Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
The aroma of the breakfast fills the cabin. Hansel takes down three plates from an open shelf near the stove and puts food on one of them. My mouth waters as he carries it to the table and puts it down in front of me, along with a fork and a folded napkin made from cloth that used to be the color of a robin’s egg and is closer to gray now.
I look up to thank him and find his eyes burning into mine. His eyes are still so beautiful, and so angry, that I can’t say a word.
“We’re going to find that house,” he says, his voice soft. “And I’m going to burn it down. I’ll show you there’s no witch. She’s dead.”
The bitterness in his words is at odds with the warmth of the plate.
He’s wrong. She’s not dead, and she’s been trying to lure me back. The determination in Hansel’s expression steals my words. He doesn’t understand. He never has. I wish he were right though. We killed her and I wish she’d stay dead. The horrors are too much and we were only children.
“I—” I swallow thickly, struggling to breathe and get my thoughts in order. I want you to be the person you were. I can’t say that to Hansel. Not when it’s my fault he’s like this. I’m glad you’re angry. No. I’m not glad he’s angry. I’m not glad any of this happened. But he looks fierce and full of life, and he used to look like that when we were kids. Only he was fierce about me, and not this. Meekly, I admit, with the only words I can find, “I don’t remember how to get there.”
Hansel’s eyes narrow a little more. “I do.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you—”
“I’ve been back before.”
My heart jolts with surprise. He’s been back? I had no idea he went to the witch’s cottage without me. I honestly didn’t think he ever would—even if I were with him. My hands ache around the fabric of the blanket.
My lips part with shock, but I can’t think of a word to say.
Hansel turns his back to me. I fist my hands around the fabric of the blanket to stop myself from reaching for him. I have so many questions. When did he go back? What was it that made him go? Is that why he’s so sure the witch is still dead?
Maybe he’s right. Maybe the long winter has simply made me go mad.
How long did he spend wondering about her before he went?
I don’t know how to ask Hansel anymore.
The bedroom door opens behind me, and I stand up, going automatically towards the sound.
“Good morning,” I say quietly, offering my arm as I reach for him, Hansel’s father.
“Gretel,” he says, and takes my arm. I can tell he wishes he didn’t need my help, but doesn’t want to spare the energy to say so. He leans on me until we get to the table, then sits down in one of the seats next to mine. He’s always been kind. If only life was as kind to him as he deserved.
Hansel brings the other two plates. He sets one in front of his father, and one at the spot across from me, then sits.
“Father,” he says. “Mary from next door is coming to stay for a few days. I have somewhere I need to go.”
Hansel’s father takes this in and gives Hansel a solemn nod, sadness in his eyes but no surprise on his face. He knows what happened. He wept when we returned. I can only imagine what went through the widower’s mind when we were gone. The poor man. Life is cruel and it spared him none.
“You have everything you need?” he questions quietly.
“Yes,” Hansel answers. “We’ll leave after we eat.”
He picks up his fork and slices one of his sausages in two. Hansel’s father and I follow his lead. I bow my head and concentrate on my breakfast. It’s simple food, and it smells delicious. It’s been a long time since anyone cooked a meal for me, and I find myself wanting to memorize it.
In case I don’t come back.
And because Hansel hasn’t willingly given me even so much as a smile in so long that it makes these eggs and these slices of toast and these sausages precious beyond the worth they hold when food is so scarce.
We eat without speaking. It’s almost possible to pretend that we’re just slow to wake up and enjoying a comfortable quiet breakfast together and not swallowing our own heartbreak…or hate, in Hansel’s case.
He’s cooked the eggs just as I like—on the fluffy side—and he clearly made the bread himself. There’s not much to go around, but it’s hearty. The sausage is spicy and gone too soon.
Hansel finishes first. I’m not far behind. When I move to get up and collect the plates, Hansel jumps to his feet and stacks them first, then strides determinedly to the sink. He lets them drop into it with a loud thunk and grabs a scrub-brush from a hook on the wall. There’s practically nothing to sweep up—none of us wanted to waste a crumb—but I grab the broom from its corner and slide it across all the floors.