I am afraid to move, and yet I am starving for air. What will become of me when I give in? Wind and rain mercilessly lash out at my body, and I have no choice but to bend. My body bows and twists until I hear the noise of a twig breaking. Twigs seem to be snapping all around me and inside of me. Twigs, branches, bones. I collapse to the ground, gasping for air, but filling my lungs with dirt and pebbles instead.
And then I hear the voice. “Don’t fight, just be.”
I breathe deeply, my throat searing in pain as air forces the dirt out of my body and back into the earth.
Monday, May 14
The night had been largely uneventful. Granny had baked muffins deep into the wee hours, but she’d insisted that I got a good night’s sleep. I wasn’t sure if she really wanted me to be bright-eyed for school, or if she simply wanted me out of her kitchen so I wouldn’t somehow ruin the muffins just by being there. I’d fallen asleep without any problem. Still, my eyes felt and looked far from bright when I awoke.
I remembered little of the dream I’d had, but an undeniable sense of fear lingered even as I made the daily trek across the backyard for eggs. I spotted a paw print in the dirt just outside the chicken coop and gasped. The print was about eight or nine inches across with big, long claws. Much larger and more ferocious-looking than an ordinary wolf’s. My heart banged in my chest as I forced myself to push open the door. I dropped the basket in the dirt and stood frozen among clumps of brown and white feathers, bits and pieces of chicken, and blood.
“Granny! Come quick!” I screamed. My stomach lurched, and when I swallowed, I tasted bitter bile. I clenched my eyes until I heard the clomping of Granny’s boots on the path.
“What is it, child? What’s all the fuss about?” Granny arrived huffing and puffing, trying to catch her breath. Of course, I didn’t need to answer, because the terrible massacre lay before her eyes. Waving her hands, she stumbled as she stepped back. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”
“It’s so awful! How could it do this? How could it kill all of our chickens like this?”
Granny ushered me out and shut the door behind us. “I’ll clean it up when you’re at school. Try not to think about it.”
“But…” What, did she think I could erase it from my mind, like it had never happened?
“Come back inside. I have the muffins all packed for you to deliver to Miss Cates. The money we’ll make from this order will get us some more chickens at market this afternoon. See? It will all work out.”
I wanted to believe the words Granny had delivered so brightly and assuredly, and yet her hands were trembling, and her face had already turned a sickly white.
As soon as I arrived at school, I could not wait to hand off the muffins. For one thing, my basket was horribly heavy; for another, I hoped that once I had Miss Cates’s payment and could replace our chickens, things would be back to normal for Granny and me in no time.
“Miss Cates, wait!” I called when I spotted her passing the climbing tree. I caught up with her and opened the basket lid. “Here’s your order of muffins, as promised.”
As usual, the small, birdlike woman wore her light blond hair pulled into a bun that perched on the top of her head, but today she’d tucked a white blossom into the side of it. She peeked into the basket and said, “They’re lovely, and I’m sure every bit as delicious as they smell. But I’m sorry, Red. I didn’t order any muffins.” She chuckled softly before rambling on. “That’s a bit extravagant for anyone I’d think, especially for somebody who’s saving every last penny for her upcoming wed—”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked. Some younger girls were singing a jump rope ditty at the side of the schoolhouse, so it was possible I hadn’t heard her correctly. I must have misheard.
“Your grandma probably mixed me up with someone else. Mix-ups happen, you know. Especially when we grow older.” Miss Cates raised her eyebrows sympathetically and handed back the muffins. Somehow my basket felt even heavier than when I’d schlepped it all the way to school.
“She specifically said they were for you,” I insisted. “It wasn’t a mistake. Granny might not be a spring chicken—” Oh, why had I used that particular expression, when the horror of finding our massacred chickens was all too fresh? And if Miss Cates said she hadn’t made the order, certainly she wasn’t planning on paying for it. Where would we get the money to buy new chickens? “—but she’s sharp as the tip of an arrow.”
When I thought about all the time and ingredients Granny wasted on the muffins—never mind my most unpleasant trip to Violet’s house for milk—I shook my head in confusion and disappointment.
What went wrong? Was Miss Cates lying?
No, of course not. Why would my teacher lie about a muffin order?
