Gingerbread

Gingerbread. It is my one happy memory of mammy and pappy together. While I sit on the floor with my carved blocks, mammy is baking gingerbread, and pappy is siting by the fire, occasionally throwing in a piece of wood. “Look at our Hans!” Pappy laughs when I tried to help. “He's really getting big, ain't he Charm?” Mammy turns her face towards me and smiles, her eyes twinkling. “He sure is.”

The rest of my mind is taken over by cruel thoughts of pappy slapping, mammy yelling, my crying. And so I hold on to that single warm memory.

I run away when I am eight. Not much choice, with pappy coming home drunk every night.

At first it is easy. I am well-fed and clean, so most people will take me in for the night. Some even let me stay two, and then send me off with some extra food or money. But then hunger gets to me, and I learn to take what isn’t given.

One day, when I am ten, I wander into the woods. I am looking for a place to sleep, maybe the hollow of a tree or an unused animal den. Anything, really. I stumble upon a little girl. She is about four and curled up into a frightened ball. I know that if I want to live, I won't be able to help this pile of rags. But I have to do something. I have been that child before, and likely will be again. So I pick her up. The girl doesn't fight me but falls limply into my arms. Her cold skin frightens me “It's okay.” I whisper to her.

I wander around until I find a large log protected from the wind. I set Pea, that's what I've decided to call her, on the ground. Out of my small and nearly empty pack I pull a bit of stale bread. I tear off bits and shove them into her mouth. She doesn't open her eyes, but, thankfully, swallows.

I empty my canteen's precious contents into her mouth and watch as the water dribbles between her pale lips. The child smiles slightly and opens her eyes. Bright blue gems gleam from under her lids, clever and sweet. I know that she has magic, then. How could she not? The question is what to do with her. Finally, I decide to find someone to take her in.

I amble about the woods for a bit. I should be able to find my way out with no trouble at all, but it is different this time. The trees all look the same, not even moss on one side as a hint. And there are no animal footpaths either. Odd.

But I do find a house. It is a little cottage with a fence that looks like candy canes, and a roof of gingerbread cookies. I walk tentatively to the front door and lay Pea on the step.

“Goodbye, Pea.” I say, “It was nice knowing ya.” With that, I give the door a sharp rap, turn heels, and run. I dive into a bush as a woman opens the door. She picks up Pea, then looked around. She stares right at me, but must decide that there is no one there, because she turns around and goes back inside.

I leave with a strange sadness and mark the trail with large gray stones every few steps. Maybe I will come back someday. I stray around after that, not even asking if I can stay the night anywhere. But one day, I come to a familiar house.

It is in a tiny village with an old stone well at the center. The house in question is small, just a shack, really, but it holds memories. Of pappy. Of mammy. Of gingerbread.

It stands empty; showing no signs of recent life, unless you count the rabbit scat under the table. I crawl into the fireplace to keep from the winter wind that is starting to blow and fall asleep.

The next morning, I make up my mind. I go to the one place I think I could, possibly, be safe. I follow the stones. It takes me only two days to find the trail, and one to reach my destination. The candy cane fence stands as though a year hasn't passed. The gingerbread roof looks new.

I walk up to the door and rap with my fist, only instead of running, I wait. I hear gentle footsteps approach, and then the door swings open. I blink in the light to find, not the woman, but Pea, scrutinizing me with big eyes. “Hello there Pea.” I say awkwardly.

“My name is Gretel.” Pea says seriously. “And you're not Mindy.”

“No,” I lean down to her height. “My name is Hans. Do you remember when I brought you here?” Pea cocks her head.

“No.”

“That's okay,” I say. “But could I please come in? I'm really cold and hungry.”

Pea smiles. “Mindy won't like that you stink, but you can take a bath.” With that, Pea ushers me in.

I sit down at the table and watch as she scurries about like a good hostess. She serves me a slice of bread with honey and gives me a glass of milk. Then she plops down in a small chair beside me.

Suddenly, the door flies open. “Mindy!” Little Pea cried with joy. “You're back!” Mindy is wearing a long dark robe, but underneath, I can see a red dress.

“Oh Gretel.” Mindy sighs and looks at me. “What did I tell you was going to happen if you let another beggar in?”

Pea whimpers. “You said you would cook him for lunch.”

“I did.” Mindy glares at me. “You. Into the cage, now.” I look around. Wait. She can't seriously mean that tiny thing in the corner. Mindy's eyes narrow. I slip off the chair and walk to the little cage by the oven. The door squeaks as I tug it open, and I squish myself in, legs first. Mindy scowls at Pea.

“Go close the door, Gretel.” Pea scoots off her chair and came over to me, her face crestfallen. The door whines as it closes.

“Now,” Mindy holds out her hand and a lock materializes in her palm. Magic. “Lock it.” Pea picks up the lock tentatively and I watch as it clicks over the door.

Mindy strolls to the oven and piles wood in.

“Light it, Gretel.” Pea points her finger, and the logs burst into flames.

“Well done.” Mindy smiles at her. “I'm going to check on the pigs. Let me know when the oven is hot.” With that, she walks back outside. Pea turns to me.

“I'm sorry.” She cries, tears streaking her cheeks. “Mindy says that we shouldn't help people.”

“Pea.” I say. “Do you remember me?”

“No.” Pea shakes her head again. “And my name's not Pea.” The door slams as Mindy the witch comes back in.

“Don’t talk to your dinner, Gretel. Is the oven ready?”

“I don't know how to tell.” Pea gazes at Mindy with those beautiful blue eyes. Mindy comes forward.

“It's easy.” And she proceeds to show Pea that you must hold your hand in front of the open oven. But Pea isn't watching Mindy. Her eyes are on me.

“Do you remember me?” I ask one last time. This time, her eyes light up.

“Yes,” she whispers. “You found me.” With that, Pea turns around and shoves Mindy with her skinny little arms. The witch falls, mouth open, into the oven. Pea slams the door shut and quickly covers her ears to block out Mindy's screams.

Finally, there is silence.

“Can you unlock the cage, Pea?” Pea nods, with pain in her eyes. I notice that she didn't correct me this time. Pea walks to the cage and holds her hand over the lock. It clicks open, and I crawl out, incredibly sore.

“Let's leave.” Pea doesn't argue, nor does she complain when I say we will be walking for a while.

As we leave, I take one last glance at the house through the woods.

All I can see is the gingerbread roof.