Red's Untold Tale (4 page)

When Peter had been a little boy, his favorite uncle had been an expert pickpocket. His uncle taught Peter how to do it, and sometimes, for fun, Peter would swipe something out of his
parents' or brothers'—or even my—pockets. Of course, he'd always give back whatever he'd taken; and I, for one, could never figure out how or when he'd
stolen from me.

As for his uncle, in time, he sought greater challenges, and he began robbing carriages deep in the woods. I'd never forget the day Peter and I saw the poster with a sketch of his very own
uncle, a wanted bandit. With disappointment etched on his face, Peter threw rocks into the pond until his arms ached. Peter never saw or heard from his favorite uncle again. We never saw another of
his wanted posters, either. We could only guess that he'd been captured and turned in for the ransom, and he was fated to spend the rest of his days locked up in the royal castle's
dungeon.

“He got what was coming to him,” Peter said, shaking his head. And just like that, his almost-dry hair relaxed into its typical tousles.

I looked up at the trees, clouds, and sky, and while my mind wandered, I felt his warm gaze on my face.
What does Peter see in me?
I wondered. In his eyes, was I still that giggly
six-year-old girl?

“You look…” he started, and then swallowed loudly.

I smiled as I waited for him to say that I looked beautiful or refreshed, or—though it would've been a bit of a mouthful—like the girl he was destined to have the first dance
with at the Forget-Me-Not ball.

The whole notion of a ball was rather silly. It wasn't like we had lavish clothes or food, let alone a ballroom. Still, it was an age-old tradition for our village. Named after the
forget-me-not flowers that grew on the edges of the forest, it was supposed to help everybody remember their childhoods as they moved on into their adult lives.

Honestly, I didn't really care about going to the ball, and last summer, Peter and I had agreed to spend the evening at our swimming hole instead. But sometimes, when I least expected it,
a daydream about dancing with Peter at the Forget-Me-Not ball popped into my head.

“You look like a drowned rat sitting on a giant mushroom,” Peter said.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Though it wasn't the compliment I'd hoped for, his description was probably spot-on. “Really, Peter!” I crossed my arms over my
chest. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Tugging the edge of my billowing white petticoat, Peter pulled me close. The spark in his eyes softened. “The cutest drowned rat on a giant mushroom that I've ever seen.”

I laughed, despite myself. “Why, thank you. I think.”

“Where've you been?” Granny
demanded when I walked through the door, and the smile on my face instantly vanished. She set down her knitting
and said, “Gracious, child. You're a soggy mess.”

“Making all the deliveries and peddling your goods door-to-door made me hot and tired, so I took a quick dip in the swimming hole.” I plucked a twig out of my hair as I made my way
to the kitchen and set the basket on the countertop.

“You should've been born with gills,” she said. “When you were three, you jumped into the swimming hole without a second thought. It scared me to death, so I went in
after you. Didn't even think to take off my boots, let alone my glasses.”

“I know, Granny. You've told me that story a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. Here you go.” I dropped the tips I'd received into her palm.

“What's this for?”

“The extra cookies and muffins,” I said, a little white lie.

She stared at the money. “So no one bought the pies?”

“Not today. Maybe tomorrow.” I smiled encouragingly and took a breath, trying to broach the subject of Peter's birthday party. I had the sinking sensation that Granny
wouldn't allow me to go out tonight. First off, it was a party for Peter—and it was no secret she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. And most importantly, it was
nearing Wolfstime.

Even though tonight's moon wouldn't be completely full, Granny's paranoia grew with each successive Wolfstime. “The pack is growing larger,” she'd said at the
last town meeting. “The more wolves roaming the forest, the more they'll need to eat. The more they'll hunt. Sometime in the near future, the full moon will mean nothing.
They'll hunt every night, even the darkest. Mark my words…”

Granny had spoken with great conviction that evening, and my cheeks had flared when the villagers poked one another and sniggered behind her back. I'd been ashamed, and instead of standing
beside her, I'd slipped out to the fountain and lost myself in daydreams of the places I'd someday travel to.

Peter had invited me to his party three days ago. Since then, it had been the talk of the school yard. We were like a bunch of squirrels, eager to get out after a particularly long winter.
I'd gone along with the crowd, saying things such as, “Of course I'll be there. I wouldn't dream of missing it.”

Violet had singled me out. “Don't be ridiculous, Red. Your grandmother will
never
give you permission.”

Everybody had poked one another and laughed behind my back, making me feel like Granny must have felt at the last town meeting. Violet had that kind of effect on people. She was likely the
prettiest girl in the whole village, and she was smart, as well. People listened to her, followed her, and fawned over her. If anything important or exciting was happening, she was always in the
center of it. She was never invisible.

I'd straightened my shoulders. “Did you not hear me, Violet? I
said
I'll be there, and I will.”

Since then, I'd been grasping at the slightest sliver of hope that something would come over my grandmother and she'd grant me permission. I'd heard of fairy godmothers
appearing out of thin air and making girls' dreams come true. Perhaps this was my night! In one final act of desperation, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath…

Yet nothing happened.

