Gretel Pushes Back

by Joan Holub

  “Thanks,” Gretel told the stick.

  They’d been walking for at least an hour, when she finally saw a faint light in the distance. Was it the Academy? Unlikely. Her surroundings were completely unfamiliar.

  “Where in Grimmlandia are we?” she asked her stick as it continued to draw her forward. But as usual, it didn’t answer.

  All of a sudden, they broke free of the thick group of trees they’d been traveling through. A few steps later, she halted in her tracks and so did her stick. Because it was impossible to go any farther. They were facing a wall. A wall that was blocking their way out of this end of the forest. It was impossibly tall and seemed to extend as high as the clouds, running parallel to the tree line and stretching farther than she could see to the left and right. Afternoon sun glinted off it, making it appear to be made of slippery frosted glass.

  Gretel gasped as realization struck. “I don’t believe it! This must be the Wall!” Then in case her stick needed further explanation, she added, “The magical wall that surrounds Grimmlandia and keeps it safe from the Dark Nothingterror where Barbarians and Dastardlies roam.” As far as she knew, Rose was the only other student at the Academy who had ever actually seen the Wall.

  As her eyes traveled along its smooth expanse, she spied a hill in front of it not far away. The light she’d noticed earlier was shining from the window of a cottage that sat at the very top of the hill. She could see the silhouette of someone in the window, and that someone appeared to be stirring a pot. Suddenly, Gretel was quaking in her hiking boots. Because that someone also happened to be wearing a tall pointy hat — the kind that witches wore.

  Without warning, Gretel’s stick zoomed off for the hill, pulling her with it as it began to climb.

  “Maybe we could find food and water somewhere else?” she suggested as it tugged her upward. But her stick didn’t turn around or slow down. Well, if her magic charm was convinced that the cottage was a safe place to go, then it must be safe.

  Besides, she was really, really hungry. So hungry that she didn’t really care right now if the person inside was a witch, as long as she gave Gretel something to eat. Maybe there would be something tasty in that pot the witch stirred.

  As she drew closer to the top of the hill, Gretel got a better view of the cottage. Her mouth dropped in surprise. It looked like a giant copy of one of Mistress Hagscorch’s gingerbread houses, complete with candy decorations such as gumdrops and licorice sticks, lollipops and jelly beans!

  “Grimmalicious!” Gretel wrapped her arms around her walking stick and hugged it. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You’re the best!” she exclaimed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  She reached out to knock on the door, which had a big round blue jawbreaker for its knob. But wait, she thought, drawing her hand back. Maybe she didn’t need to come face-to-face with the witch or whoever the potentially scary person living inside the yummy-looking pink-frosted cottage was. She could just take a bite (or maybe two or three or ten) to eat of this cottage and continue on her way.

  Keeping well away from the windows, which appeared to be made of transparent sugar, she stood on her tiptoes and reached up. As carefully and quietly as possible, she broke off a single tile from the white-frosted gingerbread roof. Crack!

  A little squeak of pleasure escaped her when she took her first bite. Except for Mistress Hagscorch’s gingerbread house cookies, it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

  Suddenly, a voice from inside the cottage called out. “Nibble, nibble. Is that a mouse? Nibbling, nibbling at my house?”

  Gretel froze, roof tile cookie in hand. Did the witch expect a reply? Maybe the mice around here were enchanted ones that spoke. It was certainly possible since Grimmlandia was full of magical creatures. If the witch thought a mouse was eating her house, would she come after it, though?

  Unsure what to do, Gretel finally blurted out, “Wooooo. Not a mouse. Oooonly the wind blowing doooown the chimney.”

  But apparently neither the mice nor the winds in this magical place could speak, and the witch wasn’t fooled. Before Gretel could turn and run, the door was thrust open and an old woman with straggly white hair appeared in the doorway. Aside from the fact that she had one yellow eye and one green one, she was practically the spitting image of Mistress Scaryscorch, and most assuredly a witch.

  Instantly, Gretel’s walking stick slipped from her fingers and flew into the witch’s hand. “My stick!” The witch cackled with delight. “I lost it when I was walking in the woods yesterday. I’m so happy you found it for me!”

