oh, very much,” I said.
“There is more then,” Jakob said.
“Much more,” added Freddy.
Thinking of the eighteen years, I asked: “You kept her clothes all this time?”
The nods went all around.
“You must have loved her very much.” I smiled at them.
“Just as I loved my mama, too, but I had so little time with her. Only seven years.” I thought a minute. “What about your papa?”
“He died soon after. Of a broken heart.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding with understanding. I was thinking that my papa would have been the same if Stepmama hadn’t put him under her wicked spell. And wasn’t that odd, then, for in a way she’d saved him. I knew she hadn’t meant to. I thought she’d be horrified if she knew. And that made me smile.
They went outside and waited for me to take my bath. I soaked for a long while, eyes closed. I could hear the men chatting away and smell the smoke of their pipes through an open window. I felt the dirt and the fear being washed away. As ever, my caul in its little bag lay close at hand . . . just in case.
Opening my eyes, I got down to the hard business of giving myself a real scrub before the water went cold, soaping up my hair, then ducking under to rinse the soap out. At last I got out, smelling wonderfully minty. Drying myself thoroughly, I put on Mutti’s blue cotton dress before calling the little men back inside. I could hem it later.
“If I can stay just a night or two, I’ll get your house sparkling clean and then be on my way. I’m a good worker. Really I am. I did all the housework at my house.” I smiled again at them. I think I’d smiled more in those first few hours with them than I had in the last six years. “You seem to have an extra bed . . .”
“Ve’ll move it into the music room,” Karl said.
“But vere vill Villy sleep?” Freddy looked troubled.
Jakob smiled. “He is not due back from uniwersity till sometime next month. Und he can alvays stay on the couch if Summer is still here.”
“Oh,” I said, looking around at the cozy, comfortable cottage with a bit of regret. Already I knew I’d miss these gentle little men. “I’ll be long gone by then.”
•25•
STEPMAMA REMEMBERS
If the mirror said she was lost, then she wasn’t dead. At least, not yet. I was shaking with fury, but by the time I’d gotten to the car, I was coldly in control. The mirror can’t lie. But a man can.
I drove up the mountains paying no attention to the speed, just set on confronting that stupid Hunter. I’d given him one thing to do for me, a day and a night to accomplish it, and clearly he’d not done it. Perhaps he’d taken pity on Snow, was holding her captive. Perhaps he’d fallen for her innocence. Whatever he’d done, it wasn’t what I asked. I floored the gas pedal and the trees seemed to blur on either side as I raced along the road.
When I turned into his drive, he was sitting on his front step throwing a knife into the ground over and over and over again. Mumblety-peg. A boy’s game.
I got out of the car and walked over to him, my shoulders squared. It would have been better if I smiled at him, to put him at ease. But I could not.
He glanced up, something like fear and something like pleasure mixing on his face, looking for all the world like a pup who’s just messed on the floor and expected to be hit with the rolled newspaper but hoping the tail wag would still work its magic. He had a deep scratch near one eye.
Standing, he said, “Ma’am, I was just thinking about you.”
I was sure he had been. I asked, “Did you do what we agreed to?”
The tail wagging slowed, stopped. He looked at me, trying to replace fear with innocence. It didn’t work. “Yes, ma’am. Cut out her heart, stewed it like you said, and ate it, too.” He licked his lips, whether from playacting or fright wasn’t clear. But that fabulation was too much over the top, and even he knew it. He couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Did she run off or did you just leave her in the woods hoping that would do instead?” I crossed my arms and waited for his answer.
He stared down at his shoes for a long moment, then made a small shrug with his shoulders before looking up again, trying once more for innocence though this time it looked incredibly like stupidity crossed with ineptitude. “I did what you said.” There was a hint of surliness.
“You did not.”
“Who says that? How could anyone know . . .”
I almost growled at him but didn’t change my stance. “I know. And that’s enough.”
“Well, gone’s gone,” he said, shrugging. He tried to smile. “She’s well and truly lost. I tracked her far up onto the mountain. There was bear scat and mountain lion spoor. She’s a juicy one. She won’t have lasted the night.”
“She’d better stay lost,” I said, reaching into my tote bag and hauling out a bottle of moonshine.
