Goldeline by Jimmy Cajoleas (i read books txt) 📕

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