2

The days carried on as Rosenrot did odd jobs around town, earning however much money she could. Though there was plenty of work and repairs to be done, not all shops had the means to pay for it. Old signs hung needing new paint, missing or crumbled pavestones tripped people; and while food and clothes still sold well enough, other shops were either having to limit their wares or close altogether.

Late afternoon found her sweating despite the autumn breeze while she trimmed the spindly evergreen hedges which fronted the largest residence in the valley. Her work was an interesting feat with one hand and an elbow that had become like a second hand to her.

The wealthy Lord Kalt who ruled over the town dwelled here, at the very edge of Freudendorf on a hilltop. She didn’t like it. It felt like the man was saying he was too good to dwell among the common folk.

Rosen watched as the lord’s steam car rolled up the drive, stopping at the colonnaded front. Long, dark robes flowed around him, and a black beard trimmed to a point gave his features a sharp knife edge. Just watching him made goosebumps crawl up her skin. She cut away at another protruding branch.

She blamed the noble for the town’s decline. He was supposed to be responsible for making them prosperous, but instead they lost more and more money with each passing year. If only the man would help put away the town’s superstitious fear of the forbidden zone where the mines lay, they could begin mining salt again, and gain back the wealth that the history book once claimed Freudendorf had had.

It was sunset by the time Rosenrot made her way back home, and a letter waited for her in the dingy mailbox: a final warning notice. If Dad didn’t pay off his debts to the money lenders soon, he would be jailed and everything they owned taken. It seemed the debt collectors had finally tracked Dad down.

Well, she could live with that. Let them take him and put him into labor to work off what he owed. She would sustain herself the same way she was now.

Inside the rented room, she tossed the letter at Dad’s face. It bumped his nose before falling into his lap. He stared at it blankly as if it were some sort of alien.

She didn’t bother explaining what was inside. She was exhausted from doing a day of real work and dragged her feet off to bed and the comfort of a lumpy pillow.

***

The loudest rooster in all the valley happened to be next door, and its warbling cry woke Rosen up with a start.

She tumbled out of bed, blinking at the light slanting in through the window. “That rooster needs some singing lessons,” she muttered.

She scraped a brush through her short hair, pinned a small side braid, and slipped on her brown work dress and apron. Soon she had the eggs frying and plopped them onto plates. “Hey, wake up! Breakfast!” she shouted before sitting down to eat.

No sound answered her.

She chewed for a while, then grumbled and shouted again, “Breakfast! Get your lazy backside out of bed!”

Still nothing.

She shoved back her chair and marched into the bedroom. “I said, break—” She stopped short: The bed was empty.

Rosen craned her neck, scanning the room, then backtracked to the kitchen.

Dad wasn’t anywhere.

Pulse pounding, she turned in place. Air from the drafty window flapped against something white—she picked up a piece of paper by the rug. It read:

Sorry to do this, girl, but I had to leave. The debt collectors are in town, coming to find me, so I’ll be away for a few years. You’re a hard worker; I know you can take care of the debt like a good lil’ girl on your own. Take care!

There was a long pause as she stood there, staring open mouthed, before she crumpled the paper in newfound fury. “Ngrrrr!” Her fist threw it hard out the opened window; it sailed like a missile. “You good-for-nothing!” she screamed.

A heavy knock on the door came suddenly, and it filled her with dread.

She opened it to meet two pudgy, grim-faced debt collectors.

“Guten Morgen. We’ve come for Mr. Hartmann,” said one. He leaned, peering about. “Although he doesn’t seem to be here?”

They may have come for Dad, but Rosen was the only family member present, and therefore the one who had to take responsibility for his debts. That was the way of things, now.

“But, I can’t—!” she protested. “Take the furniture and whatever my dad left here, but you can’t just arrest me!”

“Seeing as you have no means to pay the grievous debts, Miss Hartmann, you must do so with yourself. You are now the property of the debt collector’s Guten Agency and will be sold into labor until all said debts are paid off.” They chanted as one, as if the speech were given often.

Her jaw worked up and down, like a fish out of water, and before she knew it, she was being led down the narrow staircase and out the doors.