One Witch at a Time Read online

  Rudi gulped, and despite all the trouble she had caused, his heart softened. “No, not stupid. Just . . . too trusting.” He swallowed his pride and offered his hand.

  But Susanna Louisa sidestepped Rudi and stomped away across the bridge. Then she turned, swiped at her eyes, and reached into the pocket of her pinafore. Without a word, she drew out one bean and held it up for Rudi to see. Then she flung the bean toward the riverbank, where it bounced once and became lost in the soft new grass. She plopped onto the ground, planted her chin on her fists, and stared at the spot.

  Rudi blinked at her. If an angry look were enough to make a bean sprout, Susanna Louisa was the one to make it happen. He shook his head and left her to watch over her bean. She knew her way home from here. He needed to see what kind of damage had been done at the farm.

  3

  Just as Rudi had imagined, his grandmother stood waiting in the doorway of the cottage, tapping her foot.

  “How did you fare at market?” she said. “You traded for something tasty, I hope.”

  Rudi hurried through the gate. “Has anyone been here, Oma? A red-haired foreign girl with muddy boots?”

  Oma raised an eyebrow. “You traded for a foreign girl? I was hoping for something more like a ham.”

  “Oma!” Rudi tugged at his collar, which suddenly felt tight. “Have you seen such a girl? Wearing a heavy thick shearling coat?”

  Now both her eyebrows lifted. “Shearling? No. I’ve seen no one all day.”

  Mama stepped outside. “Home so soon, Rudi? But your knapsack looks empty. Did you bring nothing home in exchange for all that cheese and butter?”

  “He traded it for a shearling girl,” said Oma. “I hope she knows how to milk a cow.”

  “The cows!” cried Rudi, forgetting everything else. “Has anyone come to claim a cow?”

  “Did you sell a cow after all?” said Mama. She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. “Perhaps I heard you wrong. Perhaps you said that someone will deliver us a cow. In trade for the goods you carried to market?”

  “I never made a trade with anyone!” said Rudi. And then, eager to explain how the day’s events were not all his fault, he told them everything. How Susanna Louisa had taken it upon herself to offer one of their precious cows for a handful of dried beans.

  “I must tell Papa,” said Mama, her hands fluttering. “Rosie calved this morning. A fine little heifer, and we’ll not trade her for such a pittance.” She hurried off in the direction of the barn.

  Oma shook her head. “Foolish child,” she muttered.

  “She meant well . . . ,” Rudi said. After all, Susanna Louisa was only nine years old.

  “I’m talking about you!” snapped Oma. “I want to see these beans.”

  Grateful for a chance to escape, Rudi dashed away to find Susanna Louisa.

  She was still sitting on the riverbank, chin in her hands, staring at the spot where she had thrown the bean.

  Though he wanted to, Rudi did not scoff at Susanna. He did not tell her how silly she was to sit and wait for a seed to grow. He only tugged at her arm. “My Oma wants a word with you.” Then, to soften the blow of the scolding that awaited her, he added, “Do you want to mark the spot with a stick or something?”

  Susanna shot him a look. “I don’t need to.” She stood, brushed bits of grass from her pinafore, and flounced up the lane and toward the Bauer cottage.

  Oma was waiting inside, rocking in her chair.

  “Good day, mistress,” said Susanna Louisa with a quick curtsy.

  Oma gave a nod and held out her hand. “Let’s see these beans of yours.”

  Susanna dug into the pocket of her pinafore. “They’re not mine, mistress. They’re yours. I’m only holding them in safekeeping.” She gave Rudi a sidelong glare as she handed them over.

  Oma squinted at the pile of dried beans in her hand. “Hmm.” She pushed the beans toward Rudi. “What do you see?”

  Rudi studied the hard white beans with their black marks. He shrugged. “They’re ordinary soldier beans. Most years we have whole sacks of them.”

  Oma shook her head. “These are bigger than soldier beans. And the markings are different.” She took one bean and held it up for Rudi. “What do you see?”

  “A keyhole shape,” offered Susanna helpfully.

  She was right. The mark on the bean looked like a perfectly formed keyhole. Rudi took another bean from Oma’s hand, and another. And another. Without variation, they all had the same mark.

