1 Dewitched by E.L. Sarnoff Read Free Book Online Page B

hang out with her?
    “Would you care for some chamomile tea?” she asks.
    A cup of coffee would be more like it. Strong and black.
    “Sure,” I tell her.
    She boils some water in the cauldron and then returns with a tray holding two cups of tea and a plate full of biscuits. “Have one,” she says. “They must be left over from yesterday’s class.” 
    I bite into a tasty biscuit and notice she’s not eating one. She stares at me, salivating with envy.
    “You’re so lucky you’re so thin. I bet you can eat anything you want and never gain a pound.” 
    I feel a tinge of pity. It must be awful to be that fat.
    “My husband won’t make love to me anymore,” she says forlornly. 
    I wonder why she would ever want to make love to the creep who sent her here.
    “So, what’s your husband like?” she asks.
    This is getting way too personal. I wish the damn dough would rise.
    “He’s dead,” I say.
    “I’m sorry.” 
    “Don’t be. He was a lot older than me.” 
    “Do you miss him?” 
    “Of course!” What a big fat liar I am! Why would I miss him? Our brief marriage was a joke. Old King Cold spent all his time doting on his daughter Snow White. Little Miss Perfect. I was almost happy when he died. Except I got stuck with taking care of the imp.
    Winifred returns her attention to the dough. She removes the towel. I’m shocked. The dough has risen. It’s double its size!
      She gently runs her fingers across the top. “Touch it. It’s like the skin of a baby.” 
    Hesitantly, I stroke the dough. It is like the skin of a baby. Smooth and silky. So new to the world. The memory of the infant I never got a chance to know fills my head. Trembling, I pull my hand away.
    “Are you okay?” Winifred asks.
    “I’m fine,” I stammer. The painful memory fades. 
    “Good. One last thing before we put it into the hearth,” says Winifred. “I’m going to let you do the honors.” 
     “Now, what do I have to do?” I ask, not really wanting to know. 
    “Imagine your worst enemy and punch it as hard as you can.” 
    Is she serious? Okay. Here goes. I look down at the perfect white mound, and to my astonishment, it comes alive. Oh my God! It’s Snow White! Hatred shoots through my veins. 
    With my right hand curled into a tight fist, I punch the dough with a force I never knew I had. But as I strike the mound, it’s no longer Snow White. The dough has morphed. It’s turned into the one person I’ve dreaded ever seeing again. Nelle Yvel. My mother! I shriek. The dough deflates. I shriek again.
    “Perfect!” Winifred places the dough in the hearth. “Now, we have to wait until it bakes.” 
    More waiting? The image of my mother has knocked me for a loop. I’m drained and shaken.
    In no time, a delicious aroma wafts through the air. It gets my mind off my mother. My heartbeat returns to normal.
    “What’s the point of all this hard work?” I ask. “I mean, the bread’s just going to get eaten or turn moldy.” 
     “Look on the bright side. You’ve created something that will nourish others,” replies Winifred. “When I bake delicious bread for my family, it’s my way of telling them I love them.” 
    Her eyes grow watery.
     “So, in other words, you’re baking love?” I say with uncertainty.
    “I never thought about it that way.” She takes a sip of tea.
    “Once my children got lost in the woods and scattered pieces of my bread to help them find their way back home.” A tear spills into her tea. “I miss them.”
    Our conversation comes to a dead end, and we drink our tea in silence. The tantalizing smell of the baking bread grows stronger. It’s making me hungry. Finally, Winifred removes the dough from the hearth. To my amazement, it’s a big crusty loaf of bread. Winifred must be some kind of magician.
    “Have some,” she says.
    I tear off a piece of the warm bread and stuff it in my mouth. My eyes light up. It’s so good! Winifred bites into a chunk and moans with