Goldeline

by Jimmy Cajoleas

  Soon Tommy’s sleeping, the softest snores you ever heard. The owl takes off, his great wide wings cutting through the night quiet. I’m glad Tommy’s asleep. Any more talk about heaven and my heart would have busted open and all my rivers come rolling out. I never told anyone about my momma before that didn’t already know. I never talked about it to anyone except Gruff. I know I’m just tricking Tommy but I don’t want him to leave. Not yet. I got to figure a way to tell him the truth about me. I got to figure a way to keep him.

  Morning comes quick and I’m up with the dew. I sneak off early because I want to surprise Tommy. I could cook him some cornbread, maybe pick out a new book. There’s all kinds of treasures that Gruff didn’t think we could sell or trade. Maybe I can find something for Tommy, something to cheer him up. Everyone likes presents.

  The morning is smiling on me. Even the fog seems happy, like wrapping paper for me to tear through and find the day. A red fox yawns and sniffs the air. When it sees me, I wave and it bolts, off and gone into nothing. It’s a gift though, because I never see foxes, not here. The morning birds holler and a woodpecker smashes its beak into something far off. The woods isn’t just the trees, it’s a million leaves flinging dew to the breeze, the buzz of horseflies and honeybees, the grumble of worms under my feet. It’s like a song that nobody has ears big enough to make sense of, like a song God wrote just for Himself.

  I break the tree line into camp with my head full of music. I can see the boys all waking up in the distance, just out of earshot. Leebo’s stoking the fire, ready for breakfast, and Gruff stretches himself in the long velvet robe, coming out of his tent like a lion from a den.

  I raise my hand to wave at him when there’s a snap of twigs behind me, back in the woods. I turn around, and not twenty feet from me he stands, redheaded, bug-eyed, scared out of his mind. Tommy. He followed me. I guess I had my head so stuffed with everything good I didn’t even have the sense to listen for him. No wonder the fox left me so fast. I been dreading this, even though I knew it had to happen, same as every bad thing in the world. Tommy tries to run but I’m faster than him.

  I tackle Tommy and pin him down. He’s crying so hard he can barely talk. It’s all over. I knew I was too happy. You can’t ever let yourself get too happy. That’s when bad stuff comes. That’s when everything goes the most wrong.

  “You’re one of them,” Tommy says. “One of the bad guys.”

  “They’re not bad.”

  “They robbed us. They sent Miss Lyons off into the woods.”

  “They saved my life and here I am, saving yours.”

  “You can’t be both bad and good. You’re one or the other.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “It isn’t so simple as that.”

  “Get off me.”

  “Only if you won’t run.”

  When I get up, he takes off running. I catch him pretty quick and sling him into the leaves. I put both my knees on his chest and sit there so he can’t move.

  “Where are you gonna run, Tommy? You don’t know how to get back to the road. You’re stuck here unless I help you.”

  “You told me you were an angel. You wear my momma’s dress. You lied to me. You’re a wicked girl, bad right down to your toes.”

  He’s right. I’m about the worst thing there is.

  “All I wanted was a friend,” I say, and I realize it’s true.

  “You’ll never be any friend of mine,” he says, crying.

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t turn him into Gruff and them, much less Pugh. They’ll kill him, and maybe even me. Only thing I can do is let him go. I got to trust Tommy like I never trusted anybody except Momma in my life.

  “Get up,” I say. “I’ll take you to the road. I will. Just promise me you won’t tell anybody we’re here. Tell them you got lost.”

  “First thing I do is go to the sheriff. I’ll have all them bandits hanged.”

  Growling in my best Gruff voice, I say, “You say one word to the sheriff and I’ll slit your throat. I don’t care where you run off to, where you hide. I’ll find you and I’ll kill you dead.”

  Tommy starts bawling again. I crawl off him and crouch in front of him.

  “Listen. I will take you to the road. Just shut up and follow me.”

