At any rate, it felt like little time at all had passed in his new life—living with Matt, in their own wagon, drawn by their own horse, Shelley, that they'd saved up and bought, then worked to tame and train her till she was a steady, calm cob, pulling their wagon faithfully.
Matt had thought Jack would want a motorcar instead, but he was happy with the horse, taking them at the proper pace, keeping up with their traveler family. And Jack had grown to love horses. It was a different sort of love than he had for engines; he would never grow tired of repairing machines, figuring out what made them tick, playing with them. They engaged his mind and hands and strength and skill; they challenged and excited him. But horses…horses calmed him, called to him, touched his heart and let him feel the sheer pleasure of being alive. The two were not to be compared. An engine was a challenge and delight; a horse became a friend.
Lon had, after some discussion with Matt's brothers, brought the whole traveler encampment to the village where the brothers and their mother lived. It was a new place for them, but a good one: they were welcomed, cautiously, and found much work and good trading. Jack repaired a number of engines, and cleaned all the grease from under his fingernails so he could meet Matt's family properly.
Standing next to them, Matt looked like he belonged. He was blond; they were blond. They all had the same sort of build. Except that Matt was slightly smaller and quieter, less boisterous and confident. He almost faded into the background, smiling and happy, but letting others rule the roost. And he wasn't like that elsewhere: he was quiet, but he never fell into the background. At least not for Jack.
He showed no reluctance when they moved on, although he hugged and kissed his Mama, and she cried a little, missing him already. She hugged Jack gingerly as well. He held his breath, afraid to hold her too tightly.
It felt strange to hug a mother; he'd never hugged his own mother. She was soft and smelled of powder, and he wondered again, with a brief flash of regret and sorrow, why Adrienne had never embraced him. He'd been small when he moved in with her and the wizard. Bratty, but young and desperate to be loved. To him, she'd been as close to a mother as he dared let himself think about. Couldn't she have embraced him sometimes?
But now he had his cousin and his grandmother. Petra thumped him on the arm and grinned at him and tried to trip him, but she loved him dearly. And Ulis, with her stern prescriptions of tea and herbs and chores that needed done, held a fierce tenderness. She was not afraid to embrace him, hard-bodied, bony, fierce and jingling with jewelry—and filled up with such love.
At their rare celebrations, she sometimes even came out to the fire to dance with them, cajoled by Jack or Matt. She did love Matt. And her joints were doing better with all his magical help.
Matt was taller than ever, and more beautiful still. He practically glowed with health and gorgeous strength, and the magic grew strong inside his firm, fit body. He'd gotten one last, late growth spurt, and now would always be taller than Jack. But after his first chagrin, Jack found he didn't care very much. They were the same height in bed.
Lon was grim with worry lately. They were heading back to the town that was home to Adrienne, the wizard, and Jack's father. But his worry was not about that. Petra was pregnant.
Her husband was all that could be asked of a man—a quiet, gentle, dark-eyed traveler. Except that this was Lon's only daughter getting married and having a baby, and Lon could barely handle it. He'd lost his sister in childbirth, and now his baby girl was grown up and having a child. Things were tough for him. Petra was doing pretty well, though she got cranky with the morning sickness—even with magic to ease the way—and the fact that she couldn't ride as recklessly as usual.
Jack was letting his hair grow, the curls reaching down his neck drawn back with a leather thong when he worked on machinery or for some other reason needed to keep the hair out of his face. He let the curls go free for Matt's pleasure, when they ended the day together, in their quiet little home on wheels, the horses fed, the activities of the day set aside. Everything in its place, and them all alone, perfectly in tune, smiles wicked and warm, so pleased to be together.
Dear Matt, so much a part of Jack, the little touches of his life meshing so perfectly with Jack's own. The wagon was festooned with dried herbs and other ingredients for the remedies Ulis was teaching Matt. They kept everything spotless when not in use, and in its proper place in their trundling little home. Jack never felt restless anymore, not the way he used to—restless for motion, restless for home. Both at the same time, a longing he'd never understood before.
