Golden

by Cameron Dokey

  The man who farmed the property closest to ours had always been a good neighbor, unconcerned and unafraid of sorcery. Once, several years ago now, he had come to Melisande in the middle of the night. His wife had gone into labor before her time. It was going badly, and he feared to leave her to make the journey to the town to fetch the midwife. And so, though she was no more skilled in childbirth than any other woman might be, Melisande had returned with him and done her best; by morning, the children had been born.

  A boy and a girl, whom the farmer and his wife named William and Eleanor. They were small, for they had been born early, but they grew strong quickly. And they grew to be great squabblers, though they loved each other well, a fact of life that always made their father smile. It was the reason they had been born too soon, he said. They’d shared their mother’s womb no more peaceably than they did their father’s farmhouse.

  The young boy, William, had a fondness for our apples. I often spied him in the orchard when the fruit was ripe. That time had not come yet, but I was hoping to catch a glimpse of William anyway, for I knew he liked to climb trees as much as I did. I found him in the second tallest tree in the orchard. My tree was the tallest, and that tree he never climbed.

  “Come down, William,” I said. “I want you to do an errand for me, if you will. Please go and fetch your father. I need to speak with him.”

  “What will you give me if I do?” the boy asked. In addition to squabbling, he also drove a hard bargain.

  “I will give you this orchard for your very own,” I replied. “Would you like that?”

  “You can’t,” he said at once, but he did slide down out of the tree to stand beside me. “It doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the sorceress.”

  “What makes you think I would make such an offer without her permission?” I inquired, though in fact, I had not yet spoken to Melisande. The boy stood for a moment, staring at me with wide eyes. “Go fetch your father, William,” I said again. “It’s important.”

  Without another word, he turned and ran for home.

  Before too many minutes had passed, I saw the farmer climbing swiftly up the hill. He was alone.

  “Good day to you, Rapunzel,” he said.

  “Good day to you, Farmer Harris,” I replied.

  “My son has been telling me wild tales,” the farmer said.

  “Sooner or later, Melisande and I must leave this place,” I said, seeing no reason not to come straight to the point. “You know what they have been saying in the town.”

  “I do,” he nodded. He hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain whether to say any more. “I had thought, perhaps, to see you and the sorceress go before now.”

  I shook my head. “We will go when Melisande decides the time is right and not before. But I would not...” To my dismay, my voice faltered. Now that I had come to speak of it, the truth of what I was about to say struck hard. Very soon now, we would have to leave the only home that I had ever known.

  “There’s the livestock,” I said. “And what’s left of the crops. If the mob comes ...”

  “I know,” the farmer said at once, and his face grew sober. “I know, Rapunzel.”

  “Would it not be a fine thing,” I asked, “if both these farms were yours? One could be Williams when he grows up. The other could be a dowry for your daughter.”

  “It might be a very fine thing,” Farmer Harris said slowly. “It would be hard work until my son is grown, though.”

  “I cannot help with that,” I said. “But perhaps, if the livestock were already in your own barn? They could be more easily cared for that way, I think. Except for the horse. We might need her for the journey.”

  “My wife’s brother is young and strong,” the farmer said, as if thinking it over. “He might come.”

  “That would be a great help,” I said, at which he gave a quick smile.

  “You have it all worked out, then?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Of course not. It’s just—they’ll drive us away,” I burst out suddenly. “You know they will. I don’t want everything we’ve cared for so well and for so long to belong to those who wish us ill. Not if I can help it.”

  “If they arrive before you are ready, come to me,” the farmer said, and now his voice was strong and resolved. “My barn can hold more than extra livestock. On behalf of my son and daughter, I thank you for this kindness.”

  “I’ll start bringing the animals tomorrow,” I said.

  And so we left one another.

  I got home to find the sorceress standing at our back door.

  “I’ve told Farmer Harris he can have the place when we leave it,” I said. “I’ll start taking over the first of the livestock tomorrow. If he already has them, it will be harder for others to take them away.”

  “That’s good thinking,” Melisande said quietly. “Thank you, Rapunzel.” She made a gesture, the first I’d ever seen from her that looked anything like helplessness. “I meant to speak of this before now, but—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted swiftly. “As long as we both agree now.”

  “We agree,” the sorceress said.

  “So that’s all right, then,” I answered. “Now, what else needs to be done?”

  Melisande’s expression changed then, though I would be hard put to explain just how. It was as if I had answered a question for her, rather than asked one of her. And the answer had settled things, once and for all.

  “We should decide what we want to take with us,” she said. “And have it ready, for we may have to go at a moment’s notice.”

  “That is easily done,” I replied. “For there’s not much I want, save for you and the cat, and this kerchief, but I usually have it on.”

  “Life is very simple, then,” Melisande agreed. “For as long as you are with me, I am satisfied.”

  “A little food and water might be a good idea, though,” I said, amazed to feel myself starting to smile. I might share her heart, but for the moment it seemed that I alone was all that she required.