“What’s this?” He looked curious, then fearful, then curious again.
I thought: This is what comes of asking a boy to do a man’s job. I smiled at him beguilingly, but all the while I was thinking: The preacher was useless, and Hunter even worse. At least I don’t have to listen to those stupid sermons anymore. My smile got broader.
He wanted the smile to be true, wanted me to be true, and so he was easily convinced. “This is just the start of the payment?”
I made my smile look more sincere. I should have been in the movies. Greta Garbo, maybe. Joan Fontaine. I still could be, once I got the money for the land. Who needs a girl to be my apprentice, my poppet, my shadow? Who needs this particular difficult one to drain her of essence? I’d already waited too long and she’d gone and become a woman before I was ready. There would be plenty and more willing girls once I became a movie star.
I ran my fingernails along the back of Hunter’s hand, finding another scratch there. Probably from the girl. “Just the start,” I cooed, moving to embrace him. I could feel a year of his young, brute strength flow into me. But too much of his stupidity came with it, so I broke the connection. “We will have time for that later. First let’s drink.”
He took the bottle from me. “You’re not mad at me.”
“Gone is gone,” I whispered, shrugged, still smiling.
We walked into his house and he got out two glasses.
Then he opened the bottle, poured us each a drink. He downed his quickly and had poured another before I even lifted the glass to my lips. I’d known he’d drink that way, one quick one and then a second with me. Young men never know how to prolong a conversation—or anything else. I clinked my glass against his.
Then I watched as he lost consciousness, his face befuddled, hurt, and slack. I gathered him in my arms and took the rest of his short life while he died. Then I walked away, but didn’t take the bottle with me. It was strychnine from the church. The police chief will figure it out, even if I have to help him do it. I didn’t use one of my own concoctions. I hate to waste a good potion on stupidity.
As I got in the car, I looked back at that pitiful trailer.
“Gone is gone,” I whispered. This time when I smiled, it was for real.
I knew that the mirror would tell me where to look for Snow. Oh, not straight out. Mirror magic never works in such a straightforward way.
I came into the house, brewed up a special herbal drink for Lem to keep him extra quiet for the next few hours, then went into my bedroom and locked the door behind.
Sitting down at the table, I twitched the drape off the mirror, drumming my fingers on the tabletop till the clouds parted and the dark mask swam into view.
“Mirror, where is she?” I started to say, then realized I needed to slow down and ask the question as clearly, as specifically as I could.
“Where is the girl Snow in Summer now?”
The mask turned its empty eyes toward me. For a moment it looked as if it was laughing at me. Or snarling. With the mask i
t’s difficult to tell.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “for breaking the glass.” The words pushed against my teeth as if trying to shatter them. I wasn’t truly sorry, just annoyed, but tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
The mirror replied: “She lives with six small men who mine,
And a seventh she will know in time.”
“That’s not even a good rhyme,” I said. But it was enough. I will find her from what the mirror told me. Because though women lie when they have to and men lie all the time, the mirror always tells the truth.
Always.
•26•
A KNOCK AT THE DOOR
I told the brothers to let me do the washing up from our meal, though they insisted on clearing away the dishes first. I commandeered their little sink, pumping the fresh water until it gushed freely. Though Papa’s house had taps, some of the Morton cousins only had pumps like the brothers had, so I knew what must be done.
After the sink was filled with the cold water, I pumped some more into the kettle and heated it up. Then with the hot water I scrubbed the plates and teacups till everything shone, rinsing them thoroughly in the cold.
Meanwhile, the brothers went into the music room, where I was now to sleep, and brought out their instruments. Jakob and Klaus played fiddles, Philip and Freddy took turns on the sole accordion, Karl played the harmonium, and George kept them all in time with his big bass drum.
While I worked, they made a merry sound. So for the first time since Papa stopped playing his banjo for me, I had tunes to accompany my chores. I was able to laugh out loud and sing along with them, though I actually knew only one or two of the tunes they played.
And so I stayed in the little house near the mine entrance, alongside the chasm, one happy day merging into the next. I promised myself—and them—that I would leave soon. But I stayed. And stayed. And stayed. Happiness makes even the worst dangers seem far away.