  He shakes my hand off when I try to help him up. The kid won’t even look at me. My friend. I messed this one up about as bad as I could have messed anything. I ruined it. I ruined it forever. It was so good to have a friend. I never knew how alone I had been until I finally wasn’t anymore. I’m so scared it can’t be fixed, that I messed up for real. One mess-up can last forever if it’s bad enough, like selling your soul to the Evil One. There’s all kinds of unforgivable sins. That’s how life is.

  It’s a long, sad walk. When we get to the road I point the way to the nearest town, to Templeton, where all the Townies are. I wish I could tell him to go somewhere else, but the other towns are too far away. Tommy would never make it alone.

  “You’ll be able to find a way home from there,” I say. “Please don’t tell anybody about us. They’ll kill me.”

  Tommy still won’t look at me, won’t answer either. He starts off slow down the road.

  “Tommy?”

  He stops but doesn’t turn.

  “I’m gonna miss you. You were the only friend I ever had.”

  “Liar,” Tommy says, and takes off running. He’s limping a little, like when I tackled him he got hurt. I watch him hobble, red hair and all, down the road until it bends and he’s gone.

  It’s the worst day I can remember. It’s the worst day since Momma died.

  When it’s nighttime I go to Gruff’s tent and poke my head in and ask if he’ll come out and sit with me a moment.

  “Come on, Goldy,” he says. “I’m worn slap out. How about we just talk over breakfast? Maybe Leebo can fry us up some eggs or something. It’ll be a treat.”

  “Please?” I say. “Just for a minute.”

  I give him my best poor pitiful orphan face. As tough as he acts, that kind of thing never fails with Gruff.

  “Fine, fine,” he says. “I’ll come out and sit with ye. Hold on a second while I collect myself.”

  Pretty soon Gruff comes huffing out of his tent. I’ve got my back up against a great big oak tree, watching the stars hang their fire in its branches. The trunk is wide enough for two to lean back on, if they don’t mind bumping shoulders, and Gruff sits down to join me.

  I lay my head on Gruff’s shoulder, like he is the daddy I never had. He smells like wine and sweat and dirt. He smells like fish and blood and rusty old swords. He smells like fairy books and ancient legends in torn old stolen bloody books. He smells like Moon Haven does in my dreams, the place I always want to go, the place I pray one day will be my home. I hear a noise outside, a chattering up in the trees, maybe bats invisible over our heads, but I don’t mind bats, lonely hanging things that don’t bother anyone, blind hunters in the dark.

  “I love you, Gruff,” I say. “You’re my only person in the world now.”

  “The heck are you talking like that for?”

  I’m crying a little. I can feel the hot running down my cheeks. I hate to cry in front of Gruff, but I can’t help it.

  “You love me too, right?”

  “Well, yeah, I love you, Goldeline,” he says, a little embarrassed by my tears. “You’re like my own daughter. Never thought I’d have kids, seeing as how I’m not much of the poppa type. But if I had to have one, I’m glad it wound up being you.”

  “You think I’m a real bandit yet?”

  “I’d say you’re an almost-bandit,” he says, chuckling. “I’d say you’re about as near to a real bandit as a kid can be.”

  “Is that enough to get me into Moon Haven?”

  “When we go to Moon Haven, you and me, they’ll let us in just fine. They’ll throw a durn parade for us is what they’ll do. By then you’ll be a real bandit, one hundred percent.”

  “Good,” I say.
>
  The crickets scratch themselves and give us their song. I sing a little too, in my heart, a quiet nothingsong, a comfort one. Gruff pats me on my head.

  “Come on, let’s get some sleep,” he says. “We got us a busy day tomorrow. Got to pack up the camp again, find somewhere else to hide ourselves. Always got to stay on the move, always on the run. It’s the bandits’ life, you know?”

  “Just another minute,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “Whatever you say, Goldy.” Gruff yawns, big and lionlike. “Though if we keep sitting here, I’m liable to fall asleep. Wake up bit all over with mosquitoes.”

  No way I’m falling asleep. Not here with Gruff, under the sky and planets and stars.

  “Hey, Gruff?”

  “Mmhmm?” he says, eyes shut, arms crossed around himself.

  I got to tell him. He’s so good to me, and I put him and all of us in such danger. I’m so stupid. I got to be brave and tell him, no matter what happens.

