The Brixen Witch by Stacy DeKeyser Page A

They were as giddy as he was, escaping their own fathers’ shops and workbenches to kick a ball or to flirt with the girls who giggled on their way to the well.
    “What’s the game?” Rudi asked the cluster of boys who were gathered in the village square.
    “We’re deciding,” said Roger, who was six years old and clearly enjoying the chance to mingle with the older boys for once.
    “Let’s play rat catcher and the rats,” announced Nicolas, who had observed enough of the process that now he considered himself an expert. “I’ll be the rat catcher.”
    To which all his friends protested vigorously.
    “Why should you be rat catcher?” demanded Konrad. “Just ’cause you’re biggest?”
    “We could play marbles,” suggested Rudi, who’d had enough of rats.
    “I should be rat catcher ’cause I thought of it,” said Nicolas, ignoring Rudi. “And … ’cause I’m biggest.”
    “So what?” said Roger, stepping forward. “Rudi should be the rat catcher. He’s done it for real. He knows how.”
    Nicolas, confronted with logic, turned red in the face. “Well, if that’s so, then you should be the ferret, ’cause you’re the smallest. Or maybe you should be the rat in the sack, and we’ll throw you into the river.”
    Rudi tried again. “We could play King of the Mountain.”
    Roger narrowed his eyes at Nicolas. “Do rats do this?” And he stomped on the bigger boy’s foot.
    The entire collection of boys erupted into a blurred tussle, punching (mostly air) and kicking (usually themselves) and rolling in the dust. For a fleeting second they reminded Rudi of the rats in their cage.
    “So you’ve decided on your game, then?” he asked, but no one heard. He sighed and wandered off.
    Around the corner, Rudi came upon half a dozen girls skipping rope.
    “Rudi!” called Susanna Louisa, who was turning one end of the rope. She dropped it and ran toward him. “Come jump with us!”
    “Me? I don’t know how,” he said, but he burst into a wide grin as she took his arm and pulled him toward the group.
    The other girls surrounded him, a blur of freckled noses and bouncing braids. Rudi had not much reason to pay attention to girls, but in Brixen every child was known to all, and so he knew these girls, at least by name and family. There was the miller’s daughter, Marta, who was very pretty (Rudi had to admit); Clara and Petra, who belonged to Not-So-Old Mistress Gerta; Johanna, the baker’s girl, who Konrad was sweet on; and Gretel, who took after her mother (which was lucky, since her father was Marco the blacksmith). They were silly creatures, Rudi thought, but sweet enough, and he was glad to see them acting as carefree as their brothers.

    “It’s easy,” said Susanna Louisa. “Watch.” She picked up the loose end of the rope, Clara held the other end, and together they swept it around in wide circles. It beat out a rhythm as it hit the cobbles with each turn.
    Now Marta stepped forward and beamed at Rudi, which caused his face to burn. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Once she found the rhythm of the turning rope, she hopped into its arc and kept the rhythm going with her feet. The other girls chanted as she skipped:
    Little children, don’t you cry.
    Harken to my lullaby.
    If you cry, you will despair.
    For you’ll be sent to the witch’s chair.
    And if you still have not a care,
    You’ll be sent to the secret lair.
    BOO!
    Upon shouting “BOO!” Marta hopped out of the turning rope, laughing. She tugged at Rudi’s sleeve. “Your turn!”
    Should he? Rudi wasn’t eager to embarrass himself by failing at something a slip of a girl could do without a second thought.
    Marta fluttered her eyelids at him. He decided it would be worth a try. Besides, how hard could it be? With a quick glance around to satisfy himself that none of the boys were watching, Rudi began to nod his head and tap his foot in time with the turning rope.
    The girls applauded to encourage him,