Into the Woods (2 page)

"Perhaps she used to be ugly, but cast a spell to make herself beautiful," Gretchen answered, her voice low. "Maybe at night she turns into an ugly old hag."

They watched as the witch used a long wooden paddle to shut the heavy iron door of her stove. She disappeared from view for a moment, and then the door to the kitchen opened wide and she stepped outside and took a deep breath.

She never wore shoes, except when she walked to town to sell her bread and sweets to Mr. Fox at the general store. For that long walk she put on a pair of high-top leather boots that looked as old as the house she lived in. But for now she was barefooted, as usual. Her pale green skirt was a few inches shorter than was proper, revealing her ankles, and the sleeves of her white blouse had been rolled up to her elbows. Her fair hair had been fashioned into two long, braided pigtails that fell over her shoulders.

Gretchen held her breath. Hanson cowered behind her.

And then the witch looked directly at them.

"Well?" she said in a voice that sounded deceptively sweet. "Why are you two skulking about?"

* * *

Matilda watched as first one golden head and then another appeared around the corner. From the kitchen window she'd seen the Hazelrig twins run from the woods to the front of the house, and then she'd heard them whispering as they crept closer and closer.

"Good afternoon," she said, smiling. "What brings you to my house today?"

As always, Gretchen was in the lead and her brother, Hanson, followed close behind. The little girl stepped boldly forward, her big blue eyes calm yet sad. "We're so sorry to disturb you," she said, her voice nearly forlorn. "You see, our stepmother took us into the forest and left us there with no food. She hates us, and she wanted us to get lost and starve to death so she won't have to bother with us anymore." Gretchen's lower lip trembled.

Matilda withheld a laugh. The child was putting on quite an act. Her poor brother simply looked confused; as always.

"We did get lost," Gretchen continued. "For a terribly long time. We wandered around in circles, holding hands, afraid we'd never find our way out of the forest."

"I see," Matilda said calmly.

"We're frightfully hungry," Gretchen finished, and then she turned to her brother. "Aren't we, Hanson?"

Hanson nodded his head quickly. "Frightfully," he reiterated in a soft voice.

"Well, then," Matilda said. "I suppose I must feed you."

Hanson grinned widely. Gretchen gave in to a small, secret smile.

"There is a price, however," Matilda added softly. Immediately, the twins' expressions changed from happy to suspicious. "Hanson, have you eaten onions in the past three days?"

The young man sighed. "No." Then he gave his sister a poke in the shoulder. "I told you she'd want my spit again!" he hissed.

"Not today," Matilda said as she turned toward the kitchen. "Come back tomorrow. I'll need it then."

She filled a plate with fresh-made bread and a few slices of cheese. When she stepped outside and handed the plate to the children, they looked more than a little disappointed. "Eat this," Matilda said. "When you're finished, I'll give you sweets for dessert." She set her eyes on the shy Hanson. "I have caramels. Your favorite."

The boy's pale blue eyes went wide as Gretchen took the plate of bread and cheese. "How does she know caramels are my favorite?" he whispered to his sister, his voice no doubt much louder than he intended.

"Because she's a witch, stupid," Gretchen snapped as she turned away from Matilda. "She knows everything."

Matilda watched as the children sat on a grassy spot and ate their bread and cheese. A witch, indeed. As if any magic powers were the source of her knowledge. She knew caramels were Hanson's favorites because every time he spied a plate his eyes lit up and he licked his lips. She smiled.

Matilda didn't mind that some of the people of Tanglewood, Mississippi, thought her to be a witch. There were only a few who hissed and whispered when she saw them in town, or who stared at her as if they really believed. Those were enough to keep the rumors circulating, however, especially since Matilda lived alone and had no time for socializing or making certain the people of Tanglewood knew the rumors were untrue.

Matilda enjoyed the reputation, though. It gave her some measure of privacy and, like her grandmother before her, it kept unwanted visitors at bay. She only saw people when she went to town to sell her goods, or when they came to her for a cure or a beauty cream. Making bread, sweets, rose water and other rose-based goods kept Matilda busy, and she did a very good business in pomades and beauty creams, as well. She knew herbs and their uses almost as well as her grandmother, the first Matilda Candy, had. Matilda used her granny's recipes for almost everything, of course, relying on the books and notes from the shelves that lined the wall of the main room in her cottage.

