Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  “Our parents arrive back today, remember?” I cupped her chin, willing her to understand. “The Social people will bring you to the farm, and they’ll sit down with Mum and Dad, and this will all be fine, okay?”

  Normally, Della would read between the lines—her whip fast intelligence picking up on my lie and realising, if not completely understanding, that this was a lie and lies were our weapons.

  But today, her panic had overridden her ability to see, and she’d bear the brunt of believing I was about to abandon her for the second time.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  I just needed time.

  Time to get things ready.

  And even though it butchered me to press a sobbing Della into a cold wooden chair and leave her with people who didn’t love her, I did.

  I glowered at the principal, gave him the location of our farm, and promised that my parents would be there to meet him when he dropped off Della with the government officials.

  He promised he’d be there at four p.m. sharp with my sister, and we’d get this nasty business sorted out.

  I had forty-five minutes to pack up our life.

  Forty-five minutes to figure out a way to steal Della, stop them, and vanish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2005

  IT TOOK ME twenty minutes to sprint home.

  Ten minutes to zoom around the house, grabbing toothbrushes, clothes, towels, and food that would travel.

  Five minutes to stuff the sleeping bag, tent, and every other belonging I could fit into my khaki and navy backpack, and another two to curse the zipper as it kept getting stuck on a sock shoved down the side.

  My breathing was ragged and torn. My stomach knotted and coiled. My body covered in sweat from fear as well as exertion.

  In the remaining eight minutes I had, I holstered every knife I owned down my boots, jeans, and back pockets, then jogged to the barn and opened the gate for Snowflake to leave her stall. She normally grazed in the field during the day, but now, I unlocked every fence and removed every obstacle, hoping she’d wander to a new home just like she’d done when she’d wandered into ours.

  The chickens would survive without us. The house would still stand. The veggie patch would suffocate beneath weeds. And in a few short months, the farm would look just as abandoned as it had when we’d arrived.

  I wished I’d had more time to steal thicker trousers and better jackets for us. I wished I’d thought up better travel arrangements and double checked the waterproofness of the tent.

  I should’ve been more prepared for this.

  I’d been stupid, and now, we were about to pay the price.

  Gravel crunched as a car drove up the driveway for the first time in years. The house seemed to puff up in pride to accept visitors after so long of being cast out of society, hating me as I stood barring entry with my arms crossed on the front porch.

  I forced my shallow breathing to become calm inhales. I clamped down on my jittery muscles and embraced ferocity instead of panic.

  Panic that Della wouldn’t be with them.

  Panic that she’d been taken already, and I’d never see her again.

  The headmaster climbed from the vehicle first, followed by the waitress who turned to open the back door and help Della out.

  My heart kick-started again, revealing that it hadn’t pumped properly since I’d left her forty-five minutes ago.

  Such a short time but it had been a goddamn eternity.

  Della wiped her running nose on the back of her hand, then spotted me and exploded into speed. She didn’t get far. The waitress grabbed her gently, whispering something in her ear.

  My fists curled.

  I held my temper…barely.

  Another car rolled up behind the minivan the teacher had driven. This one was black with an official looking logo and tinted windows.

  The two front doors opened and out stepped a severe looking woman who resembled a stick insect in a burgundy suit and a man with a beard trimmed so perfectly it looked painted on.

  I’d started shaving a year ago and barely managed not to gorge my face apart with cheap stolen razors let alone create facial perfection like he had.

  “Mr. Wild?” The two Social Service agents prowled toward me like predators. “Ren Wild?”

  I nodded, crossing my arms tighter to prevent throwing my knives at them or doing something equally as stupid. “I want my sister.”

  The man with his strange looking beard glanced at the waitress. “You can let her go. Thanks.”

  “Okay.” She let Della go, and I held out my hand, begging her to come fast, come now, come quick.

  Della saw my urgency, bolting up the steps and slamming against my leg. I wanted to bend down and tell her that she had to do everything exactly as I said, but we had an audience.

  Instead, I smiled huge and fake. “Mum made you lemonade. It’s on the counter. Take a glass and go out back to the pond, okay? I’ll come play with you in a bit. The pond. Nowhere else, got it?”

  Her face tilted to search mine, her eyes narrowed and uncertain.

  Slowly, her confusion switched to enlightenment, and she nodded. “Okay, Ren. Pond. Got it.” She took off, leaping into the house and vanishing into its darkness of living rooms and staircases.

  The two agents climbed the steps, pausing in front of me. “Can we come in? Where are your parents?”

  I cocked my head like I’d seen actors do on TV. The ones who pretended they were innocent but had just committed mass murder. “I can’t let you in without their permission. Stranger danger and all. We’re raised with strict rules, you see.” I smirked as they looked at each other with annoyance. “But you can go and see them.”

  “We were told they were at home,” the woman agent snipped. “Are you saying they’re—”

  “I’m saying they’re behind you. In the barn.” I pointed at the A-frame, paint-peeling structure where until a few minutes ago Snowflake had called it home. “They’re milking our cow.”

