Red

Else opened her eyes. It was still dark outside, but she knew that the sky would begin to lighten in another hour. Her internal clock had grown precise over the years.

Quickly, she rose from her little bed of rags and dressed quickly in her plain smock in the cold morning air. The fire had gone out overnight and she went out back to get some wood and re-light it. Then she went to fetch water from the well after breaking the ice that had formed overnight, sparing some to rinse her face and hands, before beginning her morning duties.

Else liked this time of day best. No one else in the house was awake yet. It was peaceful and quiet and safe, and she could make believe, for a little while at least, that it would remain this way if she did everything right.

A perfect day was one to strive for. She cleaned and prepared food while the water boiled and the oven heated. As breakfast cooked, she began making bread. Afterward, she knew, she needed to bake goods and a meat pie to take to grandmother’s house later.

The walk in the woods, too, was something she would look forward to and savor. Everyone said the woods were full of wolves, more dangerous now that the winter was almost at an end. Else did not fear the wolves. Perhaps she should, but she didn’t.

The table was set and ready when her stepmother and her father and sisters awoke. Her stepmother was cross this morning. She was this way many mornings, as were her sour-faced stepsisters. The moment they sat at the table, the girls immediately began bickering with one another. Her father spared her a brief nod and, “Mornin Else” before greeting the rest of his family at the table and trying to ignore his stepchildren’s squabbling. Else’s stepmother remonstrated and separated her children then turned to Else, “Well, what are you still doing standing there! Breakfast Else! Before these two can start in on something else.”

Else ran to obey, bringing dishes in and serving each family member, before seating herself. Everyone was halfway through their meal before her brother, Han, came to the table, still yawning.

Else’s father broke into a broad smile, “Han, my boy!”

“Father, stepmother,” Han greeted them sleepily as he sat at his place. Else hurried to put food in front of him. Even her father got angry if Han’s needs weren’t seen to immediately. Han ate, grunting occasional noncommittal noises at his father’s now ready conversation about the day’s schedule. Else’s father was the town miller. The mill was his pride and his status and was handed down from father to son.

As Else went to remove his empty plate from the table, she tripped and fell, reaching a hand toward the side of the table in an attempt to catch herself and accidentally spilling Han’s ale into his lap. Hans jumped up, appalled, as did her father. Else tumbled the rest of the way to the floor, skinning the palms of her hands on the rough hard floor and bruising one knee. She turned just in time to notice her stepsister Ute’s foot disappearing back under the table, a smirk on her face that went unnoticed by the rest of her family.

“You stupid girl!” Osanna, her stepmother, screamed at her. She rounded the table and pulled Else up painfully by her hair. “Look what you have done!”

As Osanna dragged her away from the breakfast room, still with a death grip on her hair and screaming at her, Else cast a desperate look toward her father and Han, “I’m sorry Han!” But Han was looking disgustedly at his soiled clothing. And her father, her father didn’t spare her a glance as he hurried to inspect the damage and then urged his son to go and change quickly or they would be late.

Else’s beating had set her back, which made some of the bread baking remain in the oven a little too long and the bottom of a loaf was dark and hard, which earned a second beating. And she had to bake more. None but the finest freshest bread for grandmother. Else was assured the only bread she got that day would be from the loaf she had overcooked. She was also late leaving the house to barter at market for meat for the pies. She hastily donned her dark red cloak that covered her head to foot and limped out.

Her father was proud of the status and relative wealth he gained by being the miller and had bought Else the cloak as well as decent clothes to wear in market so that others could see and appreciate this. Her stepmother also bade her wear it because it hid her bruises. And Else displeased her stepmother often.

At market, she went to see Bo, her friend and the blacksmith’s son. He was the only one who noticed her, as she kept out of the way, skirting the edges of the stalls. When people did see her, they would say, “oh, Hello Little Red”, or “Why it’s Little Red Riding Hood!” and then go about their day. She was known for her dark red cloak, but also dismissed for it. No one bothered much with Else. She wasn’t a beauty, didn’t have much to say, and kept to herself.

Bo was watching though, as she approached, and frowning. She hadn’t been completely able to hide her limp then. He peered under her hood with concern, “Again?”

“Today wasn’t a perfect day.”

He grunts. “How much are you able to spend today?”

Else shows him what she has, “If I can trade for those two hares at that stall over there, I think that will be enough if I fill it out with a little bit of venison jerky.”

