The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3)

by Christopher Coleman

  And frankly, Hansel was Gretel’s only real concern now, though she saw very little of him lately; he certainly must have missed his sister just as she did him. But that was a consequence of necessity, and they would all be better off for it. In fact, her being gone was probably good for the boy’s development, not having his sister around all the time to impart feminine softness into his personality. He needed to become strong, male, and, with an invalid as a father, Hansel would need to learn this from the world. And, indeed, Hansel was slowly making friendships with other boys in the community—not all of them Gretel’s first choices, but safe enough. There certainly hadn’t been adequate dedication and follow-through on his schoolwork—Gretel could only do so much—but Hansel had always been a solid student, and as long as he stayed away from trouble, she figured that part would work out fine. And so far, as much as Gretel could tell, her brother was keeping his nose clean.

  It was Odalinde Gretel most worried about. She’d kept out of Gretel’s hair for the most part, as it concerned her work and other things, but the longer she stayed on, working for free, the more Gretel distrusted her. The Morgan farm was no great land treasure—in fact it was slowly becoming ruinous—but it was property, and if Odalinde had her sights on it, who knew what intentions she had ultimately.

  Gretel had been saving though, putting some cash away after each day’s wages, leaving only enough for Odalinde to pay the creditors and feed herself and her father. Gretel had splurged some in the beginning, but she’d been frugal otherwise, and had saved up a decent stipend. When the Klahr gig was up, she would offer it all to Odalinde, with the condition that she leave quietly. She wasn’t sure what she’d tell her father, or how she would care for him, but she needed that woman out of her house. Of course, Gretel had no illusions the payoff would work—she was old enough to understand that if Odalinde was the evil figure Gretel imagined her to be, the woman could have robbed them long ago—but maybe a lump payment was just what she was waiting for, and Gretel had to try.

  Gretel finished her dinner duties and after the dishes were cleared and cleaned—and she herself had finally eaten—Gretel said her goodbyes to the Klahrs and rowed back across the lake, deciding to forego her normal routine of canoeing down to the Stein mill before going home.

  She walked inside and instinctively put on a pot of coffee before checking on a sleeping Hansel, and then unpacked her schoolbooks and walked out to the porch, where she piled the considerable stack on the table. Among a few other assignments, she had her final biology test tomorrow. It would be a late night.

  She dove right in, opening to a chapter on Mendel and his discoveries in genetics. She read the first page and then thought better of it, figuring such dry reading should wait until the effects of the caffeine had been fully realized. Instead she just sat quietly, reflecting on her day in the orchard and Mrs. Klahr’s kitchen, feeding and cleaning and bantering with the Klahrs and the pickers. And Petr Stenson, with whom she guessed she should try to make amends.

  The thoughts started well and then began to careen again into the darkness of her future once the harvest ended. Gretel had visited the outskirts of this topic in her mind for weeks, but always backed away, not ready to face it. Everything had happened so quickly! The Klahr’s, the job, the sudden abundance of food—it was all so wonderful that she hadn’t really made any plans beyond. But it would come to an end when the last pickers left the orchard, and Gretel didn’t know what she would do then.

  The pot on the stove began to percolate, and Gretel walked to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. She immediately drank half of it—black—and then refilled the mug, flavoring it now with milk and sugar. Before her work at the Klahr orchard, Gretel had occasionally drunk coffee in the morning, usually on a lazy Sunday or holiday, but now she drank it habitually at night, and thanked God that He had blessed the Earth with such a miracle. She’d have never lasted the first week on the job without it.

  The caffeine hit Gretel almost immediately, and the energy made her feel a notch better about the future. She was determined to maintain this life she’d made over the past few weeks, and if she had to knock on the door of every farmer in the Back Country to find work, she’d do it. She had experience now, and an apparent talent, and the Klahrs would certainly give a good reference to any potential employer. It wouldn’t be easy, but that she would find work she had little doubt. She would make herself irreplaceable to the family that took her on.

