by Tanya Huff
That explained it.
On her way to the door, Allie grabbed a pair of jeans she thought were hers and a McGill sweatshirt that had to belong to Holly. Samson watched her go, one ear up, but didn’t follow.
She couldn’t find a matching pair of rubber boots that fit in the jumbled pile on the back porch, so she pulled on a green boot to go with the black one she already wore. Saturday’s unseasonably adjusted warm temperature had already begun to cool but hadn’t fallen far enough for Allie to take yet more time to find a jacket. Skirting the edge of the pasture where the new green was just beginning to show, she reached the point where she’d seen the stag and pushed her way in under the trees.
“Granddad?”
“Over here, Allie.” He was sitting on a fallen log, in an old, stained pair of work pants and a quilted plaid jacket. There were caches of clothing all around the county, the girls taking turns to maintain the protective charms. Above his head, the air shimmered; antlers still very much evident.
Allie frowned and tried to remember the last time she’d seen him without them. Or for that matter, the last time she’d seen him up at the house.
“Is that face for me, little one?”
“Sorry.” He smelled wonderful, like the woods and the wind, and, when he hugged her, his grip was strong, his arms sure. If he’d taken any damage the day before, he wasn’t letting it show. No one really wanted to replace him, but when their blood was up, Gale boys-from Uncle Richard to Zachary, who’d only just joined the circles-tended to act first and think later.
“Worrying too much, Allie. Just be.”
Dropping down beside him on the log, she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “It’s hard to just be when you’re out in the world, Granddad.”
“Good thing you’re here, then.” He kissed the top of her head. “I can’t protect the ones who wander. Off to school. Off to jobs.”
She wondered if he ever wished he could leave, if ever he wanted to roam farther than the land the family claimed. If that was even something he could want after being the family’s tie to place for so long.
“We always come home, Granddad.” It was all she could offer him. For herself, well, it wasn’t coming home she objected to. Home and family defined her as much as it defined any Gale. It was the failing at having a life thing she found less than stellar.
“Not everyone comes home.” His snort had little humanity in it. Allie wrapped one of his callused hands in both of hers, skin to skin, to hold him in this shape a little longer. “There are always those who make other choices,” he said at last and, from his tone, she realized he wasn’t talking about her.
She’d expected Gran back for May Day, expected her to appear and demand to know just what, exactly, everyone thought they were doing. She hadn’t been the only one.
“Be just like Catherine to show up at the last minute,” Auntie Jane had muttered entering the Grove. “Make us shift the whole first circle to accommodate her.”
But she hadn’t come, and Auntie Muriel had anchored the day with Granddad. It would have been wilder with Gran there. Allie was old enough now to know that wasn’t always a good thing. This part of the world had storms enough and no one appreciated a rain of frogs.
Especially not the frogs.
They sat quietly together as dawn shifted to morning, and then Granddad drew his hand from hers.
“Your brother is on his way. We have to talk, he and I.”
“David’s not…”
“Just talk,” he told her as he stood. But the shimmer had grown more pronounced, and she could see the point where the antlers grew up out of bone. “We aren’t controlled by what the old women think is likely to happen.” When Allie couldn’t control her expression in time, he grinned. “Although it’s easier to maintain that belief out here in the woods-and you didn’t hear me say it.” He bent, carefully, to kiss her cheek. “Come and find me again to say good-bye before you go.”
“Where am I going?”
“That choice, little one, is yours.”
Somehow she managed to keep her reaction to that bit of Yoda philosophy from showing on her face.
David met her halfway across the meadow and they adjusted their paths to leave a little more room between them, knowing the steps of the dance without having to consciously consider them. By tomorrow or the next day they’d be fine, but this morning, with David still showing an impressive rack of horn, better to be safe than sorry.
“Your boots don’t match.”
“It’s a new style.” She pointed at the red curve cut into his cheek, centered within a purpling arc of bruises. “Tell me that wasn’t Dmitri.”
“It wasn’t.” When she continued to stare pointedly at him, he rolled his eyes. “Uncle Evan.”
“How’s he?”
David shrugged one broad shoulder, as though the information wasn’t worth the effort of moving them both. “He’ll live.”
“Good. Granddad’s just inside…”
“I know.”
Allie rolled her eyes and kept walking. Never exactly chatty at the best of times, David was clearly having one of his more taciturn mornings. She wondered how his moods went over at work-surely the police forces that called in Dr. David Gale, brilliant young criminologist, expected a little more verbal bang for their consultant buck. Or maybe, as long as he got it right when he took the stand, they didn’t care. She’d ask him later, he was always in a better mood when he’d stopped manifesting.
Crossing the yard, she caught sight of a familiar figure heading into the henhouse. It was still early enough that her father, as one of the rare Gales by marriage, was likely to be the only male of ritual age awake-well, except for David who preferred to be the exception to most rules. Her dad and Michael used to do things together while the rest of the family moved through the circles and she wondered if he missed having Michael around. She took a step toward the henhouse, chasing the long line of her shadow.
Paused.
No. Missing Michael was not on the morning’s agenda.
