My Name is Rapunzel(14)

“I'm old, and I won't be around much longer. You will need someone to help take care of you.”

“And you thought it was a good idea for her to do it? Father, listen to what you're saying. Please, listen to me,” I pleaded. “She killed Henry! How could you possibly trust her to take care of me? I don't want to be around her!” I glared at the witch. If only my glare were enough to curse her to a long, painful death right on the spot where she stood. “I can’t even look at her without rage consuming me.”

The witch showed no remorse. She stood still, confident, as if she were some harmless old woman. But I knew better. I knew exactly what she was capable of doing. I would never trust her.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Shh.” Father patted my arm. Only he could say my name in such a calming manner. “I'm sure Gretta has nothing but good intentions.” Father said it loud enough for the witch to hear, but gave me a piercing look that would stay embedded in my memory forever.

I knew my father well enough to know that he didn't trust her any more than I did.

That realization offered some solace even as fear surged. At least Father hadn’t been deceived, but it also reminded me of the depth of our plight.

Father pulled me in for a gentle hug. With a whisper easily dismissible as murmurings of comfort to those not in the embrace, he said, “She may very well be the one to reverse this dark curse, daughter. Please, try to get along with her. You will need her just as much as she will need you.”

I now understood why Father had not wanted us to move away after that horrible night. He had hoped the witch would find a way to break the curse, but she never had. Not yet, anyway.

If he’d asked me, I’d have told him that I fully believed old Gretta could break the curse any time she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. What would change that truth in the coming years?

An over-ripe woman who forever withered away, and a girl who remained as youthful as a freshly blossomed flower—how the odds were stacked against us ever being friendly with each other.

Father's words made sense. Not that I liked it, but I understood his plea. He was still trying to protect me and hoped I still had a chance for a normal life. He wanted me to find happiness. For that reason, I had to move away with them. Even if I didn’t believe it would matter in the end, I had to do it, because he believed it.

“And one other thing. I think it’s best if you call her by her given name.” Father squeezed my hand. “No more talk of witches and dragons, okay? Let’s all just get on well with each other. Can you promise me that?”

“I’ll do my best.” He could force my spoken words, but he couldn’t change my thoughts. I’d call her Gretta with my lips, but my brain knew exactly what she was. A horrible witch.

“And for my part, I promise to take care of Rapunzel and watch over her as if she were my own daughter.” Gretta folded her hands together, the picture of innocence.

I will never be that witch's daughter. Not in truth or in appearance. No matter the cost. I cringed at the thought of living under the same roof with her. The thought made my blood boil. It was almost like giving a nod of approval to all that had happened.

“Make sure you do, Gretta.” Father pointed at her face. “I have your word and your promise.”

“My word is my promise.”

All this nice small talk made me sick to my stomach. I turned to face my enemy. “If you’re coming, you will sleep in the barn.” I jutted my chin forward in defiance. She didn't deserve to step one foot in my father's childhood home. Offering the use of the barn was a generous concession.

“Rapunzel, darling.” Father lowered his voice to a tone one might use to coax a skittish cat from a tree. “She will live in the servant's quarters and has agreed to do the cooking and cleaning. She has promised to take care of you and protect you after I’m gone.”

“No harm will come to you, my child. I promise.” Gretta smiled.

“I'm not your child.” I might be forced to live with her and call her by name, but I didn’t have to befriend her. I narrowed my eyes to a glare. “Do not speak to me. Ever.”

Father patted my hand again, “Rapunzel, you must try to get along with her. You don't know how long you will live. You might live to be 100 years old, if not older. You might not ever die.” Father's forehead creased with worry. “You may come to depend on each other.”

That fear was no stranger to me. Father was suffering the weight of the same realizations I’d been faced with for decades already. How old was Gretta fifty years ago? How old was she now? Father was right. Against my better judgment, I must try to get along with her. She was my only hope to break this curse. I was stuck with her.