  “A cow?” the Beard asked.

  I nodded. “We’re home grown here. Nothing but organic foods and good ole’-fashioned labour. That’s why Della knows so much about the circle of life and the food chain. Not because we have a bad upbringing, but because we’re not hidden from the truth.”

  “Right.” The man nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

  I smiled just as fake as before. “I’m glad. Okay then, go talk to my parents. I’m going to play with my sister and pull some carrots up for dinner.”

  The syrupy crap falling from my lips sickened me, but I’d dress up in smart clothes and quote the Bible if it meant they fell for my story and gave me time to keep Della safe.

  The principal scowled but had nothing to say as the Social Service agents descended the stairs, crossed the driveway, and gave me one last look before disappearing into the barn.

  The principal and his deputy followed.

  I waved, animated and idiotic, cursing them under my breath as all four adults traded sunshine for shadows and vanished into the barn.

  And that was when I made my move.

  I flew down the porch steps, slammed the single wooden door closed, wedged the piece of wood I’d made with the simple hinge to lock them inside, then sprinted as fast as I’d ever sprinted before.

  To the pond.

  To my backpack.

  To Della.

  * * * * *

  “I’m sorry, Ren.”

  “How many times do I need to tell you? You don’t need to apologise.”

  “But I ruined it.”

  “You ruined nothing.”

  “I did.” She dragged the stick she’d been playing with through the dirt as I built a fire from gathered twigs and logs. Her red uniform, frilly socks, and shiny black shoes were now bedraggled and forest worn. “I shouldn’t have said that about Frosty.”

  “I don’t know who Frosty is, but you did nothing
wrong.”

  “I told them how to eat a rabbit.”

  “And where is the harm in being honest?” I looked up, willing her guilt to stop beating her up. “Honesty is better than lying, Della. You know that.”

  “I know but…I don’t think the kids liked being told how to gut a bunny.”

  “I’m sure they didn’t. But that’s the point.” I broke more twigs into kindling. “It’s because parents teach their kids that meat comes in packets and not alive like them that’s the problem. Not you for pointing out the truth.”

  “Is it wrong to kill?” She looked up with nerves dancing in her eyes. “Are we bad because we eat meat?”

  I stopped what I was doing, giving her my full attention. “People have forgotten so much, Della Ribbon. They’ve forgotten that behind their supermarkets and houses, beneath their fancy dresses and suits, they’re still just animals. We’re not bad for eating meat because we only eat what we need and don’t waste. It’s everyone else who doesn’t appreciate the cost of things who are bad.”

  I dropped my gaze as I used one of my four lighters—ever the resourceful—to start the fire I’d built.

  Della had been subdued all evening from the moment I’d skidded to a stop beside her by the pond, hauled on my backpack, then took her hand and jogged until she couldn’t jog anymore, to now when all we could hear were crickets and insects, and our house had been replaced with a canopy of tree leaves.

  I tried to hide my joy at being back where I belonged.

  I tried not to smile or laugh in sheer pleasure at being away from cruel people and rotten societies.

  I was happier than I’d been in a while, but Della was sad, and I didn’t want to make her feel worse by treating this as a celebration rather than a serious escape from potential separation.

  She poked a leaf with her stick. “I thought you left me.”

  “I promised I never would.”

  “But you did leave me.”

  “Only for forty-five minutes.”

  She stuck her bottom lip out, pouting dramatically. “You still left me.”

  I chuckled under my breath. “Okay, what can I do to make it up to you?”

  She peered at me from beneath her brow. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, while you’re coming up with a suitable punishment, how about I put up the tent so we can go to bed?”

  She nodded as if permitting me to do that one task but nothing else.

  Despite our close call today, she was still the same opinionated five-year-old I cherished.

  Traipsing through the soft undergrowth to where I’d propped my backpack against a huge tree, I unzipped it and began the process of yanking out almost every possession to get to the stuffed tent beneath. I also took out comfier clothes for Della. She’d no longer need her school uniform. Some animal could use it as a nest come winter.

  As I shook out our shelter that hadn’t been used since our last two-night camping trip a few months ago, I did my best to visualise where we were.

  We’d cut over the farm, following well-known tracks and clusters of trees thanks to previous exploring during the summer heat.

  Ideally, we should start to make our way south so we could avoid the cold for as long as possible. I had my compass. We could follow the autumn sun.

  Wherever we ended up for winter would remain a mystery until we got there.

  At least, we’d escaped this time. For hours, we hadn’t stopped moving deeper and deeper into the treeline, and I’d pushed Della until she’d stumbled in exhaustion.

  We weren’t far enough away, but she was too heavy to carry for long distances, especially with an overstuffed backpack already killing my spine.

  I gambled we’d be safe here for a night or two. No one had yelled or chased, and we’d successfully traded fields for forest.

  We were just two unknown kids that adults would rather forget existed than file paperwork and begin a manhunt for.

  We were alone.

  And I wished I cared more about what we’d just left behind.

