by Julie C. Dao
Willem gave a decent impression of being pleased and surprised, though his glance at Elva was full of amusement. “Let’s go see them,” he said, leading her into the barn.
The cows stood in their clean stalls, with their newborn calves beside them. Willem grabbed a large tub of water and filled the animals’ buckets. “You did well, Rosie,” he told the bigger cow affectionately. “And you, too, Marigold. Three new babies!”
Elva held her breath, her eyes not on him or the calves, but on the space beyond them. A farmhand was whistling as he walked across the barn, carrying a bale of hay. He took one step after the other, straight-backed and busy, as she watched him in shock. He hadn’t tripped, and there was no rake in the straw. She had changed the future!
But then he gave a shout and the hay went flying as his foot rolled over something: the rake, lying in the straw after all. It had taken him longer to fall, but there he was, sprawled out.
“Haven’t you learned how to walk by now?” someone yelled from the back.
“If that was your rake, I’m going to pummel the life out of you!” the farmhand shouted. He got up, unhurt, and propped the rake against the wall where Elva had reimagined it to be. He picked up his bale of hay, shaking his head. “Blast these new hired hands.”
Elva let out a breath, both relieved and disappointed. It seemed that the willow tree door served no purpose, aside from allowing her to delay what would inevitably happen…yet why was it there? And why could she see it when Mathilda could not? Her head throbbed, though the pain was duller. “I should go home now,” she told Willem. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Will I see you again soon?” he asked softly.
“Very soon,” she said, and turned to Klaus. “It was nice to meet you.”
“And you,” he said, his pale eyes never leaving her as she walked back out into the sun.
“Of course you didn’t change the future. Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?” Mathilda exclaimed when Elva told her about it that night. They sat by the hearth, where a fire always roared even on warm nights, sipping flame-rose tea and eating the molasses cookies Elva had brought. “Your imagination just needs an outlet. That must be what the door is all about.”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Elva argued. “I just haven’t found out what yet. I know it took longer for that farmhand to fall. Anyway, you can’t blame me for hoping that I can do something to stop that storm.” All day, she had envisioned herself opening the willow tree door and somehow changing everything she had seen about the coming disaster: make the sun shine, make the wind die down, make the barn stand strong and intact.
“Well, it’s a foolish hope. But I think what happened shows how strong you’re getting. Willem isn’t frightened by what you can do?”
“He thinks of it as a gift, like the intuition someone has for their loved ones,” Elva said proudly. “If he understands that much, others in Hanau might, as well, if we gave them a chance.”
“He must love you very much. I’m glad you have someone who accepts you as you are.”
“You deserve that, too, you know. Just as much as anyone else,” Elva said gently. “Have you ever had any family? Who taught you magic?” She expected Mathilda to bark at her about privacy, but to her surprise, a sweet smile crossed the witch’s face.
“Josefine. She was a big, beautiful woman with a voice like thunder and eyes like the winter sky. She took up two chairs sitting down and moved with the grace of a dancer. She was formidable and sharp and hotheaded, and I loved her more than I ever loved my own mother.”
“Did she raise you?”
“Yes, with my aunt Louisa.” Mathilda was silent for a moment, as though weighing something. “They were deeply and irrevocably in love. They had met as children and from the start, it was like two halves of a soul coming together. They were forbidden to marry as adults, but still, they pledged the whole of their lives to each other. Does that shock you?”
“It might shock my parents,” Elva said slowly. “And many others in town. But I don’t think love will ever distress me.”
“I wish more people felt that way. Josefine’s and Louisa’s families did not, so they were disowned and driven out of their village. They built a cottage on a hill outside Hanau and were two of the happiest people I ever knew. They wanted nothing but each other, yet I imagine there is something missing when the world is denied to you, both for loving someone people think you shouldn’t…and having powers people consider unnatural.” Mathilda gazed into the fire with an uncharacteristic softness on her face. “I knew from a young age that I wanted to become a great witch, like Josefine. But I also knew that if I did, I would have to give up the world.”
