Red's Untold Tale (14 page)

Behind her, a boy and a girl who looked to be about two years old played with a wooden whirligig. A black-and-white mutt with a sweet face sat at the twins' feet; yet for some strange
reason, as soon as he sniffed me, he darted behind his mistress's banner, tail tucked between his legs.

“Red!”

My old schoolmate had plumped up, and lines had settled under her eyes. Yet the blond tresses that poured out of her shawl gleamed brilliantly in the sunshine, and her cheeks were a pretty shade
of pink.

“Priscilla! It's been ages.” When Priscilla first married the shoemaker, three years ago, they had ordered Granny's baked goods almost every week. In addition, Granny
used to bring me into the shoemaker's shop more often back then, since my feet were still growing.

Look at her now: a mother with a trio of spirited carrottopped children. And though I oftentimes found it sad that Priscilla had settled for an unadventurous life as the wife of the pallid
shoemaker, she actually looked happy.

“It looks like someone drank her mead,” I teased, speaking of the local tradition where newlyweds become fertile after downing the honey liquor for a month. “I want to hug you,
but I'm afraid I might crush that adorable baby of yours,” I said. “He is rather tiny.” It was hard to believe such a little peanut would someday grow into a full-sized man.
Or, if he took after his father, a half-sized man.

Priscilla laughed and gave me a gentle side hug anyhow. The infant stopped fussing and gaped at me with round, slate blue eyes and dewy lips in the shape of an “o.” “Look at
that, my little Ezekiel is quite fond of you.” I never knew I could soothe a baby, and I felt like I'd discovered a new magical power. “I'm glad to see you still wear your
beautiful red riding hood. What kind of mischief have you been into, Red? Tell me everything—every last detail.” She grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“
Hallo
?” An elderly man tapped his cane on the ground to get Priscilla's attention. “I say,
hallo
. How much for that belt there, with the
pouch?”

“I apologize, Red,” she whispered. “I do want to catch up, but I have to sell twice as much as last week to balance the new market fee. And all of this in the shadow of the tax
collection.”

“I understand,” I said, smiling. “Maybe I can come by again, a bit later on.”

“Yes, please do. And best of luck finding your grandmother.” She released my hand and turned her attention to her customer. I was glad to see that several other folks were wandering
over to peruse her wares. When I passed some crates of clucking chickens, I paused to hear how much the farmer was selling them for. There was almost enough in my satchel, but I still needed to buy
or trade for the items on Granny's list.

I figured I might as well wrap up the shopping as I searched for Granny. I tapped my toes while a woman dug deep into the bushels and scrupulously examined each and every piece of fruit before
placing it in her bag. “This isn't enough,” the ruddy-faced farmer said after counting the coins she'd paid him. He told her how much more she owed.

“My, oh, my,” she said, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. “Unless your pears are enchanted, that price is outlandish and I refuse to pay it.” She made a big
production of taking the fruit out of her bag and tossing it back on his cart.

“Suit yourself, you wretched old miser,” he huffed. “Now, shoo. I don't need your sort scaring off all my
sensible
customers.” As soon as the farmer turned
to me and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?” a mob-like commotion exploded from outside the town hall. The people around me dropped what they were in the midst of doing and
migrated toward the hubbub, including the farmer. The pears the woman had returned started rolling, taking some apples with them. I reached over to stop the fruit-fall, and in doing so, something
came over me.

I'd never been a thief, and never thought I'd be tempted to steal, even a little bit. But if I could get the ingredients on the list and keep the money in my satchel, we would be
able to buy the chickens we so sorely needed. “I'll pay you back someday,” I whispered as I stealthily slid pears, apples, and nuts beneath my cloak and then slipped them into my
basket.

My heart thudding, I glanced this way and that. Although I felt a thousand disapproving eyes on me, it must have been only my conscience playing tricks. No one seemed to be paying me any mind. I
sidestepped to the next cart—this one the miller's. A sack of flour was a bit more of a challenge to sneak from my cloak into the basket, especially without smashing the remaining
cookies and rolls, but I inexplicably managed. With sweaty, shaky hands, I clutched my basket, which grew rapidly heavier with each pilfered item. Yet an oddly wonderful feeling flowed through my
veins. Could it be that I was actually good at stealing?

The candles I needed beckoned to me from the next booth, but as I trundled them into my basket, I felt the pang of a sharp object in my knee. I thought for sure I'd been caught red-handed,
but luckily, it was only Seamstress Evans's little pirate boy.

“Gimme a cookie.”

“You'd better be careful,” I said, moving the toy sword off my knee. “If you chop off my leg, I'll be stuck hobbling around on a wooden peg. I don't know
about you, but I'd hate to be accused of being a pirate.”

Snarling, the boy pointed the sword up at my face.

“Or you could put an eye out,” I continued. “And who wants to wear a black patch over their eye? Well, it looks as if you do, but not me.”

He lowered his wooden weapon to the ground, tracing the cobblestones with its tip. “Come on, I want a cookie. Yours are the best in the land.”

“If I give you a treat, will you leave me in peace?” I asked, and he nodded excitedly. I opened the lid of my basket just a hair. The boy watched with a curious expression on his
freckled mug as I blindly felt around. It was as if the stolen flour, fruit, and candles were playing a game with me, one in which the object was to never let me get hold of a cookie. Finally, I
found one and handed it to him with a smile. “Ah, oatmeal raisin. My personal favorite. You're very lucky I even have one left.”

He scrunched his snotty little nose. “Do you have a sugar cookie?”

“Sorry, I'm all out.”

“Don't you have any that aren't broken, then? Come on, I'm sure you do.”