  “Your stick?” Gretel said in surprise. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. She’d been so sure the walking stick was her magical charm. But of course it made just as much sense, maybe even more, that the stick actually belonged to this witch. That must be why it had brought Gretel here. It hadn’t been following her command to find food after all. It had simply been heading for home and, for some reason, had decided to bring her along.

  “Come in, come in,” the witch urged. Glancing at the piece of roof cookie Gretel still held, she added, “Let me give you a proper meal. A reward for bringing me back my precious walking stick.”

  “Uh, thanks,” said Gretel, belatedly slipping the cookie into her pocket to hide it. “But I really do need to get going.” Frankly, the thought of entering the witch’s house terrified her even more than spending the night (if it should come to that) lost in Neverwood Forest.

  “Nonsense,” said the witch. She opened her door wider and a scrumptious smell of apples and cinnamon wafted out. “I just stirred up some batter and made a big apple pancake. You can share it with me.”

  Gretel hesitated. That pancake really did smell good. And there was no reason to assume this witch was evil. Her actions so far had been kind, and good witches did exist. “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” she blurted out. The words just slipped from her mouth without warning.

  The woman gave a cackle of laughter, as if Gretel had just told the funniest joke ever. “Don’t be silly. Just call me Emelda. Now, come inside and eat.”

  Feeling relieved by the woman’s response, since it seemed to suggest that maybe she wasn’t a witch at all, Gretel gave in to her hunger pangs. Summoning up her courage, she stepped inside the cottage. It was warm and cozy and simply furnished with a small wooden table and chairs, a tiny stove, and white-painted cupboards with a cute, green leafy border painted along their sides and tops.

  “Please sit down,” her host said, gesturing toward the chairs around the table. There were three of them, with pretty flowered cushions on their seats. Gretel pulled out one of the chairs and sat. Her feet were a little sore from so much walking, so she unlaced her boots and kicked them off beneath the table. Ahh. That’s better, she thought as she stretched out her legs and stocking feet.

  “What were you doing in the forest anyway?” Emelda asked as she set plates and forks and a pitcher of maple syrup on the table. After cutting up the large apple pancake, she slid one slice onto Gretel’s plate. Then she went back for two glasses and a big jug of milk before sitting down to eat.

  Gretel poured a generous amount of syrup over her pancake. It was puffy, with a center of sliced baked apples. “I was out hiking,” she said before taking a huge bite of it. “Mmm. Delicious!” she murmured. Of course food always tasted particularly good to her after hiking when she was really and truly hungry.

  The woman cocked her head. “You went hiking out in the forest all by yourself?”

  “Well, I started out with two other girls from Grimm Academy,” Gretel told her as she forked up another bite of pancake. “But we got … uh … separated. And then I couldn’t find them.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell the woman the truth. That Malorette and Odette had deliberately left her alone in Neverwood Forest. Maybe because the fact that the girls had ditched her made her sound really pathetic … and super dumb for trusting them!

  For a split second, she thought she saw a sly smi
le flit across the woman’s face. But she immediately dismissed this as a trick of the flickering light that was coming from a candle burning on the table. In a voice oozing with concern, the woman said, “How awful! But isn’t it lucky that my stick found you and brought you here?”

  “It sure was,” Gretel agreed. “One of my friends at the Academy has been here to the Wall before,” she added as she finished her pancake wedge. “But she never mentioned seeing a gingerbread cottage.”

  “Another slice?” Emelda asked, gesturing at the rest of the pancake. It was only half-gone. When Gretel nodded and held out her plate, the woman slid another piece onto it. “You know that the Wall completely surrounds Grimmlandia,” she told Gretel. “I’m guessing your friend must have visited a different part of it.”

  “Yeah, guess so.” Gretel gazed around as she poured syrup on her second piece of pancake. “You know what? This cottage looks just like these three-dimensional gingerbread cookies that Mistress Hagscorch makes — only much bigger, of course.”

  Emelda raised an eyebrow.

  “Mistress Hagscorch is the Academy’s cook,” Gretel explained.

