Goldeline by Jimmy Cajoleas (i read books txt) 📕

torches all ablaze, shouting about judgment, he and his men charging in like demons. Flipping food carts, scattering the musicians all lined up in the streets, them tripping over their dresses, falling in the mud. The Preacher’s men running behind them, laughing. He set fire to the Half-Moon Inn himself. But he would have said it was God’s fire. He would have said that was God cleansing Moon Haven, like how fire’s supposed to come down from the sky in the Great Reckoning and burn everything clean. Said he was doing the town a favor.

The lady dabs her eyes with her sleeve. “He didn’t have to do that to folks just for being different, for not being perfect. Lord knows we all done things we weren’t happy about. Hard to live any other way. Say, you okay there, little thing? What’s a matter?”

I’m shaking and I can’t see. All the tears I got in my face. I take off running, running toward the burning smell, running toward the center of town, toward the old oak tree sprouting high over the rooftops.

When I get to the charred black of earth that used to be the inn I feel sick. Fine things, a chandelier, jewelry, whatever’s unburned glitters like fairy-book treasure in the dirt and rubble. The Preacher must have had an army to do this, a whole army of fanatics and followers, the Townies, his wicked congregation from Templeton.

But Gruff’s too smart to get caught by them. Because real bandits don’t get caught. Not my Gruff. Gruff would have heard them coming. He would have known it from a mile away. He would have slipped out back with a sack full of money and a jug of ale. Gruff got away, like he always does. I know it.

“Goldeline?” says a voice.

I whirl around, my heart so full of joy and hope. It’s Gruff, it’s Gruff, my Gruff made it out okay, he’s alive.

But it isn’t Gruff. It’s only old Leebo, from the camp. I can’t believe it. He’s alive, somehow he got away.

“Thank the Lord, Goldeline, I thought you were dead,” he says.

“Where’s Gruff?” I say.

“I thought we’d lost you, Goldy. I was scared I’d never see you again.”

Leebo balances on his crutch and opens his arms out wide for me to come and give him a hug, but I don’t move.

“Leebo, where is Gruff?”

He bows his head a little.

“Well, darling . . .”

“Just tell me.”

“They got him.”

“But he’s still alive, right? He’s okay?”

Leebo shakes his head. He still won’t look at me, he won’t look me in the eyes, and I hate him a little bit for that.

“The Preacher hung him on the spot,” he says. “Didn’t even build a scaffold, just did it on that old oak tree right there. I saw it all. I was hiding in the crowd. He didn’t holler, he didn’t cower, he didn’t say a word. He died good, Goldy.”

I can’t cry. I can’t even talk. I can only watch the moon crawl up the trees and hang like a halo over the rubble.

This was supposed to be my home. I was supposed to live here with Gruff forever.

I sit down cross-legged in the dirt and Leebo sits down with me. We watch it get dark together, watch the stars come out over us. There’s no mercy in this world. The stars are forever away. Gruff was wild and Gruff stole, but he stole to take care of me. He might have been wicked but he was mine, and he wasn’t evil to me. He was the only one in the world that was any good to me at all.

An old woman in a long black robe walks up. She holds a little brass watering can in one hand and a tiny bell in the other. The woman makes a cross sign over the wreckage and begins to sing in a sad scratchy voice. Slowly she shuffles around the rubble of the Half-Moon Inn, singing all the while. Every few steps she sprinkles a little water on the ground and rings her bell.

“What’s that lady doing, Leebo?” I say.

“She’s a Mercy Woman,” he says. “A holy woman.”

“A preacher?”

“Not like the one who did this,” says Leebo. “Mercy Women are different. They took care of my little brother once when he got sick, didn’t ask for any money or nothing. They’re like monks, but nicer. They show up whenever something real bad happens.”

I wait until the old woman passes by again.

“What’s that you’re singing?” I say.

“It’s a prayer,” the woman says. She looks sad, but her eyes are bright and blue. “To heal this place from all the pain that has happened here.”

“Aren’t you afraid the Preacher will come back?” I ask her.

“No,” she says. “I am old. What can that man do to me? As the Book says, ‘Fear not the vain works of men. Fear not the darkness. For ye are creatures of light.’ I sing here for healing on this land. No preacher can stop me from that.”

She gets back to her slow singing work, and in my heart I’m grateful for her, that even in the worst moments there’s always someone trying to do some good.

Me and Leebo sit there together a good long while watching the Mercy Woman work, until we hear voices in the night, men’s voices in the street. I help Leebo up.

“Bye, Goldy,” he says. “Take care of yourself.” Leebo turns his head away from me and crosses over to the side of the street. “Trust me, it’s safer if you stay away from me. He’s after me, same as you. I won’t do nothing but slow you down. Don’t you come following me now.”

“Wait!” I say, but he’s turned a corner, he’s gone now, like a stray cat scared and vanished off. That’s probably how he didn’t get caught, how he’s managed to live so long as a bandit. I sit back down in the dirt to cry some more.

That’s when Tommy comes running toward me, huffing, out of