Surrounded by family, she had plenty of things to do.
Much like pies, pancakes and sausages didn’t make themselves and there’d be people looking for breakfast soon enough.
Around nine thirty, Uncle Richard and Aunt Marion began herding their branch of the family back into the RV, Uncle Richard favoring his left side. At nine forty, they discovered they were one short. At nine fifty, Allie found their four-year-old granddaughter Merry sound asleep in the tree house, a sausage clutched in one chubby fist.
“She wanted to spend the night up there,” Brianna sighed, handing her daughter up to her exhausted looking husband. “I told her she was too young.” Then she grinned, gray eyes sparkling. “David and I spent the night up there after senior prom. I was so sure he’d choose me.”
“But you and Kevin…”
“Are completely happy, Allie, never fear. He loves the farm as much as I do. David would have gone insane.”
All three of them winced as a long blast from the RV horn set the dogs barking.
“I think Dad wants to get going.”
Allie kissed one cousin good-bye, waved at the other, and blew kisses at Merry who laughed and blew kisses out the back window all the way down the lane.
Just past eleven, the last group emerged from the haymow.
“For pity’s sake, boy,” Auntie Jane snorted as Dmitri shuffled carefully into the kitchen, “there’s salve for that. Use it before those trousers rub you raw. Downstairs bathroom. And you lot,” she snapped at the girls who gathered around the table as he left the room, “stop giggling. He didn’t get in that condition all on his lonesome.”
Allie pulled a platter of pancakes out of the oven where they’d been keeping warm. “He needs to learn to pace himself.”
“He’s young. He’ll recover.”
By two that afternoon, only Aunt Ruth and her family remained, helping to put the house to rights.
By supper, there was only Charli
e.
“This is nice.” Auntie Ruby poked at her vegetables with her fork. “Although in my day, we actually cooked the carrots. I guess no one cares what old people think anymore.”
Allie looked around the table and moved her leg just far enough to touch Charlie’s knee with hers. Her parents, David, Auntie Ruby-who’d lived with them all of Allie’s life-Auntie Jane-who’d moved into the old farmhouse after her husband had died-and Charlie, who’d had lunch with her immediate family and returned by midafternoon announcing that if she spent another moment with the twins, she’d strangle them both. Auntie Ruby was right; it was nice. Okay, so she didn’t have a job and she didn’t have Michael and she’d moved back in with her parents at-God forbid-the ripe old age of twenty-four, but she still had family.
For a Gale, family was everything.
David left after supper, needing to be back in Ottawa for work first thing Monday morning. His current job involved very hush-hush consulting with the Mounties, although he refused to give specifics.
“We don’t keep secrets in this family, David Edward Gale.”
David bent and kissed the top of Auntie Jane’s head. “If I told you what I was doing, I’d have to shoot you.”
“I’d like to see you try.” She hooked a finger through his belt loops to hold him in place. Allie held her breath until it became obvious he wasn’t about to try and break free. “In my day, David Edward, Gale boys chose by twenty.”
“But in your day, Auntie Jane, you were one of the choices.”
“I’m not saying that wasn’t incentive…”
Was Auntie Jane actually blushing? David was scary powerful.
“… but you are perilously close to having choices made for you. The time will come, and sooner than you think, when your duty to your family can no longer be set aside.
“But that time is not now.” His tone made it entirely clear he wasn’t asking for her agreement.
“No, not now.” And Auntie Jane’s tone added, but soon. It also added: We have every intention of bringing all that power you’re flashing around back into the lines one way or another, young man, and this delay is not helping your case as far as our suspicions about you are concerned. We’d prefer you to come willingly, but we’re perfectly willing to bind you if you don’t, and our patience is running short. Also, you need to call your mother more often. She worries.
The aunties hadn’t invented subtext-at least these particular aunties hadn’t, Allie didn’t want to make assumptions about the originals-but they squeezed every possible nuance out of it.
Charlie left the next morning after breakfast.
“I’ve got a friend in Halifax going into the studio today,” she explained, tossing David’s old hockey bag over one shoulder and picking up her guitar. “I told him I’d sit in.” Head cocked, a strand of blue hair fell down over her eyes as she studied Allie’s face. “I’ll stay if you need me to.”
“To hold my hand because I’m friendless and unemployed?”
“Something like that.”
Allie kissed her quickly and gave her a shove off the porch. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Just go.”
“All right, then.”
“You can’t keep Charlie in one place, Allie-kitten.”
Allie leaned back against her father’s arm and watched the shimmer between the apple trees dissipate. “I know.”
“She’ll come back to you. She always does.”
“I know.”
“She reminds me a lot of your grandmother.”
“Didn’t need to hear that.”
He gave her one final squeeze, and grabbed his backpack. “Gotta go, kid. High school history doesn’t teach itself.” He paused, halfway to his truck. “You could always think about teaching, Kitten. Add a master’s of education to that fine arts degree. As I recall, you used to have mad skills with macaroni and glue.”
“I’ll think about it, Dad.”