“I have the jerky from my own stores. You can have some. That way you will have some left over to pay me for this,” he holds out a small beautifully crafted skinning knife. She picks up the knife, her mouth falling open, “Its beautiful. What I have to trade isn’t worth this.”

He grunts again. “It’s fine. I made this one without the pa’s help on my own time.”

“But the cost of the metal…”

“Just give me that,” he points to a small bag of grain. “It will cover the metal.”

Else nods her thanks, grabs the jerky Bo hands her, stops to haggle over the hares, and hurries home.

It is afternoon by the time the pies are cooked and packed, along with bread, preserves, and jerky in a basket. Osanna scrupulously examined the amount of grains returned and must have been satisfied as a grunt and a cuff on the back of the head for taking so long were all that she received. Else was never fast enough to please her stepmother. That was nothing new.

Once again Else dawned her red cloak, with her new knife still in the pocket. She hadn’t had the chance to hide it yet, but no one would notice it for now. She took some jerky for herself in her pockets.

With a grunt and a complaint about her late start, her stepmother dismissed her from the house.

The way to grandmother’s house was through the woods. She lived three kilometers outside of town. Else could understand living in the woods, away from the noise. It was quiet and peaceful here, the snow dampening all sound. Of course, grandmother said she lived there because she didn’t like people, which Else could also believe. She certainly did not seem to like Else much. Regardless, her body relaxed as she walked, soaking in the peace around her. Her hip and knee and back ached. Sometimes Else dreamed at night of her father looking at her the way that he looked at Han. He never would, of course. She wasn’t a man. But it was a nice dream.

Today had not been a good day or a perfect day. She would have to try harder next time. It wasn’t over yet, either. But at least she got this lovely moment of just existing here, in this place, with her thoughts.

As Else drew near the cottage, she saw tracks in the snow, course hairs caught in the pricker bushes nearby. New snow hadn’t fallen for at least a week. Wolves. They must have made a kill nearby. Gradually growing dots of blood led a short way into the undergrowth. There Else found the carcass of a small moose, almost picked clean, with teeth marks marring the bones. The entire pack must have feasted on this, and probably other scavengers in the few days since.

When Else got to the house, grandmother was waiting for her. Else wasn’t allowed to call her granny. Grandmother, or ma’am. Grandmother was far from feeble. She lived in the woods on her own and had for a long time. Else sometimes wondered at townspeople when they talked about her “poor old grandmother” in the woods and how fending for herself must be so tough as she got older. They worried to her stepmother, when she deigned to shop at market herself that, wasn’t she worried about a frail old woman living out there in the woods, especially during the winter when it was so cold and the wolves were hungry? Else’s grandmother was strong and callused from the manual labor of surviving on her own. She was probably more muscular than Hans. But she was getting older and keeping up with everything the way she used to was getting harder. This was why Else was sent regularly with baskets of food once a week and to assist grandmother while there.

The moment Else got inside and put down the basket, grandmother boxed her ears for being late instead of greeting her. Else fell, hitting her head on a chair as she went down.

Pain blossomed in her head. She felt dizzy. She tried to stand as her grandmother berated her on the time but needed to brace herself on the table to do so. Her grandmother was yelling at her laziness and ordering her to get started by bringing a basket of potatoes up from the cellar and then to chop her wood for the fire.

Else tried to do as she was told. She sat on the stairs to get down them without falling and brought the basket up one step at a time, leaning heavily against the wall. The pain in her head was not going away, nor was her dizziness. When she got to the top of the stairs she would have to lift the basket and carry it across the room to where her grandmother had directed. Grandmother was complaining loudly about how long she was taking and how lazy she was.

Else tried to pick up the heavy basket and carry it across the room, but, without the wall to lean on, she stumbled. She fell to the ground, the basket of potatoes spilling everywhere.

“You lazy good-for-nothing-slip-of-a-girl!” Grandmother screamed, “Ill show you how I reward such behavior!” She took a cane down from where it hung on a hook beside the door and advanced on her.

“I’m sorry grandmother,” Else gasped through tears. “My head hurts.”

“So will the rest of you when I’m through with you!” And Grandmother was on her, hitting wherever she could reach with the cane.