  “Oh, indeed,” the sorceress replied.

  In the days that followed, we set about doing what needed to be done. By the end of that week, all our livestock—the goats, the cow, the sheep and the pigs—had been walked across the fields to the Harris farm. The belongings Melisande and I planned to take with us were tied in two large shawls, which sat in readiness by the front door. Melisande’s sewing basket, which had a hinged lid, stood ready to carry the cat. I spent many moments explaining this future indignity to him, promising that it was absolutely necessary and would be as short-lived as possible.

  And still the weather stayed hot, and the tinker and his boy did not come.

  Seven

  Eventually, of course, the matter was taken out of our hands, for that is the way of things, more often than not. Returning from the orchard late one day, where I had been battling wasps for apples that the heat had brought down before their time, I saw a great cloud of dust. From the hill on which the orchard stood, I could trace the clouds path with my eyes: from the main road, off onto the several branching ones that, eventually, led to our front door.

  No! I thought. It would be bad enough for the mob to catch us at all, but for them to find Melisande alone ...

  Without another thought in my head, I sprinted for home.

  Halfway there, my brain kicked in, reminding me that if I simply burst in upon whatever I might find, not only would I be unable to aid the sorceress, I’d hand myself over to our enemies as well. So I stopped, set the basket of apples down, and took a breath. Then, leaving the basket where it was, I continued more slowly.

  There was no one in the garden. The back door was shut, and I could hear no sound from inside the house. In the whole yard, there seemed to be not a single breath of air. The back of my neck prickled with tension. I crept around to the front and found a horse standing in our yard. Its flanks were covered with sweat. White foam flecked its mouth. I stood for a moment, while my own sw
eat dampened the back of my dress, trying to decide what should be done. Unless cared for, a horse ridden as hard as this one could sicken.

  I suppose there’s nothing for it, I thought, as I took a single step forward. If its master had evil intentions, the horse would suffer quite enough without my adding to its misery.

  “Don’t you touch him. Stay away,” a shrill voice called.

  Instantly I took the same step back, cursing myself. I’d let my love for animals get in the way of my good sense. Again.

  “I only want to wipe him down,” I said. “He shouldn’t be left to stand. He’s been ridden too hard.”

  “I said stay away,” the voice said again, and now I could see to whom it belonged. In the lane right outside our gate sat a serving boy on a horse of his own. The lad was big and strapping, for all that his voice had been shrill. He had ears like pitchers. Great, doughy hands clutched hard at the reins so that the horse’s feet were never still. It tossed its head and showed the whites of its eyes.

  He is infected by his rider’s fear, I thought.

  “I only want to wipe him down,” I said again. “And I can bring you a drink of water, if you like.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” the boy replied. “How do I know what you might put in it? You serve the evil sorceress.”

  “I do not,” I answered smartly, probably more smartly than I should have done. But that word, evil, was pounding in my head, driving out caution. “I’m nobody’s servant, and if you think that Melisande would harm anyone, you’re just plain wrong. Maybe you should consider keeping your mouth shut. Your ignorance is showing, and it’s not a pretty sight.”

  “What would you know about pretty?” the boy shot back. “I’ve heard about you. They say that you are cursed and have no hair at all.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said, though I was responding to the first part of his words, of course. My voice was loud and brave, but by now my heart had begun to knock against my ribs. What was I doing, standing here arguing in the yard?

  “Show me your head and prove it, then,” the boy challenged, for of course I had a kerchief on, as always, and my favorite one besides.

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” I said. At which he laughed, and it was not a joyful sound.

  “You’re afraid of me,” he said. “You ought to be.”

  All of a sudden, I understood the urge to strike the first blow, to harm those you think mean to injure you before they get the chance. For his words made me angry, and my fingers itched to find a rock and throw it. But before I could do anything so rash—before, in fact, I could do anything else at all—the front door of the house slammed back and a man stalked out into the yard. I spun toward him. He stopped short. We stared at one another.

  He was a few years older than I was, or so I judged, dressed in the fine clothes of a wealthy man from the town. A merchant, perhaps. They always dressed well.

  “So,” he said at last. “You have grown up tall. I wondered if you might, your legs were so strong.”

  I did my best to hide my confusion, but I must not have been very successful.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he inquired.

  I opened my mouth to say that of course I didn’t, when I looked into his eyes. They were a color I had seen just once before, a blue more blue than any sky. In that moment, a memory I had forgotten I possessed returned to me, and I discovered that I knew him after all.

  “You are the boy,” I said. “The tall boy who kicked the ball so well.”

  He smiled then, and it was like the sun appearing on a cloudy day, just when you have given up any hope that such a moment might come.

  “And you are the girl who was faster than any of us,” he said. He made a gesture, as if both calling attention to and dismissing the rich garments that he wore. “As you can see, we have both grown up.”

  “You have done well,” I said.

  He shrugged. “My father died young and I am his only son. But I ...” He paused and took a breath. “I have never forgotten the day we met.”

