by Kim Faulks
I traced the red lines in his eyes as he muttered. “We don’t legally own the forest and we’re bound by the contracts until the term is complete. What little money is left will barely pay the estate’s expenses. With no new agreements to sell the timber, we’ll be forced from our home. Believe me, I wish it weren’t true. We will need to start selling our possessions, the furnishings first. The sculptures and the paintings. That should give us a month. Two on the outside. These damn woodcutters are already screaming. We owe them the three month wages and we have to honor that at least. What money we get from the trees will cover that, for now. But, we have no money to pay the servants. They’ve elected to leave us, so we’ll need to make allowances.”
“No. No. No. What are you saying, Hansel? The servants? They can’t leave us. Where are they? Maybelle. Maybelle. Where is she? Someone find her, bring her to me.” Her voice pierced my head. Each word was a blunt needle.
“They’re gone, Mother. They packed what they could carry and left before sunrise. There’s no one left but us.”
I jumped as she stumbled to her feet, her cerulean dress a blur as she raced toward him. The slap rocked the room. Hansel’s head snapped so hard to the left I thought it would come free. “Why have you waited until now to tell me this? I don’t believe you. You. You did this. You sniveling little shit. You’ve taken all the money, you plan to leave me destitute and begging!”
It took an age for him to turn his head to her, and for once in my life, I saw a man desperate to return to the boy. My chest ached. My hollow heart pumped, but I didn’t feel alive.
“Is that how you think of me? Is that what you truly believe?”
I couldn’t bear his voice, so weak, so afraid. I turned my head away, listening instead as she fell against his chest. I hated her then, hated the way her sobs filled the room, but they didn’t pierce me. They didn’t soften my anger.
“Who will do the chores? Who will cook and clean? Who will empty my chamber pot?”
“I will.” Her sniveling quieted as I spoke. “I’ll empty your chamber pot, Mother, and cook and clean. I’ll do my best, anyways.”
My vow made no difference to her agony. “Promise me you’ll keep the estate, Hansel. If we lose that, then we’ve lost everything.”
His voice was barely a whisper as he answered. “I’ll try. I will do my damnedest to hang on to the house.”
***
The grand piano had been hauled away the day after the funeral, three fortnights ago. The art and sculptures went next, followed by the ornate rugs in the study and the hall, until our once-grand house resembled a mausoleum.
The larder shelves sat empty. Four jars of pickled vegetables glared at me as I entered. The stench of vinegar hung in the air, souring my empty stomach.
A side of salted pork hung lonely in the meat locker. The bread and cheese had disappeared sometime throughout the night. Flour sacks sagged against the floor. Rats had burrowed through the bag of rice. I sifted through the droppings, picking out the grains to use in the stew. I stirred and kneaded, swept and scrubbed until my knuckles swelled and my spine ached. I made something out of nothing, until nothing was all that was left.
Snow had come some time in the middle of the night. The green tops of the carrots were almost buried and the small shoots were frost bitten and hard. I dug through the ice to pluck baby carrots from their bed, leaving the cabbages and turnips for the weeks ahead.
I welcomed the bite of winter, spending my days huddling around the stove, although there was no food to cook. My trembling hands blistered and bled.
Day after day, I carved the pork and picked the vegetables, while our house emptied, one room at a time. What was left in the larder disappeared sometime during the night, leaving me with nothing. I searched the forest for small game until the cold drove the rabbits into their burrows and the mice from sight, leaving me with the roots from bare shrubs and the few supplies Hansel bought home. But there were always the headaches and the tonic which went with it and there was always someone hungrier than myself.
I stopped my chores to consume the tonic, carrying the bottle with me wherever I went. Finding food consumed me, although I barely ate. I left the chamber pots dirty and my other chores fell to the wayside. No one cared. No one said a word, not even Mother who had swollen in the weeks since the servants left.
Morning to night, I swallowed the bitter mixture, keeping to my room. My days were peaceful, searching the forest for any small rodent I could find. There were never enough though. I’d kill and cook one day, only to find the meat gone the next morning. Week after week, I became slower, hungrier while others in this house remained sated.
