Gretel: A Fairytale Retold Read online

  door, “or why she’s living here. We need to leave.”

  “Hans, this is the first time we have been in a dry building for weeks:

  please let’s stay, at least for a little while.”

  He muttered angrily and turned his concentration to the wound in his

  leg, wincing in pain as he rolled up the trouser material to get a better look.

  Suddenly the door opened, letting in a whirl of cold air as the woman

  entered. She threw off her furs and seemed so much smaller without them.

  Underneath she wore a simple, plain dress of faded green, pulled in at the

  waist with tight laces criss-crossed down the bodice, and her thick, dark

  hair was in a plait that fell across her left shoulder. Even without her warm

  layers, her height made her an imposing woman, but there was a striking

  beauty and elegance in her manner which Gretel found mesmerising.

  “I can bathe that wound for you,” the woman said, pouring water from

  a jug into a small bowl.

  Hans looked to Gretel: she knew he wanted her to insist on doing it

  herself, but she simply turned to the woman and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “My name is Maeve,” she said, kneeling in front of Hans. She dipped a

  cloth in the water and Hans winced as Maeve applied it to his leg.

  “Hans,” he said, “and this is Gretel.”

  Hans seemed to grow calmer as Maeve continued, and Gretel sat on

  the floor letting the heat from the fire seep into her body as she watched

  Maeve’s slow and methodical movements. Only the thought of food

  prevented her from slipping into sleep.

  Once Maeve had washed away the mud and congealed blood, the bite

  marks didn’t look so bad. The wolf clearly hadn’t managed to get a good

  grip and Gretel was relieved to think the wound might heal quickly. But

  rather than wrap the wound in cloth, Maeve began to apply honey.

  “What are you doing?” Hans asked suddenly. “We could eat that!”

  “It will heal faster,” Maeve said, ignoring his protests.

  “But what about food? Don’t you eat?”

  His tone was sarcastic and Gretel was impressed that Maeve managed

  to remain so calm, simply continuing her work.

  “Of course,” she said, “you are welcome to share my food.”

  “That would be wonderful!” said Gretel, thankful she had permission

  to eat whatever delicious food was bubbling away over the fire. Hans

  scowled at her, but she ignored his silent protest and he sat sulking until his

  leg was bandaged.

  “Gretel, perhaps you could help me?” Maeve asked, standing.

  “Of course!”

  Gretel followed Maeve to the far side of the room where she was

  handed three bowls and spoons. As she was about to return to the fire,

  Maeve pulled her back and whispered to her. Her breath was hot against

  Gretel’s skin, and the scent of her body so close was delicate and warm, like

  soft winter spice.

  “This will make him rest.”

  Gretel looked down as Maeve poured a few drops of dark liquid into

  the top bowl.

  “He needs sleep to heal,” Maeve continued, and she winked before

  gently nudging Gretel to go back to her brother.

  Gretel was instantly suspicious, and stood for a moment looking at

  Hans, wondering if she should warn him, if she should juggle the bowls

  around and give Maeve the sleeping draught instead. But then she realised

  that Maeve could have kept the draught a secret, but had decided to trust

  Gretel.

  Maeve didn’t have to take them in, she didn’t have to bandage Hans’

  wound. She had trusted two strangers in her house, offering them food and

  shelter. It was nonsense not to trust her.

  Without another thought, Gretel headed to the cooking pot and ladled a

  portion of steaming hot stew into Hans’ bowl. He looked at it with mistrust

  and Gretel was worried for a moment that he wouldn’t take it, but at the

  first sniff of the hot food, he was more than eager to eat.

  “What will we owe her for this?” he hissed at Gretel, not quite loud

  enough for Maeve to hear.

  “I don’t know, Hans, just eat and be thankful.”

  She carefully ladled the stew into the other bowls and went to sit with

  Maeve at the table. The smell was divine and at the first taste, she thought

  she would cry with joy. Never did she think she would be so thankful for a

  simple vegetable stew. She tried not to eat it too quickly: it burnt her tongue

  and she knew her stomach would struggle with a sudden rush of food after

  so long with so little, but she couldn’t help it and took spoonful after

  spoonful, eating every last drop and feeling miserable as she finished.

  “Please, have another bowl,” Maeve said, smiling.

  Gretel was embarrassed at how ravenously she must have been eating,

  but she was glad of the offer and quickly ladled out another helping.

  “So how did you come to be running in the woods?” Maeve asked

  eventually.

  “We were looking for work,” Gretel said, as she finished her third

  helping. “We travelled from the north, hoping to find something, but so

  far... nothing.”

  Maeve nodded slowly, a grim look upon her face. “It’s been a hard

  winter everywhere.”

  “Do many people live here?”

  “Just me.”