If he still wondered that Matt could be so at ease with this life, he no longer questioned it, no longer doubted it every day, nor even every week. It was a rare thing now, doubting Matt, or thinking no one wanted him.
Matt stuck close as they neared Jack's old hometown. He looked over once in a while, occasionally putting a hand on Jack's arm and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Are you all right?" his gaze asked. Jack gave him a quick nod and smile whenever he looked concerned.
Well, being here did bring back old problems—memories, insecurities, questions. He didn't suppose any of that really mattered now that he was a grown man, with a life of his own. Did it really matter that his father had discarded him, or that he'd never felt truly like he belonged with the wizard and Adrienne? He tried to concentrate on his new life, his wonderful life of going different places, always something new to look forward to, the familiarity of change and family and work, and Matt. Always Matt.
Behind them, there was a slight sound. Jack glanced at Matt, who'd jumped up from his seat on the wagon. "One of the horses stumbled," he explained. "I've got to check it's okay."
He nodded his understanding and pulled their wagon to the side of the road, to wait. Matt's magic not only kept men, women, and children in good health, it also helped animals. He was getting better at it. It would never be a massive, explosive, impressively powerful magic, but rather a gentle, comforting, fixing magic that helped people in small ways. His little dog, Jinx, was very lucky; he was the sort of dog who got into every briar patch, chased bees till he caught them, tried to follow groundhogs down into their burrows, and picked fights with much bigger dogs. He didn't seem to know his own size. And thanks to Matt, he'd survived every outrageous encounter so far and swanned around cockily, waiting to get into more mischief.
Jack hopped down to pet the horse and give her a treat while they waited. He had a few carrots from the last town, where he'd fixed a threshing machine. The farmer had paid him in carrots. Big, fat, hearty, bright orange carrots. After trading around among the other travelers, packing some carefully in sawdust in crates for the winter, and eating a great deal of carrot stew, he still had enough left to give the horse an occasional treat. He stroked Shelley's nose as she crunched her prize.
Jack looked around. With a blink, he noticed they were nearly in front of his old home—not the orphanage, but the wizard's place. How had he not recognized that old hedge? True, it had grown out a bit, but even so, this space should've been as familiar as breathing to him, or as a punch in the gut.
Well. He'd been focused on driving, and on Matt. Now, he stepped away from Shelley cautiously, moving closer to look over the fence at his old home, that big, rambling mansion that belonged to the wizard and Adrienne. He thought sadly of the good times, and the bad ones, and most of all the incredible anxiety and insecurity he'd had every day. He'd covered them—or tried to—with a veneer of toughness and anger at the world, but they hadn't changed how he'd felt inside.
He smiled slightly, closing his hands over the fence for a moment. If he thought for one second they would be glad to see him, he would stop and say hello. But some wounds were best not picked open. He wondered if the boiler was still working, and who they'd found to tend it. Another orphan, perhaps?
A little boy ran out of the shed, carrying a pitchfork and waving his hands. "Go away, gypsies! Go away!"
Jack removed his hands, raising an eyebr
ow. "You know that's not polite, don't you? You should say 'travelers.'"
The small, scabby kid scowled, face wrinkling up in confusion. He lowered the pitchfork, which was too big for him.
"You work here?" asked Jack gently. "For the wizard?"
The boy, who couldn't have been more than about eleven, puffed his chest out. "Yes! Me and my sister work for the wizard. We do lots of hard work, but some girls come in from the village to help with the laundry."
Sadness washed over Jack. "Do you have to sleep in the laundry room?"
The child's mouth fell open. He shut it again quickly and tried to shift the pitchfork to get a firmer grip. "Go away." He glowered at Jack, trying to look tough.
A little girl in a short dress and a white apron hurried out, looking alarmed. She had a grubby, thin face and appeared a little younger than the boy. They were the sort of hungry, unattractive little kids who would never have been adopted. Too old, not pretty enough, too nervous and distrustful. Not the adorable, friendly children people came looking for.
