The Girl in the Glass Box

by Andi Adams

  Her thoughts argued against themselves, both contradicting and validating her assumptions.

  Maybe the queen sent her men.

  Maybe they've found me.

  She slunk backward away from the window and scanned the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. An iron poker rested by the fire. She lunged to grab it and then retreated again into the shadows. She pulled the poker up into the air and rested it on her shoulder. Her heart rapped against her ribs and her palms sweat as she tightened her grip on the poker's cold metal. She remained statue-like, her nostrils flaring with each exhalation.

  A soft knock, knock, knock resounded from behind the door.

  Genevieve gasped, her thoughts spinning riotously, rendering her immobile.

  Another knock, knock, knock, this time a little more forceful than the last.

  All fell silent with the exception of Genevieve's quickened breath. She tightened her grip on the iron poker and advanced toward the door. She cleared her throat and mustered her bravest voice.

  "Who's there, and what is it you want?"

  "Sweet girl, it is the old woman that came looking for my granddaughter the other day. I simply want to apologize for having frightened you. It was my mistake."

  "Apology accepted and fair tidings on your return trip," Genevieve said through the door. "Good day to you."

  "Oh, if you would please allow me to come inside for just a moment to rest my throbbing feet and perhaps allow me a glass of water. I have traveled nonstop since I last saw you a few days ago and have still not found my beloved granddaughter. I am weary and disheartened. Please, Mademoiselle, I ask only for a minute."

  Genevieve considered the woman's plea. Though the men did warn her not to allow anyone inside, she was overcome with a tremendous wave of pity for the old woman. She also reasoned that if the old woman were to try any funny business, Genevieve was certainly stronger and, if worse came to worse, definitely faster. Even though she was apprehensive to put down the fire poker, she finally decided to rest it against the wall not far from where she'd be.

  She unlocked the bolted door and tugged it open to reveal the woman hunched over and bracing herself upon the doorframe. Her wrinkled face contorted even further into an unsightly grimace as she attempted to shield her gaze from the sun. Her weighty robe and hood cloaked her fragile frame, and she looked so feeble Genevieve worried whether she could even make it over the threshold and into the cottage. A wave of guilt washed over her for having left the woman outside for as long as she did, and upon seeing her fragility, Genevieve reasoned that no harm could be done by inviting her inside for a brief reprieve from her long journey.

  Genevieve scolded herself for having been so foolish and untrusting. She ducked under the old woman's arm to place it over her shoulder to help usher her inside. Beads of sweat dribbled down the woman's pallid face as she teetered into the house.

  "Are you all right?" Genevieve said. "Are you going to make it?"

  The woman didn't answer, only continued to step one foot in front of the other while she leaned her weight against Genevieve for support. Together, they struggled across the floor, knocking several books off the counter and stools to the ground, until they reached a chair positioned by the fireplace.

  The old woman wheezed and choked in violent heaves. Genevieve rushed to fetch some water from the pot beside the counter. She brought back a full glass, the water splashing over the rim in her haste. She offered it to the woman and, with an eager expression, urged her to take it. The woman obliged and drew a long swig from the cup. She coughed again. She took another sip, her cough subsiding, and she patted her forehead with her sleeve. The sweat, which had previously run down her face in rivers, now only speckled her woven brow.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, Genevieve unsure of what to say while the old woman recuperated from her coughing fit. Her shrill voice suddenly sliced open the quiet.

  "I understand your apprehension, my sweet girl, in letting me in. I know how I frightened you the other day, and for that I am very sorry." She lowered her gaze to the floor almost in shame.

  "No, please, Madame, I am sorry for my behavior. I was caught so off guard and was more startled than anything. I never meant for my brothers to escort you away so hastily. They just are protective of me and our home. But I am genuinely sorry for your devastating situation. I wish there was more I could do to help. Has she been gone long, your granddaughter?"