  Gretel now surged with inspiration and decided a row on the lake was exactly what was needed. She would study the biology chapter later; right now there was too much inside her to focus on the inherited traits of pea plants. Her canoe excursions were peaceful and cleansing and helped to untangle the thoughts that had silently built up during the day but which Gretel had not been able to tackle fully. She seldom missed a night on the lake, as she had done tonight, and now, with her mind overrun with thoughts of the future, she knew why.

  When Gretel first started at the orchard, Mr. Klahr had offered to pick her up in the mornings and take her home at night—offers which Gretel had politely refused. At first she had done so because she didn’t want to burden her employer or be bound by their schedules—she wanted to arrive as early as possible and leave when it was time to go. But eventually the rowing had become the reason. She cherished it. Every part of it. The smell of the wood and the water, the air on her face and neck as it drafted past her, and, of course, the results of her efforts, both on her mind and muscles. The short canoe ride home had become such a pleasure to Gretel that by the third day she had expanded her commute, rowing down to the Stein mill or up toward the abandoned cannery. Some nights the paddling was leisurely and calm, other nights it was as fierce as a slave galley. Tonight would be the latter. Gretel felt the need to be strong.

  Gretel poured the last swallow of coffee into the sink and washed the cup out, turning it face down to dry on the towel next to the basin, and then walked to the front door.

  “Gretel,” a voice said from somewhere in the house.

  It was her father, and though the words were calm and measured, they bit into the back of Gretel’s neck as if they had been screamed.

  Gretel stepped away from the door and walked back through the kitchen to get a view of the family room where it sounded like her father had spoken. And there he was, sitting on the couch smiling, Odalinde next to him with a similar look on her face.

  “What’s going on, Papa?”

  “Sit down,” her father said, pointing at one of the chairs that sat opposite the sofa.

  Gretel walked slowly to the chair, never taking her stare off the couple sitting across from her. Her father looked misplaced on the couch, artificial, like a mannequin strategically positioned to showcase the couch in some bizarre showroom. Tears welled in Gretel’s eyes though she couldn’t have said why at the time.

  “Gretel,” her father said, “Odalinde and I have some news.”

  Gretel said nothing, waiting.

  “We’re getting married, Gretel.”

  There was a feeling in Gretel’s body of collision and nausea, and she stifled a gag as her hand reached reflexively for her stomach. She had the sudden urge to release her bowels. Her face flooded with blood and adrenaline; somehow—incredibly—she kept her tears at bay.

  Gretel immediately thought of Mr. Klahr’s question that first night, and the look on his face at the time. He knew this was coming and had felt sorry for her. How naive she was! Of course they were getting married! It was obvious even to Mr. Klahr, a stranger at the time, a man who saw her family only occasionally from across a lake. And yet Gretel hadn’t seen it coming!

  Instinctively, protectively, her thoughts went to the lake. She wished more than anything that she was drifting on it now, listening to the groan of the bullfrogs and the light plop, plop of jumping fish. Why hadn’t she rowed tonight instead of coming straight home? Ultimately it wouldn’t have made a difference, the revelation she’d just heard would have been
told eventually, but maybe it would have been put off for the night.

  “Married?” Gretel finally said, not able to manage even a trace of joy in her tone or expression.

  “I proposed this morning and Odalinde accepted.” Heinrich Morgan managed a dull smile and looked to his fiancé. “The wedding will be in the winter. Just after Christmas perhaps.”

  Her father’s words seemed to be coming from somewhere in Gretel’s imagination, as if she were playing a game in her mind, conjuring the most horrible scenes that could possibly occur in her life, just so that she may better appreciate what her life actually was. Her stomach tightened further and Gretel prepared to run for the bathroom, but the wave subsided.

  “I’d like you to be in my wedding, Gretel,” Odalinde said flatly, though with a mock formality that was appropriate for the occasion.

  Gretel ignored her and said to her father, “Is she pregnant?