  “And is she a good cook?” Emelda asked casually.

  “The best!” Gretel enthused.

  At this, a frown tugged at the corners of Emelda’s mouth, and the point of her witch hat seemed to stand up pointier.

  Uh-oh, thought Gretel. For some strange reason this woman is acting jealous of Mistress Hagscorch’s cooking skills!

  “But you’re a great cook, too!” she exclaimed quickly. “This apple pancake is the best I’ve ever eaten!” Of course, she didn’t add that this was the very first one she’d ever tasted. Mistress Hagscorch had never made apple pancakes for them at school!

  The woman’s frown disappeared. “Why, thank you,” she said. “I do rather pride myself on my cooking abilities. In fact, I once applied for the job of Academy cook myself.” Her frown crept back. “But your principal hired that other woman.”

  “Oh,” said Gretel. Well, that explained the jealousy. She must have been really disappointed when Mistress Hagscorch got the job instead of her. “So did you decide to build your cottage from gingerbread and candy because you like to bake?” she asked. Being careful not to spill, she poured herself a tall glass of milk and then gulped it down.

  “Not at all,” answered Emelda as she refilled Gretel’s glass with more milk. “I wanted to build from wood, but you know what the trees in Neverwood Forest are like. Whenever I tried to chop one down, its branches knocked my ax from my hands.”

  Having had some experience with those trees, Gretel totally understood. On the other hand, if she were a tree, she wouldn’t want to be chopped down to make a house either.

  “And the stones were even worse,” the woman went on. “They threw themselves at me when I tried to gather them up.”

  “Yikes,” said Gretel after draining the second glass of milk. “I can see why you decided to use gingerbread. But isn’t it scary living so close to the Wall?”

  Emelda shrugged. “Not really. Why would it be?”

  “Well, because of the Barbarians and Dastardlies who live on the other side of it in the Dark Nothingterror,” Gretel said in surprise.

  “Oh, those,” the woman said dismissively. “They howl a lot, especially at night, but I just throw them a few treats and that calms them down for a while.”

  “Really?” Gretel thought for a moment. “But the Wall is so tall. How do you toss the treats high enough to go over —”

  “Let’s talk about you,” her host interrupted, abruptly changing the subject. “You haven’t yet told me your name, and …”

  “Gretel.”

  Emelda smiled. “Now, Gretel, I’m concerned that those girls you got … um … separated from could still be wandering around in the woods, trying to find you.” She paused. “I hope you left word with someone else that you were going hiking in the forest?”

  Gretel’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I should have told my older brother, Hansel, but I didn’t.” She refrained from adding that Malorette and Odette were probably back at the Academy by now and unlikely to tell anyone that they’d purposely abandoned her in Neverwood Forest.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” said Emelda. But strangely, her voice sounded more cheerful than sympathetic.

  Her stomach full at last, Gretel rose from the table. “Thanks for the food, but I’d really better be going if I want to reach the Academy before dark.” She just wished she knew how she would find her way back. She’d counted on her magic charm … um … this woman’s walking stick to lead her out of the woods.

  As if reading her mind, her host jumped up from the table, too. “It’s much too late for you to return to the Academy tonight. You must stay here instead.” Then she added, “I have a crystal ball. I’ll use it to let Principal R know you’re safe. And I’ll find out if those other girls made it back.” A smile played at her lips as she asked, “What did you say their names were?”

  Gretel yawned. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so tired. “I didn’t say. But Malorette and Odette.” She yawned again. “They’re sisters.”

  A smile flashed across the woman’s face again. “You’re exhausted. And no wonder after the day you’ve had.” She took Gretel’s arm. “Let’s get you to bed, and then I’ll contact the school.”

  Gretel tried to protest that she was fine, but she was just sooo sleepy. Besides, her host had been nothing but kind, so where was the harm in spending the night? Her resistance crumbled completely when the woman led her into a cute little bedroom with lollipop-patterned wallpaper and an adorable small bed with a comforter as puffy and pink as cotton candy.

  “Sweet dreams,” Emelda called from the doorway. And then she closed the door softly behind her. Without bothering to take off her clothes — she had no pj’s to change into, anyway — Gretel climbed into the bed, pulled the heavenly soft comforter up to her chin, and was instantly fast asleep.