Elva listened, thinking of all that had passed. No matter how much she wanted to bring Mathilda back into society, there would always be people who hated the witch for what she was. People who would hate Elva, too. “What was Josefine’s gift?”
A smile touched the witch’s lips. “Speaking to animals. Deer would burst from the woods at one word from her, flocks of birds would circle the cottage, and fish would dance in the creek whenever she was happy. I felt lucky to know her and be her adopted niece. Though I didn’t always think that way.” Her smile slipped. “When I was ten, my father told me he was giving me to Josefine and Louisa. My parents had always hated my strangeness and couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I was taking up room and food they wanted to give to their normal children.”
“I’m sorry,” Elva murmured.
“I don’t want your pity,” Mathilda said sternly. “I’m telling you this because I want you to understand that everything has a purpose. Going to live with Josefine changed my life, for better and for worse. It helped me come into my powers, but it also marked me forever as an outcast like her. Those ten years with her and Louisa were the only happy ones I’ve ever had. When they died of old age, I grew ever more isolated, because loneliness is another cost of magic. But Josefine told me something that has always stayed with me: Our abilities die with us when we pass, so we might as well teach others while we can.”
“And that’s why you decided to help me?”
Mathilda hesitated. “Yes, and also because you remind me of your mother. I remember Agnes’s betrayal, but I also remember her kindness when no one else in the world cared for me. She made me feel like I was somebody. Like I was worthwhile.”
“You are somebody,” Elva said, angry that people had made Mathilda feel like anything less. It wasn’t fair. “You’re one of the only people who has ever seen me as I am, and not as I pretend to be.”
“But the things I’ve done in my past—” the witch began, her voice frayed at the edges.
“No one knows what it’s like to be you. To be us. They don’t know what that can do to a person, and what that person might have to do to survive. The things that happened to you could have happened to anyone, and still could to me.” Elva clenched her jaw. “So I am going to do whatever I can to convince Hanau to accept you. I need to do it for you, and I need it to do it for me, too. I need to know that my family and friends won’t turn me away.”
Mathilda stared at her in silent astonishment.
“Josefine and Louisa may have had to hide from the world for the rest of their lives,” Elva went on. “But that will not be the case for us. I won’t let it be. I’m going to fight for you.”
The witch’s lips trembled. “I’ve never had anyone fight for me before.”
“Well, you’ve got me now. And I want to help you the way you’ve helped me.” Elva shrugged, feeling shy. “I…I want to be to you what you were to Josefine.”
“A nuisance?” Mathilda asked wryly, though her voice shook, betraying her emotion.
“No. An adopted niece.” Elva looked down at her folded hands. “I can talk to you freely about my secret. You’re the only one. And I’d like to think of you as someone I could go and talk to whenever I needed it, like…like an aunt who had taken me in. An aunt whom
I loved and respected the way you did with Josefine.”
There was a long silence.
“Would that be all right with you?” Elva asked nervously.
It was as though she had broken down a wall between them. The witch sank to her knees on the rug and wept, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking. It was a violent, cathartic outburst, and Elva’s instinct told her to be still and silent, even as she longed to hug the poor woman. She sensed that Mathilda had not let herself cry for a very long time.
Elva closed her eyes and found that quiet space in her mind, where there was no roaring fire or sobbing witch. Only emptiness. She pictured the mirror on Mathilda’s table and held the image behind her eyelids until it was as solid and sure as though she was looking right at it. And now came the tricky part she had struggled with in their lessons: maintaining that calmness and peace while reaching for the mirror with her mind. She breathed slowly as Mathilda had taught her to do and imagined her arm stretching across the space to the mirror.
She felt its edges, cool as marble, in her hand. Its weight settled against her fingers, and when she opened her eyes, the mirror had flown across the room from Mathilda’s table into her hand. She had not moved an inch.
