The Tree Shepherd's Daughter

by Gillian Summers

  "So she said." He didn't sound convinced. So now Mom was a liar, too? "Knot is different from most cats. He was the only cat your mother would pet." He smiled at some long ago memory. "We used to be a happy family, believe it or not."

  Goose bumps flecked her skin. A happy family. Keelie searched her father's face and saw pain in his eyes. Maybe at one time they had been a happy family, but he'd screwed it up when he left. Any chance they had to be a family again, just the two of them, was haunted by that fact. Thirteen years of nothing did not entitle him to be called Dad or Father. She'd call him Zeke.

  The cat opened his eyes and looked at her, almost as if issuing a challenge. Could cats be that smart? She wanted to boot his heinie out the window.

  The cat was a relic from her childhood, from the time when Mom and her dad were together. She stared back at the evil feline. It didn't seem that old. How long did cats live?

  "Knot must be really old."

  "Very. But he comes from a line of long-lived felines. He might outlive us." Her father smiled.

  "Hypothermia kills millions every year, Zeke. I may be the next victim."

  "There's a big tub in the bathroom," he said, pointing to the only real room in the apartment. "You can wash out your clothes in the sink. I put the bag with Tarl's costume by your bed. You won't have to wear them for long, just until we get your luggage from the airline and get you fitted for decent garb."

  She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the hideous mud costume. "Thanks, I think. At least they're dry. What's garb?"

  "It's what we call the costumes we wear here. Since this is a Renaissance Faire, you'll have to wear Renaissance costumes, at least during the day when the mundanes are about."

  "Mundanes? It sounds like a disease."

  He laughed. "They can seem like one, too. But it's just what we call the visitors."

  "Oh." She put a world of feeling into that little syllable.

  He looked at her, silent. "Of course, we also call them our bread and butter, and we're always polite to them. Courtly, in fact."

  "I won't forget it." Did he think she was a baby? She'd wear the clown outfit until her sweater set and capris were washed and dry. He could wait to hear that she wasn't about to dress like the inmates in this asylum.

  Meanwhile, she'd call the airlines and use her lawyer voice to demand that they find her luggage and return it to her. Mom would be proud of her for taking action, being firm, and for Keelie thinking of herself as a lawyer.

  She'd use the lawyer voice to keep the "mundane" clothes, too. No way she'd play one of Oz's little Munchkins.

  Her father went downstairs and she jumped up to examine her new home. Temporary home, she reminded herself. The main living area was an airy, open room. Wind chimes hung from the four huge wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. The white walls were hung with tapestries full of unicorns and flowers. Two areas were curtained off, carving out private rooms. One had the curtain pulled back with a tasseled silk rope. A tall, wood bed was inside, its high mattress covered with colorful pillows. A homely paper sack was on the floor next to it, a red hand print clearly visible on the yellow cloth spilling from the top.

  She walked around, not touching anything, her eyes jumping from one thing to another, trying to take it all in at once. It was like walking into a fairy tale house.

  A sense of belonging and freedom welled up inside of her, although this was the total opposite of her California home. Mom preferred the dark cherry wood furniture that had belonged to her Grandmother Jo. The huge pieces had always seemed so oppressive, and they had not been friendly. She avoided it, preferring her own bedroom's chrome and fiberglass retro look.

  The tinkling chimes made a constant music, a soothing song. She smiled. Mom would have called it drafty.

  Keelie noticed a cluster of framed photographs on a corner table. She walked over and picked up a frame with hearts carved across the top. Keelie, age six, grinned back at her, proud of her missing teeth.

  All the photographs were of her. He had every school photo taken of her since she attended kindergarten, including last year's ninth-grade picture.

  She spun around as the door reopened behind her.

  "Keelie, I'll be in a meeting by the front gates until late, and then we can talk," said Dad. "If you're hungry, grab something from the fridge. Don't wander off. It gets dark fast."

  Keelie spun on her bare feet. "You're going back to work? I just got here." She wanted to be alone, but it seemed unfair of him to desert her. Of course, he was good at it. He'd had practice.

  "I want to spend time with you, too, but there's a Faire vendor's meeting."