I hated to entertain the idea, even as a teensy possibility, but could Granny be losing her marbles?
Miss Cates’s thin lips formed a gentle smile. “Why, of course your grandmother is sharp. I didn’t mean anything by that. I truly am sorry, Red. I’m certain you’ll be able to sell the muffins at market. Now, I need to tend to some tasks in the schoolhouse before the day officially commences. If you’ll excuse me…”
I picked up the awful sound of Violet, Beatrice, and Florence’s laughter from behind the little gray building, where the oldest boys were playing horseshoes. The girls were too far away to have heard anything, so they couldn’t be sniggering at me—but for some reason, it felt like it. Their laughter waxed as they crossed over to me.
I didn’t know what they wanted, and I wasn’t about to stick around and find out. Turning my back to them, I started climbing the steps.
Violet grabbed my shoulder. “What’s in the basket, Red? Are those the muffins you said Miss Cates ordered?” she asked. “Why didn’t she take them, then?”
I wriggled out of Violet’s hold and tried to think of something to say—anything that would make sense without letting on that my granny might be slipping. Then it struck me: at Violet’s house, I’d mentioned that Miss Cates had made an order, but I never said that she’d specifically requested muffins. Either Violet had jumped to that conclusion on her own, or—and I clenched the basket tighter as the revelation struck me—Violet Roberts had everything to do with the “mix-up.”
Forcing myself to smile pleasantly, as if nothing was wrong, I flipped open the basket lid. Beatrice’s eyes widened and I could all but see her mouth watering. I cleared my throat and held up my chin, hoping my forthcoming lie would sound completely convincing. “Oh, no, Violet. These aren’t for Miss Cates. I was merely asking her permission to give these muffins out to our classmates as samples.”
“You mean, for free?” Florence raised her left eyebrow skeptically. “Why would she do that? Doesn’t she have taxes to pay, like the rest of our parents?”
“Yes, Florence, for free,” I said. “My granny is very generous.” Generous enough to offer me to a dragon at suppertime, once she finds out I’m giving away her baked goods.
Beatrice and Florence lunged forward, clearly wanting a go at the treats, but Violet held her arms out, holding them back. Violet pulled a face as if she was trying to do a difficult arithmetic problem in her mind—or even a simple one, for that matter. “Red, I think you must be confused,” she said. “When you were at my house looking for milk, and my charitable mother gave you some out of the kindness of her heart, I could have sworn you said Miss Cates ordered a bunch of muffins.”
“I never said Miss Cates ordered a single muffin. Plus, the milk I used for these delicious morsels came from Peter, not your mother. It seems you’re the one who’s confused, Violet.”
Violet narrowed her eyes at me as Beatrice and Florence pushed past her arms.
“They do look delicious,” Beatrice agreed. “May I?”
It was almost time for Miss Cates to ring the bell, and as the schoolchildren made their way into the yard, they paused to see why Violet and her two best friends had flocked to me and my basket. “My granny is the best baker in the village,” I said, loud enough for all to hear. “And today, she’s decided to give you all free samples. There are plenty of muffins to go around. Help yourself, and remember to tell your families how delicious Granny’s baked goods are,” I said, holding a muffin beneath Beatrice’s sniffing nose. “Tell your parents to get their orders in as soon as possible, because there’s sure to be a waiting list!”
As Violet’s two closest friends seemed to relish every bite of their samples, I recalled all the times that Granny had rubbed her aching arm. Violet’s malicious prank hadn’t only been a waste of time and ingredients; the extra baking had worsened Granny’s pain. I clutched the basket in anger, wishing that Granny had baked poison into her muffins.
“Oh, that’s an excellent plan,” Violet said, standing in the way of me handing out the samples. “I really do hope your granny gets hordes of new customers. Because let’s face it, Red; you sure could use a new pair of boots.”
“Oh, it will work just fine,” I said, and then took the entire top off a muffin with one very big, unladylike bite.