“You want something to do with your life besides standing around and feeling sorry for yourself?” Auntie Jane yanked open the door and thrust a basket into her hands. “Go get the eggs.”
The hens had no advice to offer. Mozart tried to eat her shoelaces.
By the time the mail came that afternoon, she’d made three batches of cookies and a lemon loaf.
“There’s something for you, Allie.” Her mother tossed a pile of sales flyers onto the table and held out a manila envelope. “No return address. Maybe it’s a job offer.”
“I haven’t applied for any jobs, Mom.”
“That might be why you’re not working, then.”
“I just lost the last one,” Allie muttered, opening the envelope. “And Dr. Yan was positive we were going to get that funding renewed so why would I have been looking?”
“Are you asking me?”
“No.” She pulled two sheets of paper from the envelope, unfolded them, read them, and frowned. “This isn’t… I mean, it’s not…”
“Isn’t not what?” Auntie Jane demanded, plugging the kettle in.
“It’s from Gran. It says if I’m reading this, she’s dead.”
TWO
“I, Catherine Amanda Gale, being of sound mind…”
“That’s always been debatable,” Auntie Jane snorted.
“… and body do hereby leave all my worldly possessions to my granddaughter, Alysha Catherine Gale. These possessions include the building at 1223 9th Avenue S.E., Calgary, Alberta and all its contents.” Allie set the handwritten sheet of paper down and took a deep breath. Then a second. “That’s all there is. She signed it on the 28th and had it witnessed by a Joe O’Hallon. I think it’s O’Hallon. I mean his penmanship sucks, but I just spent eighteen months reading some pretty hinky documentation, and field archaeologists have remarkably crappy penmanship and…”
“Allie.”
She snapped her mouth shut and turned to her mother, reaching out to touch her shoulder. The soft nap of her sweater was still cool from walking down the lane to get the mail. Was it possible that so much had changed in such a little time? “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry. Here I’m all thrown by losing my grandmother, and you’ve lost your mother.”
“She isn’t dead.”
“But…” Frowning, Allie tapped the letter. “She says she’s dead.”
If you’re reading this, Alysha Catherine, I’m dead. Don’t make a fuss-it’s a state we all come to in the end. Except possibly for Jane who may be too mean to die. Now that it’s happened, I need you to do me a favor. I have a small business in Calgary that’s become crucial to the local community, and I want you to take it over. There’s an apartment upstairs. I’ve left the keys with Kenny in the coffee shop next door. He’ll hand them over when you settle my tab. Don’t dawdle.
“She lies.” Auntie Jane unplugged the kettle and filled the old brown teapot with boiling water. “She’s always lied when it suited her.”
When warm fingers closed around hers and squeezed gently, Allie turned her attention back to her mother-whose expression seemed caught halfway between comforting and exasperated. “If she was dead, sweetie, the aunties would know.”
“But she didn’t make it home this weekend.” If she could have come home, she would have. Allie knew that. They all knew that. Rituals brought the wild ones home, even if they never stayed.
“We’re not saying she isn’t up to something,” Auntie Jane pointed out, setting the teapot on the table. “We’re just saying she isn’t dead.”
“Who isn’t dead?” Auntie Ruby asked, shuffling into the kitchen and lowering herself carefully into one of the chairs.
“Catherine.”
“Has she been buried?”
“Of course not, you old fool.”
“Then what difference does it make? Pour my tea now, Jane dear. Off the top.You know I can’t drink it when it turns to tar.”
“Hey, Allie-cat! What’s new?” Michael sounded just like he always did-happy to hear from her.
&nbs
p; She clutched the phone a little tighter and concentrated on breathing. Her reaction was always more intense when she hadn’t spoken to him for a few days.
“It’s like the little mermaid,” she’d told Charlie once, lying curled on her bed and emphatically not listening to Michael and his date through the suddenly too thin walls of their student apartment. “Only instead of walking on razor blades, it’s like they’re filling my chest.”
“She gave up her tail for feet.” On the other end of the phone, Charlie sounded merely curious. “What did you give up?”
“Michael.”
“You didn’t so much give him up as you never had him and, if you’ll recall, no one forced you to share an apartment with him.”
“He’s my best friend. I love living with him.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re an idiot?”
“Allie?”
“Sorry. Got distracted.” She never let it show in her voice; that wouldn’t be fair to him. And his stupid perfect relationship. “It seems Gran’s left me a business in Calgary.”
“Left you? What do you mean, left you? She died?” He knew the family well enough to delay his reaction, but Allie could hear shock and grief waiting to emerge. Michael adored Gran, and she felt the same way about him. Of course, everyone felt the same way about him.
“The aunties don’t think so.”
His relief was palpable. “The aunties are usually right.”
She felt almost sorry for those few seconds he’d believed the worst. Almost. She’d had to live through them, too. “Suck up.”
“Hey, sucking up gets me pie. Auntie Jane has mad skills with blueberries.” Memory provided a perfect shot of dimples flashing as he leaned back and stretched out long legs. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. They want me to go out there and figure out what she’s up to.”
“ Calgary ’s a lot closer to Vancouver. Makes it easier for us to see each other.”