In her shock, Mathilda had stopped crying. They stared at each other as Elva clutched the mirror in disbelief, and then the witch said, “I guess you have been practicing like I told you to.”
A laugh bubbled up in Elva’s chest, answered by a great chuckle from Mathilda, and then they gave in to their laughter until tears ran down their faces once more—happy ones, this time.
“Here,” Elva said, wiping her eyes. “Let me show you something.”
It was harder, this time, to clear her mind. She was a storm of emotions, of tenderness and hope and fear for what she hoped to do for her new friend. But it was a testament to the witch’s teachings that Elva managed to summon the vision. The mirror showed her family once more: Papa, smoking his pipe by the fire; Mama in her rocking chair, listening to Cay read fairy tales to her; and Rayner on the rug, scratching the dog’s ears. Elva saw herself, too, chatting with Papa. It was an image of such warmth and comfort that she felt sure Mathilda would be moved by it.
This time, when she saw the willow tree symbol, Elva did not hesitate. She pulled it open, even as her head throbbed with pain. The vision began again, and this time, she bent her focus on Mathilda walking into the room. At once, the witch appeared, blushing as Mama got up and greeted her with a hug and Papa and Rayner shook her hand. Cay talked to her about wishing wells and magic as she was drawn into their circle by the fire and given a comfortable seat.
Everything Elva imagined came to life in the vision. She decided they would play games, and there was Rayner putting the board in front of Mathilda so she could reach it easily. She thought of Mama’s delicious cooking, and trays of cookies and cakes appeared beside the witch. The Mathilda in the vision laughed and chatted, looking every bit like a member of the family.
The ache in Elva’s head intensified, so she looked away from the glass and ended the vision. “This is what I want for you,” she told Mathilda, whose eyes had filled with tears once more. The witch folded her hands over her chest, as though protecting her yearning heart. “And I’m going to do everything I can to make it happen.”
Mathilda swallowed hard. “There was a part of me that thought you might be good for me, Elva Heinrich, the first day you came to my cottage. I silenced it because I knew better than to hope, but I should have listened instead.”
“You should have,” Elva agreed, smiling.
“I suppose,” the witch said, with an attempt at her usual tartness, “I have a new niece now, whether I want her or not.”
“And you’ll have her for life.” Elva held out her hand, and Mathilda took it and squeezed.
“Oh, Elva, I don’t know about this.” Mathilda hesitated as she looked out into the forest. Anyone might think she was admiring the sun-dappled wood on this lovely June morning, but Elva knew she was looking at the invisible boundary that curtained her off from the world.
“We won’t go far,” Elva reassured her. The boundary felt like a veil of cobwebs over her face, tickling her skin as Mathilda reluctantly lifted it over the two of them. “We’re going to gather herbs and mushrooms, just as you wanted to do today. Only we’ll do it on the other side.”
“This whole plan is madness,” the witch grumbled.
It had taken a week for Elva to convince her about the plan to reintegrate her into Hanau. Getting the witch to step outside the boundary in daylight, she decided, was progress. “You’re doing wonderfully. And if we run into anyone, what did we agree you would do?” she prompted.
Mathilda sighed. “Smile and make cheerful conversation.”
“And if there are children?”
“I can’t stare at them long, speak in a loud voice, or show frustration, even if they cry.”
Elva laughed at the witch’s despairing expression. “This will be good practice, and you’ll get used to talking to people again. Then, later on, I can reintroduce you to Mama and Papa.”
“I know Oskar will love that.”
Elva chuckled at her sarcasm, but in truth, she was worried about how her parents would react. Not only had she read Mama’s private letters and sought out the witch, but she had also been strengthening her magic instead of suppressing it. Cay, too, would be furious that she had kept this secret from him. They’ll all understand when I tell them about the storm, she tried to reassure herself.