If people believed her to be a witch, who was Matilda to tell them differently? Who knew, maybe it was true. Granny had always sworn that all the women on her side of the family had hidden powers and unearthly gifts. Matilda had no unearthly gifts that she knew of, though Granny had always told her to be patient. "The time will come, Matilda," she'd said on more than one occasion, "when your gift will be revealed to you. When you need it."

Granny had been gone two years now, and Matilda missed her as much today as she had the day of the funeral.

When the bread and cheese were gone, Gretchen and Hanson came to her for their treats. The caramels were the real reason for their bold trip to her house, she knew, and for the lie they'd told about their father's new wife.

Matilda fetched a few caramels from the kitchen. She'd made the sweets early that morning, and a few of them were still warm. The children offered their hands, palms upward, and Matilda placed two pieces on each palm.

"Did you know," she said, her eyes on Gretchen, "that if you lie often enough you might forget how to tell the truth? If you tell too many tales, no one will ever believe you, not even when you swear something to be true."

"I never lie," Gretchen said, pulling back her hand.

Matilda smiled. "Of course not. I just wanted to warn you against future falsehoods. Too many tales and one's tongue gets so tied in knots the words become entangled."

Sweets in hand, the twins ran away.

"Tomorrow, Hanson," Matilda called after them. "Don't forget. I know where you live," she added as they disappeared into the forest. She was certain she heard the young man squeal in response.

* * *

Declan Harper shook his head at the poor selection of cigars. As soon as the remodeling of his new house was finished and he'd hired a foreman to see to the running of the plantation, he'd buy this general store and see that it was properly run. He had no patience for ineptitude, and everywhere he turned he was confronted with the crudeness and ignorance of Tanglewood.

One thought calmed him: In a few years time he'd own the whole damn town. The inept would be replaced, one by one. His town would run smoothly and efficiently.

A woman entered the general store, hauling two chattering youngsters with her. They were a matching set, except that one was a pretty little girl in a faded blue dress and the other was a boy in a battered hat and worn denim trousers and a homespun shirt. "You're staying with me today," the woman said sharply. "I'll need help carrying the supplies, and when we get home the house needs a good cleaning from top to bottom."

"But I have to go see the witch today," the young man wailed. "She said that if I don't, she'll... she'll..."

He seemed unable to continue, but his sister finished for him. "If Hanson doesn't fulfill Miss Matilda's request," the girl said calmly, "she'll shove him in her big oven, cook him until he's crispy, and eat him for dinner. Witches do eat children for dinner, you know."

"Gretchen Hazelrig," the woman snapped. "I will listen to no more of your tales. There are no witches in Mississippi."

Declan smiled. How could he have forgotten Matilda Candy? Years ago, as a young man no bigger than the poor lad who was presently being led around by the ear, he'd lived on his father's farm just outside Tanglewood. Matilda Candy, a widow who lived alone just south of town, had been called a witch even then. The stories told about her were outrageous and sometimes frightening, but Declan had never been afraid.

In his youthful wanderings, he'd stumbled upon the witch's cottage and found a kind of refuge there. More than once he'd made strange exchanges with her; candy for spittle. He'd spit in some concoction she was grinding in an earthenware bowl, and she'd make him a whole plate of hard molasses candy.

Yes, many strange stories had circulated about Matilda Candy, and he suspected that as a child he'd only heard a few of them; and he'd understood even fewer. All he knew, all he'd cared about, was that she was kind to him when no one else was, that she never made fun of his mother's Irish brogue or his father's tendency to get and remain drunk, like many others had. She didn't care that he was poor, that he never had any good clothes, that his boots had holes in them. She'd smiled, and given him sweets, and told him he was a fine boy who would grow into a fine man.