  "Oui, Mademoiselle, far too long. In fact, I am beginning to forget how long it has been." The old woman's eyes dampened at the thought, and she used the sleeve of her cloak to wipe away the forming tear. "I am so worried something has happened to her, something terrible. Oh, I couldn't bear it if I were to find out that something awful…" The woman's sob caught in her throat with a soft squeak.

  "Oh there, there, Madame. You cannot think like that. You have been so brave to venture out here on your own in an attempt to find her. You must believe you will be reunited soon. The gods will see to it you are together once again." Genevieve rested her hand upon the woman's shoulder and stroked her back soothingly.

  "Those words are very sweet, so kind." The old woman's shoulders rose and fell under Genevieve's hand. "But I am not certain that believing is going to be enough to bring her home."

  Genevieve offered a comforting hand. "Well, I can see how much you care for her. I'm certain she too wishes to return home."

  For the first time, the old woman looked into Genevieve’s eyes, almost searching for something. "You…remind me of her, you know. She is young like you. So beautiful and full of life." The old woman extended her gnarled fingers to touch Genevieve's ivory cheek. Though startled, she did not retract. "You are both lucky to have such blessings."

  "Merci, Madame, for your kind words. I'm sure it must be difficult to speak of her. What is her name?"

  "Her name is…Renée. And when I find her, she will return to me the life I've lost without her."

  Genevieve's heart ached watching the old woman grieve. She reasoned that the old woman, in her feeble state, could conceivably die before ever reuniting with her granddaughter. The thought made her chest tighten, and she fidgeted to alleviate the discomfort.

  "Madame, I must ask, if your granddaughter's name is Renée, why did you call me Genevieve the other day?"

  "Did I? Oh, my mistake. At times I get myself all mixed up. Genevieve was the name of my late daughter, the mother of Renée. It was because of her death some years ago I came to look after my granddaughter. The two are so alike in so many ways I oft get confused in my old age."

  "I am so sorry to hear about your daughter, and now your granddaughter. Is there something else I can get for you? Some tea perhaps or some of the cast of a manchette loaf I prepared for yesterday's supper?"

  "Oh, I couldn't, Mademoiselle. I have taken up enough of your time already. It is about the hour I should be leaving to continue the search for my Renée. It will be getting dark soon." She shakily rose to her feet.

  "Madame, it truly would be no trouble. In fact, it has been nice to share your company for a while. I must admit that sometimes I feel a bit lonely here during the day until my brothers return home."

  Genevieve blushed at the admission. She almost wished she could retract it as soon as she had said it since she realized it could be received as insensitive. Surely, the old woman felt lonely herself since missing company of her granddaughter. At least Genevieve knew that, every night, her solitude would be assuaged when her brothers returned home from work.

  "Before I go, I would like to leave you with this." The old woman routed around in her satchel. The tinging of small glass bottles could be heard jostling about before she pulled forth a beautifully ripened apple. It radiated as if glowing, a stark contrast between it and the old woman's graying grasp. "I apologize for such a paltry gift, but I insist you take this as a token for your graciousness and compassion. I know it is nothing, but it is all I have to offer for your hospitality." She extended the
apple in front of Genevieve.

  "No, Madame, I couldn't possibly. What if you are to get hungry in your travels? Though it is the most beautiful apple I have ever seen and looks most appetizing, I want you to keep it. I don't need a token of your gratitude, your sweet offer is enough to convey the sentiment."

  "That is kind of you to consider me, but I must insist you take it. I will pass the tree again on my way back through the woods and can gather a few more for my journey. So do not fret. Please, take it — it is all I have to offer."

  Genevieve’s mouth watered, and she could no longer hold herself back. She imagined herself snatching the apple from the woman's fangled claw and devouring it without abandon. There was an indescribable allure about the fruit that made it all the more tempting.

  "Merci, Madame. You are most kind. To first come back to apologize and now to offer such a delectable treat, I am thankful for your visit, and I wish you the best of luck in finding your Renée." As she spoke, she helped the old woman to the door with her one hand, the apple clutched in the other.

