Red's Untold Tale (12 page)

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.

November, three and a half years ago

It had snowed the night of my thirteenth birthday, but my new riding hood kept me dry and cozy while I trekked to school the next morning. The freshly fallen snow was already full of little paw
and tail prints; woodland creatures bustled, collecting food and frolicking. I loved how the snowflakes waltzed all around me. Some landed on my nose and on the dark brown waves of hair that had
spilled out of my hood.

The flakes that fell on my cape kept their beautiful crystalline shapes for the mere blink of an eye before melting without a trace, their secret visit safe with me.

As soon as I stepped into the school yard, Priscilla Hanks ran over to me and said, “What a lovely cloak! Is it new?” Priscilla was fifteen and recently betrothed, though she was
only two years older than me. She'd kept her romance secret for a couple of months, but we'd started to suspect she and the shoemaker were courting when she showed up wearing a new pair
of shoes one week and another new pair the next.

I wanted to be happy for her, but I knew that any day now, she'd stop coming to school altogether, and I'd miss her. They'd still live nearby, just above the shoemaker's
shop, and she said I could call on her any time I pleased. Still, I felt sorry for her. Once she married and started a family, chances were slim that she'd ever leave this little village. But
perhaps Main Street was as far as her dreams took her.

“Thank you, Priscilla.” Delighted, I restrained from twirling and instead swished the sides of the cape a little. By now, several of my classmates had gathered to take a gander at my
gift. I knew everyone would notice it; it wasn't very often I had something new, and though most of the girls wore cloaks to keep warm, none I'd seen were half as handsome as mine. I
felt beautiful in it, and I liked that feeling. “My granny had it made especially for me, for my birthday,” I told them.

Violet joined the ring, and her dark eyes looked me up and down. “Wait, did you just say that your grandmother had this cloak made for you? But…it's
red
,” she said,
stating the obvious.

Priscilla said quietly, “I like it very much.”

Violet ignored her and grabbed a small portion of the elegant brocade fabric in her fingers. “You know what they say about a lady in red, don't you?”

I blinked twice, trying to keep my cheeks from heating up. I'd enjoyed the attention Priscilla and the others paid to me, but Violet always had something up her sleeve. I wasn't sure
what she was getting at. “Yes, of course,” I said. “Red repels wolves, so wearing red clothing protects you from wolves.” I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes and
muttered, “I'm not stupid.”

Violet's grin slowly widened, and she said, “Indeed, you're not,” in a tone that made me feel anything but smart. “You know what, Priscilla? I like it very much,
too.” She let loose the fabric she'd been holding and smoothed it back into place. Next she took several steps back, almost knocking over one of the youngest girls. “And red suits
her, don't you agree?”

“I couldn't agree more,” Priscilla said.

Violet crossed her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow. “Good. So it's settled. From now on, her nickname is Red.” As Violet joined her friends Beatrice and Florence,
who'd been waiting on the steps, news of my new nickname spread rampantly through the school yard.

Everyone seemed to like my nickname, and I did, too; but a question nagged at me while I tried to finish my arithmetic problems later that day. I whispered in Priscilla's ear, “What
was Violet talking about when she called me ‘a lady in red'?”

Priscilla shrugged. “I don't know, but I wouldn't worry about it. She's green with envy. Just look how much finer your cloak is than her plain beige one. Besides, I
remember when her sister, Nicola, wore that very cloak she's wearing. Violet probably wishes she had a new one, like you. Remember all those spiteful things she said about me, that the only
reason Timothy wants to marry me is because I'm tall, and he doesn't want any son of his to be as short as he?”

I nodded, embarrassed on Priscilla's behalf. It made her sound like nothing better than a hound that's chosen to breed because it's a good hunter. “I'm sure
it's not true, Priscilla. You have many good qualities. Being tall just happens to be one of them.”

“That's kind of you to say. Thank you.” She briefly smiled before continuing. “At first I was furious at Violet for saying such things. Then I realized that she was
merely jealous. Saying such a thing was her petty little way of getting back at me for having such nice new shoes. I could have said or done something back to her, but I figure that the best
vengeance is forever being the bigger person. Or, in this case, marrying the man Nicola had been batting her eyes at for a good six months!” We laughed, and my mood instantly lifted.

However, it wasn't long before I figured out what Violet meant by “lady in red.”

Once school let out, Peter invited me to join him and his buddies to go sledding down the big hill behind the church. After we built jumps with mounds of snow, Peter handed me his sled, saying,
“Ladies first.” To be candid, the jumps were so high, and the hill so steep…I was frightened. I wanted someone else to go before me. Even then, I wasn't sure if I could muster
the courage to go. “Come on, I'll be right behind you. It'll be a whale of a time. You'll see!”

“I think you just want me to go first because you're chicken,” I said tauntingly. I knew Peter would never back down from a challenge. The first group raced down the hill,
hooting and hollering, leaving Tucker Williamson and me alone at the top.

Tucker Williamson was thirteen, like me. He was scrawny, spotty-skinned, and mean as a badger. Plus, he always had whitish powder in his hair—probably because he was the miller's
son. No one really liked him much, but Peter felt sorry for him and oftentimes asked him along on our after-school adventures. I usually just ignored Tucker, but that was difficult to do when it
was just the two of us. So I smiled at him and hoped the others would be back soon.

His eyes gleamed in a way I'd never seen. It was like he saw me as a nice venison tenderloin one second, and a roach he wanted to trample with his boot—or squish with his bare
hand—the very next. My stomach churned, and I drew my cloak tightly over my shoulders.
What's taking Peter and the others so long?
“Looks like they're having
fun,” I said as airily as I could. “I can't wait to go. How about you?”