His Kind of Home

by Hollis Shiloh

  Matt caught his arm and held on. "You're terrified of him. Why do you stay? Why do you stay to be treated like dirt?"

  He shrugged, looking at the floor, his gaze blurry. "Who else would have me?" He longed for the wizard to love and respect him, to be a father to him, to be proud of him. He kept hoping that would happen someday.

  "He doesn't even see you," said Matt, rubbing salt further in the wounds. "He treats you like dirt, and you just let him. Why?"

  Jack ripped his arm free and ran. He went straight to his bed and flopped under the covers, chest heaving unevenly. He wasn't crying, but it was a strange, uneven way of breathing, and his throat was unpleasantly tight.

  "Jack," said Matt, and Jack jumped, not having expected him to follow. He should've expected it, of course: Matt broke all the rules. He didn't seem to know when to leave well enough alone, and he couldn't seem to remember to treat Jack like he was less valuable than any other person in the world.

  "I'm sorry, Jack." Matt sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his back gently. "I shouldn't have said all of that. Do you want me to go apologize to him? I will, if it'll make things better. I didn't know."

  "Know what?" he growled, rubbing his snotty nose on the back of his sleeve and propping himself up on his elbows. He wanted to glare at Matt, but couldn't bring himself to look anyone in the face, humiliated as he was feeling.

  "How you felt about him," said Matt, with an unbearably gentle sound in his voice. He rubbed a little more briskly, and then drew back.

  "I don't feel any way about anyone." Jack flipped over on his back and glared up at Matt, eyes narrowed and squinting. The laundry room was dimly lit, from the curtain that was half open, leaving the room in gloom. The laundry had been done recently, so it smelled fresh and of starch and sunshine and clean air. There were more stacks of folded linen and clothing than there were stacks of dirty linen and clothing.

  He glared up at Matt, waiting for him to say it.

  "That you—" He licked his lips.

  Good. Maybe he wouldn't go any further. Really, the guy had an appalling lack of manners. He just said things, things that should be shut away, not hashed out. And then somehow he got Jack to say things, too. It wasn't fair.

  "That you want him to—"

  "Don't," said Jack, and it came out like a plea, like he was begging Matt not to go any further.

  Matt shut up instantly. He clasped Jack's knee through the blanket, giving it a hard squeeze and a gentle shake. The cheap bedsprings creaked a little. "Oh, Jack."

  Jack flopped back, flinging an arm over his face, and winced when he hit a sore spot on both. He didn't want to say anything. He didn't want Matt here, but the hand on his knee felt nice, warm and safe and friendlier than anyone had been to him in a long time.

  After a moment, he felt the gentle tingles of Matt's magic moving into him through his knee, gliding into it and the rest of his body, and taking away the pain. He kept very still and held his breath.

  After a few moments, when he was feeling nearly good as new, and also less emotionally overwhelmed, Matt gave his knee a gentle rub, bent down and pressed a soft kiss against it, through the two layers of fabric. Then he got up and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  Jack moved his arm off his face quickly and stared at the closed door, blinking. He kissed my knee? Really?

  The next week brought the travelers to town, in their covered wagons and bright jewelry and flashy clothes. He loved their interesting skin tones, their fashion, their clever hands and stern faces, their skill with horses and the way they would do different jobs to earn money, but never stay long, never belong to anyone.

  He snuck out to see them, and saw it was a different group than had been here before. He startled at the sight, because the faces that he glimpsed by the firelight were faces like the one he saw in the mirror: strong nose, darker skin tone, something about the shape of the face, familiar as touch.

  He sat and clapped to the music, and watched the dances, swaying along, singing when he knew the words—which he often didn't—and then went into the fortune teller's tent.

  "You're a good lad," she said, her voice gentle as she took his penny. "Come and sit. What do you want?"

  He was startled. They normally just told fortunes, making up whatever they thought he wanted to hear, and he loved to listen to the sound of their authoritative voices telling him good things for the future, even if he never believed any of it.

  Now this woman was telling him to come and sit and rest, as if she knew him. "Some herbs?" she guessed. "You must be doing well, to offer to pay. Do you have a regular job here?" She looked into his eyes, as if she was really interested in him, both in his face and what he had to say.