Loneliness swallowed me. Sometimes I thought I saw my wolf there, just a white blur amongst the trees. But when I blinked, he was gone, my Ghost in the darkness.
My mother summoned trays of food to her room. Her headaches were too cruel to bear the light. She was different now, her voice changed growing deeper and tinged with thick slur. My brother moved like a thief, taking, always taking—just like Mother. Hansel raided my bedroom. I found my clothes strewn from one side of the room to the other. My jewelry was gone, but even worse, my books were gone, leaving my shelves bare. My outdated clothes were all I had left. I was too exhausted to feel the loss and too empty to cry. I picked up my strewn garments from the floor. I hung my dresses on the hangers, and placed my underwear inside my wardrobe drawers. What little food he bought home never reached my lips, but it found Mother’s well enough.
Pickled carrots and cucumbers replaced the turnips and cabbages when they were gone. The less we had, the more my mother seemed to consume, demanding second and third helpings. Even in the dim light of her room, I could see. Her hard cheekbones had turned soft, jowls draped under the once- hard lines of her jaw. Plain shifts replaced her elegant gowns as she expanded, one inch at a time, around her waistline. Still, she demanded more.
“My clothes no longer fit.”
I jumped at the sound, placing the broth on her dresser. Shredded rabbit and gravy sat beside the slow cooked berries I’d found in the forest. I’d found a small rifle in father’s study then quickly found we had no ammunition and no way to make more. So I spent my days hunting, catching the creature’s which moved slow enough to become entangled in a snare. But berries, roots quickly became our staple. “Maybe I could have a look at them and let the seams out?”
She sat up as I carried the tray over, refusing to look at me in the eye as she muttered. “Yes, that would be nice.”
She’d picked up the spoon before I released the hold. Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes, and waited. The same question, always the same damn question.
“Is there more?”
“Yes, Mother. There’s more.”
“Good. Now, please leave.”
I swept up her dresses from the floor and closed the door behind me. I took a small bowl of rabbit stew for myself and sat at the servant’s table. I picked at the seams, one dress at a time, releasing the thread. Tiny holes marred the satin. I set the iron against the bars of the stove, spraying the dress before working the crease smooth.
The alterations weren’t perfect, but her fancy friends had abandoned her, so who would notice? I worked into the night until my fingers bled from the needle. Pulling and teasing, ironing until night became morning and I was too tired to climb the stairs to my room. I curled up on the chairs, lay my head against a folded dishtowel and slept.
“No!”
A scream woke me, I jerked upright and collided with something hard. A chair howled underneath me. I slid from the seat as Hansel’s scream tore through the air. “What the hell have you done?”
I blinked and tried to clear my head. Footsteps echoed, more than one set. Hansel. I followed the thunderous claps of heels from the couriers as they marched from the front door, up the stairs to her room, arms laden with boxes piled high.
“What’s going on?”
My brother spun, eyes wild, stabbing his fi
nger toward her room. “She’s spent it all, every fucking pound on dresses, dresses.”
“Mine no longer fit.” Her remark stung more than my blistered and bloody hands.
I lifted my trembling hands. Lumps of meat was all I saw. “I fixed your dresses. I worked all night and fixed your dresses.”
She never answered, only turned to stare at her laden bed. “These will do nicely.”
“You don’t understand.” Hansel spat the words through gritted teeth.
“No. You don’t understand!” She spun toward the door, her venom outmatched his. “And, who are you? Who are you and what are you doing in my house? Where is my husband? Sebastian. Sebastian!”
The curtain to her condition parted. I saw her clearly for the first time since that fateful night. Somewhere inside the recesses of her mind there was a crack, a fracture that divided her life from what it had been to what it was. Hansel shook his head. There was no salvation to her sanity, for our mother had none left.
“We have no food. Not a scrap, not even a bone.” I muttered staring at the tulle and the lace.
My brother fell to the floor, his face hidden in his hands. “I tried, Gretel. Please understand that I tried.”