  He scratched behind his ear. “Maybe they’re a new strain. Keyhole beans?”

  Together, Oma and Susanna said, “Hmph.”

  Rudi blinked at them, and then a realization dawned. “You can’t be saying they really are magic?”

  Oma snatched the beans from Rudi’s hand and slipped them into her apron pocket. “I will do the safekeeping now, if you don’t mind.” Then to Susanna she said, “Hurry on home now, child. You’ve been very useful, thank you.”

  Susanna nodded. “My mother likes me to be useful.” She gave Rudi one last satisfied look and skipped out the door.

  Oma waited until they were alone, and then she shook a finger at Rudi.

  “Have you forgotten everything you’ve learned? Spouting off about magic. You know it’s bad luck to talk of such things!”

  “But, Oma!” And then he lowered his voice, though no one else was in the house. “Those beans can’t be magic!”

  “Why not?”

  “B-because . . . ,” he sputtered. “Because as a rule, things are not magic.” It was like trying to explain why Rosie had birthed a calf and not a lamb. Of all people, Oma should understand such things.

  But she only said, “It’s easier to prove what is than to prove what is not.”

  Rudi swallowed his exasperation. “If the beans were magic, something would have happened at the riverbank.”

  “At the riverbank? What sort of something?”

  Rudi explained how Susanna Louisa had tossed one of the beans, expecting for all the world that it would sprout before her eyes. But it had not sprouted then, and Rudi was certain it had not sprouted since.

  Oma fixed a steady eye on him. “You think these beans are nothing but a poor excuse for supper. But I think they’re trouble.” She rocked for a moment, thinking. “There’s one way to know for sure. Someone needs to take them to the witch.”

  With a gulp, Rudi peered out at the stark black peak of the Berg, which loomed above Brixen like a storm cloud. He knew that by “someone,” Oma meant him.

  He was not afraid to climb the mountain. He was not afraid of the Brixen Witch. Ever since that day last summer, when he and the witch had worked together to foil the evil fiddler and rescue the children of Brixen, Rudi had hoped to see her again.

  But he had hoped it would be a sociable visit. He would take off his boots and share stories, and tea, and elderberry tarts. He had not planned on making another pitiable plea for help. What would she think of him, getting into trouble again so soon?

  He sighed. “When shall I go? Now?”

  Oma squinted at the sun, which rested on the peak of the Berg in the western sky. Soon the valley would be enveloped in the mountain’s cold shadow.

  “In the morning,” she declared. “At first light. And you’ll take the tanner’s child with you.”

  Rudi groaned. “Susanna? She’ll only slow me down or get lost.”

  “You’re going to need her.” Oma scooped the beans from her pocket and examined them again in the light of the fire. “Susanna Louisa may be a pest, but she’s a pest who knows a magic bean when she sees one.”

  4

  Rudi grumbled to himself as he lay in bed that night, thinking about the errand he did not want to run. He grumbled as he rose the next morning, when the light outside the window softened from black to the palest gray. He grumbled as he pulled on his boots and wrapped the last of Mama’s elderberry tarts.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispered to Oma once
Mama was out of earshot. “That foreign girl must surely be coming for the cow today.”

  “Your papa can deal with things here,” said Oma, handing him a small pouch. “You have a job to do.”

  “I still say these beans are not magic.” Nonetheless, he pocketed the pouch.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” said Oma. “If, on your way up the mountain, you see that the bean has sprouted on the riverbank overnight, you can tell the witch that there’s magic hereabout.”

  Rudi collected his knapsack. “And if it hasn’t sprouted?”

  “Then you can tell her that perhaps the magic is biding its time.”

  “But, Oma—”

  Just then the door swung open and Papa stepped in, wiping his feet. His clothes were rumpled, and a bit of straw was stuck in his hair.

  “Good morning, Son,” said Oma. “And how is our newborn doing?”

  “Mother and calf are doing well,” said Papa, sitting and pulling off his boots. “The new spring grass will help Rosie’s milk come in nicely. Mayhaps the harsh months are finally behind us, and it’s about time.”

  “Look at you, poor dear!” said Mama, coming down the stairs. “Spent the whole night in the barn. Did you get a moment’s rest for yourself?”

