Trapped. I never thought of it like that. The woods are the only place I never felt trapped, the only place where I was free to go as I please. Not the town, not Templeton. You couldn’t hardly step outside without fierce looks from the Townies, whispering from the kids and all the ladies, me and Momma walking heads high and proud, like she always told me to, from our house to the store and back again. If they whisper, it’s because they’re jealous, she always said. If they whisper, it’s because you’re more beautiful than they ever dreamed of being. If they whisper it’s because we’re the only ones who can heal their sick, who can magic all their dirt into flowers. Magic makes folks nervous, always has. People get scared of whatever they don’t understand. Momma said it was a risk doing what she did, healing folks like that out in the open.
“Others wouldn’t dare,” said Momma.
“There are others?” I said.
Momma only smiled. She was always saying that kind of stuff, and I never hardly knew what she was talking about. But I walked proud, with my chin up, my eyes fixed at the clouds up above everybody’s heads. Momma said the clouds were God’s own handwriting, all the sky was, and the moon was what whispered the future to you. She said she could read mysteries in the way leaves fluttered and trees groaned in the wind, that all birds had their own song you could listen to like a ghost story. That they all had a point, that you could read them. She said she’d teach me one day, when I was good and ready.
I guess I didn’t ever get good and ready enough. The only magic I know is the forgetting herbs. Well, that and the nothingsong. I always have the nothingsong.
But if I knew more magic like Momma did, I could show the woods to Tommy so that he would see them like I do. I could teach the woods to him, the wildness and birdsong, the way the trees hold the sunlight in them, all the way down to their roots. Then he wouldn’t feel trapped anymore. He’d feel freer than he ever did in any grubby old town anyway.
In the corner of my mind I see the Preacher lurking. His shadow, the hat and hair wild as fire sparking out from under it, the long tear-trail of a scar down his cheek. His hands reach out at me, fingers grasping.
“Whatcha thinking about?” says Tommy. “You got that look like a wiped-off dish. You look like an empty plate.”
“Finish your beans,” I say.
I snap a twig with my fingers just to hear it break.
The night passes about the same, Tommy and I huddled close in the dark under the tree. We don’t start that way, we start ten feet apart and slowly he scoots toward me till we both wake up tangled together and sweating in the morning sunlight. After that I sneak off and go wander around camp, chirping at everybody till they tell me to go away again. I even poke my head in the war tent, just to be a nuisance. Gruff and awful old Pugh are huddled over a map, talking something serious. I better bug them.
“Whatcha talking about, Gruff?”
Gruff shakes his head at me and says, “Goldeline, love of my heart, can’t you go and bother Leebo or somebody? Help Dunce with the dishes. I don’t care. Just get useful, and get out of my hair.”
Normally that would hurt my feelings a little for Gruff to talk to me like that, but this time I planned it so it’s okay. He’s been awful grumpy lately though.
“Anything I can help you with, Gruff?” I say.
“Not unless you can kill the Preacher for us,” snaps Pugh.
I stop cold. “The Preacher?”
“Yes, the Preacher,” says Pugh. “That crazy-haired tyrant running town to town, warning everybody about us, making everyone follow him or die.”
“Cool it, Pugh,” says Gruff.
“The Preacher can’t get us here,” I say. “We’re safe in the woods.”
“Not yet he can’t,” says Pugh. “But he’ll come for us, just you wait. One of those Townie cowards will tip him off about us and he’ll come and snap our necks and set us on fire, cook us up real good, same as he did to your momma.”
Gruff slaps Pugh so hard it knocks him into the dirt.
“I said to cool it, Pugh,” says Gruff. “You gonna shut up now?”
“The Preacher won’t get me, will he?” I say.
“No, darlin’,” says Gruff.
“You promise?” I say.
“I promise,” he says. “Now get out of the war tent. You know better than to come in here.”
“Sorry, Gruff,” I say.
As I’m leaving I hear him tell Pugh to get on up, what was he thinking, if Gruff ever catches him talking about my momma that way again he’ll fix him good. I hate Pugh. I hope he trips and busts his head somewhere.