  Gretel was surprised. She’d only ever known of hermits and monks

  who lived alone and Maeve didn’t seem to fit either of those descriptions.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Maeve stared at her for a moment and Gretel realised it was fairly rude

  to have asked such a question, and she hoped Maeve wouldn’t be angry

  with her.

  “I didn’t get on well with the others in my village. I found they

  tolerated me better when I had gone,” she smiled, but it was a painful smile

  and Gretel wanted to push her further, find out more.

  “Why?” she asked, tentatively, knowing it must be a sensitive topic.

  “Because...” Maeve sighed, trying to find the right words. “I was

  different... I had the misfortune of falling in love with the wrong person... I

  was loved back, but sometimes love isn’t enough. You need courage as

  well.” Maeve smiled bitterly and, although Gretel wanted to know more,

  she felt that was the end of the conversation.

  “You’re lucky to have Hans.”

  Gretel looked over to him, snoozing in front of the fire, with his feet

  up. It was the first time she has seen him relaxed in months. “I’m sorry he

  was so ungrateful,” she said.

  Maeve laughed softly. “All bears are angry when wounded. His pride

  has been hurt. He will be well enough in time.”

  “I should sit with him until morning,” Gretel said, although his wound

  had been bandaged there was always the risk of a fever and she needed to

  be there for him, just in case.

  “No,” said Maeve, suddenly brushing Gretel’s hand with her own. Her

  skin was soft and delicate, the thrill of the touch made Gretel’s breath catch

  in her throat. “You need rest. Take my bed, I’ll sit with him.”

  Gretel couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than Maeve’s bed,

  but she knew her loyalty was to her brother and was unwilling to leave him
r />   in the hands of a stranger, albeit one she trusted.

  “I can’t–”

  “You will be no good to him if you fall asleep. Now go and get some

  rest.”

  With that, Maeve stood, moving her chair to sit by Hans. Gretel could

  still feel the warmth of her hand where they had touched. She knew Maeve

  was right, and forced her exhausted body to take the last few steps through

  the door into the dark and cosy room, where Maeve’s bed awaited her.

  Every muscle ached and she struggled to remove her outer layers of

  clothes, her fingers numb and useless with fatigue. But eventually she

  pulled back the blankets and slid between the warm sheets, infused with the

  now familiar scent of Maeve.

  For a few minutes, she tried to stay awake and think about Maeve,

  about the people of her village and why they drove her away. But it wasn’t

  long before she was pulled into sleep, where her dreams were filled with

  wolves and the woman who commanded them.

  River, Oak, Hill, Farm

  He was still. The only movement was the soft rise and fall of his chest as

  he slowly breathed. A woollen blanket had been placed over him, and he

  seemed content, quiet, relaxed.

  It was the longest he had slept since they’d left their village and Gretel

  knew he could do with the rest. He had worked so hard to keep them both

  safe, to find food, to find work and places to rest, building shelters where he

  needed to, pulling her along, even carrying her at one point, through a

  particularly treacherous bog. It was a wonder that he managed to have kept

  going for so long.

  He had been there for her at every step of the way, never giving up on

  them and never losing his patience with her when she slowed him down.

  She wouldn’t have made it without him.

  Gretel brushed back the soft auburn curls from his forehead. He was

  warm, but not feverish. She should let him sleep, but he needed to eat as

  well and she felt food should take priority now.

  “Hans?” she said softly, trying to ease him out of his deep sleep.

  “Hans, breakfast!” She moved the bowl under his nose. She had managed to

  find some hard biscuits in one of the storage pots and poured hot milk over

  them, making something akin to porridge.

  “Eh...” he muttered, clawing his way out of a daze. “Where am I?”

  “Time to eat,” she said, holding out the bowl for him to take.

  “It’s morning?” He stared around the room, clearly startled to have

  slept for so long and looking for some clue to prove her wrong.

  “You slept right through.” She smiled radiantly at him, hoping he

  wouldn’t ask too many questions about his uncharacteristically long snooze.

  “How can she have so much food?” he asked, taking the bowl from

  Gretel and inspecting the contents.

  Gretel sighed. It had been so easy for her to accept Maeve’s generosity

  and kindness, to just be thankful for their good fortune, that she found

  Hans’ constant suspicion frustrating. She’d hoped that the long sleep would

  have improved his temper.

  “How can you be distrustful?” she asked. “Maeve helped with your

  leg, did she not?”

  “A woman shouldn’t know so much about healing.”

  Gretel gave a grunt of disgust. “And just what is a woman to know

  about? Maeve lives alone, so she has to look after herself.”

  “But it’s not like me to sleep for so long. She cast a spell, no doubt.”

  She couldn’t allow his suspicion to build and so she knew she had to

  confess. “We gave you something to help you sleep, that’s all. Then Maeve

  watched you all night, it was only a few hours ago that she went to bed.”

