Red's Untold Tale (21 page)

“No, that isn't it at all. I'm not running away,” I said. “I want to go off into the world and have adventures.”

“Po-tay-to, pa-tah-to,” he singsonged.

My fingertip grazed the golden cross. “My parents died too young. They didn't get to see the world. And as for my grandmother, she's lived her entire life in the
village—most of her years in the same little cottage. Don't you see? She's afraid to leave. I don't want to be like my granny! I want to see new places. I want to meet new
people. I want to find my happy ending. And this, right here,” I said, collecting the coins the wizard had dropped on the table and putting them back into the box. “This is my
future
. What can be more valuable than that?”

“Fine.” He poured the coins into a leather pouch that hung from his belt and handed me the wooden box.

Tilting my head, I waited for him to explain himself. “So you'll do it? You'll make a magic salve for my granny?”

“Come back at high noon tomorrow. Heathcliff will collect you—and only you, this time—from the gully, as it happened today.” The crow squawked from his perch at the
window as the old man pushed me out the door.

I saw no sign of Peter, and my heart pounded. “Where's my friend?” I asked.

“Heathcliff will make sure you find your way to the boy. I've erased your beau's memory of ever having come here—it's an irksome, yet necessary, precaution. Unless
you want him to think you mad, like the villagers think of your grandmother, I warn you to never speak of our meeting.” And then the old man slammed the door.

“All right. Thank you. I'll see you
again tomorrow,” I told Heathcliff. He merely blinked his beady eyes at me, as if he'd forgotten
that he was a talking crow. When he circled in the sky above the cave and flew off, I felt my hopes flying away with him.

I wanted to have faith that Knubbin could make me a magic salve that would cure Granny's pain, but in his drunken state, would the old man even remember my visit? Even if he did, how could
I be sure he wasn't just a washed-up wizard turned thief? How could I be certain I'd ever see him again?

Despite my frustration and disappointment, I smiled when I spied Peter. He sat leaning against a tree, where he must have nodded off, dreaming about something that made his nose wiggle. I
scooped water from the spring and splashed him awake.

He started—and when he saw that I was the culprit, he laughed and put his hands behind his head. “How long have I been snoozing?” he asked with a yawn. His drowsy eyes reminded
me of when he was a little boy: glossy with a dash of mischief. True to the wizard's words, Peter seemed to have no recollection of having ventured past this very spot. In his mind,
he'd just drifted off for an afternoon nap.

It would be difficult to keep my meeting with the wizard from Peter. And yet, if it meant getting the magic for Granny and also the possibility of learning more about my family, perhaps it was a
secret worth keeping.

“I'm almost finished picking bilberries,” I said. “Then we'd best be headed back to the village.”

With Peter munching on a crumpet and I on bilberries, we made our way through the forest and down the road. When we crossed through the village, an upbeat song wafted from the tavern, and Peter
suddenly grabbed my hand and tugged me into the alley, scattering a clowder of cats.

“Peter! What in the land has gotten into you?” I asked as he snatched my basket and set it on some steps.

“Music. Come on, Red, let's dance!” He bowed grandly and I scrunched my nose and shook my head.

“I don't know how,” I said. Sad, but true. Most girls had a father or a grandfather, or even an uncle, to teach them the steps. But I only had Granny, and her jig was bad
enough to make a pig run away squealing.

“Come on, I'll show you. What are you afraid of? No one will see. Don't be a chicken.” Once he turned his big brown eyes on me, I was a goner.

I couldn't really say what my feet were doing, because they seemed so far away from the rest of my body. All I knew was we were stepping, gliding, dipping, and twirling—and all the
while, my cheeks ached from grinning. As his fingers curled around my hand, my knees went weak. And yet, I knew Peter wouldn't let me fall. Suddenly, his body brushed against mine. In
reality, I'd been pressed against his warm, muscular chest for only a second; but in my world, the instant had lasted much longer—long enough for my heart to skip a beat, my cheeks to
blush, and our eyes to meet, merely inches apart. Somehow, I must have kept dancing, because Peter smiled at me like nothing was wrong. He smiled at me like everything was right.

Once the song came to an end, we broke apart, laughing. Some of the villagers had paused to watch us, and I knew Granny would be worrying about where I was, but in that moment, I didn't
care.

Peter handed me my basket. “Thanks, Red. That was fun, but I'm sure you think I need to practice a little more before the ball.”

His words slugged me in the gut like a sack of potatoes, and I felt a horrible prickling behind my eyes. I hated myself for being so vulnerable. Turning away from him, I swiped away the tears
with the back of my hand and started walking home.

“Red, what's wrong?” he asked, jogging to catch up. “Did I step on your toe?” he asked with a chuckle.

I came to a halt and drew a ragged breath. Despite my blinks, a tear rolled down my cheek—so big, warm, and salty, it seemed as if it had been inside of me for a long, long while.

When he studied my face, Peter's smirk vanished. “Oh, no. Red, what is it?”

I hated that he was seeing me cry—and I hated a lot of other things at that moment, as well. “I hate that you're going to the Forget-Me-Not ball, all right? I thought
we'd agreed to go to the swimming hole together that night. You said you
loathed
the idea of folks parading around in fancy gowns and britches, putting on airs, pretending to be
princes and princesses, when none of us will ever actually see the inside of the royal castle, which is dripping with luxuries that our hard-earned wages afford them.”

I paused to wipe another tear, and another. “And speaking of pretending, I think you're pretending that you don't fancy Violet, when it's obvious that you do!
You're delighted that it worked out that you two are coupled up for the first dance.”