But the Preacher I’m scared of. I have dreams sometimes, his wild white hair, the scar under his eye, his fingers spread wide and twitching the air like a spell caster, like an evil magician. All the Townies with their dumb faces looking up at the Preacher, believing every evil word he spits. He scares me in my dreams.
I head out to the woods, and soon I’m back with Tommy. His face is dirty and his clothes have blood on them from tramping around through briars. He’s starting to stink too. I figure if I’m pretending to be his guardian angel I might as well go all out and take care of him.
“Shoot, Tommy,” I say. “Smells like someone needs a bath.”
“Aw, come on. I hate baths.”
“You ever had a creek bath before?” I say.
“You mean with fish and frogs and worms? Heck no. Momma always bathed me in a tub, like you’re supposed to.”
“Not anymore,” I say. “The creek is your bathtub. This whole forest is full of stuff you can bathe in.”
“Savages and poor folks are the only people who go muck around in creeks and rivers and all that.”
“Guess what? You’re both of those things now. Savage and poor. Come on, we ain’t got all day.”
I lead him through the thicket, down a little deer path I found one day out wandering. It goes to this tiny creek I don’t think anybody knows about, except maybe some ghosts. It’s hard to see ghosts in a town, where most folks either don’t believe in them or just would rather not think about it one way or the other. But Momma believed in ghosts, and she taught me how to be quiet and listen for them. The woods are the best place for ghosts, like it’s here they feel most free to show up. I saw a beautiful pale woman drink fire from the creek one night, and I heard a little baby wailing in the dark where no one was. But I’ve never seen a breathing person here.
We pass a bunch of redbud trees in full bloom, which are my favorite because they aren’t red at all, they’re bright sunset purple, like a trader woman’s scarf. Tommy doesn’t see any of it though. He’s just arms crossed, huffing along like I’m leading him on to his death.
“Perk up,” I say. “It’s just a stupid bath, Tommy.”
“It’s a bath with a bunch of dirty things.”
“Well, you’re right about that. But you ever seen a dirty fish?”
“Yeah I have. I seen plenty of dirty fish at the market. Dirty fish, and they stink and got flies all over them.”
“But you ever seen a dirty fish in a river?” I say.
Tommy stops to think about it. He puts a freckly finger to his lip.
“No, I guess not. I guess I never have.”
“Nothing cleaner in the world than a river fish. They don’t start to stink till they get caught. Now I’m about to bathe you in free water.”
We break the tree line and come to the creek. It isn’t much, no river or anything, but it pools up just a little bit upstream, into a baby-type waterfall. There’s always a snake or two, but if you’re loud and let them know you’re coming and don’t spook them, then you’re fine. I take a stick and bash the water around with it.
“We’re coming, snakes!” I say. “Don’t you get scared.”
“Snakes?” says Tommy.
“Oh, hush up. It’s just a formality.”
“A what?”
“Nothing. Lookee, we’re here.”
The creek really is something beauti
ful. The zigzaggy waterfall, the pool at the bottom, the rock floor where you can even see your toes it’s so clean. Not a lot of creeks like that around here. Most are dirty, the color of runny dump. But this creek is my creek. It’s special. I haven’t thought of a good name for it yet.
“See? I told you this creek was something else,” I say. “It might be the most magical place in the whole woods.”
“I don’t believe in magic,” says Tommy. “That’s just kids’ stuff.”
“But you believe in angels?”
“Of course I do,” he says. “You’re standing right there, aren’t you?”
“I am,” I say, “but you can only see me because I let you. The whole world’s chock-full of things you can’t see. They’re all around you, whether you believe in them or not. Now get on in that water already, we ain’t got all day.”
While Tommy bathes, I turn around and gander off at a dogwood tree, the little bloody drops on its flowers. There’s an old story about dogwoods, how one time a dogwood tree held a man who was in such great pain that it stained the blossoms forever. That’s a flower story I can understand, even if it’s just made up. Maybe even the dogwood tree knows it’s made up and plays along anyway. You got to like a tree who will do something like that.