  "Y-yes," he said quietly. The lamplight flickered, making her face mysterious and gentler than the harsh lines that were similar to his own.

  "Do we know you?" she asked, reaching up to touch his cheekbone with a gnarled thumb, rubbing. He felt her calluses, and her gentleness. "You could be family. What's yours?"

  "I-I don't know," he admitted, stunned. "I was an orphan. I was in an orphanage near here till a wizard took me home to work for him."

  She clicked her tongue. "Wizards," she said, as if that was all that needed said. He sort of knew what she meant. How could anyone be so interested in books all the time, and so self-important and glad to frighten people with their power?

  She closed a hand on his arm tightly. "So, your mother?" Her voice was almost breathless, and he felt a little afraid. As much as he'd always felt drawn to the travelers, he'd always tried to hide it, because people called him 'gyppo' and other ugly names often enough, even when he didn't let on how much the travelers interested and appealed to him.

  "I don't know," he said quietly. "There weren't a lot of records on me."

  "Ah, you even talk like one of them," she said, drawing back. He couldn't tell whether that was a compliment or the opposite. "Never mind." She squeezed and patted his arm, rubbing a little more with her rough thumb. "Petra!" she called. "Petra!"

  A girl in colorful skirts ducked into the tent, scowling, squinting against the light. It was quite dark out now, away from the fire, so the lamplight must look strong to her. "What?" she asked. She was probably his age, or a little younger. She was pretty despite the strong features that were a lot like his own, only a little more feminine.

  She blinked rapidly and stopped at the sight of Jack. Stopped and stared. Her mouth fell open.

  "Fetch your father," said the older woman, kindly, he thought, and sounding excited, happy, and pleased with herself. She wasn't releasing Jack.

  And all of a sudden he felt a great, glad, welling joy inside him, threatening to burst out and spread everywhere inside him, everywhere.

  "Jack," he said, turning to her. "I'm Jack. What's your name? Did you know my mother? Was she related to you? Please tell me." He never begged, but he was begging now: any scrap, anything she could give him would be precious as gold, and he would cherish and savor it, held close to his chest all his days. "Please."

  She touched him, cupping his cheeks, searching his gaze. "Closer to the light," she said, not answering right away, but taking the time to study him. Then she cracked a smile, a beaming, joyous smile, and gave him a small, pleased nod. "I'm sure of it now. I'm Ulis. You're my Janna's son. Her man told us you died. He must've put you in the orphanage. Should've given you to us, where you belonged. We'd have raised you proper."

  He sat there, reeling.

  "Janna was my daughter," said the woman more gently. "She left us to stay with a gadjo. He said he loved her, but he took her and planted her like a tree to the land. I told her not to come home, my own daughter, but I regretted it so soon. I rue the day," she said, soft and fervent. "Every day, I wished I'd told her, come home, no matter what. Come back to me."

  She shook her head, gazing down at her lap, at the colorful, ragged finery she wore. Gold rings flashed on her fingers, and she wore a shiny necklace, fla
shing with bits of steel and silver, colorful stones and pressed copper charms, and one small cross. She looked up, and he saw clearly the tears in her eyes, even by the low lighting. "She was dead by the time we came back the next year. My daughter was dead. He told us she died in childbirth, and her babe died as well. We didn't come back here for a long, long time after that." She looked away.

  He covered her hand with his own, a lump in his throat. "I'm half traveler," he said, under his breath, trying to wrap his mind around it, to accept it into himself. "You're my grandmother."

  "Yes, and Petra's your cousin, and Lon—" She looked up as the doorway curtain rustled. Ulis smiled up at a man broad of shoulder and wearing work clothes, a ratty red handkerchief tied around his neck. He looked like he could shift trees with his big, hard hands. He had a face like stone—and he looked like a much older, tougher version of Jack.

  "And that's your uncle, my son Lon," she said proudly.

  The big man's face went through shifts, changing rapidly, unexpectedly. It didn't look like his face could hold as many expressions as it did now. Then he moved forward quickly, bending down, and caught Jack into a hug so tight he could hardly breathe, clapping his back hard and holding on as if he would never let go.