  I wished I had some sort of homesickness for Della’s sake, so I could understand how traumatic this sudden disappearance would be to her.

  But I didn’t.

  I didn’t dwell for a second on running from a house and saying goodbye to TVs and mattresses and couches.

  All I felt was utmost relief and freedom to be back in a simple world where life grew all around me, creatures were safe to do their own thing, flowers and weeds grew side by side, and not one of them tried to trap or change us.

  Once the tent was secured and our sleeping bag inside, I pulled out a few eggs that I’d wrapped carefully in our clothing and fried them on a rock warmed in the fire.

  Della curled next to me as we ate, leaning against tree roots and watching grey smoke from our orange fire mingle with the black sky.

  The taste was a thousand times better than anything cooked on a range. Smoky and earthy and seasoned by nature itself.

  It wasn’t just food that tasted different away from town.

  The colours were brighter, bolder.

  The night sounds deeper, wilder.

  My heart beat softer, calmer.

  Della nuzzled into my side as I leaned back and wrapped my arm around her. I couldn’t give her language or history or math.

  But I could give her perfect simplicity.

  And a bedtime story or two.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2005

  FOR THREE MONTHS, we lived like feral royalty.

  Washing in rivers, playing in forests, eating whatever we could hunt and gather.

  It was just as perfect as the first few months I’d run from Mclary’s—actually, it was better because Della had a personality now, voiced opinions regularly, and had an over inquisitive mind that learned fast and excelled at making fires, gutting game, and even cleaning a few rabbit skins to save for something useful later.

  She said she remembered our life before Polcart Farm. She said she remembered the many nights we slept tentless and covered in stars and how much she’d hated roasted meat to begin with.

  I didn’t disillusion her and argue. I doubted she remembered any of it. Her daily awe and fascination of every little thing said this was her very first time.

  But sometimes, she would surprise me and quip about hiding in that guy’s shed with its piles of junk or hiding behind cardboard boxes in some family’s basement.

  I couldn’t tell if she parroted the stories I’d told her or if she truly did remember. In which case, I made sure to teach her everything she wanted so if, heaven forbid, we were ever separated, she could fend for herself, light a fire, javelin a fish, and create a snare for smaller prey.

  She even knew how to wield a knife without cutting off a finger and understood how to sharpen the point of a stick for cooking and other chores around the camp.

  Overall, we excelled.

  I’d always been strong thanks to the many hours of labour I’d been born into, but now, my muscles grew and height spurted and hair grew untamed or shorn.

  Della often tugged on the slight patchy beard I couldn’t trim without a mirror, calling me a hairy monkey. I’d try to bite her fingers until she’d squeal and run away, playing hide and seek in the trees.

  The clothes I’d stolen before leaving grew tighter as yet another growth spurt found both of us and almost overnight Della lost the chubbiness of her baby cheeks, slimming, sharpening, showing glimpses of the young girl she’d become.

  On those rare moments, when she sat like an adult or strung a complicated sentence together like any well-read philosopher, I’d freeze and stare.

  I’d flash-forward to a future where she’d be a beautiful woman, strong and brave and based in reality, where hard work layered beneath her quaint fingernails and outdoor living whitened blonde hair and browned pink cheeks.

  I was proud of her.

  So damn proud.

  And to b
e honest, proud of myself that I hadn’t killed her yet through neglect or sheer incompetence.

  Despite all odds, she’d flourished, and I only had myself to clap on the back and say good job.

  Along with the many miles we travelled, we continued to supplement our rural lifestyle with quick forages where people massed and congregated.

  Occasionally, we’d come across a small township where I’d leave Della on the outskirts while I slinked through oblivious city folk and help myself to toothpaste, packaged veggies, and canned fruit.

  Della asked more than once if we could have lunch at a diner again.

  It killed me to refuse, but I couldn’t risk it.

  We were still too close to our previous town, and I’d hate to put her at risk all over again.

  I was older now.

  Old enough to know I’d technically kidnapped her, and if Social Services ever found out her real name, my future would be worse than just living without her. I’d be living in prison without her.

  At night, I battled with wondering if that was why I kept her hidden—for my own stupid sake. But when she bounced from the tent in the mornings, bright and happy and excelling at everything she did, I allowed myself to hope that my selfishness was really about her.

  I loved that she loved the life I could give her.

  I worried she’d hate the life someone else would force upon her.

  So, even though I refused diner and city visits, I did my best to cave to her every other whim. I came up with crazy hair styles with her ribbon threaded as artfully as I could. I indulged her whenever she asked for stories, even if it was on a hike to our next camp and not just as a tool to make her drowsy. I let her wear my clothes and stuff one of my socks with soft moss to make an ugly toy snake.

  Some days, when summer made a reappearance and chased off the autumn chill, we’d forget about travelling or hunting and spend the day sunbaking by the river and jumping into the cooling depths.

  Those days were my favourite.

  The ones when no responsibilities could find us and the world where men branded kids as property and women permitted their sons to be sold no longer existed.