The little girl’s coughing wouldn’t cease. Hansel pulled the wool blanket around his little sister. “Come on,” he said, pulling her along slowly. It was another coughing fit. The last time she had one, she wiped the blood away on her skirt quickly so he wouldn’t see. They trudged through damp, decaying leaves and pulled their collars close, so the wind wouldn’t bite.
The crows cawed overhead, eyeing them from their lofty nests. Hansel reached into his bag to find the last of the bread. It was still there, safe. They had been walking through the forest for two days.
“They might have got lost,” Greta had said when Hansel realised they’d been abandoned.
“No, they left us,” he said. He regretted it, because he’d made her cry. The tears painted white streaks across her filthy cheeks.
Their stepmother was hungry, sick and thin, but even in good health, had been a cold, selfish woman. Their father, a hard-working wood-cutter, had been struck by the same sickness when they’d last seen him. Hansel had seen it happen before: dirty water, dirty air. There was no escape. He was old enough to remember the grey limbs dangling over the back of covered carts, and the Xs on the doors. For all he knew, the adults were dead.
Greta needed to rest. She slumped down against a tree and sighed. The coughing had finally settled into a less frequent rhythm. “I’m hungry,” she said.
Just then, a tiny white fairy landed on her bony knee, illuminating the child’s haggard face with bright, ethereal light. “Hansel!” she whispered excitedly. “Hansel! Look!”
The boy turned to see the little creature standing on his sister’s knee, and reached for his slingshot in his pocket. “Who are you?” he asked.
The fairy bowed. “I am Iss. I’m a winter fairy. I saw you wandering, and came to tell you to go north. Winter is on its way.”
“What’s north?” the boy asked, leaving the slingshot in his pocket.
The fairy looked up at the boy. “Home, of course.”
“Is it?”
“Do you doubt me, boy?”
Hansel shrugged. He didn’t know what he thought. He rubbed his eyes. “I must go now,” the fairy said, taking off from Greta’s knee. “Head north, always, and don’t fall asleep out here.” The fairy left a trail of frost around their feet and up the trunks of the surrounding trees. A sparkling train of ice followed it as it flew away, deeper into the heart of the forest. Greta inhaled a blast of cold air and admired the frost’s glitter on the needles of the fir trees.
“That was magical,” she said, wide-eyed as the first snowflake fell down onto her nose.
Hansel, hardened by his head start in life, shrugged. “Fairies are tricksters,” he said.
“Iss was a kind fairy,” Greta protested, finding the strength to stand.
“Tricksters, Greta.”
No more argument came from their mouths, as the howling of wolves stunned them into silence. “Let’s go,” he said, turning around. “The fairy said north.”
Greta hobbled along after her brother who led them toward trees with no frost. ”Is that north, or should we have followed Iss?” the little girl asked. The fairy’s cold air energised her.
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “If the fairy was tricking us, we shouldn’t follow its path.” But he didn’t know if the path without frost was the right one. He wanted to cry, he was so tired, but he wasn’t allowed to stop. When Greta was very small, his mother asked him to take care of his sister, and to be brave, always. He buried his fears and kept walking.
A passing crow was next to visit them. It landed on a tree stump in front of the children, and cawed, “you’re lost.”
“And what of it, crow?” Hansel asked. “Are you going to help us?”
“I could,” the crow said. “For a fee.”
Hansel rested his hand on the pocket with the slingshot and asked, “what’s the fee?”
“That slice of stale bread in your bag.” The crow, almost invisible in the gloom of the forest, winked a shining, ebony eye.
Hansel looked down at his sister, who was shivering under her blanket and then back to the crow. “That’s all we have left,” he said.
“There’s more up ahead,” the crow said. “I can take you there, if you give me the bread.”
“More? More bread?”
“Much more than bread. Bread, cakes, candies, hot soup and a warm fire.” The crow flapped his wings excitedly. “I know the place.”
“This is a trick,” the boy said, looking back to his sister. “You’ll just take the bread and leave us here.”
“Suit yourself then,” the crow turned and took off from the tree stump.