I glanced up to see Tucker Williamson straightening the burlap sacks on his father's cart. With muscular arms and towering over six feet tall, Tucker had grown into a giant compared to the
boy I'd kneed in the groin on the snow-covered hill behind the church. That was the day Peter and the other boys stopped feeling sorry for him and stopped including him in their fun and
games. Ever after, Tucker had become something of a lone wolf, working for his family and showing up at school only rarely.

“My pa said he was about to help you,” Tucker said, “but now he's caught up in some kind of political debate over yonder. He told me to come and get you your
flour.”

“Oh. Um, thanks, but I don't need any today. I'm just passing through, searching for my grandmother. She's probably working out some kind of deal, knowing her. Quite the
savvy businesswoman, you know.” I tittered nervously.

“She doesn't need any flour because she already has a sack in her basket,” said the glib pirate boy before he scurried off with the oatmeal cookie.

Tucker's eyebrows arched as he peered down at me. “Have you?”

My whole face blazed. I took a step back, almost tripping. “That little scallywag has an active imagination, all right,” I said with a chuckle. “Did you know he truly believes
he's a pirate?” I chuckled again, as if my nervousness was bubbling out of me. I might as well have had a sign hung around my neck proclaiming
I AM A THIEF!
for
all to read.

“Come on, Red. Let's see what's in the basket.” Tucker's hand moved in for the handle. I silently urged my legs to run, but they wouldn't budge. If I merely
stood before him, it was only a matter of seconds before he'd find the evidence he needed to expose me. Instead of helping Granny and me get back on solid footing, we'd slip further
into debt and dishonor.
I can't let that happen. I won't!

I was completely parched, yet managed to utter, “Something sweet, just for you.” As my foreign-sounding words hung in the air, I set the basket on the ground and took a deep breath.
I closed the space between us, reaching up for his massive shoulders with both of my arms. Pulling him in, I rose onto my tiptoes and closed my eyes.
Now!
In a tangle of hands, necks,
chins, and finally, lips, I kissed him.

I kissed Tucker Williamson.

What have I done?

I wrenched myself away from
Tucker and touched my lips, expecting them to smack of bitterness or sting as if I'd rubbed poison oak on them—or, even
worse, be covered with warts. Apart from the uneasiness churning in my belly, it appeared I had indeed survived, even if by my last shred of luck.

I was too mortified to make eye contact, but I felt him staring at me. “What…? Why…?” he stammered.

“Sorry, Tucker, but I…I have to go.” I turned on my heels and smoothed the wrinkles out of my cloak. “I need to find my grandmother.”

As I bolted toward the town hall, I heard him call after me, “Red, wait!”

Shaking my head, I shouldered my way through the throng. One by one, young and old, the villagers' eyes hardened with judgments as they looked at me. It felt as if my boots were laden with
rocks, each step more grueling than the last. I touched the gold cross on my chest, and next my lips.
They know what I've done.
If I hadn't had to collect Granny first, I would
have fled the market and gone straight home.
Everybody knows.

Once I was near enough to the soapbox to see and hear who was stirring up such a hullabaloo, I understood why the people really pitied me. As horrible as kissing Tucker Williamson had
been—especially had everybody known about it—I gladly would have done it again, if only I could have stopped Granny from making a fool of herself. From making a fool of the both of
us.

“We've all lost chickens, lambs, and cows,” Granny shouted as people stared at her, some of them laughing, some scowling. “The wolves' hunger grows, and it's
only a matter of time before they hunt for human blood. They have before, and mark my words, they will again. Whenever the moon is full, we must not wander around the village or traipse in the
woods. We must stay in our homes. We cannot allow our young people to have parties and bonfires around Wolfstime.” She gasped for air, and though I stood five rows back, I saw beads of sweat
on her brow. I felt dampness on my brow, as well. “This is why the Forget-Me-Not ball cannot be held on its traditional night this year.” She pointed at the poster that Violet and her
friends had made last week at school and hung in the window of the town hall. “The moon will be full. The wolves will hunt. We cannot lose our young people to the beasts!”

The crowd roared, the vast majority of its members sniggering or elbowing one another. I shut my eyes, wishing I could magically disappear. When I opened my eyes again, two tomatoes were flying
straight for my head; I ducked just in time to miss being pelted. I swung around and glared at the culprits: a group of children—including the pirate boy and one of Peter's little
brothers—perched on a ladder. A head of cabbage hit Granny right in the bosom, making the people point and snigger even more. And if that weren't enough of a nightmare, I caught a whiff
of honeysuckle. Before I could count to three, Violet, Beatrice, and Florence materialized beside me.

“Your dear grandmother is off her rickety ole rocker if she honestly believes she can sabotage our ball,” Florence said, raking her fingers through her reddish locks. Violet and
Beatrice wore matching sneers.

Granny eased her way off the soapbox, and the villagers cheered to have her gone. Taking my arm, Violet led me away from her friends. “Your granny isn't the only one with crazy
thoughts. Silly me, I was under the impression you fancied Peter. Lo and behold, it's Tucker you are pining for. It's not often I misread people so badly.”

I hadn't realized my jaw had gone slack until I tried to respond—and even then, I felt as if the air had been knocked out of my lungs. “I don't like Tucker. I can barely
even stomach him.”

Little by little, Violet raised her eyebrows. “I see. So if you can't stand Tucker, why did you
kiss
him?”

I coughed, and when my voice came out, it croaked like a frog. “What? You saw that?” How could I explain that I'd only kissed him in desperation, to distract him from searching
my basket?

“I was afraid that snaggletooth of his would snag your lip,” she said, clapping me on the back and laughing. “Don't worry, Red. I wouldn't dream of telling anyone.
It will be our little secret. Yours, mine, and Tucker Williamson's.” I wanted to believe her, but the way her eyes gleamed told me that if it was indeed a secret now, it wouldn't
be for long.