  Papa rubbed his head, sending bits of straw floating to the floor. “Slept like a baby, truth be told. Ordinarily I can’t get a wink in the barn at night, what with the cows lowing and Zick-Zack prowling for mice. But it was quiet as a church all night. More peaceful than in my own bed, I’d venture to say. Not that you snore so loudly, Mama.” He winked at Rudi.

  “See where you sleep tonight,” was Mama’s reply, and then, “Such an odd thing about Zick-Zack. I hope she hasn’t been snatched by a hawk or a wolf.” And then Mama gasped. “Or gone off to be a witch’s cat,” she whispered.

  Oma snorted. “Cats favoring witches? It’s a silly superstition. As for the hawks and wolves, they’re the ones need to worry about Zick-Zack, not the other way ’round.” She cast a troubled glance at Rudi, though she didn’t say another word.

  Papa shrugged out of his coat. “She’ll turn up. I’ll wager she was out hunting on the meadow or some such. Rudi! Where are you off to so early?” He spied the package in Rudi’s hand. “Ah, elderberry tarts. So it’s up the mountain for you, to beg for help undoing your reckless bargain? Off with you, then. Tell the . . . old woman . . . that we can’t be expected to trade one of our precious lovely cows for a meager handful of beans.”

  Despite Papa’s stinging words, Rudi couldn’t help noticing an interesting conundrum: Papa was content to have Rudi seek the counsel of the old woman on the mountain, even while he would not admit that the old woman and the Brixen Witch were one and the same. It’s bad luck to talk of such things. Because to talk of such things meant admitting such things. It meant admitting that the village of Brixen was not only at the mercy of the weather and the seasons and the occasional pushy monarch. It was at the mercy of its very own witch.

  Rudi was grateful for the witch, and he knew Papa was too. Brixen was at her mercy, it was true. But she was also their protector. That was one more thing Rudi had learned not so long ago.

  “No foreigner will take any cow of ours,” said Oma, tucking the bundle of tarts into Rudi’s knapsack. “ ’Twould be folly, trying to lead a creature through the mountains this time of year. It’s time someone visited the poor woman, that’s all. See how she fared the winter.”

  And now Rudi realized the true reason Oma was sending him up the mountain. She didn’t think the beans were magic any more than he did. It was only an excuse to check on the witch, who was very old and perhaps a bit frail, and who had endured a harsh winter the same as they had. Rudi decided that he would go gladly. It would be a boots-off, tea-and-tart sort of visit after all.

  He retrieved his coat from behind the door. “I’m off, then. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Be careful.” Mama lifted his cap and smoothed his hair, which was her way of saying good-bye, now that he was thirteen and too old to be kissed by his mother.

  “Good luck, Son,” said Papa, placing a hand on Rudi’s shoulder. “And keep an eye out for wolf-eating cats.”

  Rudi made his way through the village and toward the tanner’s cottage. The steeple clock struck the early hour, and in the distance the blacksmith’s hammer rang. Rudi sniffed the air for a hint of baking bread, but he smelled only the sharpness of wood smoke.

  Now he felt a pang of guilt. If Susanna Louisa had been tempted into accepting beans that she thought would feed the entire village, could he blame her? She was nine years old. She had only been trying to help.

  Hungry or not, the villagers of Brixen were a hardy lot, and so they went about their day as usual. Or so it seemed to the casual eye, but Rudi knew better. Small children stared as he drew near, and were nudged behind their mothers’ skirts. The matrons smiled awkwardly, and the menfolk gave stiff nods. Rudi tried to ignore the sidelong glances. He told himself he did not hear whispering behind his back.

  At the edge of the village square, Rudi came upon Mistress Gerta scrubbing her doorstep. She was a widow with many children—so many, in fact, that she could scarcely keep their names straight. As for children who were not her own, Mistress Gerta never bothered with names. Any girl was called “Sweet,” and any boy was called “Lad.”

  And so Rudi blinked in surprise when she said to him, as clear as day, “Good morning, Master Rudi.”

  He gave a wary nod as he walked past. “Good day, mistress.”

  “Rudi!” His friend Konrad raced across the square, with his little brother Roger close behind.