“Wait!” Greta called. “Come back!”
She grabbed the bread from Hansel’s bag, tearing it and throwing it out ahead of them. “Take it!”
The crow circled them and swooped back down, landing on the tree stump again. “Thank you,” it said. “I’ll be back in one moment.” It grabbed a hunk of bread in its beak and flew upwards to the top of the trees, where a nest of chicks could be heard squawking excitedly. The crow, as promised, returned to the children. “My children are now fed. I’ll see to it that you are fed, also.”
Hansel put his arm around his sister. “Follow me, then,” the crow said. It flew ahead of them, the flapping of its wings as loud as thunder in the silent forest.
Occasionally, the howl of the wolf would frighten them back into alertness. It seemed to grow louder. “I’m scared,” the little girl said, running alongside her brother.
He said nothing, and shot a quick look behind them. The wolves were coming. Twigs snapped underfoot as the four-legged creatures raced to catch up to the children. The crow could hear them too. “Hurry!” the crow cawed. “Not much farther.”
Hansel inhaled a sharp breath when the crow landed on the gate of a cottage. “It’s a trick!” he cried.
The crow tilted its head in confusion. “No trick, dear boy. This is home, is it not?”
Hansel looked around at the candy cane fence, the gingerbread facade and the windows that glowed amber with the warmth inside. “Greta, run!” he said.
“No!” the crow cawed. “It’s not safe!”
Greta stayed where she was, and refused to go with her brother who tugged at her arm desperately. “Greta? What are you doing?”
She shrugged him off and approached the gate. There were tears in her eyes. “Hansel, we are home.”
Hansel approached her and put his hand on her hot forehead. Her eyes were like glass marbles, twinkling in the light of the house.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get better soon,” he said.
“I’m so cold, Hansel.”
“It’s going to be all right.”
“Go in!” the crow insisted, firing warm wisps of breath into the air between them. “It’s warm inside, I promise you.”
“No doubt because there’s a witch in there, waiting to cook us!” Hansel said. The boy held his little sister in his arms. “I’m sorry, Greta. I have failed you.”
“Hansel!” she said excitedly, pointing to the window. There was a woman in the front room. Hansel looked to the window and back at his sister. “Greta, you’re not coughing any more.”
“Go in!” the crow said again. “There’s nothing for you out here.”
The hot, white breath of the predators floated out from behind the black trees nearby. Hansel, his hand forced, nodded to Greta.
Greta unlatched the gate hurriedly, opened it and led her brother to the front door. She inhaled the sweet, spicy scent of ginger and placed her little hand on the doorknob. Hansel drew in a deep breath and held it, following her in.
The warm fire crackled at the back of the room, flushing their faces with prickling heat. Hansel gasped.
Sitting next to the fire was a beautiful woman in a rocking chair with a baby in her arms, as new as the fresh snowflakes falling from the sky outside. The little one was fast asleep. His pink, full cheeks moved only when he pursed his tiny mouth to make a dreamy sound. She looked over at the children and smiled. Rising from the chair gently, the woman placed the baby in his crib beside her.
“Hansel?” she asked. “Greta?”
Greta knew her instantly, and ran to her, throwing her arms around her mother’s waist. She sobbed into the woman’s skirts. Hansel froze for a moment, blinking.
“I did not expect to see you again so soon,” their mother said, stroking Greta’s hair, which was now smooth and combed, tied up with ribbons.
“Where is Father?” Hansel asked.
She let go of Greta, who tiptoed to the crib to admire her baby brother. She held her arms out to the boy. He couldn’t refuse. He sobbed into her bosom. “My brave boy,” she whispered, kissing his head. “My brave, brave boy.”
“Where is he, Mother?” the boy asked again.
“I’m sure he will be here soon,” she said, pulling away from him to study his face. “Come, sit with me,” she said, smiling at her children as she took their hands in hers. “I’ve missed you.”
They sat together by the fire and watched the snow fall outside.
I'm with Hansel. It's a trick!
Nice take on a classic tale. I like the ambiguous ending.