Sadness washed over Jack. He tried to smile. "Listen, I used to have your job. Don't forget you can grow up and do other things if you want. You don't have to stay there forever."
"You don't know anything," said the boy with a sneer, but he looked uncertain.
"That's right," said Jack. "Then how would I know about the laundry room, and Adrienne's cherry cakes, and not talking when the wizard's eating?" He raised his brows.
The kid took a step back, mouth opening and closing. "You have magic," he said, still scowling. "Gypsy magic."
"Say traveler. Be nice. It really will help you more in life than that scowl." Jack thought of something, and dug into his pocket. "Here, buy yourselves something to eat from the village. I know you're always hungry. And don't forget about growing up. You can be whoever you want then. Being an orphan isn't who you are forever. And you're lucky, you have family. Your sister." He gave the kids a smile and set three big coins on the top of the fence. "I'm going now. Don't forget. You're worth more than just your job."
The boy stared at him, blinking. He'd forgotten the pitchfork, almost dropped it. He looked at the money like it might be a trap. Jack could understand that. He could understand a lot of things. He moved away, smiling gently, and turned back to Shelley, who was watching him, chewing and looking intelligent, as if she had nearly followed that conversation. Sometimes he got the feeling that if the horse could talk, she would have a lot to say.
He climbed up and sat, then clicked his tongue, and they moved on. It wouldn't do to stay here longer; he didn't belong here now.
They trundled slowly on. Matt would ride with someone else, or catch up later. Jack didn't want to park here anymore.
"Mister! Mister!" He glanced over, blinking in surprise. The little girl in the apron, barefoot and grubby, her wild hair untamed, ran alongside the fence, flapping her apron at him like he was a bad chicken.
He slowed Shelley's already slow gait and looked down at the child. "Yes? What is it?"
She grinned shyly, showing missing teeth in her thin face. "Fanks for the money. We'll get big sandwiches. Did you really work here, and aren't magic?"
She must've heard every word. Or else her brother had told her everything right away. Jack smiled down at her helplessly, charmed. "I'm not magic at all. Yes, I worked there for years, straight from the orphanage. And I got into fights, and Adrienne got angry with me, and she and the wizard never loved me. But now someone does."
She smiled up at him, freckled and short and filled with hope. "Maybe somebody'll love me, too?"
"Yep. They will," he promised. "And you have your brother, don't forget him. Hey, do you like carrots?"
She blinked at him. "Carrots?"
"Yes, I have extra from the last village. I fixed an engine," he explained.
She nodded as if she understood. "I like carrots, and potatoes, and every kind of meat." She smiled hopefully.
"All right. How many do you want?" He climbed into the back of the cabin and started counting some out.
"Can I see?"
"Better not come inside. I don't think Adrienne would like that."
"Laura!" called the little boy, sounding sullen and nervous. "Don't talk to him! C'mon!" He sounded like he was trying to be tough but wasn't sure how to act. And feeling self-conscious and like he should be responsible, and confused about life and… everything.
"It's all right, she won't come into the wagon," promised Jack. "I'll hand the carrots over."
"Twelve," said the girl, looking thrilled to be so daring, and a little shocked at herself. "We can eat twelve!"
Her brother hung back, trying to make a face and look above it, while Jack handed across a big bunch of carrots, and Laura accepted them regally. "Thank you, Mister Gypsy," she said, giving him a little curtsy.
"Traveler," he corrected gently. "That's more polite. And my name's Jack. Ask Adrienne about me—she'll tell you how naughty I was, and then you'll look good in comparison!" He gave them both a quick wink, and then set off again.
The little girl waved, clutching the carrots close against her apron. Her brother waved his hand once, reluctantly, as well.
They'd be all right. They had each other.
As he started off again, Shelley picking up her hooves carefully, Matt caught up and hopped up onto the seat beside Jack. He was breathing hard from his quick dash, his hair wild, his face excited and gorgeous. "Jack. You okay?"