“Grandmother! Please!” Else begged, grasping with one hand for the sleeves of her dress in supplication. she hadn’t removed her cloak since coming inside and a sudden slamming pain to her already bad knee caused her to stumble and become tangled. Else fell into her grandmother, driving both of them to the floor, her hands attempting to fly forward to catch her sudden fall. But her right hand was still within her cloak. Her hand ran into something hard. She rammed it forward trying to push it out of her way in order to catch herself. As she landed on grandmother, Else heard a gasp. She rolled off of her grandmother as quickly as she was able, her stomach rolling.

Her focus was going in an out. But it looked as though grandmother was still on the floor where she had fallen. Else could hear her breath coming in gasps. She must have hurt herself in the fall. Else tried to crawl closer. Her hands touched wetness. Confused, Else looked down. The only thing that had spilled had been potatoes. Where was the wet coming from?

Her hands came away red. Through her pain, Else tried to self-assess. She had a lot of pain. The back of her head had quite a bump and perhaps a bit of blood, but not this.

Dumbly, she looked at grandmother, couldn’t focus, crawled forward to squint down at her. Grandmother’s hands were at her chest, covered in blood. Else’s eyes opened wide, “Grandmother!”

Her gasps had a gurgling quality to them now. They were coming faster and shorter. She looked at Else. “You idiot, waste of a girl” she gasped with seemingly great effort.

“Grandmother!” She tried to look around, met with increased pain and dizziness when she tried to move her head quickly. She tried again, more slowly, turning her body more and her head less. A short way away on the floor lay the knife Bo had given her.

It had been in the pocket of her red cloak.

“Grandmother! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

But grandmother wasn’t responding. It took a moment for Else to realize the sudden quiet in the room meant that the gasping had stopped. Grandmother was still.

Panic and horror welled within her and Else retched.

She collapsed onto the floor for a moment and tried to lay still so that her head hurt less and she could think. Her head was in chaos. She breathed deeply once, then again.

She started thinking.

Grandmother was dead.

She was in a lot of trouble.

What did she have?

She had her skinning knife. She had grandmother’s basket plus whatever food or valuables grandmother had stored.

She remembered the moose.

A plan began to form in her mind.

Else lay on the ground a little while longer until the nausea and dizziness subsided a bit. When she could get up, she got herself a drink of water, ate a piece of jerky, and set to work.

It was not unheard of that grandmother had enough chores for Else that she had to stay overnight and return home the next day. So Else had at least until evening tomorrow before anyone would worry.

Else was strong after years of laboring for her family. In death, grandmother seemed diminished somehow, though she was worse than a sack of potatoes to lift. Else managed to carry her back to the dead moose before putting her down and retching again.

She went back to the cottage and grabbed a shovel and her knife. She held her breath and tried not to look while she cut grandmother in a few more places, including the darkening areas of her skin below her, hoping blood would still flow. It oozed a bit. That was something. Else examined the moose remains for the least recognizable, most gnawed on bones that might be mistaken for a human’s. These she left and the rest of the carcass she took and buried, being careful of her footprints in the snow.

The wolves had been here not long ago; the evidence of their passing was still visible. Else could only hope they were nearby enough to smell the blood and come. Last, she took her red cloak, by which she was known to all and cut it up a little with the knife to try to look like teeth. Then she sliced her arm in a shallow wound and rubbed her fresh blood all over the fabric.

She walked back to the cottage, where she got a bucket and soap and a sponge and scrubbed at the stains and vomit on the floor until no one would have ever known the horror that had occurred there earlier. Then, Else packed a knapsack with food and what valuables she had. She took a warm winter cloak from grandmother’s closet and put it on, then placed a few changes of clothes into the knapsack as well.

It was getting dark. Outside Else heard a howl, followed by another.

She closed and locked the cottage door and finally gave in to the fatigue, laying down on grandmother’s bed.

When she awoke, the sun had risen, but only just. Her headache this morning was more of a dull throb. All of her other body parts were sore and painful, screaming at her from her various beatings. But she could walk.

Else got up and gave herself a rinse and ate some food. Then she ransacked the cottage, turning over chairs, opening cabinets and the door to the cellar. When it looked much as though a pack of animals had destroyed everything, she collected her knapsack and grandmother’s basket, buttoned up her winter cloak, opened the front door, and left it open behind her as she exited.

Days from now, people would come to check on grandmother. With any luck, they would find the prints and the fur on the brambles and assume that grandmother and little red riding hood had both been eaten, just as the townfolk had always warned of.

Goodbye red riding hood. Else straightened her shoulders. Whatever life she was headed toward, it had to be better than the one she was leaving.