  The things you saw in your own heart, I thought. But I did not say so aloud. For this I did remember clearly: Not even he had been able to hold Melisande’s eyes.

  “And so I came to offer you and the sorceress this warning: Leave this place with all possible speed, or you will answer with your lives.”

  I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in.

  “You came to warn us,” I said. “Not to drive us off.”

  “The first will accomplish the second, so I’m not sure it makes much difference,” he said. “But no, I did not come to drive you off. I failed to defend you once. I would prefer not to make the same mistake a second time. Consider this the payment of a debt.”

  He moved then, striding across the yard to mount his horse. Then, for one moment only, he looked down.

  “I do not think that we will meet again. Go quickly, and fare you well.”

  Then he spurred his horse back into the lane and vanished down it in the same cloud of dust with which he had arrived. But the serving boy, freed from his master’s presence and his fear alike, was not quite done. With a great cry, he aimed his horse through the gate, straight at me, acting so quickly I had no time to step aside. With one fierce gesture, he yanked the kerchief from my head.

  “I knew it! I knew it! You are cursed!” he cried.

  With a final flourish, he tossed the fabric high into the air, then sped after his master, the horses legs eating up the road. And it was only then that I turned and saw Harry, standing at the corner of the house. In one white-knuckled fist, he clutched the tallest of our pitchforks.

  Slowly I crossed the yard, retrieved my kerchief, shook it out, and put it back on. I did my best to keep my spine straight, like the stems of the black-eyed Susans that I so loved. Only then did I realize what strength it took to stand up so tall and straight and unafraid, no matter what comes.

  “I’m sorry, Rapunzel,” Harry said.

  “You didn’t do anything,” I said. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  “Don’t I?” Harry asked. “Thank you for reminding me.” And he came forward then, taking several steps and driving the pitchfork, hard, into the parched ground.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. Every bone in my body seemed to ache, all of a sudden. Even my brain ached, for it felt worn out and tired.

  “How can you ask me that?” Harry cried. “I just stood there. I stood there while he hurt you and did nothing. It was over before I knew what should be done.”

  “He didn’t hurt me,” I said.

  “Of course he did. Why else are you crying?”

  And it was only as he said this that I realized it was the truth. My dusty cheeks were wet with tears.

  “I’m crying because I’m angry not hurt,” I said as I dashed them aside.” The wound he wanted to inflict was over and done with long ago. We’ve done nothing to them. Nothing! But still they’ll come to drive us from our home. All because we’re different, and they are fearful fools who require a scapegoat. Where’s Melisande?”

  “Here,” I heard the sorceress call.

  She stepped out into the yard. On her back she had tied her own bundle. She set mine down at her feet. Her sewing basket rested in the crook of one arm.

  “The cat and I have been coming to an arrangement,” she said. “He agrees not to scratch or cry out, if we agree to keep him in this basket for as short a time as possible.”

  “I’m glad you had better luck convincing him than I did,” I said. I moved to her side and shouldered my own bundle. She handed over the basket containing Mr. Jones, then went back inside for the one in which we’d packed our food supplies. Then she came all the way out and shut the door behind her.

  “Harry,” she said, precisely as if she had expected to see him there on this afternoon and no other. “There you are.”

  “The tinker is at the next farm over,” Harry said. “He said that
you would know the one. And he said you should go quickly to join him. There isn’t much time.”

  “I know.” said Melisande.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked him. For there had been a note in his voice, one I wasn’t certain that I liked.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Harry said. “I’m taking the horse.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” I said. “He’s coming with us.”

  “No,” Harry said at once, and his eyes went to Melisande’s as if seeking support. “Surely you can see that isn’t wise. It’s well enough known that the tinker stops at your door. If he’s seen on the road with your horse...”

  “But...,” I said.

  “Harry is right,” Melisande spoke up. “If we are to ride with the tinker, we cannot afford to give anyone cause to search the wagon.”

  “If anyone asks, I can always say that I stole it,” Harry went on. “I can travel fast and light, and meet up with you later.”

  “In that case,” I said tartly, “I sincerely hope one of us knows where we’re going.”

  “Across the mountains,” Melisande said. “Three days’ journey through the passes, two days across the plains beyond. On the morning of the sixth day, look for a tower rising straight up out of the plain. That is where we are going.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  But the sorceress shook her head. “Not now. There will be time enough for that when we are safely away from this place.” She turned to go, then paused, her eyes on Harry. “Say your good-byes quickly. I’ll wait for you at the top of the hill, Rapunzel.”

  With that, she turned on one heel and disappeared around the side of the house, leaving Harry and me standing in the yard.

  “Six days,” Harry said. “That’s not so bad. Surely even you can stay out of trouble for that long, Parsley.”

  “I am never any trouble,” I retorted. “That falls to horse-stealing tinker’s boys.”

  But I moved to him and reached for his hand before I quite knew what I had done.