"You must be very special. She lets no one touch her, other than Tom and me." The woman motioned with her head toward the man who had given his leather glove to Keelie.
Warmth rushed through her at the praise. Wind from the rising storm flipped a curl onto her forehead, but she didn't dare brush it away.
Cameron turned toward the men. "Have you been introduced to Keelie Heartwood?"
The men stared at her intently.
"Is she, now?" one said.
The other nodded as if he'd learned something special. "Makes sense."
The woman frowned at the wind-whipped trees over head. "Storm's getting closer. Let's put the rest of the birds up.
The men hurried away. Keelie's shoulder ached from holding up the bird. She rolled her neck, trying to get the blood moving again. "How did you know my name?"
"We met yesterday, remember?" Cameron shifted her birdlike gaze to Keelie. "Have animals always liked you? Did you know you also have a gift for healing?"
"I've never been around any animals, other than my friend's cat." She didn't answer the question about healing. What a joke. Mom had always considered medicine an unsuitable career for her.
Cameron opened the door to a large steel cage and beckoned to Keelie.
Although she didn't want to do it, Keelie reached into the cage with Ariel still on her arm, and placed the hawk next to a large branch inside. Surprisingly, the bird hopped over to the perch and settled right down, as if flying away was no big deal and now it was time for a nap.
"Amazing," said Cameron. Her smile widened as she watched Keelie put the hawk away. There was no disdain or condescension in the woman's eyes.
"If you aren't the squeamish type, Keelie, you can come by tomorrow and feed Ariel her lunch."
"What does Ariel eat for lunch?" She imagined a bag of hawk chow.
"Rats."
Keelie's face must have shown her disgust.
"Are you up to it?"
She watched Ariel on the perch. The hawk's milky eye faced her. She was not totally blind, Keelie thought. The white eye was like a lens that allowed her insight into the hawk's soul, and Ariel shared the pain of losing her freedom.
Feeding rats to birds was gross, but she couldn't imagine not coming here. Cameron took the glove from her.
"When?"
"One in the afternoon," said Cameron. Her eyes darted back to the birds and then to Keelie. She was like a bird herself. "I'll be here."
Keelie walked away, but turned to catch one last glimpse of Ariel. The hawk had closed her eyes.
"See you tomorrow, Ariel."
On her way back to her father's booth, Keelie noticed that a lot of people were leaving, anxious eyes on the lowering clouds.
She was starving again and stopped to buy a corn on the cob dripping in butter. When she paid for it, she overheard a mundane say that they were under a tornado watch.
"Excuse me, sir. What time is it?"
"Four o'clock. What are you dressed as, kid?" The man was grinning at her skirt.
She glanced down. "I'm a fairy princess. What else?"
She left the guy staring openmouthed after her and hurried back up the path. Tornado watch. There weren't any of those in California. What was she supposed to do? Her only experience with tornados was at the movies. Twister and The Wizard of Oz.
She watched a wrinkled man in a long beard hurry past her, his purple robes flapping in the wind. Come to think of it, this place was very Oz.
She had stayed a long time at the Raptor Motel, longer than she'd meant to. Dad would be worried, but then he'd said she should explore the Renaissance Faire, and she had explored it. He probably hadn't missed her at all today. She bet he'd been busy with his furniture and his groupies.
It was funny how quickly time passed once she was with Ariel. She'd totally forgotten Laurie, too, though she needed to call her again. Tomorrow, she thought. After she'd fed Ariel.
She came to a sudden stop. She'd been so busy attending to the messy buttered corn that she hadn't paid a lot of attention to her surroundings.
There it was: the Muck and Mire Show's stage. She looked down at her bodice, and then glanced back at the handprints painted on the back of her skirt. She had to smile in spite of her hatred of the costume. The man named Tarl, who had brought her the dress, stood nearby talking to a small man.
She remembered the silhouettes and moans coming from Tarl's tent down at the Shire the night before. She didn't think she'd be able to talk to him with a straight face. The guy he was chatting with looked a lot like Sir Davey Morgan. She looked closer. It was Sir Davey Morgan. She hoped he didn't embarrass her by talking Earthmagic nonsense.