Hansel shook his head, then climbed to his feet and strode away. I listened to his steps all the way to the front door where it opened with a squeal and closed with a slam.
I worked through the day, in the yard and in the kitchen. The place was quiet, no pans boiling, no vegetables to chop. I searched the woods. My Ghost was gone, chasing rabbits and hares. Rabbits and hares. My mouth watered at the thought. I cupped my belly. My steps were slow. Hunger now ruled my world. The beast was relentless and savage, tearing and shredding until I couldn’t breathe.
“Where’s my dinner? I’m hungry.”
I spun at the sound, staring at the creature that vaguely resembled my mother. She hovered outside the kitchen, shifting from one foot to another. Taking in the sink and the fire, the pots and pans as she whispered. “So, this is what my kitchen looks like.”
The bark of laughter shot from my mouth before I had a chance to stifle the sound. “Yes, this is what the kitchen looks like, Mother.”
I glanced to the small pot. Flecks of meat circled like prey. She followed my gaze and lunged, moving quick.
“No, wait. It has to feed all of us.”
The ladle splashed and lifted. She took as much as she could. I grabbed her arm and stared into those cold, heartless eyes as she spun. Her arm whipped forward, the hard wooden ladle cracked against the side of my face. The blow echoed through my head like a hollow drum. I cupped my cheek, watching as she ravaged the pot.
Broth dripped from her chin to run down her neck, staining the high collar of her dress. She gulped, drawing deep until ladle clanged on the bottom. A look of peace washed over her. She leaned backwards, tongue seeking, devouring every last morsel. “Mmm. That was delicious. Make more tomorrow. What meat was that?”
I felt the burn from my face in my palm. The heat travelled through my arm and down into my belly as I answered. “Rat. It was rat, Mother.”
She slapped her hand to her mouth and her pale skin greyed. “Rat. You fed me rat?”
“Yes, I cooked rat.”
Fluid shot from her mouth. The gush splashed against the bench and sideboard. It trickled down to the floor to pool at the bottom of her dress as she choked and spluttered. “You fed me rat? How dare you, where is the pork? Where is the rabbit? Where is the damn food, can’t you see I’m hungry? Can’t you see, I’m practically starving!”
I sank to the floor in the middle of the kitchen, tears filled and overflowed. There was no more I could do. I had nothing left to give. Through my blurred gaze I caught the movement, and took the swipe to the back of my head before the blue lace-edged ruffles of her dress swept past. Her heels cracked through the hallway as she marched from the kitchen. All I could do was stare at the remnants of my dinner on the floor.
One skinny rat, all teeth and claws. It’d bit and scratched as I wrung its neck. There was more bone than meat. Still, I picked and stewed until the gristle was tender and the eyes soft like marrow. I dropped my hand, my fingers trembled edging forward to pick the fragment from the floor. The meat was cool. Fresh from her lips, I lifted it to mine.
I closed my eyes and fought the revulsion, pushing the meat past quivering lips and into my mouth. The flesh was soft, barely chewed. I swallowed and felt the food slide down my throat and pit inside me shrieked. More.
I needed more. I scrambled forward and searched the floor, grabbing what I could and shoving the morsels into my mouth. I scoured the floor, then dragged myself the counter. Chew, swallow. The act felt so alien.
I cleaned up the mess, washed the cupboard and the floor. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and made the slow climb to my room. These passage walls held no color, gone were the rainbows cast from the crystal chandelier. Even those were not sacred anymore. I glanced up to the chain. It hung lowly and bare. Where would this end, in hunger and pain?
My bed called for me; sleep, dream, and when you wake and nothing has changed we will sleep more. I felt into its welcoming arms and dragged the covers over me. I closed my eyes as my hand fell into place.
***
“Gretel. Wake up.”
A hard shove, then another. I turned my head.
“I said wake the fuck up.”
A whiff of alcohol followed the loud slur. I wrenched open my eyes, finding his outline in the dark. “What?”
“I... I have someone here to see you.”
My clouded thoughts gathered one strand at a time. “Please, leave me alone.”
There was a moment of silence. My eyes fluttered closed. Had I been dreaming?
