Best of all, I was now part of the inner circle when the women gathered on market day. I was the one being given soothing advice and gently ribald teasing. I was the one who received the sympathetic tongue-clucking when I hesitantly admitted to feeling so tired by the time I finished the housework.

For the first time in my life, I had everything I craved. And then I went up into the cottage loft and saw Gothel's garden.

I don't remember why I was up in the loft. I never went up there because I didn't like the narrow stairs. Maybe I wanted to see if it would make a suitable room for the child. All I clearly remember is looking out the small window and realizing that, for the first time, I could see over the high stone wall that separated Gothel's land from our little piece of ground, could see the lush, vibrant garden that made every other garden in the village look pale and withered. Most of all, I could see the bed of fresh, green rapunzel lettuce.

I stood there in that hot, dusty little loft with my mouth watering because I could almost taste that lettuce and with tears streaming down my face because I knew I'd never get any. The village granny knew a bit about herbs and charms, but Gothel was a witch full and true, and that stone wall wasn't so high just to keep out the deer and rabbits.

Shaking, I managed to climb down the loft stairs. By then the craving was so intense it made me dizzy and weak, so I lay down on the bed. I was still there when Amery came home and found me.

It took him an hour of coaxing before, sighing and sniffling, I told him about the lettuce I so desperately craved.

His eyes blanked with shock. He rubbed my hands.

"But, Hedwig, dearest, that's Gothel's land. Besides, we have lettuce in our own garden. I'll pick some and then-"

"Not like that lettuce," I snapped, pulling my hands from his and hiding them under my apron. My lower lip quivered. "No one else has lettuce like that. No one."

"Hedwig." His voice trembled with an unspoken plea.

Knowing better than to act sullen, I gave him a brave little smile and said, "You're right, Amery. Of course you're right. Lettuce is lettuce. Pick some from our garden, and I'll make a nice salad."

And I did, all the while apologizing for silly women's cravings.

Amery's relief faded during the meal as I nibbled the salad and kept saying how good it was so he'd know how hard I was trying to pretend these scrawny, wilted leaves tasted the same as the fresh, green ones I'd seen over the garden wall.

For a few days, I made sure there was a hot meal waiting for Amery when he got home, a hot meal I'd only pick at despite his coaxing. A couple of days after that, he came home one evening and handed me a square of cloth filled with large, fresh, beautiful green leaves.

"Amery," I said breathlessly, hugging the bundle. I knew exactly how they would taste, exactly how it would feel to chew and swallow those fresh, green leaves. "Amery, did you really . . . ?"

He wouldn't look at me. And I knew. Just as I knew I wouldn't be able to taste anything with so much bitterness filling my mouth.

"Mistress Olinda has the finest garden in the village," Amery mumbled. "I thought-"

"Not the finest." I opened my arms and let the bundle fall to the unswept kitchen floor. "Not the finest." I went behind the blanket that separated our bed from the rest of the room and lay down.

Amery apologized, coaxed, and pleaded for an hour, sounding as if his heart would break. Weary of him, I got up, fixed the salad, and tried to eat it to prove to him that I wasn't being stubborn.

As the days passed, I did less and less. Every morning I climbed the narrow stairs up to the loft and stared out the window at that bed of fresh, green rapunzel lettuce that I would never taste. When the dust and heat became too much, I'd go back to the kitchen and sit there, doing nothing, feeling nothing. I couldn't even rouse myself to meet the other women on market day.

Finally, one evening when Amery came home, I held out my hand to him and said quietly, "'Amery, I'm not trying to be stubborn. Truly I'm not. But I want you to know . . . Amery, I will die if I don't taste the lettuce growing in Gothel's garden."

I saw the anguish in his eyes, and the fear. He stood still and silent for a moment before he sighed and left the cottage. A while later, he rushed back inside, breathing hard. He fumbled inside his shirt and pulled out a thick handful of green leaves.

Tears filled my eyes as I hugged him. I wasn't sure if I was laughing or crying the whole time I carefully washed each of those leaves. I quickly made a salad and ate every bit of it, sighing contentedly between each mouthful.

By the next day, however, the craving was three times worse because now I knew, really knew, how good that lettuce tasted. When Amery came home that evening and listened to my stumbling, tearful words, he just nodded and went out again.

He was gone much longer the second time. When he came back, he was shaking terribly and his skin was sickly gray.

"She caught me," he gasped, collapsing against the kitchen table. "Gothel caught me as I was leaving."

I pressed my hand against my mouth, feeling sick with relief when I saw that he still had both of his big, callused hands. Weaving slightly, I fetched the bottle of spirits we kept for special occasions and poured a calming glass for both of us.

Minutes passed. Amery sipped his drink and stared at the kitchen table. I could see a little bit of green poking through his shirt ties. Finally my patience snapped. I wanted to know what happened. I wanted him to hand over the rapunzel so that I could make my salad. "So Gothel caught you. What did she say? What did you say?"

"What could I say, Hedwig?" Amery asked, sounding beaten. "Thief she called me and thief I am. I tried to explain about your need. I offered to do work for her to pay for what I'd taken. I even offered her the bit of money we'd saved up."

