Dear Agnes,
It has been a week and a half since I last saw you. Is anything amiss? I was in the garden gathering winter berries for a pie yesterday (yes, you’ve inspired me to try something other than cakes!) and I heard voices down the hill. Imagine my relief when I saw you with Oskar, looking perfectly well. I’m glad the tonic’s effects did not linger, but I hope you haven’t been troubled by anything. I suppose something has happened with Oskar’s brother, or perhaps someone else in your family, to occupy your mind?
Please write to me soon. I will send over a berry pie tomorrow if it turns out all right.
Your friend,
Mathilda
Dear Agnes,
How did you like the berry pie? I hope whatever has been troubling you is over. It must have been a very bothersome family matter for you to not write back for so long. I’m glad we are nearing the end of February. That warm day we had was such a blessing. Perhaps if we have another one, you might be able to come up and have tea? We can sit in the garden, and Oskar is of course invited, though I feel certain he won’t wish to come.
Please write back soon. I badly miss your company.
Your friend,
Mathilda
To Agnes:
I am not sure what to think. I have neither seen nor heard from you in over a month, and I am beginning to despise myself for the doubt I’ve had about you. I know in my heart that you are good and loyal, and you would never go back on your word or use me for my magic. I can only conclude that Oskar is preventing you from seeing my gifts and messages, or perhaps persuading you to ignore them.
Whatever the reason, my heart is breaking. I know our friendship means as much to you as it does to me, and I hope you will reconsider. I am glad that Hanau is taking to you and Oskar so well. Every time I look out of my gate, it seems you are entertaining a new guest for tea or supper. Was that Frau Werner herself the other day? Such an important person coming to call on you must have made Oskar very happy.
Please write, Agnes. At least send a little note if you are unable to see me.
Your friend,
Mathilda
“You look lovely this morning, Frau Heinrich,” a neighbor called as Agnes strolled by. She waved in thanks at the woman, swinging her basket as she entered the crowded market.
It was the first week of April, and winter had begun to ebb into spring. Icicles still frosted the trees like fairy glass and the sun shone weakly upon the frozen earth, but there was a freshness in the air. Agnes breathed it in, feeling more invigorated than she had in a long time. She had been cooped up indoors for too long, and though she and Oskar had frequently invited new acquaintances over for a meal—many of whom brought presents of meat and pastries—even entertaining had grown tiresome.
Distractions don’t last forever, Agnes reflected, then silenced that train of thought. She had left the house to get her guilt off her mind, not linger on it.
She took another deep, cleansing breath before stepping into Herr Steiner’s bakery, which was full of people. The shop took up the first level of the Steiners’ home. Rich, golden apple strudel and flaky, jam-filled tarts covered one table, while another held buttery biscuits and cookies of every kind. A counter ran alongside one wall, displaying dozens of beautifully made cakes, and Agnes headed toward it as the crowd dispersed. One of Herr Steiner’s tall, dark-haired daughters was carrying out a tray of piping-hot cinnamon cakes, fresh from the oven. Agnes closed her eyes and inhaled, thinking how much it smelled like Mathilda’s house.
So much for not lingering on her guilt.
For one wild and fleeting moment, she considered buying a cinnamon cake to bring to Mathilda’s house as a peace offering. They could eat it in front of the fire with cups of lavender tea and the cat dozing at their feet, and chat together as before. But Agnes knew, with a tightening in her gut, that she would not be welcome there again, not after coldly ignoring all of Mathilda’s attempts to reach her. The kind gifts and notes had stopped coming in March, and she had not known whether to feel relieved or heartbroken. While they had arrived at regular intervals, she had been able to fool herself that Mathilda still cared, but their absence meant that she had, at last, understood Agnes’s betrayal of her.
“Agnes! How wonderful to see you,” trilled Katharina Braun, pushing past a group of women to stand beside her. “Beautiful day to be out, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Agnes said, forcing a smile. “Are you looking for a cake as well?”
“My mother taught me never to come to a party empty-handed. I suppose that’s why half these people are here, looking for something to bring to the Bergmanns’. My money is on Frau Bauer buying that enormous rhubarb cake. She’s from the city and they do love to show off.”
Last week, Oskar had danced with joy at the invitation to the Bergmanns’ Easter party. It was proof that he and Agnes had been welcomed as worthy, respectable people. Agnes had found it harder to be happy, imagining them all celebrating while Mathilda sat alone in her cottage.
“…but when they went up the hill, the witch was completely gone!”
Agnes’s attention snapped back to Katharina. “I’m sorry, what?”
“My dear, where is your mind today?” the woman asked playfully. “You seem a hundred miles away. I asked if you saw the boys go past your cottage, and you nodded!”
“What boys? Could you repeat the story?”
“The Schmidt boys. They celebrated Franz’s birthday yesterday, and one of them dared him to pay the witch a visit,” Katharina explained. “They all came with him, of course, hoping to see her curse off his fingernails or some such nonsense. But when they went up there, the gates were open and the house was empty, like she had never been there at all.”
Agnes’s chest tightened. “She’s gone?”
“Yes, and I hope for good. It’s better that way, if you ask me,” the woman said lightly, picking up a box of white sugar–dusted cookies. “No one wanted her here. She cast such a dark cloud over the whole town. Maybe now you and Oskar will get some decent neighbors…though who knows if anyone would want a house that’s been occupied by a sorceress!”
Deep down, Agnes had known that betraying Mathilda would mean never seeing her again, but still the hollow ache of loss gnawed at her. Mathilda’s disappearance felt odd and unfinished, like reading a book only to skip the final pages. A story without an end. Never again would Agnes read one of her charming notes or receive a kind and thoughtful gift from her.
“My dear, you are distracted today,” Katharina scolded her, and too late, Agnes realized that the woman had asked her a question. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’ve been cooped up for too long, I think,” Agnes said apologetically.
Katharina’s eyes scanned her slowly from head to toe, then slid to Agnes’s belly, and then she smiled like a cat that had gotten into a saucer of cream. “Well, well, so that’s the reason. I no longer blame you, my dear,” she said, laughing. “When were you going to tell me? Or were you planning to keep it a secret until you could no longer hide it, you sly thing?”
Agnes’s heart seemed to stop beating. “What do you mean?” she croaked.