“He’s bought food.”
My eyes snapped open, a harsh breath filled my lungs. “What do you mean?”
“Meet me in the study, and for God’s sake hurry, before he changes his fucking mind.”
Awkward steps sounded. A growl of obscenities followed a thump. The handle rattled. The door yanked open and he was gone, stumbling along the landing and thudding down the stairs.
I kicked the covers free and dragged myself up. One stocking pooled around my ankle, my flesh bare for the night’s touch. Food. That’s what he said. We had food. I yanked my leg toward my chest and snagged the fallen hose. Someone wanted to see me? Had my brother finally found a cure for our hunger?
I fastened the garter, then reached for my unruly strands of hair. I licked my hand and smoothed the curls down before smoothing my dressing gown. I’d prefer a real dress, of course, but the ones I’d been left with no longer fit, not to mention, without someone to help fasten the buttons, I couldn’t wear a regular gown.
Someone for me. I stepped into my heels and reached for the doorway. The darkness clouded these stairs. They were a trap for an unsteady gait. I searched the wall outside my room, finding the knob for the lights.
The chandelier was gone and the dingy yellow hallway lights that remained gave me little to find my way. What the light lacked, my memory held. I reached for the slick banister and steadied my steps.
Voices called. I followed, descending the staircase to the library, where brighter lights waited. Hansel jerked his head toward me as I entered. Drunken eyes searched my face then fell away. I turned to the other man, one I hadn’t expected.
He lifted a hand to his head, swiping his cap free. He clutched it in front of him, as though he were a school boy and this was his first day. I tried to keep to his eyes and avoid the thick dirt that smeared his face. He tried to smile, blackened stubs and a crooked mouth was all I saw. His eyes widened. I saw the sudden realization in his nervous gaze. As though he saw himself through my eyes, he slammed his mouth shut.
“Gretel. This is a friend of mine, Cecil....”
The stranger strode forward, extending one filthy hand. His thickened, yellowed nails edged with black, made me want to shrink away. The blaze of fear in Hansel’s
eyes made me hold my ground. “Cecil Morgan, Miss Gretel.”
I reached out, taking his hand in mine. He squeezed my fingers. I winced as my knuckles ground together.
He dropped my hand as though my flesh scalded his calloused palm. Words tumbled out, rushed and vulgar. “I’m sorry. Fuck it. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I tested my fingers and dropped my hand to my side. “It’s perfectly fine, Mr. Morgan. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Dear God, you’re pretty. You’re even prettier up close. I’ve seen you in the town, only from a distance. I ain’t no creeper. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I tend to ramble when I’m drunk or nervous and I’m always fucking drunk.”
I forced a smile and shifted my gaze to my brother. He wouldn’t look at me, keeping eyes cast down. Did I do something to disappoint him?
“I bought you some eggs and two chickens. I didn’t kill em’. Although, if you wanted, I could do that for you.” I wrenched my head toward the crate. Eggs? God, my belly mewled at the thought and I licked my lips. His eyes sparkled searching my face. “And some pig. I got a sow up in Newcamp. She’s a good breeder, that one. Cut a nice chunk of pork, although she breeds ‘em fat.”
He smiled and reach for his belt, drawing my eyes toward his crotch. I felt my face flush. Heat filled my cheeks. “That is very kind, Mr. Morgan. So very kind. I thank you for your generosity.”
“Cecil here would like your company for a spell.” Hansel kept his eyes averted.
Company. My breath escaped and for a second none returned. I shook my head, keeping the stranger in my sight. Hansel lifted his head, giving me a look that made me ache inside. I glanced around the room, searching for the food.
“He just wants to talk, that’s all. I’ll stand right here and make sure he takes no liberties. For Christ’s sake, if you want to eat, just give the man a few moments of your time.”
I settled on the stranger’s hopeful eyes and smiled. What could it hurt? A few moments of conversation in exchange for days of food. I glanced toward the velvet chaise, it seemed the study had been the only room to survive the cull. “Won’t you take a seat Mr. Morgan?”