Miss Cates slipped outside and rang the bell. “Time for class,” she called. “Don’t tarry, students. We have much to learn today.” Everybody rushed up the schoolhouse steps, and those who hadn’t had a go at a free sample grumbled and moaned. “You will have your chance to enjoy one of the Widow Lucas’s muffins after school,” Miss Cates promised. “Red, please leave your basket out here. Otherwise, I’m afraid it will only be a distraction.” I only nodded, as my mouth was impossibly full. She took a blueberry muffin for herself and filed into the little stone building behind the last of her students, apart from Peter, who was clearly trying to slip in before our teacher realized he’d only just arrived.
“Peter! You’re tardy again,” I chided him. “Do you get your chuckles out of having to wear the dunce hat?”
He swept his hair out of his eyes and smiled at me. “Oh, come on, Red. I know you think I look quite dapper in it.”
Well, he kind of did. Then again, I thought he always looked adorable. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. “Here, have a muffin,” I said instead.
“What’s the occasion? My un-birthday? And what in the land happened to that one?”
I’d forgotten about the half-muffin in my hand. “Oh, right. I ate the top off. Here, have a whole one.”
I held my basket out for Peter to make his selection, but he took the first muffin I’d offered. “I’d much rather this one.”
I set the basket down and followed him inside. I was so absorbed in trying to keep from blushing while he ate my leftovers that it took me a moment or two to feel the heat of Violet’s stare from the front of the room. As I scooted to my desk, I gave her a little wave, and she turned her back to me, her curls glistening in the sunlight as they bounced perfectly into place. I didn’t know how, but I wanted Violet to suffer for what she’d done to my grandmother.
“Yes, ma’am. May I please be excused to use the loo?”
“I’ll be dismissing class in twenty minutes. Can’t you wait?”
Florence shook her head no, and a twelve-year-old named Roy chuckled from the back row.
“Very well.” Miss Cates sighed and then began doling out our assignments, youngest students first.
Meanwhile, Florence marched down the middle aisle of desks, pausing to elbow Roy in the ribs. He grunted, and the girls next to him giggled. When Miss Cates struck her desk with a ruler, we all snapped back to attention. I’d just put the finishing touches on my writing exercise when Florence returned, and I wondered what had taken her so long. Perhaps Granny’s muffins hadn’t settled well with her after all, and I had to admit the thought of her in such a nasty predicament made me smile to myself.
Once Miss Cates dismissed the class for the day, she called me up to the front of the room. While I gathered my books, I felt some of the other students watching me, probably wondering if she was going to lecture me. I hadn’t broken one of Miss Cates’s rules, at least not that I was aware of. Unless maybe she’d decided that handing out baked goods on the school yard wasn’t allowed and was going to give me fair warning, which wouldn’t really matter because I highly doubted Granny would send me to school with a basketful of muffins ever again. Still, I had to admit I had a few butterflies in my belly as I wove through the desks toward the teacher.
Miss Cates clasped her fingers together and propped them on her desk. “You were right, Red. Your grandmother’s muffins are delicious. How is she at baking cakes?”
“Only the best in the land,” I said. “The king himself would fill his royal dessert table with her cakes if he were ever fortunate enough to try a bite.”
“That is quite impressive.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Please tell your grandmother that I’d like to have her bake my wedding cake. I’ll be in touch with her shortly.”
I let out a little squeal and covered my mouth. “Yes, Miss Cates. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome, Red.” She smiled at me as I took off for the door. The promise of a wedding cake order put a spring in my step. With any more luck, I hoped to find my basket empty and everybody running home to plead with their parents to buy Granny’s baked goods. Granny would have more orders coming in than she could fill!
The basket wasn’t empty, though. It was full.
Full of manure.
For a moment or two, I could do nothing but stare at the horrid brownish-green pile while anger boiled under my skin. Finally, I snapped the lid of the basket shut and dropped it to the ground, but the mucky odor and a swarm of flies lingered.
Clenching my jaw, I scanned the school yard for Violet and her friends. It seemed they’d cleared out, along with most of the others. They all had to help their families get ready for market and other such things. Tasks much more important and pleasant than washing a cow pie out of a basket. Stupid me to have assumed Florence actually needed to use the loo. As if giving Granny a forged muffin order wasn’t enough! I was so consumed by rage I didn’t even notice Peter until he was right beside me.
“Ready, Red?” he asked. He wrinkled his nose and peered at the bottom of one boot and then the other. “Do you smell something?”