  But during the night, she roused briefly, thinking she heard a commotion somewhere inside the cottage. And raised voices, the witch’s and … Hansel? But what would he be doing here? Deciding she must be dreaming, she rolled over, snuggled under the pink comforter, and fell back into an even deeper slumber. The Barbarians and Dastardlies beyond the Wall could have howled up a storm, but she was so soundly asleep, there was no way she would have heard them that night.

  “I still don’t get why Gretel would go traipsing around in Neverwood Forest with those two abominable sisters,” Hansel said to Jack that Saturday morning.

  Breakfast was over and both the boys were taking the stairs up to their room in Onyx Tower. Even though Hansel had seen the wisdom in staying put at the Academy till his sister returned, and she’d only been out hiking with Malorette and Odette for about an hour, he couldn’t stop thinking that something was very wrong.

  “Traipsing? Abominable?” Jack repeated in a teasing tone. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a grimmawesome vocabulary?”

  Hansel grinned. He was a bit of a word nut. He loved dictionaries and thesauruses almost as much as he loved to hike. “Um, yeah. You’ve told me. Innumerable times, in fact,” he said, using another big word. Sure he knew ordinary words, but unusual or complicated ones were more fun to say. In his opinion anyway.

  It was kind of a standing joke among Jack, Jill, and Gretel that Hansel often offered definitions of big words he’d used, even if others already knew what they meant. Knowing that Jack would now be waiting for explanations, he supplied them. “Traipsing: to walk around aimlessly. Abominable: obnoxious, loathsome, despicable, diabolical, detestable.”

  At this, Jack started laughing so hard he almost fell over. “Ha-ha-ha! Tell me what you really think of those sisters, why don’t you?”

  Could someone get hurt from laughing too hard? Hansel decided not to define innumerable for fear Jack might actually injure himself.

  By the time they reached the fifth-floor landing, Jack had ca
lmed down and the boys were soon pushing aside the black-and-white-striped curtain that served as the door to their shared alcove. Jack went straight to the armoire at the foot of his high bed. He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on.

  “Going somewhere?” Hansel asked.

  Jack nodded. “Skating. Jill and I are heading over to Ice Island.” He looped a long knitted yellow scarf around his neck. “Want to come?”

  Hansel shook his head no. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here and study.” He pulled out his desk chair and straddled it to face Jack. “We’ve got that test in Grimm History coming up.”

  “Dude, today’s Saturday!” exclaimed Jack. “The test isn’t till Wednesday!”

  “I know,” said Hansel. “But …”

  Jack grinned and finished his sentence for him. “… you don’t like leaving things till the last minute. You like being well prepared. Yeah, I know. Me, on the other hand? I don’t study until I absolutely have to!” He pulled a black stocking cap over his blond curls. “If you change your mind, meet us on the island. If not, I’ll catch you at lunch and tell you all about the fun you missed.”

  Having already turned to work at his desk, Hansel waved and replied over one shoulder, “Okay, see you.” Seconds later, remembering some words of advice he’d wanted to impart before Jack left, he jumped up again. Hurrying over to their curtain door, he poked his head out.

  “And don’t break any bones! No doing triple jumps or other insanely dangerous stuff!” he called out. But by then, Jack was out of sight and probably too far away to hear the cautions.

  Some of the guys hanging out in the common area at the center of the dorm overheard him and laughed. “Hey! Who are you, Mr. Hump-Dumpty? Maybe you should get a whistle like his, too,” joked Prince Perfect. Leave it to him to say something rather mean. Despite his name, that prince was far from being perfectly kind.

  But was he right? Hansel couldn’t help wondering as he ducked back into his dorm room. Did he sound like Mr. Hump-Dumpty? Lately that egg-teacher had made it his business to be out on the ice on weekends and after school, shouting warnings to students: “Not so close to the edge of the ice! Everybody skate left till I call to change direction! No speeding!” Whenever someone broke his rules, he’d sound the loud whistle he’d gotten from Coach Candlestick.