Black Pearls by Louise Hawes

children realized that birds and squirrels had found the bread sooner than they. She hadn't wanted to discourage Hansel, but the spot where the crumbs stopped was such a dark and desolate one, and she had been so looking forward to the warmth of their hearth, that Gretel sat upon the damp ground and cried.
    For once her brother did not mock her but sat down beside her, silent, tearless. It seemed less out of tenderness than fatigue and a certain weary patience with her moods. But when she had cried out all her hurt and disappointment, he stood and held out his hand. "Come on, then," he told her. "We are no worse off than we expected to be when we set out this morning."
    It was true enough. And as they walked slowly, taking their cues from the angle at which the setting sun poked through the thicket of branches overhead, or the path of a rivulet that funneled through the moss, Gretel began to feel better. Not less hungry or cold, but surer, more certain that they would survive. Which may be why it was she, and not Hansel, who finally called a halt to their wandering. "It is too dark to see," she told her brother. "Let us find a cave or a hollow to keep out the wind. We can set out again at first light."
    Hansel offered little argument and less help. After a few minutes, with no break in the dense trees, Gretel pointed to a great oak that lay across their path. "There be our cave," she said, walking around the fallen giant, noting with satisfaction the way the empty trunk opened into a small but dry chamber. While she gathered kindling for a fire and pine needles for their beds, her brother, as disconsolate as she had been earlier, blew on his fingertips and complained. "We will freeze before we starve. How thoughtful Stepmother was, to spare us a slow death for a quick one."
    "There is no end of fuel for our fire," Gretel reassured him. Though she thought sadly of the tinderbox they kept by the hearth at home. "I will find some flint, and soon we shall have a blaze started."

    Curled in the hollow of the tree beside her brother, Gretel fell quickly into an exhausted sleep. At first there was no angel in her dream, only a small house that lit up the woods around it. Surprised and delighted, she ran toward its shining windows and the curl of smoke like a friendly hand, beckoning. As she got closer, she was astonished to find that the cottage had been built with huge slabs of buttered gingerbread and dollops of meringue. There were two bushes by the door, one filled with lemon drops, the other with sugarplums. She thought she saw a figure in one of the windows, though it could have been her own reflection, running eagerly toward the house.
    But she reached neither the amber panes nor the sugarplums. Her angel, with a sorrowful countenance and Mama's long dark curls, suddenly barred the way. It shook its head and stamped its bare feet, then put out one hand and pointed a flaming fingertip at the girl's chest. Though she'd never resented her angel before, Gretel was confused now, even angry. As she woke to Hansel's shaking, she remembered the widespread wings and behind them the figure in the window, the bushes full of candy.
    "Listen," her brother commanded, putting a rough hand over her mouth. "Only listen."
    It was a bird's song, and if Gretel was surprised that Hansel even took notice of such a thing, she was more surprised by the song itself. The music wasn't human, though it sounded like someone singing under water, the words almost clear, nearly understood. She had no words, either, for the feelings the music stirred in her as she listened, though she recognized the pictures that danced in her head. The images she saw as the bird sang came straight from the dream she had just left: there was the house again, small and bright, and the figure in the window, waiting for her. And something else, something she couldn't see but was more real than all the rest. It was a mouthwatering smell, a smell that promised food she had never