“If people see you as Mama and Papa’s friend, they’ll be more willing to welcome you,” Elva explained. “Papa will speak to the town council about setting up a vote to protect you as long as you’re here in Hanau. And then no one, not even the most closed-minded people, can do anything about it. You’ll be free to live among us like anyone else.”
“Do you really think it will work?” Mathilda asked. “Some of these people won’t ever leave me in peace, whether or not the council decrees it. And I’m not sure I want some sort of trial where strangers decide whether I get to exist or not.”
“We have to try, and if a decree is passed, anyone who bothers you will be punished.” Elva put her hands on the witch’s shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and I’ll be with you in front of the council, pleading your case. You won’t be alone. That’s a promise.”
Mathilda’s eyes on her were steady, even as her chin trembled with emotion. “I don’t like it…but I accept, because I know you keep your word,” she said, with a shaky laugh. “It was always going to be an uphill battle for me. Though I am tired of living like this.”
“We’re going to fix that. But first, we’ll enjoy today,” Elva said brightly. “Don’t worry about anyone recognizing you from those awful posters. The drawings don’t even look like you. And if they do, you’ll have that spell ready to make them forget they saw us.”
Mathilda opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly went tense and still.
Footsteps sounded nearby and a family appeared, combed and dressed in their best: a father, mother, four children, and another man. Elva felt thankful not to recognize them, though there weren’t many people this far in the North Woods who would know Mama and Papa and tell them Elva was in the forest when she was supposed to be running errands.
The men doffed their caps politely. “Good day, ladies,” the father said. The small boy riding on his shoulders waved at Mathilda, who waved back timidly when Elva nudged her.
“Good day. It looks like you’re headed to the river for a picnic,” Elva said cheerfully. She elbowed Mathilda again, urging her to speak, and got a glare for her troubles.
“Are…are you going for a swim?” the witch ventured.
“Mama doesn’t think the water’s warm enough yet,” said the little boy, glancing at the other man, “but Uncle Frank doesn’t agree.”
The man laughed, shifting the heavy picnic basket in his arms. “I think it will be a nice outing, with or withou
t swimming,” he said, with an admiring glance at Mathilda. “Do you and your friend live hereabouts? I don’t think I’ve ever seen either one of you around.”
Mathilda looked helplessly at Elva. “We live…uh, over that way. And you?”
“We live back that way,” Frank answered, pointing in the opposite direction.
“That’s a lovely shawl you’re wearing,” said the mother, studying the frost-blue knitting draped over Mathilda’s shoulders. She turned to her three daughters. “Isn’t it nice, girls? That’s the kind of needlework you’re practicing right now. Someday you’ll be as skilled as this lady.”
“Th-thank you,” the witch stammered. “Did you girls make those?” She pointed at the uneven crochet on their baskets, and the children nodded, blushing. “You’re all very good.”
“Thank you,” the girls chorused, and one of them gave Mathilda a big white daisy from her basket. The witch looked as stunned as though she were being offered a rock, not a flower.
The parents said good-bye and moved along, but Frank lingered. “My sister always packs too much food,” he told Mathilda, glancing at the basket she carried. “If you and your friend finish mushrooming early, we’ll be sitting by the stone frog. We’d be glad to have you join us, if you want.”
“Will you make us swim?” the witch asked, and Frank’s eyes twinkled at her.
“Only if you want to. But please do think about joining us.”
“I’d like that,” Mathilda said shyly, and he walked away with one final admiring glance.
“Well done, you!” Elva teased her, when he was out of earshot. “A suitor already.”
“Oh, hush,” the witch told her, but her eyes shone. “If he only knew who I was…”
Elva shook her head. “Don’t think like that. The more people see you around town like any other citizen, the more friends you’ll have…and admirers,” she added, laughing as her companion blushed. For the next hour, they filled their baskets and chatted with everyone they met, all of whom were perfectly cordial to Mathilda. Watching the witch open up was like witnessing a shy turtle emerge from its shell, Elva decided, pleased.