“That’s some beautiful detailing,” Oskar said, pointing at the walls, which were carved with a pattern of willow trees. “I’ve never seen woodwork to equal it.”
“Thank you,” Mathilda said, her face lighting up. “My home isn’t large, but I like it to be cozy and attractive, since I spend so much time in it.” She poured them mugs of barley water and ladled a thick, steaming stew of root vegetables into three bowls, then cut into a fresh, crusty loaf of sourdough bread. She moved nimbly around the kitchen, her cheeks pink and hands graceful.
Agnes exchanged glances with Oskar. Had the townspeople ever even seen this woman? But then again, the gossip had never mentioned her age, and perhaps Agnes had heard witch and assumed she was an eccentric old lady. “How long have you lived in this cottage?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s been a long while now,” Mathilda said.
Oskar sniffed suspiciously at the stew. When Agnes frowned at him, he picked up his spoon and took a cautious taste, his eyes widening as he swallowed. Quickly, he took a second, bigger spoonful, and then a third. “Were you born in Hanau?” he asked Mathilda.
“No, I wasn’t.” Mathilda carried over a heavy plate of sausages, cabbage dumplings, and potatoes and chives swimming in golden butter. “I’m sure you’ll find it a nice, quiet, little town.”
Agnes speared a piece of buttery potato, which melted in her mouth like a cloud. “Do you have any family nearby?” she asked.
Mathilda’s sad little laugh made her heart ache. “None still living. All I have is my cat and my cottage. Your house stood empty for years, and it’s so nice to see it lit up at night now.”
“I’m glad we came, too,” Agnes said sympathetically. “Do you ever go into town? I’ve never seen you at market. People should see how sweet you are.”
“No, never. It isn’t pleasant for me, and I can get everything I need from my garden or the forest or the market in Hainburg.”
“Hainburg?” Oskar echoed, pausing for breath. He had now finished his entire bowl of stew and wolfed down at least half a dozen sausages, by Agnes’s count. “Going there and back by carriage is a whole morning and afternoon. Do you own a horse?”
“No. But it’s a nice walk when the weather is fine.”
Agnes understood. Hainburg was distant enough that no one there would know the gossip about Mathilda, so she could shop and walk about freely. The same reason we left Mannheim, Agnes thought, hoping Oskar would make the connection, too, and feel more charitable toward their neighbor. But clearly curiosity had gotten the better of her husband.
“What happened between you and the town?” he asked bluntly.
Agnes frowned at him again, but Mathilda answered at once. “They blame me for some odd incidents. Years ago, I had a run-in with the butcher’s daughter. Lina never liked me—there was a young man she fancied who preferred me instead—but she was especially cruel that day. She followed me into the hat shop and said rude things and laughed at me until I ran home without buying anything. I didn’t hear what happened to her until afterward.”
“What happened?” Oskar and Agnes asked together.
“As soon as Lina got home that day, she began choking. Her parents called the physician, who discovered a toad stuck in her throat, and for some reason, they accused me.” Mathilda’s pretty, heart-shaped face darkened. “The physician removed the toad safely, but for seven nights, Lina coughed up something else. A newt, a rat…even a baby snake once.”
Agnes clutched her throat. “Goodness! But how could they blame you for such a thing?”
“It’s easy to place blame where there is dislike, and Lina’s parents knew how she felt about me.” Mathilda folded her hands in her lap. “Another time, some of the boys in town thought it would be fun to tear down my hedges. They wanted to see what I was hiding, they said, and took their fathers’ axes and destroyed part of my wall. I had just come up the hill and I was so frightened at the sight of them waving the axes at me, I dropped my shopping and ran inside. They laughed at me and stole my bags and ate the candy I had bought.”
Agnes shook her head in disbelief. The people they had met so far had been lovely and welcoming, and she could not imagine them being so cruel.
“What happened next?” Oskar asked.
“The following morning, the boys all came down with a terrible sickness,” Mathilda replied. “It turned out there had been enough rat poison in the candy to fell an ox. But no one blamed the confectioner from whom I had purchased it. All fingers pointed to me.”
Agnes looked from Oskar’s grim expression to Mathilda’s downcast face. There was something odd about the line of the woman’s mouth that troubled Agnes, a faint upward tug at the corner that was not quite a smile. Perhaps Mathilda did not deserve to be blamed…but had she enjoyed these incidents? After all, they had happened to people who had been unkind to her.
“After that, I started getting blamed for everything,” Mathilda went on. “Too much rain, too little rain. Broken carriage wheels, dead crops, bread gone bad, cracks in the bridge, and even children who went missing.” There was such sadness in her eyes when she looked up that Agnes felt guilty about what she had been thinking. “Now you know why I want nothing to do with Hanau. I have nowhere else to go and I prefer to keep to myself here.”
“I understand, and I don’t blame you,” Agnes said.
Mathilda patted her hand. “Enough serious talk now. I hope you both have a little room left for tea and honey cake. I baked enough for you to take home.”
Oskar, who had been grave and silent throughout her speech, spoke at last. “I think we should get back. Thank you for the meal.” He got up abruptly and went to get their coats.
“A little dessert won’t hurt, dear,” Agnes said, taken aback by his lack of manners. “And you know honey cake is my favorite. My mother used to serve it with cream.”
Mathilda gave her a faint smile. “I always wanted a daughter to spoil with cake and cream, but that doesn’t seem likely to ever happen. I have the highest hopes for you, though.”
Oskar spun around. “I beg your pardon?”
Agnes got up and placed a soothing hand on his tense shoulder. “It’s all right. I told Mathilda about how we’ve hoped for a child in vain these ten years.”
“We shouldn’t trouble our neighbor with these private matters, my love.” He wrapped Agnes’s coat around her, his face pleading. “Come, let’s just go home.”
Mathilda’s voice rang out. “I wasn’t saying it to be kind. I meant it. You are my friend now, Agnes, and you will be a mother, too, if I have anything to say about it. I can help you.”
Oskar clenched his jaw. “I don’t think you have anything to say on this subject.”
“Please, Oskar, don’t.” Agnes’s heart raced as she turned back to Mathilda, whose face was bright with determination. “What do you mean you can help us? How?”
“Surely you’ve heard plenty of gossip about me by now?” Mathilda asked bitterly, as she wrapped a small, crumbly brown cake in flannel. “Well, the rumor that I have a gift for herb lore and medicines happens to be true. Back when I wasn’t the town pariah, I helped cure everything from broken bones to broken hearts. I’ve been trained as a healer and I know about midwifery, and people were glad enough to benefit from my skills before they turned against me.” She came slowly toward Agnes, who felt Oskar’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “I know a tonic that might help you. That’s all,” she added, holding out the wrapped cake.