  “I might have done something bad,” I say.

  But Gruff’s already asleep. He’s snoring, his mustache quavers with it. I go inside his tent and grab his blanket, spread it over him as best I can.

  I hope I’ve done right. I hope what I did won’t ruin it all. I hope I didn’t sin by letting Tommy go. At least we’re moving the camp tomorrow. That gives me some peace. At least everyone will be safe after that. For a while, anyway.

  I go to my little tent and try to sleep for a few hours, but it’s no good. I creep back outside, the full red moon glowing like an ember, enough light to pass for haunted day, shimmering and fairy-blessed. Momma believed in fairies, though she said you’d never see them. She would call them up sometimes, ask for things. They’d answer by the whispering of the leaves, by a rustle in the bushes or the howl of a wolf. Momma could hear. She was magic and could understand. All fairy talk ever sounded like to me was normal old nature. Momma said I would grow into it, that one day I could talk to invisible things too, that I could hear them and understand. Sometimes the fairies would leave us gifts on our doorstep—a pile of acorns, a pair of daisy chains for Momma and me to wear as crowns. Tonight the moonlight is gift enough.

  I wish Momma were here.

  FIVE

  That night, asleep in my tent, I have the dream. It’s the same one as always, it starts the same way. I’m littler, and it’s Momma’s trial. Me and all the people of the village are gathered at the town square. The day is dark and smeary, hot as bad breath. Momma’s in the town square up on the scaffolding the Preacher had built, her white hair long down her back, all the fierce she’s got in her eyes. I can tell she’s scared, I can see her tremble a little in her knees. But my momma holds her head up straight, even though the Preacher calls her devil to her face, even though the Townies spit and shout horrors at her. This is the end, and my momma looks beautiful.

  A cardinal posts up on a pole next to her, and Momma keeps looking over to it like she’s asking for help. The Preacher’s in his black suit, same one he always has, with that phony gleaming sheriff’s badge on his chest. He stands up on the scaffolding with Momma, like it’s a stage. This way he can be above all of us. This way we can all see.

  I’m in the crowd, after Momma cut my hair off, wearing Momma’s shawl so no one knows it’s me. Momma told me to run but I didn’t know where to run off to. And I have to see her. I can’t leave her alone.

  “I never done anything folks didn’t ask me to,” she says. “They all know what I am, and I’ve never done a thing but help the people here.”

  The Preacher spits in disgust.

  “Liar,” he says. “Is it not true that you have held congress with the Evil One?”

  “I never met any devils,” Momma says, “much less anybody so grand or wicked as the Evil One. Unless of course you see the Evil One up here, staring me right in the face.”

  “You heard it yourself!” says the Preacher. “You heard her say she spoke with the Evil One himself!”

  He dances around on his platform, waving his arms wild, while storm clouds rumble behind him. A soft rain begins.

  “They have witches up in the Northlands too, you know that?” he says. “Up in the Northlands where they’re brave enough to drive witchcraft out from their midst. Does the Book not say, ‘A witch shall be known by her deeds, and by her deeds she shall be condemned’?”

  The Preacher is tall, balding a little bit on his forehead, with long white hair in the back, but handsome in the way that makes you catch your breath, even if you hate him. His right eye is bluer than the left, like a frosty windowpane in winter, and he’s got a long scar down his cheek. The Townie women all used to say how good-looking he was, especially before he got his scar, before he left for all those years, how he would have made a good husband. Momma’s hands are tied behind her back. The Preacher points at her.

  “Pretty, isn’t she?” he says, his words weaving like a spider’s web through the air, a string of invisible magic spread out over the crowd, poisoning every ear that hears. “But her heart is a deep pit, a well of brackish water, and she has infected this community long enough.”

  The crowd jeers, flings garbage and rotten food at Momma. But she refuses to cry, she refuses to bow her head.

  “You used to be such a sweet man,” says Momma. “What happened to you, Cyrus? Where did you go?”

  I never know why Momma says that. I never know why she calls him Cyrus.

  The Preacher grabs a torch from one of the Townies. He lifts it on high like a king’s scepter. The flame casts a golden flicker on Momma’s face.