  “Gretel!” her father snapped.

  Gretel finally looked at Odalinde, stunned, realizing the hurtfulness of her question. But the inquiry wasn’t meant to be mean-spirited; it was the only genuine reason Gretel could come up with for the engagement.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and with those words the tears finally came.

  Gretel ran from the family room and out the front door down to the lake. Tonight she would row as she’d never rowed before.

  THOUGH SULLEN AND SPIRITLESS, Gretel rose the next morning and, as usual, arrived early for work. She tried to keep things to herself, but the morning chaos had hardly begun before Mrs. Klahr uncovered the source of her young apprentice’s mood.

  “Surely you must have suspected this could happen, Gretel?” Mrs. Klahr said. She spoke softly, in a tone intended to diminish the impact of her recent upset, not to point out Gretel’s naiveté.

  “Yes ma’am, I suppose I did,” Gretel replied. “That first night, in this very kitchen, Mr. Klahr asked me if those were my father’s intentions, so I must have had some idea. I tried not to think of it, I guess. I just wanted to go home one day and have her be gone.” Gretel looked at the ceiling as she spoke, as if the feelings inside of her were suddenly organizing themselves in a way that made sense. “She doesn’t love my father.”

  Mrs. Klahr let Gretel’s words resonate, being in no position to confirm or deny the statement.

  The two women sat without speaking for several moments before the sound of Mr. Klahr’s boots striding thunderously in from the orchard fractured the silence. He sensed the mood instantly, and Mrs. Klahr filled him in on the relevant facts. He nodded thoughtfully, his discomfort palpable. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I...I know how you feel about her.”

  Gretel mouthed an inaudible ‘thank you’, and sat frowning with her elbows splayed on the kitchen table and her fists screwed into her cheeks.

  Mr. Klahr shot his wife a glance. “Gretel, we need to talk to you about something else,” he said.

  Gretel felt her stomach tighten and her eyes flicked up wide to meet Mr. Klahr’s. “Yes? What is it?” She guessed maybe it was to do more with her behavior toward Petr and braced for admonishment.

  “As you know, the harvest is ending. By the end of next week, we’ll be done.” Mr. Klahr paused for a moment and stared at Gretel intensely. “When we took you on, it was temporary, with the understanding that when the season is over, your work would be done here.”

  “I know,” Gretel said. Her voice wobbled, pitching upwards on the word ‘know.’

  She sat up straight and closed her eyes, focusing whatever restraint remained inside her on not shedding tears. She’d done far too much of that lately. She felt a tear creeping over her bottom lashes and quickly caught it with her thumb. She squeezed her eyes tight and shivered once to clear any remaining sobs, then smiled weakly at Mr. Klahr, embarrassed at her fragility.

  “Gretel, you don’t understand.” Mr. Klahr grabbed Gretel’s hands. “We want you to stay on with us.”

  The words hung in the air, drifting around the kitchen like ghosts.

  Gretel’s smile fell straight. “What?”

  It was Mr. Klahr’s turn to smile now. “In case you hadn’t noticed Gretel, we’re old.”

  “You’re the strongest people I know,” Gretel said absently, irrelevantly.

  “We do fine, Gretel, and we don’t complain much. But we ache as much as the next people, and we aren’t beyond needing help.” He squeezed her hands tighter. “We’d have never made it through this harvest without you.”

  Gretel sat staring, stupidly she imagined, and as the reality of the offer set in, she couldn’t restrain herself anymore, and the sobs came out in huge coughing waves. Her mother would have been mortified, but Gretel didn’t care.

  Then, as if possessed, she launched herself toward Mr. Klahr and threw her arms around him, his eyes widening in reflexive fear. He caught her and briefly held her at a distance, before bringing her into a full embrace. “It’s true! You’ve been a godsend!”

  Gretel pulled away and looked at Mr. Klahr quizzically, wiping her nose with her sleeve the way a five-year-old might. “But what will I do?” she said, almost panicking, “when the harvest is done?”