  “Hullo, Rudi!” Roger’s wide grin revealed two missing teeth. “Mama says we’re not supposed to talk to you.”

  “Why not?” demanded Rudi, though he knew perfectly well why not, and it vexed him. “Besides, you are talking to me.”

  “Mama also says we should be nice to you,” explained Roger. “Because you’re friends with the wi—”

  Konrad clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, but Roger kicked him in the shin. “How can we be nice to Rudi if we don’t talk to him?” said Roger, scowling.

  Konrad rubbed his sore leg. “Where are you going, Rudi?”

  Rudi scratched his ear. “To the tanner’s cottage. To pick up a package.” Which was true, more or less.

  “We’ll come with you,” said Konrad, to Rudi’s exasperation. On any other day he would have welcomed the company. But not today.

  “Mama says we have chores!” declared Roger, and Rudi took the chance to bid a hasty farewell.

  At the far end of the village was the blacksmith’s shop. Its forge glowed with heat, and Marco the smith swung his hammer, striking the anvil in a series of CLANGs that pierced the air. Without breaking his rhythm, Marco gave Rudi a grin and a knowing wink.

  Rudi sighed. At least Marco wasn’t uneasy around him.

  Now the clanging stopped, and Marco stepped away from his forge. “Ah, my favorite thief!”

  Rudi’s face grew hot, and it wasn’t from the heat of the forge. “Master Smith,” he muttered, “I never stole . . . anything.” He’d almost said, “I never stole the witch’s gold coin,” but he’d held his tongue just in time. “At least not on purpose. You know that.”

  Marco clapped Rudi on the back. “Don’t be so modest!” He leaned closer. “Nothing wrong with embellishing the truth a bit, lad. It builds a healthy respect. I’ve been thinking of taking on an apprentice. Interested?”

  “Me?” said Rudi. “Oh, I couldn’t. My papa needs me. And I like the dairy. But thank you for asking, all the same.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  After a moment’s hesitation Rudi invented an errand, and surprised himself at his own words. “I’m off to unlock something. I think.” It must have been the thought of the keyhole beans tucked deep inside his pocket.

  Marco lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t say. Have you got the right key?”

  Rudi shrugged. �
�I don’t think it’s that sort of lock.”

  “Wouldn’t be much of a lock if it didn’t need a key,” said the blacksmith. “Wait here.” He disappeared into his shed. A moment later he was back, and he pressed something heavy and cold into Rudi’s palm. “A skeleton key. It will open all but the most devious lock.” Marco gave him a nudge. “Or you could always throw it. It’s solid enough to raise a welt, I’ve no doubt.”

  Rudi regarded the iron key, which was nearly as long as his hand. He couldn’t imagine needing it for either purpose. Still, he nodded his thanks and slipped the key into his pocket.

  Now Rudi came upon the tanner’s cottage. He hesitated, wishing he could go up the mountain by himself. But Oma was not someone he could easily disobey. He steeled himself and banged on the door.

  A moment later, Mistress Tanner stood in the doorway with a squalling bundle in her arms. “Good morning, Master Rudi,” she said, not quite looking him in the eye.

  This was the way of things now: a wink and a nod. A wary sort of courtesy. Being called “Master Rudi” or “my favorite thief!” All because he had met the witch. He had almost gotten used to such treatment, but he still didn’t like it.

  Just now it made him feel itchy all over, which meant he must be blushing. “Good day, mistress,” he said, with an awkward touch of his cap. “My grandmother has sent me with a message.”

  After several minutes of discussing, cajoling, and solemn assurances passed along from Oma, the matter was decided, and Susanna Louisa appeared on the doorstep wearing her traveling coat.

  “No one but your grandmother could talk me into such a thing, after what happened up there last summer.” Mistress Tanner shuddered. “But if she says it must be done, then I suppose it must. Off you go, then, before I change my mind.” She pulled her daughter close and kissed her upon the head. Then, holding the squalling bundle tightly to her chest, she disappeared inside the cottage.

  Susanna Louisa grabbed Rudi’s hand, though he had not offered it. “Isn’t this exciting? Going up the mountain to visit that nice old woman again.”