Of course it didn't. I just needed to admit to myself that Violet was right. No matter how nicely I asked, or how winsome a case I presented, Granny wasn't going to let me out
tonight. I was stuck at home. I might as well have been locked up with Peter's uncle in the royal castle's dungeon.

“I made too much frosting today,” Granny said out of the blue. She pointed at a bowl by the sink, covered with a checkered cloth. “And I've been baking so much more than
usual; I've plumb run out of storage.” She shook her head sadly while I peeked under the napkin at the bowl full of snow-white fluffiness.

“It's perfect.”

Granny harrumphed. “It is what it is. Anyhow, if you could just do something with it. Toss it out—or better yet, feed it to Farmer Thompson's pigs.”

“Yes, Granny.” As I scooped a finger full into my mouth and its delicious sweetness exploded on my tongue, I tried not to grin. I knew what my grandmother was up to, and I was beyond
grateful. She turned on her heel and left me alone with Peter's birthday cake. I hummed as I scraped off the old lumpy stuff and replaced it with her delicious frosting, mindful not to get it
too close to the edges in between the layers, like she'd taught me. Finally, I stepped back and admired the result.
Peter will love it!
I couldn't wait to give it to him later
that night.

The cake was a sign.

When I passed through the living room, where Granny had taken up her knitting again, I gave myself one last chance. “Granny?” I started.

“Hmmm?”

I couldn't do it. I could not ask her permission and risk her saying no and putting me on stricter-than-normal lockdown. The only way I could go to Peter's bonfire—the only way
I could spend more time with Peter on his birthday and give him the cake
and
prove Violet wrong—was to sneak out tonight. “I'm going to go clean myself up now.”

“All right, but don't dillydally. We have to prepare the house.”

“I know, I know.” I would've liked soaking in the tub, but I knew Granny was waiting. She'd never been the patient sort. So I simply changed into fresh clothes, taking
extra care in brushing out my hair. Since I'd looked like a drowned rat after we'd gone swimming earlier that day, I wanted Peter to see me at my best at his party. Sometimes, while the
boys and I amused ourselves with archery or swimming, they mentioned that other girls at the school—in particular Violet, Florence, and Beatrice—were beautiful and smelled of
honeysuckle. I wondered if Peter ever said that I was fair or smelled of something sweet.

I leaned closer to my reflection. Something didn't seem right. Something was missing. Gasping, I slid my fingers along my collarbone, in case it really was there and the mirror was
deceiving me. No such fortune.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed. I dropped to my knees, searching the floor and my discarded clothes for my mother's golden cross necklace.

“What's taking you so long, child?” Granny called from the living room.

I tried to calm myself, breathing slowly in and out, like the voice in my Wolfstime dreams told me to do. The last memory I had of my treasured heirloom was right before I jumped into the pond
that afternoon with Peter. It must have fallen off! It could be in the water or among the rocks or along the bank—or anywhere at all I'd wandered since then. Was I a fool to believe
I'd ever see it again, when it was like a needle in a haystack? Maybe if I could sneak out of the house early enough, I could take a quick detour to the swimming hole on my way to the
bonfire, before darkness set in. Otherwise, I'd have to wait until morning to even begin looking for the lost necklace.

“Coming, Granny.” With a crushed heart, I hurried to my bedroom window. A scrawny gray squirrel squatted on a branch just outside. “Well, hello there,” I greeted him. He
sniffed the air and then scurried down the tree and off into the rosebushes. “You don't have to be rude,” I admonished him before pulling the shutters closed.

After Granny drifted to sleep that night—with the help of some of the poppy dust I'd found in the kitchen sprinkled into her cider—I planned to climb out of my window and go to
Peter's party. My red cloak would protect me if a wolf were on the prowl. I took my cloak off the bedpost and draped it around my body, the embrace of the magical garment making me feel
instantly and completely safe.

November, three and a half years ago

“Get in here, young lady! Now.” I wasn't sure how many times she'd yelled for me because I'd been swinging, leaning back as far as possible without toppling over,
watching for a shooting star. I knew I'd get a wish when I blew out my birthday candles, but I had a really important one to make this year, and wishing on two things was always better than
just one. At least that's what I figured. If I could've found a genie, I would've wished all three of those wishes as well.

“Just another minute, Granny,” I pleaded. “I promise I'll come in real soon. I'm just not quite finished out here, that's all.”
Come on, shooting
star, where are you? Where,
oh where, are you?

“Oh, you're finished, young lady.” Granny grabbed me by the shoulder and marched me through the back door, all the while mumbling about how any girl in her right mind could
spend so many hours on an old rope swing was beyond her. “Now, sit here. I'll be right back. I said,
sit
.” I flopped onto the sofa, crossing my arms over my chest.

She disappeared into the kitchen, snuffing out the candles on the mantel and table as she went. It seemed to be taking her an awfully long time. The wind howled outside the windows, and tree
branches clawed against the roof. It felt like something scary was trying to come inside. “Granny?” I called, my voice quivering in the shadows.

Finally, she came back, her face aglow with the thirteen candles that lit up my birthday cake. I smiled, feeling silly for having let fright get the best of me.