Goldeline by Jimmy Cajoleas (i read books txt) 📕

eyes when I heard the crack, like a tree branch breaking from frost. Sylvia’s leg snapped to the side, right in half, at the knee. She screamed and fell into the dirt. Sylvia rolled over and lifted her leg and when she did the bottom part, shin and ankle and foot, flopped over wrong.

Sylvia screamed and screamed. All the kids came running up.

“What happened?” said a kid named Wallace. He lived up the street from me and Tommy. I liked him okay.

“She tripped,” I said.

“You tripped her,” said Wallace. “I know you did.”

“How could I have tripped her from all the way back here?” I said.

Tommy ran up and stopped, staring at me all weird.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Look,” he said, and pointed behind me.

A cardinal perched like a rose on a bare branch, eye level with me. I hadn’t seen one in so long. It cocked its head to the side, gazing up at me, eyes black and questioning, like it was listening to me, waiting for my command. When I didn’t move it darted off into the woods, just a normal bird. But its eyes had scared me. Like the cardinal had expected something from me.

And there was Tommy, staring at me too. Tommy knew. He walked over to Sylvia and held her hand until the doctor came. She cried all over him.

Tommy stopped asking me to play after that. It was fine, if lonely. I didn’t like those other kids anyway.

When Aunt Barbara said that me and Tommy would start school in the fall, I told her that I didn’t want to go.

“But, Goldeline, darling, you’ll do so well in school,” she said. “You’re so very smart. I’ve hired Mrs. Jessup from the parish to come and instruct you. She’ll help you catch up to all the other kids.”

“I don’t need any catching up,” I said.

“That is for me to decide,” said Aunt Barbara. “Oh, don’t make such a face. It isn’t like I’m the devil now. Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “You’ve been very good to me. But . . .”

“That’s the spirit,” she said. “We’ll make a lady out of you yet.”

I just sat and stared at a spear of sunlight come through the window. All the dust dangled and floated in it, glowing like magic. Funny how light can do that, make crummy old dust glow. It made me miss the woods, the trees, where light did all kinds of amazing things that it never got to do in a city.

It only took me a week to hate Mrs. Jessup. She just wants to teach me Book stuff, and not even the Book stuff I like. She wants me to learn the sacred catechisms, the holy creeds, which of the seven candles get lit during worship and in what order, all that ceremonial junk. I try to ask her about the story about the witch who gave the sad king bread, or the time God’s big finger wrote mysteries on the banquet hall wall, but she won’t have any of it. Nope, all Mrs. Jessup wants to talk about are rules and rules and more rules. But what about the stories?

No one here will ever let me alone. What’s worse, when someone finally does—like Tommy, my only true friend in the world—I miss him. I don’t understand anything about myself, how I feel. I don’t understand what happened in the woods with Sylvia, same as what happened with the Preacher, except darker, meaner. I know I did something, and it was magic. I just don’t know how.

But I want to know. I want to learn. About Momma, about magic, about where I come from. I know Bobba’s out there, somewhere. I know she’s got some answers for me, if I can only find her. Something tells me I will. Something tells me Bobba knows I’m coming for her, that she’s getting impatient already, waiting.

I started stealing things, small stuff, like apples and teaspoons and even a butter knife once, just to do it. I keep them all in a secret spot, under a loose board in my closet. I know it’s wicked of me, but it makes me feel better, like I’m not totally stuck, like I have a little bit of power in the city world.

I miss the woods. I miss campfires and waking up at dawn, covered in dew. I miss hearing owls at night, wandering wild and alone, nothing but bandits for friends. I miss the music and the wine. I miss the whole forest singing to me, telling me its secrets. Mostly though I miss Gruff. I miss him every day.

That’s why I’m leaving tonight. Aunt Barbara’s off at a gala somewhere, and there’s nobody to look after me but a maid and she’s long asleep. I think Aunt Barbara will be glad to be quit of me. I think I’m doing her a favor.

Tommy is different, though. He hasn’t hardly spoken to me since what happened to Sylvia. We’re barely even friends anymore, not like we used to be. But I can’t just leave him without a good-bye. After he goes to bed, I sneak up to his room and creak open the door. He’s asleep already, and he doesn’t stir. I pull the covers back and crawl into bed with him.

“You’re leaving?” he says.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I say.

“Is it because of Sylvia?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. I just didn’t know it would do anything,” I say. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“I love you,” he says.

I pull him close to me and we hold each other, same as we did those nights in the forest, clinging together like the broke-hearted orphans we are. No one else could understand what it’s like between me and Tommy, what we went through, like we’ll forever have a secret that’s just ours, that we can always come back to, that will always draw us back together. I hope so, at least. When Tommy’s breathing slows and