  Amanda Klahr laughed. “Oh, my dear, there are plenty of things in your life to worry on, having enough work to do around here is not one of those things.”

  Gretel laughed at this and then stopped abruptly, suddenly awestruck by the strong, plump woman that sat before her. Gretel walked around the table to Mrs. Klahr and gently wrapped her arms around the old woman’s neck, making a silent vow to take care of her for the rest of her life. “Thank you,” was all she could manage.

  “You’re very welcome, love,” Mrs. Klahr said, “but you don’t seem to understand that this is not charity. We really do need you.”

  “Thank you anyway, both of you.”

  “And this also doesn’t solve the problem of your father.”

  This fact sobered Gretel only slightly. “No, it doesn’t. But one thing at a time. Right now I’m too happy to care. Besides, I haven’t even started on breakfast and I hear the men mulling around outside already.”

  “Oh please,” Mrs. Klahr said, “they’re glad to wait. It only means they get to start working later. They get the same wage either way. But I imagine you are right, we should get going.”

  Mr. Klahr stood to leave. “Welcome to the family, Gretel. For good.” And with that he walked out.

  The rest of that day Gretel worked with an energy she’d never felt before. She took no break at lunch, instead grabbing a roll on the fly and a slice of pie while she waited for the dishes to come in. At dinner, she playfully teased the pickers as she placed their food on the table, and after, when the final plate was cleared, she alone wiped down the huge table and swept the patio clean (a chore that usually waited until morning). And when Saturday evening arrived, and her week was down to its final hour, the fierceness of her work endured, as she scrubbed the cabinets to a shine.

  “I want you to take next week off,” Amanda Klahr stated flatly, continuing to dry a bowl and not looking at Gretel.

  Gretel giggled, wiping the pantry door down. “Yes ma’am, thank you. Perhaps I’ll fly off to the tropics and catch up on my sun.”

  “I’m not joking, Gretel, I want you to rest. I’ve spoken with Mr. Klahr and he agrees.”

  Mrs. Klahr caught Gretel’s stare, hardening her face to demonstrate the seriousness of her words.

  “There’s not enough work in the field for all the pickers anyway, so I’ll put some of them to work in the house. Most of the meals have already been prepared so the cooking will be easy. It’s just a matter of heating the food.” She softened her tone. “Listen, if you’re going to work here, you’ll need to establish some balance in your life, and we’re both concerned that you aren’t focusing enough on being a young girl. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you mention friends.”

  This wasn’t what Gretel had in mind with her new duties, and was speechless. And scared at the prospect
of a week without pay.

  As if reading Gretel’s mind, Amanda Klahr said, “We’ll pay you of course. It’s our decision, not yours, so of course we’ll pay you.”

  “I couldn’t...” Gretel said weakly, still dazed by the order.

  “You can and you will. I don’t want to see you anywhere near this property until next Monday. We will give your regrets to the workers since most of them will be gone by then.”

  “Most?”

  “Petr will stay for a few weeks longer, as a favor to his father.”

  Gretel tried to think of more reasons to protest her hiatus—some necessity the Klahrs hadn’t considered perhaps—but she came up with nothing, and as the reality of a vacation slowly took hold in her imagination, she quickly warmed to the idea. Not only for the much-needed rest, but school was coming to an end, and with her final tests looming at the end of the week, time off would be an invaluable gift.

  But perhaps the best part was she could finally reconnect with Hansel—at least enough to find out if there were any major problems that needed tackling. From afar things seemed fine with the boy, but a closer look wouldn’t hurt.

  And she could spend extra time rowing as well, perhaps take the canoe past the cannery one day and picnic in Rifle Field. Because of her schedule at the orchard, her leisure rowing was always done at night, in complete darkness or the gloam; and all her plans for Sunday jaunts to explore the lake always disintegrated into more sleep. Not this week. This week she’d row in the light of the sun every day.