“You don't honestly believe that, do you? Because, if you remember, I explained why that happened. I gave my word, and I never go back on it—even if it's to
Violet.”

“Why did you kiss her, then? Of all the girls in the land, why the cruelest one we know?”

Peter scratched under his collar as if he'd been bitten by fleas. “Actually, she kissed me. It took me by complete surprise, I—”

“Oh.” I whirled around and began walking again. Somewhere in the cyclone of emotions that brewed inside of me, I think I might have felt a gust of relief.

“Red, wait.” He touched my shoulder, and I wriggled away. “I understand that it's confusing. I'm confused, too. However,” he said after taking a deep breath,
“I don't think it's fair that you're upset with me.”

“Because we're ‘just friends,' and I have no right to be jealous? Don't you think I know that, Peter?”

“No. Because you kissed Tucker. After that day we went sledding at the church…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can't believe you'd do that. Why?”

I swallowed hard and stared down at the road. We were almost to my house. Part of me wanted to run there as fast as I could and not look back at the mess I'd made.

“You can tell me anything, Red. Please, help me understand.”

“Tucker knows a secret about me, and…I just had to, that's all.” I stroked the tail of my braid and sighed miserably.

“What secret?”

I didn't know which would be worse: not being forthright, and having Peter distrust me—maybe even stop being my friend—or confessing the true and shameful reason I kissed
Tucker Williamson. How could I admit that I was a thief? I didn't want Peter to look at me the way he looked at the bandits on the wanted posters. I didn't want to let him down, like
his favorite uncle had. Neither alternative was bearable! “I can't tell you, Peter. I'm sorry. Truly, I am.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, and a few moments later, crossed the path leading to my cottage. “Thanks for the crumpet. I guess I'll see you around.”

I reached into my quiver. “Take this with you tonight,” I said, handing Peter the silver-tipped arrow he'd made for me five years ago. “It's never been shot. I keep
it on hand in case of an emergency.”

He waved it away. “You keep it,” he said.

“No, please. I want you to have it.”

“I said no.”

“Oh. All right,” I said as brightly as I could. “Well, be careful, Peter.”

With a heavy heart, I trudged the rest of the way home while Peter returned to town to shoe some horses. Yes, I was alone—but I felt
really
alone—like the difference between
a dark night and the darkness in one of my Wolfstime dreams.

When I glimpsed Granny rocking on the porch, brandishing her knitting needles, I tried to switch from my heartache for Peter to my love for the woman who'd sacrificed so much to protect me
from the wolves.

Yet somehow, something didn't feel right. Granny seemed more on edge than ever before, and I had the horrible feeling that I was in for a doozy of a lecture. “Where have you
been?” she demanded.

I said, “After school I picked some bilberries,” and it wasn't a lie. I had gone to school, I just never went in. “I know you love them, and I thought you could make some
tarts.” But when I opened my basket and placed a little pile of berries on the table beside her, she didn't even glance at it.

“Oh, those are pretty,” I said about the jar of wildflowers adorning the table. “I didn't see those before. Did you pick them yourself?” It had been a long while
since Granny had picked flowers.

“Your friends came by to bring them to you. They assumed that since you weren't at school, you were home sick.” Her knitting needles stilled as she waited for my response.

“Friends?” My belly lurched with the realization of who the so-called friends were, and how their pretending to be worried about me had all but forced me into the gallows.

“I'll ask you again—and this time, don't you dare fib to me,” Granny said. “Where have you been?”

I lowered myself in the chair next to her and sighed. “I'm sorry, Granny. I just didn't feel like going to school. It's such a pretty day, and I didn't want to
waste it sitting in a dingy old schoolhouse. I'll do all of my makeup work, don't worry.”

“So you're telling me you took the day off school and went to pick bilberries all alone?”

I bit my bottom lip and confessed, “Not alone. I was with…a friend.” I hoped he was still my friend.

“A boy?” Granny stopped knitting altogether and fixed me with a surly stare.

It seemed like the more I opened my mouth, the deeper the hole I was digging for myself, and I had a feeling that if I told her I'd been with Peter all day, I might as well have started
digging that hole six feet into the ground. Actually, hiding in a hole didn't sound like a bad idea. “Um…”

“I've heard whispers of your escapades with boys, and I hoped and prayed they were unfounded. I refused to believe that my very own granddaughter would throw herself all over boys,
like a good-for-nothing hussy.” As her words stung my ears and tears pricked the backs of my eyes, she shook her head at me as if I was something a mutt had dug up in the back corner of an
alley.

“It's not true, Granny.” It came out like the feeblest of utterances.

“It isn't, is it? Then why does it sometimes take you four hours to make two hours' worth of deliveries?”

“I told you, sometimes I go for a dip in the swimming hole, or—”

“When I send you off to take goods to the villagers, I mean
baked
goods. And what you were doing with the miller's son at market, while I was busy trying to talk some sense
into the villagers? Speaking of market, how did you buy all the flour and sugar and fruit, and still have enough money for chickens?”

“Granny, calm down. Please, you've got it all wrong! Those girls who came by are not my friends.” I picked up the jar and tossed the flowers into the bushes.
“They're trying to put disgusting ideas in your head. Who are you going to trust,
them
, or your own flesh and blood?”

“Your mother liked to run off and do who-knows-what with boys, too, and I won't be making the same mistakes I made with her, with you. I wasn't born yesterday. I know
you've been sneaking out and around, and I won't tolerate this despicable behavior—not while you're living under this roof.”