A Knot in the Grain by Robin McKinley Page B

everyone bought bread from her. That bread was so good that her friends teased her, and said her husband stole herbs from the witch’s garden, that she might put it in her baking. But the teasing made her unhappy, for she said such jokes would bring bad luck.
    And at last bad luck befell them. The youngest daughter fell sick, and the local leech, who was doctor to so small a village because he was not a good one, could do nothing for her. The fever ate up the little girl till there was no flesh left on her small bones, and when she opened her eyes, she did not recognize the faces of her sisters and mother as they bent over her.
    â€œIs there nothing to do?” begged the woodcutter, and the doctor shook his head. The parents bowed their heads in despair, and the mother wept.
    A gleam came into the leech’s eyes, and he licked his lips nervously. “There is one thing,” he said, and the man and his wife snapped their heads up to stare at him. “The witch’s garden …”
    â€œThe witch’s garden,” the wife whispered fearfully.
    â€œYes?” said the woodcutter.
    â€œThere is an herb that grows there that will break any fever,” said the doctor.
    â€œHow will I know it?” said the woodcutter.
    The doctor picked up a burning twig from the fireplace, stubbed out the sparks, and drew black lines on the clean-swept hearth. “It looks so—” And he drew small three-lobed leaves. “Its color is pale, like the leaves of a weeping willow, and it is a small bushy plant, rising no higher than a man’s knee from the ground.”
    Hope and fear chased themselves over the wife’s face, and she reached out to clasp her husband’s hand. “How will you come by the leaves?” she said to him.
    â€œI will steal them,” the woodcutter said boldly.
    The doctor stood up, and the woodcutter saw that he trembled. “If you … bring them home, boil two handsful in water, and give the girl as much of it as she will drink.” And he left hastily.
    â€œHusband—”
    He put his other hand over hers. “I pass the garden often. It will be an easy thing. Do not be anxious.”
    On the next evening he waited later than his usual time for returning, that dusk might have overtaken him when he reached the witch’s garden. That morning he had passed the garden as well, and dawdled by the hedge, that he might mark where the thing he sought stood; but he dared not try his thievery then, for all that he was desperately worried about his youngest daughter.
    He left his axe and his yoke for bearing the cut wood leaning against a tree, and slipped through the hedge. He was surprised that it did not seem to wish to deter his passage, but yielded as any leaves and branches might. He had thought at least a witch’s hedge would be full of thorns and brambles, but he was unscathed. The plant he needed was near at hand, and he was grateful that he need not walk far from the sheltering hedge. He fell to his knees to pluck two handsful of the life-giving leaves, and he nearly sobbed with relief.
    â€œWhy do you invade thus my garden, thief?” said a voice behind him, and the sob turned in his throat to a cry of terror.
    He had never seen the witch. He knew of her existence because all who lived in the village knew that a witch lived in the garden that grew in the forest; and sometimes, when he passed by it, there was smoke drifting up from the chimney of the small house, and thus he knew someone lived there. He looked up, hopelessly, still on his knees, still clutching the precious leaves.
    He saw a woman only a little past youth to look at her, for her hair was black and her face smooth but for lines of sorrow and solitude about the mouth. She wore a white apron over a brown skirt; her feet were bare, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, and her hands were muddy.
    â€œI asked you, what do you do in my garden?”
    He opened his mouth,