Goldeline by Jimmy Cajoleas (i read books txt) 📕

and it only goes one way. It’s better if I let him go on to town. But I can’t. I don’t know why. It’s the same little voice that made me keep him safe in the first place, a little thing chirping away in my heart. I can’t let him go.

“Hey, little boy.” He runs faster, so I yell in my best Gruff voice, “Stop right there if you know what’s good for you.”

The boy freezes. He’s shaking. I know it’s bad, but seeing him do what I say is kind of fun. I get why Gruff likes being the boss, having power over folks. It’s something I’ve never had before. This boy will do anything I tell him to.

“Turn around real slow,” I say.

He does as I say, the whole time looking around like he can’t find me.

“Up here, stupid,” I say.

When he sees me his eyes get big. Snot’s all dribbled down his chin and his cheeks are dirty and red from crying. He’s actually younger than I thought, maybe about nine, two years younger than me. It’s hard to tell though. I’ve seen roughneck toddlers from the country who look tougher than a rich thirteen-year-old.

“They took them out to the woods,” he says. “I’m the only one left.”

“I know,” I say. “I saved you.”

“Are you an angel?”

“An angel?”

“Aunt Barbara says there are angels all around. She says they’re mostly invisible but sometimes they can be anybody. Even gross old Mr. Sellers down the road could be an angel in real life.”

I’ve been a ghost for a long time, but I’ve never been an angel before. Maybe it’d be better to be an angel. Something pretty that people love instead of just being scared of. A ghost means death, but an angel protects people. A guardian angel. I could be that, just this once. It seems like fun.

“Yes, little boy, I’m your angel. What’s your name?”

“How come you’re my angel and you don’t know my name?”

“I know your heaven name. Not your earth name.”

“What’s my heaven name?”

“If I told you, I’d get cast out of heaven forever. They’d rip my wings right off, like the Cursed Ones in the Book. Not to mention a demon would come drag you under the dirt all the way to hell and stab you with pitchforks for the rest of always. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“A demon?” he says, eyes big and scared.

“What’s your name?”

“Tommy,” he says. “Aunt Barbara says my momma’s an angel. That after she died she went up to heaven, same as my daddy. That they’re angels together in heaven, waiting on me. Do you know my momma?”

I was right, I knew it, I could see it in his eyes. He’s an orphan too. He’s just like me.

“No, I don’t know your momma. But there’s lots of us angels out there. I probably just haven’t bumped into her yet.”

“Well, she’s still new up there. She’s only been an angel for a few months. That’s why I’m going to live with Aunt Barbara. That’s why I had all of Momma’s stuff with me, for Aunt Barbara to remember her by.”

“Was Aunt Barbara the lady in the carriage?”

“Nope. That’s just her friend, Miss Lyons. Aunt Barbara lives in Carrolton.” He looks at me funny. “For an angel, you sure don’t know much.”

“I knew enough to save you from those bandits,” I say, crossing my arms. “And they might be heading back this way any minute. Wouldn’t doubt it, not for a second.”

Tommy whips his head around, gazing deep into the woods, scared all of a sudden.

Looking down the road, all I see is a gold ribbon of empty dirt. I don’t understand being scared in these woods. The dark and scratching noises are nothing but deer and possums and raccoons, owls and mice, even sometimes foxes, who are lucky. Nothing really to be scared of here except us bandits. Better than the town full of wicked, jabbering crones and rat-toothed men. All the rich kids that hate you.

I make a big show of swooshing down out of the tree, branch by branch, slinging my hair like a ghost shadow behind me. I hold my hand out to him. “You better come with me. Otherwise the bad guys might come back and kill you dead with their hooks and their hammers. Come with me and let’s get you something to eat.”

He takes my hand and we walk through the woods and back toward Gruff’s camp.

I hope I know what I’m doing.

The path is old, from way before me and Gruff ever wandered these woods, the kind that is cut and forgotten, the good kind. You can barely stand up, the trees are so thick and low. The branches form a roof almost as thick as thatch, and when it rains only tiny droplets get through. You could dodge them and never get hit. The water pools in the curve of the leaves and you can sip from them if you want.

I stop us at a tiny clearing out from the main trail, maybe half a mile from camp. The boy is slow and he keeps crying. He says his shoes are hurting his feet. I tell him to go barefoot, like me, that it’ll make his feet tough, but he doesn’t like that.

“Just you wait here, okay? I’ll be back with food in just a minute. But don’t go anywhere.”

He stares at me with his face all dirty.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s dark. And there are noises.” The tears start again. “What if the bad guys come back for me?”

“Jeez, you’re a scaredy-cat. I never met a kid so scared in my whole life.” He just cries harder. “Okay, well. Let me teach you a song. To keep off the bad things.” And I sing him the nothingsong my momma taught me. I make him sing it with me, his voice almost as high as mine, until he knows it. He learns it real fast, and his fingers move at his side like