Part of Keelie wanted to run away and not speak with the men, but the compassionate part of her that had been awakened by Ariel wanted to stay. Tarl had been genuinely nice to her, coming to her rescue. It was an atrocious rag, but it was a kind gesture. More than she could say about some people. The image of Elia came to mind. Janice the herb lady had been nice to her, too, but Keelie figured she was just trying to to get in good with her father. And then there was Raven. Raven was cool, the big sister she'd never had.
On impulse, she decided to go up to Tarl, thank him for the clothes, and let him know that her luggage should be arriving soon. She'd try not to giggle at the image of his naked, potato-shaped silhouette.
He noticed her and waved.
She waved back and walked up to Sir Davey and Tarl. The image of Tarl's naked silhouette against the tent came back. Ew.
Clearing her throat, Keelie tried to think of the right words, but they sort of tumbled out. "Thanks for the clothes."
Tarl smiled. "You're welcome, Keelie. They look good on you. I'd like you to meet Sir Davey Morgan." He motioned with his hand toward the miniature musketeer, "And this is Keelie Heartwood."
Sir Davey bowed, and this time his ostrich feather swept through the mud. "I've had the pleasure of meeting Lady Keelie earlier, Sir Tarl."
Lady Keelie. She liked that. "Your hat," she exclaimed. The plume on his hat was now thin and brown, ruined by streaks of mud.
Sir Davey removed his hat and examined it, eyebrows furrowed. He pushed it back onto his head. "Good, clean dirt never hurt anyone, did it, Tarl?"
"Dirt is my life, Sir Davey." The big man glanced at a group of Muck and Mire Players. "I'm going to get back to the others. We're working on a new skit. Care to join us?"
"I think I've had more mud to deal with in the past twenty-four hours than I will ever want to deal with again in my life," Keelie said.
Sir Davey waved his hand over the mud stain on the hat. Mud chips flew from the plume. Keelie couldn't believe it. The once brown and scraggly tip of his ostrich feather was now pristine white, as if it had been dipped in newly fallen snow.
"How did you do that?" she asked. "Is it a magic trick?"
"Tell me, Keelie Heartwood, as a child did you ever make mud pies?"
"Mud pies? Me? No."
"You missed out on a very important part of your childhood, young lady."
"How can missing out on making mud pies be bad?"
Sir Davey settled himself on the edge of the stage. He patted the plank beside him. She sat down.
Sir Davey picked up a handful of mud and squished it between his fingers. "This is part of the Earth."
"Right." She could do without the Captain Obvious science lesson.
Sir Davey arched a steel gray eyebrow at her. "Don't you think that's important?"
She shrugged.
"Think about the artists who work with clay, and kids-little children are artists, and they create from their heart. Have you seen children playing in the mud, in the sandbox? They don't say, ew this is gross!"
Keelie had to smile at Sir Davey's imitation of a valley girl accent. "Okay, I played at the beach a lot when I was a kid. But never with mud."
"Ahh, she admits to playing." Sir Davey grinned at her. "And in sand. Even the elementals are amazed at this confession."
"I'll explain later. First I want you to feel the mud. Hold out your hand."
Repulsion made her shiver. "I've had enough mud, thanks."
"Don't be a wimp."
"A wimp?" She extended her right hand, palm out. Sir Davey plopped the ball of mud onto her palm.
"You can create from the heart without your mind interfering with the process." He put his hand under hers and closed her fingers over the mud. It squelched between her fingers.
"Gross." But it wasn't.
It gave off an earthy smell, totally unlike the scented Play-Doh Keelie had played with when she was little.
Sir Davey shaped another ball of mud with his small fingers. Keelie formed her mud back into a ball and let it fall back onto the stage. She poked her index finger into it.
"I used to make homemade cups for Mom in art class when we did clay in elementary school. The art teacher would fire them in the kiln. Mom used one for her pens on her office desk."
Keelie poked another hole into the lump of mud.
Sir Davey kept shaping his mud into something. Keelie couldn't tell what it was, but it brought back a memory.
"When I was in second grade, I made a big bug pin for Mom. It was an ugly bug, too. I painted it black with pink polka dots, but Mom wore it to church on Easter Sunday. It clashed with her yellow floral designer dress, but she said that my pin was a work of art, and that she would be the envy of all the moms on Easter."