  Gretel hoped he would feel indebted to Maeve for such kindness, that he

  would start to see her the same way she did.

  “You let her give me a potion?!” he snapped. “And then you left me

  alone with her?!”

  Gretel lost her patience. “How can you be so ungrateful?”

  “How can you not see what she is?”

  “What she is, Hans, is a lonely woman, who has been good to us. That

  is all.” She couldn’t understand why he didn’t see it, why he couldn’t see

  how kind and gentle Maeve was.

  “Well, even if that is so, we have already outstayed our welcome. You

  ought to get ready to leave.”

  “What? We can’t leave yet!”

  “We agreed to just one night, Gretel, I’m sure she would want us gone

  by now.”

  Gretel couldn’t bear the thought of going back into the woods, not now

  that she had found somewhere warm and safe.

  “But what of your leg? Leaving now is no good if we can’t make it to a

  village: we must wait until it is healed.”

  “It will be well enough to walk on.”

  “For seven miles?” she asked, wondering just how strong his

  determination to leave really was. He was capable of walking on hot coals

  for seven miles if his cause was strong enough, and she hoped that in this

  case he could be persuaded to stay.

  “If need be.” He looked away from her, eating his softened biscuit as if

  that was the end of the conversation.

  But Gretel couldn’t allow him to win so easily, she had to stay longer,

  not just for the desperately needed food and rest, but also because of

  Maeve: something about her, perhaps her loneliness, made Gretel want to

  stay with her, just a little longer.

  “No!” she said.

  Hans looked up at her, surprised at her adamant refusal.

  “I am not leaving with you. I am not letting you lead me into the path

  of those wolves again, not while you can’t walk.”

  He opened his mouth to argue further, but said nothing. She was right

  and he knew it. If he truly valued her safety then he would not put her at

  risk, even if it meant denting his pride.

  He turned away again. “As you wish,” he said. But he did not say

  another word to her for the rest of the morning.

  After so many weeks on the move, and her whole life spent on a small

  farm, Gretel found it difficult to do nothing. She pottered around the

  cottage, tidying a few things here and there where she saw a need. She went

  to the yard and brought in some firewood: there didn’t seem to be much left

  and she considered venturing into the woods to find some more. But the

  thought of getting lost and facing the wolves alone chilled her to the bone,

  so instead she found a needle and thread and set about repairing some of her

  clothing as best she could.

  But as the hours drifted past and she continued to work, Gretel

  couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she was just filling up time, waiting

  for something. Every so often she would glance at the door to the room

  where Maeve slept, hoping it would open, wondering when she would see

  her, how long she would have to wait. When she finally heard the longed-

  for movement, she couldn’t suppress the little thrill that twisted itself into a

  knot in her stomach.

  “You’re up!” Gretel said, as the door opened.

  Maeve looked tired, but she smiled when she saw Gretel.

  “I have to go out,” she said, “there are some traps I need to check.”r />
  She started to get back into her heavy furs and Gretel’s stomach sank

  as she realised she would only have Maeve’s company for a few moments.

  But as Maeve was about to leave she turned back. “You could come

  with me if you’d like.”

  “I’d love to!” Gretel said, throwing aside her sewing, delighted at the

  chance to be away from Hans for a few hours and to spend time with

  someone else, someone she wanted to be with.

  Maeve found Gretel some heavy furs to wear, they wore her down a

  little, but were incredibly warm. As soon as she put them on, she was

  reminded of the smell of Maeve’s bed, of the blankets and the warmth, and

  she felt safe.

  It was still bitterly cold outside, but her new furs meant it was much

  easier to tolerate and, although the walk was hard on her tired muscles, she

  soon fell in step with Maeve. Gretel listened to her smooth, rhythmic voice

  as she began to talk, with passion, about the forest surrounding them.

  Maeve didn’t sound as though she was in exile; instead, she talked as if she

  had been set free, as if, even in the coldest, harshest of winters, the woods

  were still her paradise.

  They walked downhill for a while, towards a slow, flowing trickle of a

  river, running along the bottom of a wide bed. Maeve explained it had been

  dry for months, the water still frozen on the mountains, but now it was

  starting to flow again and it wouldn’t be long before the river was once

  more surging through the forest.

  “Not only will the river bring fish, but also other animals will follow,

  bringing the spring with them.” Maeve smiled as she spoke: she was filled

  with energy and enthusiasm, and Gretel found it contagious. “The woods

  will be alive again.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Gretel said, trying to imagine how these cold,

  bare trees would look when they were lush with green leaves, and how the

  forest would sound when it was once again filled with life, and how Maeve

  would look in the summer, when the forest was at the height of its beauty

  and she was at its centre.

  “I’d like you to see it.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, neither sure what to say.

  “I know you have to leave,” Maeve said, “but if you ever want to come

  back, follow the river from the village, it will lead you to that oak.” She