Yeah, or maybe the tree really believes it, and that’s what makes its flowers so pretty. Can faith make you pretty? Or is it just being a sucker? I listen to Tommy splash around in the water, giggling to himself, and I’m thinking that this kid is the most gullible person I ever met. I mean, I told him I was an angel and he actually believed me. You don’t get much more gullible than that. But maybe that’s something good about him. Maybe that means I got to protect him.
Speaking of, I got to get back to camp soon, lest Gruff or somebody starts missing me.
“Hurry it up, will you?” I holler.
“Why? The water’s nice,” he says. “And there’s a turtle over there.”
“Because I got angel stuff to do. I can’t just sit here all day while you float around, pointing out the wildlife.”
“What kind of angel stuff?”
I keep my back to him, but I’m starting to get mad.
“The kind that’ll flat burn your ears out if I told you,” I say. “Now if you don’t get out of that water this second, I’m dragging you out by your neck, you hear me?”
Walking back to our tree, Tommy won’t even look at me.
“Aw, come on,” I say. “What’s the matter?”
“You’re mean for an angel,” he says. “And where are you always sneaking off to? Where do you get the food and all that?”
“Don’t you remember what happens in the Book any time an angel shows up? Everyone gets scared. They hit the dirt they’re quaking so bad. I got on my girl suit right now because otherwise I’d straight scare the hellfire from you. You wouldn’t even be able to look at me. You’d fall down and try to worship me, same as everyone else in the Book.”
“Worship you?” he says. “Fat chance.”
I turn to him with my fiercest angel scowl, as much mean and Gruff as I can summon. “What did you say to me?”
“Nothing.”
The kid’s shaking all over. I hate to spook him like that, but hopefully it scared him out of asking me any more questions. I don’t know how long I can keep up this angel business. I don’t know why I started it in the first place. It seemed like a game, I guess. But it’ll be bad news if Tommy ever figures it out.
“Now you stay put,” I say. “I’m going to go get you some grub.”
“Can’t I come with you?” he says. “I’m sick of sitting around here, waiting.”
“Didn’t I already tell you about angel business?” I say.
“Fine,” he says.
I head back into the trees. But before I get too far I stop and turn back to Tommy. He’s sitting there on the ground, picking his nose. He’s such easy prey for anything that comes along, bear or bandit. Or Preacher. A cloud blocks the little bit of sunlight that would come through the trees, and the woods around me darken. Something is out there, says the little voice in me. Something is coming for you, Goldeline. For you and Tommy both.
I shake my head and the cloud moves and the sunlight sprinkles back through the branches in little bars of gold. Nothing is out there. No Preacher, with his wild hair and scar down his cheek. He’s not out there, not carrying a torch and a knife, not sneaking up on me from the darkest corner of my dreams. It’s just woods stuff. Nothing is hunting me. I go on my way back to the camp.
FOUR
For dinner Leebo cooks up a stew. It smells bad, but it’ll do. I fill my bowl up a second time for Tommy.
“Hungry there?” says Pugh. He’s standing right behind me and I didn’t even notice him, I’m so worried about this Tommy stuff. I got to be more careful or I’ll ruin everything.
“Starved,” I say.
“You’re gonna get fat, the way you been eating lately,” he says.
“What are you even talking about, Pugh?”
“I seen you take an extra bowl last night too. I seen you taking extra the last few days.” He smiles. “And that’s Mr. Pugh to you.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t have any excuses.
“Come on now, Pugh,” says Leebo. “She’s a growing girl, ain’t she? Grew half a foot just since last year. It makes a body awful hungry to be growing all the time.”
“She’s got a secret,” says Pugh. “Little minx is up to something.”
“You don’t talk about Miss Goldeline that way,” says Leebo. “You got a nasty mind, Pugh. Plain mean.”