Jack leaned closer to push his face against Matt's neck, drawing him closer with one hand, the other on the reins. "Yep, I'm okay." He inhaled Matt's smell—the faintly sweaty cleanness of him, the Matt-smell that comforted him so, every night, and often during the day as well.
"That was your old place. They were your replacements?" he guessed.
Always so perceptive. "Yep."
"Did you want to stop and say hello?" ventured Matt.
How would that be, to simply stop and say hello, just an old acquaintance come to tell them how he was doing these days?
No. The wizard would probably still be annoyed, and little as Jack liked to admit it, or had any real reason for it (the man had probably never actually turned anyone into a toad in his life), Jack was still a little afraid of him.
And he knew very well how Adrienne would act, unless she had changed a great deal. She would be angry with his chosen life, dismissive of his traveler family, and would probably tell him he'd corrupted that nice boy, Matt. She'd scowl at him, slam a pot lid, and be witheringly cold. Then she'd say rude things about gypsies and how she always should've known he was "one of them."
"Running away from your home…after all we did for you!" He could practically hear it. No, he saw no benefit in putting any of them through that. Perhaps if he actually thought they cared how he was doing…but he didn't. It was best to just go.
He faced forward again, not really wanting to talk about it. He shook his head, sighed. "Didn't seem like anything had changed. I don't think they'd be happy to see me."
"I'm sorry," said Matt, taking his free hand, lacing their fingers together, holding on, holding Jack close.
"I know," said Jack. He sighed again. "I wish I could do something more for the kids who are like I was, the insecure kids nobody wants, the orphans so angry at the world, so scared all the time and trying not to show it."
"I wish we could too." Matt leaned against him. His presence was a comfort. "Maybe, someday…" He let his voice trail off, because in what world could two men living together as partners and travelers be of any help to children? They couldn't take in any of them, that was for certain.
"At least I got to talk to them, tell them what I wished I could've told myself at that age."
"Yeah." Matt reached up to rub Jack's shoulder. "Let me know if I can do anything, okay?"
"Okay. Thank you. Was the horse all right?"
"Yeah, just took a minute to fix. It couldn't wait, though, or it could've been bad."
Jack nodded his understan
ding, and they drove on through the village, headed to the other side, to the spot for setting up their encampment.
He almost didn't recognize the man when he saw him: a local farmer, and his own father, Oliver Keenes.
The scowling face barely registered with him as they drove slowly past, letting everyone see they were there: in case of pots needing repair, or tools needing sharpening. He only noticed Keenes properly when he saw the man's quick startle in front of the general store's wide porch.
Keenes turned pale. He fixed Jack with a look that was bleak, angry, and defiant. Then he turned away.
Matt gripped Jack's arm, hard and tight, making a gutted sound in his throat. "Oh, Jack."
"It's okay," said Jack, driving calmly on. "I'm all right."
And he realized it was true. He wasn't faking. He didn't need that man, who had behaved so abominably. He didn't need a reason, or an apology, or any attempts to fix the situation. He had all he needed: his real family, Matt, a horse and wagon, and confidence in his own abilities to earn a living. He had enough.
"It's not my fault, and I don't have to carry that. Keenes does," he said quietly.
Matt squeezed his arm tightly, looking choked up and proud.
They continued regally through the village, sitting tall in their seats. Even Shelley held her shoulders extra high, as if showing off.
Soon they had stopped at the site. Jack was hobbling the horse to graze and thinking of what they'd make for supper when Lon came up to him. Vaguely aware there had been some discussion, he hoped it wasn't going to be about his father. He didn't want to give that man any more space in his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, it was over. Neither Lon nor anyone else needed to concern themselves.
But it wasn't about that. Lon looked at him, scowling a little, looking harried. "I don't want to stay," he said in that abrupt, growly voice of his. "Just tonight to rest the horses, then moving on. Let them repair their own pots this year."
His Kind of Home Page 8