“No,” I lied.
He tossed a rusty horsehoe into the air, but I could tell he was trying sneak a sniff in my direction. A couple of boys poked their heads around the corner, obviously waiting for him to come back to the game they’d been playing behind the schoolhouse. “Hold your noses,” he called back to them. “I mean, horses. Hold your horses.” To me he said, “Let me just wrap up this game and then I’m all yours.”
All yours, he says. Apart from dancing at the Forget-Me-Not ball with evil Violet. Suddenly, my bodice felt two sizes too tight. “Thank you, but I’d rather walk home by myself today.”
Peter raised his left brow. “If you’re in a hurry, those rogues can get on just fine without me. It’s not a big deal, Red. These matches go on forever, and they always end the same way.” He threw the bag at me and I caught it with ease. “Unless you’re playing, in which case I sometimes lose.”
“No, really. Run along and give those boys a slice of humble pie. I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter.” I chucked the bag well over his head, but he jumped and managed to catch it anyhow.
I could feel his handsome dark eyes on me as I grabbed my stinking basket and headed for the stream. The ferns and trees became nothing but blurs of green as I passed them, wondering how in the land I’d be able to buy new chickens at market without any money. The bloody, nightmarish scene that had greeted me in the coop that morning flashed before my eyes, and I blinked back the tears. Crouching, I let the chilly springtime water rush into my basket, the stench of manure fitting for the anger that filled my soul.
I hated Violet for tricking Granny into making so many muffins—and worse, for getting Granny’s hopes up. I hated Violet most of all for having dug her claws into Peter. Though I tried to stop them, the tears started dripping down my face and into the water. The last traces of Florence’s nasty surprise flowed downstream, and while I checked to make sure the basket was clean, I heard footsteps. I turned to see Peter emerging from the trees.
“Hallo, Red,” he greeted me.
“What are you doing here? I told you to run along and play your game,” I said, dabbing my cheeks and nose on my sleeve before standing upright. Usually, I yearned for Peter’s company, but not now. Not when I’d been crying.
“I know. I guess I’m not very good at following directions.” He shrugged. “But do you want to know something I’m quite good at?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me, whether I care to know, or not,” I grumbled.
He chuckled. “You know me well, Red. And I know you. Something is bothering you, and I’m not letting you go home until you tell me what it is.” He spread his legs into a wide stance and blocked my way.
I crossed my arms over my chest and tried not to smile. “It bothers me that you’re so smug you think I’m going to spill my heart out to the likes of you,” I deadpanned. Deep down, I loved that he’d noticed something wasn’t right with me. Still, how could I tell him the truth without sounding jealous? I had no right to feel that way—Peter and I were only friends. “Besides, if I wanted to outrun you, Peter, that’s precisely what I’d do.”
He chuckled again. “I suppose you have me on that one. Still, I really think you should tell me what’s troubling you. You can start by explaining why you’re washing your basket out in the stream. I’ve heard some buzz about the king’s new market rules. Is having a sparkling clean food carrier part of this new decree?”
“I wish.” I sat on a log, and Peter nestled in beside me. “Instead of the usual apple pie, there was a cow pie in it.”
Smirking, he swiped his hair off his forehead. Though I’d been angry only moments ago, now that I thought about it, it was a teensy bit funny. Then his mouth dipped into a frown. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Who would do such a thing? Oh, wait. Let me guess. Violet.”
“Well, I think Florence actually did the dirty work, but I have a strong suspicion Violet was the villainous puppeteer.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Now I was even more confused. It would be one thing if Violet had pulled the wool over his eyes, but if he knew full well how vile she truly was, why would he choose her, of all the girls in all the land?
“But she said you promised her the first dance at the ball,” I said. Although the subject probably sounded out of the blue, at least it was finally out there—the thing that was truly bothering me all this time. I didn’t know what I expected him to say, but I hoped he’d tell me it was a load of codswallop.
“It’s the truth.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. It looked as though he wanted to say something more. He didn’t. And really, what else could he say?
Crestfallen, I turned away from him and pretended to be preoccupied with tapping the excess water out of my basket. “Well, I’m sure the two of you will have a delightful time,” I said way too brightly.