And on the day he left, his father dead, his mother a widow, his sisters so afraid of what awaited them out West that they cried all the time, Matilda Candy had given him a sack of candy and sweet bread and assured him, with a smile, that he was going to be all right. That one day he would be a very rich man. That one day he would return to Tanglewood and all his dreams would come true.

And she'd been right. He was doing well. He was a very rich man. And as soon as Vanessa Arrington agreed to be his wife, all his dreams would come true.

Matilda Candy had been an old woman then, when he'd been a boy. She was surely ancient by now!

As he left the general store, cigars forgotten, it occurred to Declan that the "witch" might have an answer to his current problem.

* * *

Matilda used the wooden pestle to grind the carefully measured ingredients into the marble mortar. Working at the bench in her courtyard, as she had been all afternoon, she already had the ingredients worked into the fine powder necessary for this potion. Where was Hanson?

Rose water alone would do in a pinch, but Granny always swore that the spit of a young man made this formula extra special.

She'd just about given up on the young man when she heard him running through the woods. He broke free of the trees but did not slow his step. In fact, he ran harder as he approached.

"I meant to be here sooner," he said breathlessly as he slowed his step and approached her warily. "But my mother... I mean, my father's new wife wouldn't let me come."

"But you're here now," Matilda said calmly.

"I'm supposed to be cleaning the barn, so I'm going to have to spit and run."

She smiled and continued to grind. "And where's your sister?"

Hanson grinned as he took a long, deep breath. He still hadn't recovered from his run. "Gretchen's learning to cook."

"That's lovely," Matilda said.

Hanson shook his head. "I don't think it's so lovely. I'm going to have to eat her cooking!"

Matilda laughed, and her laughter seemed to do something magical to the boy. He was less afraid of her, now. More relaxed.

"She'll never be as good a cook as you," he said, sincerity in his young voice.

"Well, thank you, Hanson," she said as she held the mortar in both hands, lifted it from the bench, and held it close to his face. "Now, spit."

He did as she asked. Matilda glanced into the mortar and held it out once more. "Again."

Hanson complied, and Matilda was satisfied.

"Wait right here," she said, setting the mortar aside and hurrying to the kitchen where a plate of treats waited. Sweet bread, caramels, hard candy, sugared pecans. All of Hanson's favorites.

When she stepped outside she saw the young man leaning over the mortar, studying the mess inside with a grimace on his face.

"Here you go. A small thank-you for your contribution."

Hanson took the plate, eyeing the goodies there with a new suspicion. "Can I ask..." he began shyly.

"Anything," Matilda said, returning her attentions to the old mortar and pestle.

Balancing the plate in one hand, Hanson pointed at the mortar. "What is that?"

"This is a very old recipe for beauty cream," Matilda said as she worked the contents into a paste. "Very old. There are herbs and roots and many other components to this particular formula, but the secret ingredient is the spit of a fine young man."

"You don't use that nasty stuff on your face, do you?"

Matilda laughed. "By the time I'm finished, it won't be nasty stuff. But no," she added. "I don't use it."

"You don't need any beauty cream," he said, holding his head high. "You're already beautiful, even if you are a witch." All at once his face turned beet-red. Matilda was unable to tell if he was embarrassed because he'd said she was beautiful or because he'd called her a witch to her face.

"That's a very sweet thing for you to say, Hanson," she said.

He glanced down at the goodies on his plate. "Nobody spit in any of the candy, did they?"

"Of course not."

Hanson grinned widely as he backed away. "That's good."

"Share with your sister," Matilda said without looking up from her work.

"I will," he said as he turned and took off at a slow jog. "I have to get home!"

Matilda worked the beauty cream for a while longer, before setting it in the afternoon sun to settle. Most of her chores were done for the day, but if she hurried she'd be able to put together one more batch of candied pecans. Tomorrow she'd carry bread and sweets to the general store, as she always did on Friday, and the pecans always sold especially well.

As the sun went down she brought the mortar in and placed it on the table in her work area. Tomorrow morning, early, she'd add the last few ingredients and then the rose water, mixing until she had a wonderful beauty cream that fetched a good price from a special customer.