  She bade the woman farewell and closed the door with a hearty click. She placed the apple upon the counter, resolved to wait until her brothers returned from their long day at work so she could share the newly acquired treat. She hadn't seen such perfect food since her days at the palace. Back at the castle, her days were filled with meals that almost resembled art. Long banquet tables of the best meats, cheeses, breads, and fruits, all presented for the court to enjoy with both their eyes and their taste buds.

  But a beautiful piece of fruit, especially here in the woods, was rare and quite a valuable gift. In all the time she had lived in the cottage and after all the walks she had taken, she had never seen a tree yield such picturesque fruit. As much as she wanted to devour it instantly, she determined she would wait for her brothers' return as a way to pay forward the woman's kindness to the men who had been so wonderful to her.

  20

  Genevieve went about her chores, dusting the furniture, laundering the clothes, and putting the finishing touches on the blackberry jam for Tyne, but the apple continued to beckon her attention, almost calling to her. And as it did, her stomach rumbled in response. She hadn't eaten all day and realized it would still be a few hours before her brothers returned. She fidgeted at the thought of having to wait to sink her teeth into its sweet nectar. The gastronomic growls intensified with each passing minute. She sat on the edge of the chair by the fire and brought the back of her hand to her head as the room swelled with heat.

  Whew. I should open a window and let in some fresh air. It is terribly warm in here. Or maybe I just need to take a break for a moment.

  She had been working feverishly since she’d awoken, with the exception of the woman's brief visit, and her hunger was finally getting the better of her.

  She couldn't take the torment of waiting any longer. If she took a few bites of the tempting treat now, she would still be able to share the rest when the men returned. It would be as if she was simply eating her share now, rather than later.

  And as if in a trance, she hoisted herself off the edge of the chair and strode over to the counter upon which the apple sat. She clutched its roundness firmly in her grasp, her fingers wrapping around its shape. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled, relishing in the redolence of its sugary scent. She bit into the juicy orb.

  An acrid and bitter current wove through the sweet juice of the apple. As the liquid slid down her throat and dribbled down her chin, her tongue thickened inside the walls of her mouth. Instantly, her throat engorged, and her breathing seized, the air trapped in her lungs.

  Flailing her arms, she grasped at her own throat and staggered helplessly about the kitchen. She struggled for air, gasping and wheezing as her windpipe constricted tighter and tighter. And with one final desperate gasp, Genevieve sucked the bite of apple past her swollen tongue to lodge deeply in her throat. Her eyes widened and her thoughts quickened.

  Before she knew it, black spots speckled the walls like a swirling clout of gnats. The temperature surged into an inferno-like heat, and the room filled with muddled waves of light and sound. Blurry lines. Indistinct shapes. Her head throbbed with pressure. Genevieve could no longer stand. Her knees buckled under her own weight. She collapsed, her limbs extended wide. And only inches from her outstretched fingertips lay the apple, red as blood.

  Grog grumbled from the back of the line. "It's hot out here, and I'm staaaarving. I hope Snow is cooking the trout I caught yesterday. The very thought is making me salivate. You think Snow will have dinner fixed?"

  "She always does," Sib said over his shoulder. "Every night. Why would you think tonight would be any different?"

  "I was just hoping out loud that dinner's ready when we get home. Didn't mean anything by it. Sheesh. Why you so snappy anyway? I've been nicer to the girl, haven't I? Gimme a break."

  From the middle of the line, Eron ranted to anyone who would listen, "I remember when I was starving once. It was three summers ago and I was so famished that I actually almost felt faint.…"

  The walk home was punctuated with Eron's dramatic retelling of the day he forgot to bring lunch with him (as if Eron would ever let them forget it), and Grog's incessant muttering about his own empty stomach. Tyne grunted in agreement every few minutes, weary from a long day, while Flic remained silent, as always.

  "Well, walk faster so you can all stop complaining," Sib said, his ordinarily even temper waning as the sun lowered in the dusky sky. "We'll be around the dinner table before you know it, so just hush up, would’ja?"