  Despite the fact that he could hardly breathe—from the grip and his own tears—Jack felt like he was taking his deepest breath in a very, very long time.

  The party lasted all night long. It was loud, and dangerous, joyous and filled with drink and rage and laughter and dancing. Lon broke every bottle as soon as it was empty, flinging them against stones. Jack jumped the first couple of times. Lon raged against the man who'd let his sister die and then lied and left his nephew captive at "one of those places." He was all for going there tonight and getting revenge, cutting the man's throat, burning down his barn and his house with him inside it.

  Jack was a little scared, but everyone seemed used to Lon's rage and told him they needed to wait, yes, it was a horror, yes, absolutely terrible, and he should have another drink. Lon drank more than a horse, Jack thought, and should've been blind drunk, but still he stayed on his feet.

  There were a lot of travelers, and he knew it would take time to match names to faces, especially when he could hardly see by the firelight or hear over the music. They played ever so much music, and took turns teaching him to dance.

  At first he was awkward and self-conscious, but as the fire hit his veins from the sips of clear liquid he drank, shared briefly from Lon's bottle, he began to laugh and dance and dance and dance.

  Lon patted Jack's cheek, tears springing to his eyes, and took another drink, threw the bottle hard, and turned and pulled him into a dance. He smelled strong, of sweat and a hard day's work, and Jack had never been happier. His cousin Petra, flashing-eyed, curious and confident, taught him other ways to dance, placing Jack's hands on her hips and teaching him to sway. And when he was too tired to dance another step, he flopped down by his grandmother, and she pulled him sideways gently so that he toppled against her, his head ending up in her lap. She stroked his hair away from his ears, and he gave a ragged sigh, and slept.

  They woke him up to eat a little something, and then bundled him into one of the wagons. He thought it was Ulis's, because he could've sworn he heard her voice and her slow, aching movements, but he was too exhausted to wake up and find out for certain. He fell fast asleep in an upper bunk, resting his head against the clean-smelling blankets and pillows in the gentle, non-creaking bed. It was a thin mattress, made of old blankets or possibly straw, but it felt very, very good to him. The wagon smelled of herbs and the same kind of pungent stew he'd eaten at the party. He slept well, a floating, happy, endless sleep. He never wanted to go home.

  Because they wanted him—he knew it, he knew they did. His grandmother and his uncle and even his cousin, although he wasn't sure in exactly what way she wanted him and perhaps he would be a little more wary of her in future, with her flirtatious eyes and swaying hips. He hadn't known much about himself before tonight, but he knew those weren't the sort of hips that called to him. More like Matt's, he thought, one last drunken thought escaping free, one he wouldn't normally let himself have. He savored it half-guiltily, and then let go of it and everything else. The world was just too perfect now to worry about anything, to hold on to any concerns. Life would be perfect now, when he finally belonged.

  He woke with a headache, a bad taste in his mouth, and a grimace on his face. Ulis chuckled and gave him tea. "You don't drink much," she said, as if that made him a child. He shook his head, winced, and sipped some more of the tea. It made him feel better almost right away.

  She moved forward, putting her hand on his forehead and feeling it, then pushing his hair back, as if she couldn't quite help touching him. "You'll come with us, of course. Or are you rooted, the way Janna was at the end?" She looked concerned, as if he might actually refuse.

  He sipped again, and shook his head slowly. "No. I'd give anything to have a family. I'll come with you and do whatever I can to help. I'll learn to juggle or take care of the horses, or—or whatever I can." His throat felt tight, and he wondered for a moment if this was a dream, or if she'd laugh at him now and say she was only joking, of course there was no place for him in this tight-knit community.

  Ulis searched his face with sharp old eyes. "What are you good at already?" She squeezed his wrist hard, comforting his insecurity. "You don't care good for animals already?" The thought seemed to surprise her.

  "I take care of machinery, and I do general chores like chopping wood and stoking the boiler, things like that."