  "I'm so sorry Mom picked such an inconvenient time to die," she shouted. She froze, shocked. She wasn't an out-of-control freak. What was happening to her?

  He looked stunned. "No, Keelie, that's not what I meant at all."

  Her face hurt from holding back the latest round of tears. "Just go, okay? I need time alone." She sobbed and swallowed hard to stop the next sob from bubbling up.

  "When you get dressed, you can go explore," he said. "There's lots to see, although everyone's closed up. Stay away from the Shire." He sighed. "You can stay up here, too, if you wish. Ms. Talbot said that you'd be here next week, so I'm not ready for you, but since you're here, we have to make do. It's my responsibility to care for you, and that includes financially, with my business. That's what I meant, Keelie. You're not a burden or an inconvenience."

  He walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. She accepted the kiss but didn't look at him. She really did need time alone-her stomach rumbled-and some food. She was hungry and confused.

  After he left, she found the little bathroom behind a plank door. A huge claw-footed bathtub with a hand-held shower took up most of the room, along with a gleaming porcelain sink, the bowl painted with twining green leaves. She found fresh towels in a basket and lavender-scented soap in the tub. This was more like it. It reminded her of the bathrooms at Chico Hot Springs, where she'd vacationed with her mother.

  Cleaning up took a long time, but at last she was mudfree. She felt like a different person, especially after she dressed in the stupid clothes the mud man had loaned her. Just as she'd suspected, she looked like a fool. She thought of the beautiful girl with the pink and gold hoopskirt and the perfect golden hair, the one who would be kissing Sean the golden knight. Keelie looked down at the frayed pink ribbons on her purple bodice. She peeked over her shoulder. The red handprints on her bottom all but glowed on the yellow skirt. The blouse was dingy, but clean. At least her skin was free of crusty mud. She should have packed an extra outfit.

  She attempted to finger comb some of the tangles out of her hair. Her detangling spray was in her luggage, along with her salon shampoo, conditioner, straightening iron, and gel. Curls and ringlets had popped out all over her head from the moisture in the air. She threaded a strand of her brown hair through her fingers. Except for the owl lady, nobody at this festival had short hair, which was fine. She didn't want to fit into this place, anyway.

  Keelie touched her cheek where her father had kissed her. That had been weird. She hadn't even tried to move away. The whole day had been twisted. Sometimes she wanted to run away, to return to civilization, and other times she wanted to be the little girl in his arms. It must have been a reaction to the stress of her mother's death and the move.

  Maybe what she needed was to keep busy, to keep moving so that she didn't have time to think too much. Thinking led to thoughts of her mom, and how much her life had changed, and then the tears would start again.

  She glanced out the multipaned window that faced the jousting field. The rain had stopped, and jousters were practicing in the lengthening shadows of the field below. Now that the Faire was closed, she decided to check out the after-hours action, although really she just wanted to see if Sean was there without Princess Perfect-Hair Elia.

  She looked down at her feet. No shoes, but if she stepped on patches of grass, then her feet
would stay clean, or at least free of mud. After all, the jousting field was practically next door. She ran back to the bathroom, where she'd left her dirty clothes on the floor. Her capris were a disaster, but she wasn't going to do laundry until later. She rummaged in the pocket for the rose quartz and tucked it in her bra. Luckily, the top was baggy enough that no one would see the weird lump.

  A quick search of the tiny kitchen area showed that there wasn't much to eat, but she found a canister full of oatmeal cookies. Perfect. She shoved one in her mouth and carried two more, then slammed the door behind her and picked her way down the wooden stairs, bare toes tingling. Yellow pine from Georgia.

  Hopping down the hill from one green grass patch to the next was more difficult than she'd anticipated. When she got to a spot where the next patch was four feet away, Keelie regretted giving up ballet. She jumped and landed squarely in the middle of a puddle. No mud, thankfully.

  The jousting field was labeled by the sign next to the grandstand that had earlier been full of tourists. Mundanes, in the local lingo. All around her, armor clanged, horses and riders called to each other, and harnesses jingled. She wondered which way the Shire was. Her map of the site, soggy like all of her belongings, was deep in her purse back at the apartment. The workers' campground probably wasn't on it.