  "Hey, Sib," Tyne said, "do you think Snow minds cooking dinner every night and cleaning up after us every day?"

  "I suppose she would say something if she truly minded. It seems she does it so she feels like a contributing member of the family, but I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

  "Nooo, she doesn't mind," Grog said. "She does it because she is embarrassed that, as a woman, she doesn't know how to do any of the things women should know how to do."

  "And there you go again, Grog," Sib said. "Back to your sass talk. Just give her a break. She's gotten much better, and you know how hard she tries."

  "Whatever. At the end of a long work day, she could serve us dirt and twigs and I'd eat it."

  "Keep it up with that attitude and that might just be what you get." The brothers laughed.

  The beacon at the end of their long commute stood mere yards from them, and they sprang to life with enthusiasm. They broke into a sprint toward the door, hooting and hollering in excitement.

  "Snow," Sib said, making his way to the door, "hope you made double tonight."

  "We talked about dinner the whole way home," Tyne said.

  Eron slapped his stomach. "All I could think about was how hungry I am."

  Once almost to the door, Sib said, "Snow, we can't wait to see what you made for Tyne's birthday."

  Grog, who as always lagged a few steps behind, added, "Hope you didn't burn the house down."

  They burst through the door and threw their belongings down as they entered.

  "Tyne's been looking forward to your… what on Earth?" said Eron said.

  "SNOW!" Sib dove to her side to take her pulse, even though he could tell by her coloring she was in bad shape.

  Her white skin was tinted an even paler shade of blue against her raven hair. He smacked her cheek with his little palm, once, twice, three times with no response.

  "Snow, wake up. Please wake up!" Her eyes were frozen wide open, though they reflected no life. Her lips, however, remained vibrant red, magnifying her overall bluish hue.

  The brothers hovered around her. Sib knelt by Genevieve’s head and rubbed his fingertips against her cheek. Her skin was cool beneath his touch. He was at a complete loss. There was nothing he could do for his beloved sister.

  "She's, she's…" Sib couldn't bring himself to say out loud what they all knew to be true. An ache so intense, like his chest was caving in, overcame him. He too
k short breaths to combat the feeling of suffocation and pushed the heel of his hand against his heart.

  He looked up at his brothers. Flic's face was buried deep in Eron's coat. His small shoulders bounced as he wept, and Eron patted his back while holding him in a tight embrace, unable to hold back his own tears. They dripped down his nose and into his beard. Tyne sat on the other side of Genevieve and held her hand. He tried to curl her fingers around his own, as if he expected reciprocation. But she didn't. Her hand remained slack and lifeless.

  Sib turned his attention to Grog, whose face was one of interminable grief. Though he did not cry, his posture stooped, his arms firmly crossed about his chest, and he was locked in a distant stare.

  Sib didn't know how to comfort his brothers, especially not Grog. What was there to say? What could he ever say to make it all right? "Grog, we're all sad. We're all confused, but it's going to be okay. We'll get through this together. We'll—"

  "Yeah? What do you know?" Grog snapped. He turned on his heel, went to the bedroom, and slammed the door.

  Three days passed since the death of their sister, and within that time, Sib noticed the brothers barely spoke to one another. Grief permeated their tiny cottage and, instead of engaging in speech, they worked tirelessly to construct a gravesite worthy of their sister.

  They decided a casket made of glass was the only option since they wholeheartedly believed someone so beautiful did not belong buried in dirt. It took much effort, tireless exertion, and endless weary days to gather the materials and for Eron to construct a glass vestibule worthy of her beauty. But they gladly did it for her.

  "Sib, you know the most about medicine, why in three days has she not lost color in her lips, or has her skin not grown hard to the touch?" Tyne asked. "Do…do you think she's still alive somehow?"

  "No, Tyne, I'm sorry to say that, though I don't understand it myself, I know she... she's gone. No pulse. No respiration." Sib sighed and placed his hand upon his brother's shoulder. "I know you miss her, we all do, but… she isn't coming back."