  "Ah." She leaned back, her gaze lighting with respect. "Machinery! Yes, that's a very good skill. You won't need to learn other things unless you want to. There are always things to fix, like Lon's motorcar. He usually fixes it by swearing."

  They shared a smile, thinking of hot-blooded Lon trying to fix a car.

  Jack finished his tea, and she made him something to eat. He could've done it himself, but she wanted to take care of him, and he relished that.

  His cousin slipped inside while he was eating his eggs, and sat down next to him, looking at him curiously. "You staying?"

  He looked at his grandmother for confirmation, then nodded. "Yes."

  "Good." She gave his leg a tight squeeze, and then hurried out again. "Papa!" she called. "He's staying!"

  Jack winced and put a hand gingerly to his head.

  Grandma clucked. "Finish your tea, and don't drink so much next time."

  "I thought I only had a sip," he muttered.

  "Lon's brew is like that. Never mind, we needed to celebrate." She gave him a quick kiss on the top of the head and patted his shoulder.

  He could get used to this, to being touched and taken care of and feeling wanted. He really could.

  After breakfast, he told her he needed to go back to the wizard's and collect his things and say goodbye to a friend.

  He already knew he wouldn't tell the wizard he was going; he wasn't that brave. And if he told Adrienne, she would snort derisively and make rude remarks about "gypsies." He didn't want to hear that. But if he said goodbye to Matt, Matt could tell them later, and he wouldn't have to hear whether or not they missed him.

  Because they wouldn't.

  He thought with a pang of his machinery, and Matt's kindness and that handsome face that filled him with frustrated longing. It wasn't jealousy—not really. He could almost admit that to himself now. He turned the thought away and focused on the new life he'd have. A family. A family he'd never expected to have. At that thought, he could hardly stop smiling.

  He walked back, everything bright and new and shiny. Lon followed him, looking craggy and sour this morning, but not the way he should after what he'd had to drink. He looked dangerous, and Jack didn't worry about anyone ambushing him to start fights.

  Lon waited at the gate for him, one hand on it, looking around, judging the landscape, the house, and the area. It was strange to think about what it mu
st look like to him. Jack was glad Lon wouldn't have to see the area where he slept, or the people he worked with who didn't really like him. He could let himself realize that now, though it still made him ache.

  Because he had loved them, in his way, and wanted them to be his family. But they weren't. To them, he was the servant, the rowdy, uncouth boy who slept in the laundry room. He belonged at the edges of their lives, minding his place, tending the machines and chopping the wood.

  He collected his stash of money, his few worn books, his clothes, his other pair of boots, and stuffed them all in a bag. The bed and blanket weren't his, so he left them. He had a little food squirreled away in the garage, and went to fetch it. He stopped to say goodbye to the motorcar, regarding its shiny surface sadly. He laid a hand on it, and then looked at the boiler, too, missing it already. All the while, his heart hammered as he hoped to get away before anyone knew he was going. But he still needed to say goodbye to Matt.

  He was jumpy, and banged his head, when Matt's footsteps sounded behind him.

  "Sorry," said Matt contritely, moving close. "Can I fix it?" His hands were gentle on Jack's arm, and Jack turned, his smile aching a little, to face him. It was harder than he'd thought to say goodbye.

  The atmosphere had been tense around the house for the last few days, with Matt still indignant on his behalf, Adrienne in a snit about it, and the wizard completely ignoring all of them. And Jack had still been on bread and water.

  He pulled Matt into a hug and impulsively kissed him on the neck. "I'll miss you." He inhaled the smell of him, the clean, masculine, fresh scent.

  "Wh-what? Where are you going?" Matt's eyelashes fluttered, and he looked lost. He didn't release Jack's arms when they drew apart, but held on loosely, rubbing gently with his thumb, probably without realizing he was doing it. His cheeks were flushed.

  Jack bit his lip, weighing how much to say. "I'm a traveler," he said at last. "Or half of one, anyway. I just found out. I'm going away. They—they want me. I have a grandma and cousin and uncle and more relatives too." He bit his lip harder to keep back the feeling of being about to cry. "They…they want me," he repeated. "Nobody ever has before." He turned away, blinking hard, a poor attempt to hide the shameful tears.