THE WOODCUTTER AND THE THE MILKMAID

by ROSANNE E. LORTZ

Once there was a woodcutter who lived in the village of East Wood. He labored long days cutting down trees and splitting kindling to sell for firewood to the neighboring villagers. He was too busy to stop for market days. He was too busy to stop for holy days. For in his house, he kept a chest of coin that was growing heavier and heavier until he would have a large enough fortune to marry the maidenbeyondtheforestwhohadcaughthisfancy.

Across the forest in the village ofWestWood lived a pretty milkmaid. She milked her father’s cows each morning and sold the milk to the baker. She milked her father’s cows each night and sold the milk to the neighboring villagers.As long as the cows gave milk every day, the milkmaid labored every day. In her room, she had a large purse of coins. She was saving them for her wedding day to buy a silk gown, gold eardrops, silver candlesticks, and pewter dishes. For a woodcutter beyond the foresthadcaughtherfancy,andhehadpromisedherthathewouldcomecallinguponherverysoon.

One day an old wise woman came hobbling through the wood clad in a green kirtle and a brown hood.Across the path lay a fallen tree.With her hunched back and shriveled form, she was too weaktoclamberoverit.Shecouldhearawoodcutterwhistlinginthedistance.“Goodsir,”shecalled, “willyouhelpmeclimboverthistree?”

Betweentheblowsofhisax,thewoodcutterheardherspeak.“I’msorry,mother,butIhaveno time.Thisforestwon’tfellitself.”Ignoringtherequestoftheoldwoman,thewoodcuttercontinuedto cutfirewoodandsplitkindling.

But the wise woman was more than just an old woman. She had the powers of the fairy kind. Seeing the selfishness of the woodcutter, she threw back her hood and revealed her true nature. “Because you would not stop to help an old woman, you are cursed to never stop until every tree in thiswoodisfelled.” pink-cheeked milkmaid, hurrying with her bucket of milk from house to house. “Good maiden,” she said,“willyougiveanoldwomanadrinkofyourmilk?”

As the words of the curse were spoken, the woodcutter felt a change come over him. The handle of the ax seemed to fuse to his hand. Whereas before he had felt a strong desire to work, he nowfeltanalmostotherworldlycompulsion.Hebegantoswinghisaxwithfiendishfervor,andwhen nightfellhedidnotceasehislabors.Theforestmustbefelled.Theforestmustbefelled.

Thewisewomancontinuedthroughtheforestuntilshecametotheotherside.Thereshemeta pink-cheekedbythemonstrousharpiesthatencircledthemistyisland.

The lithe milkmaid tossed her head and looked the other way. “I’m sorry, mother, but my milk is only for sale. I have nothing to give away to those who beg.” Ignoring the wise woman, she turned to takeherbuckettoanotherhouse.

Once again, the wise woman threw back her head and revealed her fairy power. “Because your heart is as hard as wood, you are cursed to become a tree at the edge of this forest.And a tree you will stayuntilthemilkofkindnessflowsfromyourheart.”

The milk bucket fell to the ground and the milkmaid felt her form changing. Her feet anchored themselves into the ground at the edge of the forest and became roots. Her arms and hair rose upwards and became branches and leaves. Her pretty figure froze into a hard, wooden trunk. But strangest of all wasthefactthatshecouldstillsee,shecouldstillhear,andshecouldstillspeak.

A year went by and then another. The villagers in East Wood shook their heads at the mad woodcutter who kept them up all night with the thudding blows of his ax.The villagers in West Wood whisperedabouttheTreeoftheCursedMaidenandthemoansofgriefitmade.

By the end of five years, the forest was almost felled.The EastWood was gone and nearly all of the West Wood. The woodcutter had worked his way from one village to the other, and now there was only one tree left to fell. As soon as this tree was felled, the woodcutter would be freed from his relentlesslabors.

The woodcutter lifted the ax that was fused to his hand. But before he could strike the first blow, thetreesaid,“Stop!”

Shaken by the voice coming from a trunk of bark, the woodcutter said, “Tree, I cannot stop. I havebeencursedbyawisewomantofellthisforestfromonesidetotheother.OnceIcutyoudown, the curseshallbeliftedandIcangoandclaimmybride.”

“Whoisyourbride?”moanedthetree.

“AmilkmaidfairfromWestWoodtown.Sheworkswithherhandsfromsunuptosundown.She istheprettiestmaidenthisforesthasseen,andonceIamfree,I’llaskhertohaveme.”

The tree groaned with great grief. “Listen to me, woodcutter. I have been cursed by a wise woman too. Once I was a milkmaid fair who worked with her hands from sunup to sundown. But becauseofmyhardheart,thewisewomanturnedmetowood,andatreeIwillbeuntilmyheartsoftens withthemilkofkindness.”

The woodcutter let out a cry of dismay. “My milkmaid fair! How can this be?” He tried to wrest theaxfromhisowngrip,butthecursewasnotliftedandtheaxwouldnotbudge.“HowcouldIthinkto causeyoupain?Iwouldrathercutoffmyhandthanlayanaxtoyourroots.”

The ax began to shimmer and tug, pulling him closer to the tree. In the last five years, it had neverlainsolongunused.

“But if you do not cut me down,” said the maiden, “your curse will never be lifted. Come, dear heart,layanaxtomyrootsandwewillbothbefreeofthecurseonewayortheother.”

“Never, dear heart,” said the woodcutter. Ignoring the pull of the ax, he turned the blade outward andwrappedhisarmsaroundthetreeinalover’sembrace.

As the woodcutter spoke, a great storm began to rise. The rain beat down upon the woodcutter, but he would not release his hold on the tree. Pellets of hail beat down upon the woodcutter, but he would not release his hold on the tree. Sheets of snow fell down upon the woodcutter, but he would not releasehisholdonthetree.

Finally, a great wind rose and uprooted the tree and brought it crashing down upon the woodcutter. The woodcutter held tightly until his eyes closed with the pain, and the last thing he remembered was a trickle of sap running from the fallen tree onto his face, from where the enchanted ax headhadpiercedtheheartofthetree.

When the woodcutter awoke the next day, the rain had gone, the hail had disappeared, and the snowhadmelted.Helookedaroundhimselfandsawameadowfullofflowers.Andsittingnottenpaces awaywasthebeautifulmilkmaid,withagarlandofflowersinherhair.

“Areyouwell,dearheart?”shesaid,risingtomeethim.

“I am well,” he said, rising to his own feet. He marveled at how light his hand felt without the weightoftheaxbearingitdown.“Theenchantmentisbroken!”

“Only this remains,” said the milkmaid. Embracing him, she took his hand and pressed it to her heartwherethescarofanaxbladeboretheproofthatheronce-haughtyheartcouldlove.