  Two armored knights, helmets removed, stomped past, as muddy as Keelie had been earlier. They didn't seem to mind. One waved to her as they passed. She started to lift her hand to return the wave, but they had gone on.

  Two clumps of grass grew between her and the rough wooden barrier at the edge of the field. A giant horse was tied to one of the posts. It turned its massive head and looked straight at her, then whickered a greeting.

  It was almost as if he wanted to meet her. She'd never been near such a large animal, but she wasn't frightened. Keelie judged the distance to the next clump and jumped, but missed. Water flew everywhere.

  The horse tossed his head as if in approval, and Keelie laughed. She stopped, startled, as she realized it was the first time in days that she had laughed.

  Ankle-deep in water, she giggled. The horse nudged her with his nose, and she petted him. "Pleased to meet you, too," she said. She offered him an oatmeal cookie. The horse chomped it noisily. Horses liked cookies. Who knew?

  "I should have known you'd be one of the mud people."

  Keelie turned and saw Miss Goldilocks Perfect-Hair standing arm in arm with Sean. Great. They'd both gotten a long look at the handprints on the back of her skirt.

  She decided to tough it out. She extended her right hand. "Hi, again. We didn't introduce ourselves properly. I'm Keelie Heartwood. I'll be living up the hill with my father." It felt strangely good to say that.

  Lord Sean bowed, smiling. "I am Lord Sean o' the Wood, and this is Lady Elia."

  The girl looked down at Keelie's outstretched hand with disdain. "Ladies curtsey, Katy." She dipped gracefully and fanned out her pink skirts. "Like this."

  "Oh. Like this?" Keelie gathered her hideous yellow skirts daintily in each hand and dipped, extending her left foot, then deliberately smacked it down on the mud in front of her. Slimy brown mud splattered in all directions.

  "Oh, you klutz!" Lady Elia shrieked, spreading her wide skirts, searching for spots. The girl's hate-filled eyes turned to Keelie, taking in the mismatched, tacky clothes. "You did that on purpose," she hissed. "And you will be sorry."

  "I'm already sorry. And the name's Keelie."

  Elia stalked off, nose in the air. "Come along, Lord Sean. It's going to rain again any second."

  Sean stared at Keelie, fighting to keep a smile from turning into a full-fledged grin. "Lady Elia hates to get wet."

  "I've heard that about witches. Don't they melt in water?"

  One of the knights gathered nearby guffawed. Sean shrugged and followed after Elia.

  Thunder boomed overhead. Keelie snatched the quartz from its hiding place in her bra, holding it tight in case she got another tree voicemail. The sky had darkened again, and wind thrashed branches high overhead. The little crowd scattered, and a rider came to lead away the horse tied to the post.

  As big raindrops started to hit the ground, Keelie was left alone. There was no sign of the real world. The gray sky hid any airplanes, the only sounds were rain and the distant shouts of Faire workers scurrying to shut down for the day. No sign of her mother or Ms. Talbot or her old life existed.

  What was left was this green place, alien and wet, so unlike California that she needed a guidebook to figure it out, and filled with people who didn't want her here.

  Rain sheeted down, plastering her hair to her head. Her costume hung in heavy folds, although her legs were warm and dry under the layers of cloth.

  Slowly, she started back up the hill, away from the abandoned jousting field, not caring if she forded suddenly created streams, bare feet splashing heedlessly through mud and water.

  Keelie had to accept the fact that she was stuck. Stuck in Medieval Hell... but she wouldn't be here for long.

  four

  Keelie was beyond wet, but she still hurried toward the shelter of her father's shop. Others were rushing through the rain. As she turned onto the path that led to her father's shop she saw the familiar face of the goth girl who had given Ms. Talbot directions earlier. She seemed to be headed to her father's shop, too. Keelie ran into the darkened furniture shop, relieved to be out of the rain. The girl came splashing in a second later.

  "Did you find your dad okay earlier?" She dropped the hood of her cloak.