I choked back my resentment. I'd counted on that money to buy some things for the child so that when the other women offered clothes their children had outgrown they would understand I was accepting out of neighborly practicality rather than needing their charity.

"She took all of it?" I finally asked. "All of it?"

"No." Amery's voice shook. "She wouldn't accept money in exchange for what was taken." He tugged the leaves out of his shirt and laid them on the table between us. He tried to smile. "She said that, being a woman, she understood about these little cravings, and that you could have as much rapunzel as you desired."

"Well, then." Annoyed that he had frightened me by making such a fuss but willing to overlook it, I reached for the fresh, green leaves.

As Amery watched me gather the leaves, a terrible something filled his eyes. I thought about what he'd said. My hands wouldn't move.

"If she didn't accept the money . . . " Amery said nothing, forcing me to ask outright. "What does she want in exchange?"

Amery refilled his glass and took a big swallow before answering. "She wants the child."

"NO!" I flung the leaves at him and wrapped my arms over my belly. "I don't want it. Give it back to her. What were you thinking of to make such a bargain?"

"I had no say in this bargain, Hedwig. I had no say." He flicked a finger at the leaves scattered on the table. "And it makes no difference if I give these back. These, and all the other helpings to come, are a gift. The child is payment for what was already taken." He pushed away from the table but stayed long enough to rest a hand on my shoulder, as if that would comfort me. "I'm going to sit outside for a bit. Fix your salad, Hedwig. You don't want the cravings to make you ill again."

I couldn't stomach those fresh, green leaves, not that night or any night after. I never asked for rapunzel again, hoping Gothel might forget the bargain in the months remaining before the child was born. I never asked, but every morning there was a handful of fresh, green leaves tied with a bloodred ribbon waiting for me on the front step.

It rained the night I sweated and wept and screamed my daughter into the world. I remember because the sound soothed me and helped me rest whenever I could. I remember because the morning stayed dark long after the sun should have risen. I remember because I haven't seen a bright morning since then.

Amery stood beside the bed, crying silently, smiling bravely. When it was over, the midwife let him hold the babe while she fussed and soothed and tended me. Too soon, I was back in the freshened bed, washed and wearing a clean nightgown, and the midwife was gone. I held out my arms. "Give her to me."

Just as Amery laid the babe in my arms, another voice said, "Give her to me."

Gothel stood beside the bed. Tall, thin Gothel with her witch-wild black hair and eyes so light they looked more silver than gray.

"Give her to me," Gothel said again, reaching for the child.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't look away from those silver eyes.

And then she was gone, and my arms were empty.

Amery patted my shoulder. "Rest, Hedwig," he said in a broken voice, before he turned away from the bed. "Rest."

Alone, I lay listening to the sounds that came from behind the blanket that separated our bed from the rest of the room. I heard the scrape of a kitchen chair being pulled away from the table. I heard his heart-tearing, muffled sobs.

I listened and grew angry. What was I supposed to tell the other women when they came to see the babe? The midwife knew the child had been alive and well when she'd left. How could I say it died and not have a body to show? Even if I managed to keep them all away, how would I explain never bringing the child when I went out on market day? How would I explain that Gothel, the witch, had my child?

How would I explain?

Anger pushed me out of bed. I shuffled to the blanket, pulled it aside, and stared at Amery, his head pillowed on his arms as he sobbed.

"This is your fault." I leaned against the wall to steady myself.

Amery wiped his face with his sleeve and looked at me. "What was I to do, Hedwig? What was I to do?" He raised his big, callused hands. "If I'd lost my hands for thieving, how would we have lived? How would we have provided for the child?"

"Then you shouldn't have done it!"

"But you would have died."

He looked so bewildered I couldn't stand it. "Don't be such a fool," I said with all the contempt I felt for him at that moment. "Who ever heard of a woman dying from a little craving?"

He stared at me. Stared and stared. Then his face changed. It took a long time for me to realize that what I had seen was his love for me trickling away when he finally understood.

Saying nothing, Amery went to the chest at the foot of our bed and pulled out the cloth traveling bag he used whenever he had to work away from the village for a few days. He packed his other change of clothes, packed his shaving mug and razor, packed everything he could call his own.

It all fit in that one bag.

Still saying nothing, he brushed past me and picked up the wooden box that held the tools that had been handed down to him from his father and his grandfather.

Then he walked out the door.

The last thing I said to him, the last thing I screamed at him as he walked down the road and out of my life was, "You sold my daughter for lettuce!"

Men are thieves.

You put your heart and magic into something to make it beautiful, you build walls to keep it untainted by the world, you nurture it for the pleasure it will bring you, and they'll sniff it out, no matter how high the walls, and taint the pleasure, sully the beauty.

Like that thief spoiled my lovely garden.

Like that prince spoiled my Rapunzel.

I thought I'd kept her well hidden in the high tower in the heart of a forest. Not so. The princeling sniffed her out even there.

I remember the day her betrayal of my affection could no longer be hidden. I remember how she held her head up even though she trembled with fear. I'd given her everything she needed: good food and fine clothes, needlework and music to keep her occupied, my company when I visited the tower. And do you know what that ungrateful girl said when I discovered her deceit? "He loves me."