“You’ll see,” says Pugh. “Before long I’ll show all of you. Never should have picked the girl up in the first place. She’ll be the ruin of us, mark my words.” He squints his evil eye at me. “I’m watching you, girlie. One mess-up and I’ll be there.” Pugh puts a hand to his knife, a curved fang of a weapon. “I won’t let you mess up twice.”
When he walks away I realize my hands are shaking. If it wasn’t for Leebo that could have gotten much worse.
“Ignore the cranky old sod.” Leebo chuckles. “You’re a smart one, you are. A good girl. I know you wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt Gruff and all us boys out here. Ain’t that right?”
“Sure thing, Leebo,” I say, and give him my best smile.
Stupid. I got to be more careful. I already kept Tommy safe, kept him from forgetting, from being lost and wandering out in the woods. He knows that we’re bandits out here and not ghosts—that it’s real human bandits who can be caught and killed. Sure, the Preacher might suspect it, but regular old folks like Tommy are still scared, and that fear protects us. How do I keep Tommy safe and not be the death of Gruff and all the boys? How do I keep everyone from dying, much less protect myself? Pugh would kill me if he knew about Tommy, and I bet not even Gruff would stop him. I would deserve getting killed. I got everyone’s lives depending on me, and not a one of them knows it. What would they say if they knew? It’s a dangerous game I’m playing, and I don’t even know what in the heck I’m playing it for.
I take a deep breath and walk my way back into the forest, Tommy’s momma’s dress dragging in the dirt behind me.
Come nightfall me and Tommy are lying together, up under the tree. We got rocks for pillows and the ground is cool and soft. Fuzzy finger-long caterpillars tremble over my arms with their clown faces. The moon’s just a wink in the sky and the stars are a warm happy sigh. An owl up in the tree keeps looking over its shoulder. All you mice out there better buck up and hide. Owl’s gone hunting. And he hoots like he hears me the whole time. Maybe he does.
My momma could talk to animals. We had a cat named Marybell and she and Momma would purr back and forth at each other for hours. I’ve seen birds land on her sweet shoulder and the way the fish would swarm around her feet when we bathed in the river. The sun would hit their scales and they’d turn into treasure. I would chase and never catch them, little ghosts of gold that flitted away downstr
eam, that were never mine to have. They were the river’s own money, Momma said, and we should let them be.
“Were you ever a human girl?” Tommy says. “A normal girl and not just an angel?”
I was a normal girl with Momma. I was just any other little kid when Momma was still alive, before the Preacher came for us.
“Yep,” I say. “Once, a long long time ago.”
“How did you die?”
Suddenly there’s eyes looking down at me everywhere. Bats in the trees, owls out in the night, bugs out from under the rocks. Even the stars are staring. There’s a tree that looks like an old lady stirring a pot, and her leaves bend down to listen. I can’t lie, not with all these witnesses, not with the whole of heaven and nature breathing down my neck. So I take a deep breath and I say it.
“When my momma got burned up, they burned me up too. That’s when I died and became an angel.”
“Don’t only witches and heretics get burned?”
“Not when it’s heretics done the burning.”
“Oh,” he says. “My momma died too.”
“I know, Tommy.”
“It’s not fair that mommas have to die. I’d be dead too if I didn’t have you. I wouldn’t even be here anymore. I’d be gone.”
“But you aren’t gone. You’re here and so am I and so is the moon. We’re okay.”
“What is heaven like?”
I got to think real hard about this. I got to get this just right.
“Heaven is like a big warm bed, with fresh white sheets that smell like honeysuckle. Heaven is a table full of food and everyone you love is sitting right there. And they don’t got wrinkles except from laughing and they’re just how you remember them, not even how they really were. It’s the table where you really belong, really truly finally belong, like home. And everyone talks like singing birds. Every time anyone opens their mouths it’s nothing but a song.”
“And that’s where my momma is right now?”
“She’s up there, chowing down. She’s sitting next to God and your daddy and they’re waving down at you right now.”
“That sounds nice. That sounds real nice.”
Goldeline Page 4