  "Zeke? Sure did. I'm Keelie." She held out her hand and the girl shook it. Her hand was cold and wet.

  "I'm Raven. My mom has the herb shop at the bottom of the hill."

  "Raven. Cool name."

  The girl shrugged. "It's a liability in business classes. Nobody takes you seriously."

  "What business classes do you take?"

  "I go to NYU in Manhattan. You?"

  "Rising junior in high school. I'm from Los Angeles. I plan to go to law school at UCLA."

  "Cool. Having urban withdrawal?"

  "In the worst way. How do you stand all the medieval weirdness?"

  "I grew up on the Faire circuit. I kind of like it. It's home. But I love Manhattan."

  Manhattan. Mom had been there several times on business and had promised to take Keelie some day.

  "Do you know where the Shire is?"

  "I was heading that way now. Big party. Want to come?"

  At last things were going her way. A new friend, a college business major no less, and she knew where the party was. "Sure, love to."

  Raven headed into the back of the shop.

  "Where are you going?" Keelie didn't think her new friend should be wandering around her father's shop. Unless-but no, Zeke wouldn't go for someone that young. She hoped.

  "Your dad keeps cloaks back here in the workshop. Have you met Scott yet?"

  "Who's that?"

  "Zeke's assistant. You'll ... like Scott." She handed Keelie a black hooded cloak, then helped her to fasten the big hook at her neck.

  "Will he be at the party?" She pulled up the hood, feeling like a monk. A pair of worn hiking boots were propped by the workshop door. Keelie stuck her bare feet in them, glad they were dry.

  "You'd better hope not. Scott will tell your dad. He's such a workaholic, though. He's probably asleep somewhere warm." Raven laughed and pulled her own hood up. They headed out into the pelting rain.

  "Why would he tell my dad? Er, Zeke?"

  "He's such a suck up. And guaranteed, Zeke won't want you partying with the Shire folk. It can get wild down there."

  "Wild like how?" She thought of Sean, tangled in sheets with some woman. Not Goldilocks. It hurt to even think about that.

  "Drinking, wenching, fighting. The usual."

  "I met a cool guy earlier. Lord Sean o' the Wood. Know him?"

  Raven stopped and gave her a Darth Vader look. "Yeah, I know him."

  " So-?.


  "So nothing. He's a jerk. And you won't see Lord High and Mighty Sean or his kind at the Shire. They have their own private campground."

  "Where's that?"

  "In the woods. You won't want to go there. They hate company. You think they're rude in public? Go knock on their door."

  The path they followed went through a dark woods. She held tight to Raven's cloak and in the other hand she held the quartz. The unfastened boots flapped around her ankles.

  "Raven, I can't see anything."

  "Don't worry, I've been this way a million times since I was a kid. Just stay on the path. If you go into the woods you won't know where you are until morning."

  Keelie shivered.

  "See the open space on the left?"

  "No, just dark and rain."

  "There's a big meadow there. First we cross the bridge. Can you hear the stream?"

  "Nope. Just rain."

  "Listen, dumb ass."

  She heard a gurgle under the sound of the rain. "Okay, I think I hear the stream."

  "Okay, once you hear it, the bridge is just ahead. Cross the bridge, five steps. Then the meadow's on the left. Pass the big stone. Fifty steps to the campsight. By then you'll see the camp lights."

  They crossed the bridge, Keelie's boots clomping on the planks and an echo coming from beneath.

  "Heartwood." The thin, reedy voice sounded like it was coming from under them.

  Keelie yanked on Raven's cloak. "Did you hear that?"

  No.

  "Someone said my name."

  "You spook easily. I'll bet you're fun at a slasher film."

  "Mom said I was too young to see them. So we're going to a party at the Shire?" The cloak surged forward, making Keelie hurry.

  Light glowed yellow in the dark ahead. The rain had lessened a little, and she could hear distant conversation.

  "Almost there. You can let go of my cloak now. I swear, I thought you'd choke me to death on the bridge."

  "I'm telling you, I heard someone say `Heartwood."'

  "Probably someone making out under the bridge."

  And saying her name? That didn't seem likely. Unless it was her father under the bridge with some woman.