The Juniper Tree

Long ago, there was a wealthy merchant who lived with his beautiful wife in a fine house surrounded by a lush garden. At the center of this garden stood a magnificent juniper tree, its evergreen boughs reaching toward the sky in all seasons.

The merchant and his wife loved each other dearly, but their happiness was incomplete, for they had no children. Every winter, as snow fell upon the juniper tree, the wife would stand beneath its branches and weep with longing for a child.

“If only I could have a child as red as blood and as white as snow,” she would whisper to the ancient tree.

One winter day, as she stood beneath the juniper tree peeling an apple, she accidentally cut her finger. Drops of her blood fell upon the snow, creating a striking contrast of red against white. Seeing this, she sighed deeply and said, “If only I could have a child as red as blood, as white as snow, and as strong as this juniper tree.”

Months passed, and to the couple’s joy, the wife discovered she was with child. As her time drew near, she became strangely drawn to the juniper tree, spending hours sitting beneath its protective boughs, breathing in its sweet, resinous scent. She felt certain that the tree had somehow granted her wish.

When her child was born—a son as red as blood and as white as snow—her joy was complete. But childbirth had weakened her, and sensing that her time on earth was limited, she made a request of her husband.

“When I die,” she said, “bury me beneath the juniper tree that has blessed us with our son.”

Within a week, the woman passed away, and the merchant, heartbroken but honoring his promise, buried her beneath the juniper tree. He mourned deeply, but in time, the needs of his young son led him back to the world of the living.

Years passed, and eventually, the merchant remarried. His new wife was comely but harbored a jealous heart. She bore the merchant a daughter named Marlene, whom she loved dearly, but she could not bring herself to love her stepson. Every time she looked at him, she saw only how her husband’s inheritance would be divided, with the larger portion going to his firstborn son rather than to her own daughter.

This thought festered within her until it twisted into malice. She began to treat the boy cruelly when his father was away, pinching him and pushing him aside, never giving him a moment’s peace. Yet the boy endured her treatment with quiet dignity, finding solace beneath the juniper tree where his mother lay buried.

One afternoon, the stepmother was storing apples in the heavy wooden chest when little Marlene came to her and asked for an apple.

“Yes, my dear,” said the stepmother, lifting the heavy lid. A wicked thought suddenly entered her mind as she saw her stepson approaching the house. “And your brother shall have one too.”

She called to the boy, “Would you like an apple, my son?”

The boy, surprised by this rare kindness, nodded eagerly. “Yes, thank you, Mother.”

“Then reach into the chest and choose one for yourself,” she said, holding the heavy lid open.

As the boy leaned into the chest, the stepmother let the heavy lid fall with terrible force, severing the boy’s head from his body. Horror at her own action swept through her, but it quickly gave way to calculated self-preservation.

“What have I done?” she whispered. Then, wiping away the blood, she propped the boy’s head back on his neck, tied a handkerchief around it to hold it in place, and sat him on a chair outside the door with an apple in his hand.

Later, Marlene came to her mother. “Mother, my brother sits outside and will not speak to me or move. He looks so pale. I’m frightened.”

“Go to him again,” said the stepmother, “and if he does not answer, box his ears lightly.”

Marlene did as she was told. When her brother neither moved nor spoke, she gave him a gentle tap on the ear. To her horror, his head fell off. Screaming in terror, she ran to her mother.

“Oh, Mother! I have knocked my brother’s head off!” she wailed.

The stepmother seized the opportunity to conceal her crime. “What have you done, you wicked child! But we must not tell your father. We will use your brother’s body to make a stew.”

The woman dismembered the boy’s body, put the pieces into a pot with water and spices, and made a stew. Marlene, devastated by what she believed she had done, wept bitter tears that fell into the pot, salting the ghastly meal.

When the merchant returned home that evening, he asked, “Where is my son?”

“He has gone to visit your uncle in the next town,” replied the stepmother smoothly. “He said he would stay for six weeks.”

The merchant was disappointed not to see his son but did not question the explanation. He sat down to dinner, savoring the stew his wife had prepared.

“This is delicious,” he said between mouthfuls. “What meat is this?”

“It is a special preparation,” replied the stepmother, watching him eat with a mixture of horror and vindictive satisfaction.

As the merchant ate, Marlene wept silently, unable to bring herself to taste the stew. When her father asked why she was crying, the stepmother quickly intervened.

“She is merely tired, husband. I will put her to bed early tonight.”

After dinner, Marlene gathered all the bones from the stew and, guided by an inexplicable compulsion, carried them outside to the juniper tree. There, she carefully wrapped them in her silk handkerchief and placed them among the tree’s roots.

As soon as the bones touched the ground beneath the tree, a strange mist rose from the earth. The branches of the juniper tree began to sway, though there was no wind. Suddenly, a beautiful bird with feathers of brilliant red, vibrant green, and shimmering gold emerged from the mist and flew to the top of the tree.

The bird began to sing in a voice of heartbreaking beauty:

“My mother, she killed me, My father, he ate me, My sister Marlene gathered my bones, Tied them in silk for all to see, Now I sing as a bird in the juniper tree, Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

The song was so enchanting that the goldsmith in his workshop stopped his work to listen. The bird flew to the goldsmith’s roof and sang again. Moved by the song’s beauty, the goldsmith offered the bird a golden chain if it would sing once more.

The bird accepted the chain and continued on its way, next stopping at a shoemaker’s shop. There it sang again, receiving a pair of red shoes in exchange for its melody. Finally, the bird visited the miller, who gave it a millstone for the privilege of hearing the haunting song.

With these three gifts—the golden chain, the red shoes, and the millstone—the bird flew back to the juniper tree and began to sing again.

Marlene, hearing the song, felt a strange lightness in her heart. “Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed, running outside to see the magnificent bird.

The merchant, too, was drawn by the melodious singing. “What a glorious bird,” he said, stepping out into the garden.

Only the stepmother remained inside, trembling with inexplicable dread as the bird’s song reached her ears. “I feel as though fire runs through my veins and storms rage in my head,” she muttered, clutching at her heart. But curiosity overcame her fear, and she too went outside to see the bird.

As the bird sang, it dropped the golden chain around the merchant’s neck. To Marlene, it gave the red shoes. But when the stepmother stepped beneath the juniper tree, the bird released the millstone, which fell directly upon her, crushing her instantly.

In that moment, a flash of light burst from where the millstone had fallen, and smoke rose in a column to the sky. When the light faded and the smoke cleared, the merchant and Marlene were astonished to see the boy standing there, alive and whole, as if nothing had ever happened to him.

“My son!” cried the merchant, embracing him with tears of joy.

“My brother!” exclaimed Marlene, taking his hands in hers.

Together, the reunited family returned to their home, their hearts filled with a happiness they had not known for many years. As for the juniper tree, it continued to flourish, its branches now adorned with even more vibrant green needles and fragrant blue berries, as if the spirit of the boy’s mother rejoiced in her son’s return and the justice that had been served.

From that day forward, the merchant and his children would often sit beneath the juniper tree, telling stories and singing songs. And sometimes, when the evening light filtered through the branches in just the right way, they could almost see the outline of a beautiful bird with red, green, and golden feathers, watching over them with love and protection.

The tale of the juniper tree spread throughout the land, a reminder of the power of love, the inevitability of justice, and the miraculous transformations that can occur when the natural and supernatural worlds intersect in the lives of those who have suffered undeserved cruelty.