Gretel (16 page)

With these calculations, Gretel’s defenses rocketed to the surface, with anger leading the way. She had little patience for lies—especially from teenage boys—and even less patience for those who looked to take advantage of the people she loved.

“What is his name?” Gretel asked.

Petr’s smile dipped slightly and his eyes widened for an instant. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?” she repeated, mimicking the look on Petr’s face and tone of his voice. “You know damn well who I mean! What is the name of your roommate? He worked here last summer, did he? Don’t you think that’s an easy enough thing for me to check?”

Gretel was close to yelling now, and had taken a step forward. She was now only a foot or two from Petr’s face.

“What is his name?” she asked again, enunciating each word in staccato jabs.

“Gretel!” a voice barked.

Shaken from her hypnotic attack, Gretel turned to see Mr. Klahr standing tall in the foyer, his chiseled face expressionless and his eyes locked on hers. He had called her name the way a parent might to a disorderly child in a public place, whispery, with jaws clenched.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. She was breathing heavily now, her eyes blurred with a mixture of fear and anger.

“What has gotten to you, Gretel?” Mr. Klahr’s voice contained more concern than anger. “This is how you speak to our workers now?”

“No, Mr. Klahr, but—”

“That’s enough then.”

Mr. Klahr walked slowly to Gretel, his eyes softening as he extended his arms and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“That’s quite enough, Gretel. I want you to go home now. You’ve worked far too much lately, and with all of your schoolwork, I fear you’re exhausted.”

Gretel had plenty of words to come back with—how this outburst had nothing to do with work or school, and that Petr was suspicious, and that she needed the money—but she knew speaking them would be a waste. When Mr. Klahr made his decision, it was made.

Besides, she
was
tired, and a day of rest wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever been told to do. She silently slid the dishtowel from her shoulder and placed it over the basin and then walked toward the door, glaring once more at Petr Stenson before turning the knob.

“His name was Francis,” said Mr. Klahr.

Gretel looked over her shoulder at her employer.

“Petr’s roommate, his name was Francis.”

Petr’s first week had come and gone with him saying little more than ‘Hello’ to Gretel, and she now regretted her tirade. It was more than just the scolding she’d received from Mr. Klahr, she’d completely overreacted, showing no grace in her behavior.

She still believed Petr’s employment at the Klahr orchard to be an unbelievable coincidence, but apparently coincidences did happen, as was confirmed by Mr. Klahr himself. And now the result was that she’d alienated a potential friend. And maybe something more.

But what did it matter really? The harvest was ending soon and Petr would return to school. And Gretel had far more pressing thoughts to consider, the most important of which being her plans for after the harvest. Her family had come to depend on the money she was earning—for food, for medicine, for everything—and though the end had always been in sight, there was nothing in place for the future. But why was this her concern anyway? Gretel was just fourteen after all, and yet the primary adult in her life, her father, had become reliant on his daughter’s temporary, part-time job. It was despicable to Gretel, and she had all but shed any remaining sympathy for his sickness. His recovery had plateaued, apparently, and though Gretel had been able to pay a doctor to reexamine him, he hadn’t found any real reason for her father’s lack of progress. ‘Some people just recover more slowly,’ the doctor told them, ‘there’s not much that can be done.’ But he was bed-bound twenty hours a day, and Gretel began to regard him, fairly or not, as just plain lazy.

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.”