  “You did this,” he says to Momma. “Nobody but you.”

  Momma doesn’t scream though, she doesn’t cry. Not through the accusations, not through the hours of questions. Not once. Not until she sees me.

  I don’t mean for her to. But she does. I got up too close and she picked me out, even under the hood and everything. Her chin quivers and I can see her start shaking. I know that just by being here and seeing all this, I’m breaking her heart.

  The cardinal flies off from the pole. The whole town goes silent.

  I scream.

  Now is the part in the dream where Gruff claps his hand over my mouth. When he whispers, Come with me, Goldy. Come out to the woods with me. It’s my favorite part, the only good in the whole dream, where Gruff calls me princess, his Goldy, his sunflower. Found myself some men, he says. The old rabblers from the tavern. Gruff says the town is getting too religious, says this new religion is giving him the creeps. Time to head off somehow. Where we going, Gruff? Somewhere. And he carries me off to the woods.

  “But what about Momma?” I ask him, when we’re good and far away, hidden deep in the forest. “When is Momma coming to meet us?”

  Gruff grabs me then by the shoulders, softly but firm, and he stares me right in the eyes in a way that lets me know that I can trust him, that no matter how awful it is he will always tell me the truth.

  “Your momma is gone, Goldeline,” he says.

  And I cry and I cry and Gruff holds me, and he whispers that always he will take care of me, that he will keep me safe. Shh, Goldeline, cry it on out, Gruff is here for you, Gruff will always be here for you.

  That’s how it always happens.

  But this time, in the dream, Gruff isn’t there. This time when hands grab me it’s the Preacher. Somehow he’s vanished off the platform and he’s behind me, he’s got his hands over my mouth. Suddenly it’s not just him that’s the Preacher, all the Townies are preachers, every last one of them dressed up just like him, with a great black hat like his, with teeth filed down like knives.

  Then I wake up.

  SIX

  I sit up in my tent, terrified. Something’s wrong, I know it. Something awful has happened. I can feel it all over me like fever sweat.

  But when I run out into the sunlight, all seems well. I slept late. Judging by the sun, it’s almost ten. That’s okay, everyone seems to be a slow riser today anyhow. The boys are tak
ing their time with the pack-up, wore out and tired of moving all the time. Leebo stokes the fire. Gruff stretches out. One of the boys is still passed out down by the fire. There’s a gray line of cloud off in the distance, like rain is coming soon.

  A cat walks up to me, a long, slinking orange thing. It licks its paw and stares up at me, one ear missing a chunk, like it got in a fight or something.

  “What secret do you know, kitty cat?” I say.

  A cardinal lands on a twig above me, its little harp song short and scared. Then comes another. It lands on the same branch, and they whistle at me. Two more, three, like a speckle of blood drops dripping from the tree limbs. I’ve never seen so many in one place before, such pretty birds. They take flight all at once, a big red heart that hangs in the sky a moment before vanishing off into the woods. It’s beautiful.

  Something snaps like a twig in my heart, and I know it’s too late.

  They come through the trees dressed in black, with long black cloaks dragging like shadows. Like giant wicked spiders they come sneaking out of the woods. Tall men, short men, some Townies and some not. Their faces stern and grimacing. They have knives, they have guns, they’re all around us. At least a dozen men. I see them first.

  “Gruff!” I scream.

  But they’re already coming. The boys aren’t ready. Most of them are still half asleep, or messing with the tents. I scream and I scream and I scream. They’re all over Gruff’s boys like maggots, men in black cloaks all alike streaming from the forest, a deranged army of them. The taller men have torches, they set the tents on fire. I can’t do anything to fix it. I can only stand here and watch.

  Leebo drops the stew and gets moving on his crutch, headed for the woods. Gruff ducks a shot and it shatters a tree limb behind him. I want to run to him, but there are men in cloaks, six at least, between us. I know I’d never make it.

  “Goldy!” he hollers. “Get out of here!”

  “I can’t leave you,” I say.

  “Don’t you worry about me,” he says. “Come find me. You know where. I’ll be waiting on you.”