"Loves you?" I screamed. I grabbed her golden braid and began pulling it toward me, hand over hand. "Of course he loves you. Why wouldn't he love a beautiful girl so innocent and untouched by the world? But what kind of love does he feel for you, my sweet Rapunzel? Hmm? What kind of love? I'll tell you what kind. Passion's love. The body's love. The kind that fades with the dawn and returns with the twilight. You think not? Then why didn't he take you away?"

Her lips quivered, but she didn't cry. "He is going to take me away. I'm weaving a ladder from the skeins of silk he brings each evening. When it's finished, we'll go far away from here."

I laughed and drew more of the braid through my hands. "Skeins of silk? Weave a ladder? You're such a fool, Rapunzel. If he truly wanted to love you anywhere but the bed, why didn't he bring a rope? Better yet, why didn't he free you from this golden rope?"

She hesitated, didn't answer. I could see in her eyes that she'd wondered the same thing, but, having no knowledge of the world and its thieves, she didn't understand.

"I'll tell you." Nothing but a few feet of taut braid between us. "Because this is a fine leash, sweet Rapunzel. A fine, golden leash. No other woman could cover his bed with such a curtain of gold. Out there, in the world, a woman would be chained by hair like this. But he didn't mention that, did he? Of course not. Do you want to know what would have really happened? Your prince would have continued to come each evening, bringing you silk so that you would spend your time weaving a useless ladder. It's a high tower. How many rungs of this ladder do you get from a skein of silk? Long before the ladder was finished, you would become too big, too awkward for your prince to enjoy. The night would come when he'd have to sit and talk with you instead of showing you how much he loves you. He'd kiss you before he left, but he wouldn't come the next night. Or the night after that. He wouldn't return, Rapunzel, because you would no longer be the girl he craved, and you never would be again. But he would remember and love you forever-whenever he thought of you at all."

I jerked the braid. When she stumbled against me, I grabbed the hair at the back of her neck. "And I'm to care for his spoiled leavings while he goes away with sweet memories? I think not, Rapunzel. I think not."

I slapped her. Slapped her and slapped her. When she fell and tried to protect her face and belly, I pounded her with my fists. Pounded and pounded as if that would change anything.

It didn't. Nothing would change her back into what she'd been.

When I left the village all those years ago, I blighted the garden so that no one else would enjoy its bounty. Between one breath and the next, the flowers withered and the vegetables began to rot.

Nothing so quick for my sweet Rapunzel.

I dragged her across the floor until I reached her needlework basket. Then I snatched up the shears and cut off her braid.

She trembled when I put my arms around her. She shuddered when I smiled at her.

Swifter than a fleeing shadow, I took her away from the tower and brought her to a desolate place. Oh, she could survive there, if she knew how to work, how to scratch a living from harsh land.

I took a sharp stone and drew a circle around her, a circle as large as the tower.

"Here's your new home, sweet Rapunzel," I spat at her. "Here's the bounty your deceit deserves."

She looked around, her eyes dulled by pain as she struggled to understand. Finally she looked at me and made an effort to stand straight and tall.

I wouldn't tolerate her pride, so I told her about her parents, about how she'd come to be in my possession. I told her everything. When I was done, she had no pride. She slumped to the ground, as beaten in spirit as she was in body. What was left of her hair hung limply around a face already swollen and discolored by bruises. Sitting there, she no longer looked like my Rapunzel.

And I was glad.

I returned to the tower before nightfall and prepared my magic. I didn't have to wait long before I heard him call out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair." I secured the braid to the window and let it tumble down to meet him.

Such a fine, handsome boy, so eager for his love.

He wasn't eager to finish the climb when I leaned out the window, the shears in my hand, and smiled at him.

"A pleasant evening for love, wouldn't you say, princeling? But sweet Rapunzel has gone away. Far, far away. So far away, your desire will never find her. Nothing to say, princeling? Nothing to say? I thought not."

I swiped at him with the shears. He wasn't in reach, but he jumped back just the same, losing his grip on the golden braid.

As he fell, the thorns of my anger sprouted and grew. Grew and grew as he fell, screaming. They pierced his eyes, his ears, his heart. Then they melted away.

Shaken and bruised but otherwise unharmed, he looked up at me.

"Justice tempered with mercy, princeling. Another thief had asked that of me, many years ago. This is my justice. Your heart will never forget her. Whenever you look upon another woman, you will also see the innocent beauty no woman touched by the world can match. Whenever a woman speaks to you, you will also hear the voice no other can match in sweetness. She'll be with you always and never with you, and she'll become more lovely with each passing year because you will grow older but she will always be sweet Rapunzel."

I watched him stumble away, already grieving even though it would take some time for him to realize he'd just begun to grieve.

I pulled up the braid and coiled it in the center of the bed.

My sweet, deceitful Rapunzel. She'll spend the rest of her miserable life locked in a tower she'll never escape. When it comes to building walls, words can be stronger than stones.

Because the last thing I said to her, the last thing I screamed at her before I left her in that desolate place was, "I bought you for a handful of lettuce!"