Sir Davey opened his hand to reveal a mud-brown replica of the bug pin she'd made Mom. Grief squeezed her heart. Keelie didn't question the magic any longer. The sadness oozed out of the space in her heart where she'd kept it, locked up as tightly as her anger. Sir Davey's mud bug had loosened the door.
She closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears before he could see them. When she opened them again, the bug had disappeared and in its place was a homely lump of mud.
"The Earth below us connects us all. We all stand on it, and we depend on it for nourishment," Sir Davey said. "Sometimes it can be dirty and messy, but it can also be nurturing and healing. And Earth is just a small part of your world, Keelie. Don't forget that in the days and months to come."
She heard her father calling. At first she thought it was part of Sir Davey's lesson, but then she realized she really could hear his voice. He stood a few feet away.
"Keelie, there you are. Where have you been all day? I've been looking for you everywhere."
She shoved all the sad feelings away, along with some of the oozy ones. It was like locking away a secret treasure box. Keelie didn't want Dad to find her sad feelings, and somehow, she thought he'd be able to sense them. She added an invisible barrier of bricks around them.
"Zeke. Good to see you." Sir Davey bowed his head toward her father, who nodded in reply.
"Davey. I see you've met Keelie."
"It has been my honor." Sir Davey hopped off the stage and bowed to Keelie, and even though his snowy ostrich feather touched the ground, it remained white. "I enjoyed our talk. Come see me tomorrow and I'll show you how I did it."
A little shiver went through her, and she realized, surprised, that it was anticipation. She smiled at Sir Davey. He put his finger to his lips. Our secret.
"Come on, Keelie. Let's go home," Zeke said.
"Your home," Keelie corrected.
He sighed. "Come on."
They were a long way from the wood shop, and their silence made it seem even longer. When they neared the shop, Keelie raced ahead, climbing the stairs quickly and throwing open the door. Her eyes swept the room, looking for her luggage, but to her dismay, there was still no sign of her suitcases.
Her father seemed to be analyzing her face. "Looking for the cat?"
"No, my stuff. I thought it was supposed to arrive today."
He sighed even louder than before. "The airline called and said it would be a few more days; it seems your clothes and other belongings have been flown to Istanbul."
"Istanbul? That isn't by any chance a suburb of Fort Collins?"
"Turkey. As in the country of."
Keelie dropped onto the bed. "I can't believe it. Those idiots can't deliver a simple bag." Much less ten of them.
"They've been tracked from Los Angeles to Hawaii, and then Hong Kong. Now they're en route to Istanbul."
"I thought I could live a couple of days without my clothes, but now it might be weeks, right? I can't walk around in this ridiculous outfit anymore. It's too humiliating."
"I agree. It doesn't really suit you," her father said. "But you need more than garb. I thought I'd take you shopping tomorrow."
She stared at him, then a spurt of laughter escaped her. "You? Take me shopping?"
He shook his head. "Unbelievable, I know. We'll experience the malls of Fort Collins. And you can go to Galadriel's Closet for a couple of Rennie outfits."
Mall. Just the word made her happy.
"It won't be so bad, I promise." Keelie pulled her feet up onto the bed. "Honestly, how long have you been at this festival in Fort Collins?"
"Three months a year for the past seven years," her father said.
"That long?" She counted back. Since she was nine. "Have you ever been to the mall?"
"I've never been to any mall."
"Never? Excuse me, what century is this?"
He laughed. "Fear not, daughter. I don't think it will be hard to find."
"Can you even drive?"
"Keelie, I can function in the mundane world."
"Some would call it the real world."
"Speaking of the real world, the books from your new school should arrive this week. I think it's important that we get started on your studies as soon as possible."
If her father had wanted to get her mind off her clothes, telling her that her books would be arriving here from her new school did it. It was almost summer.
Keelie picked up a green pillow with a beautiful goldembroidered tree and hugged it close to her chest.
"Let me get this straight-you're expecting me to do schoolwork over summer break? And here, not at school with other kids my age?"
"In three weeks' time, we'll be traveling to New York for the Renaissance festival there. We'll be there for eight weeks, and you'll keep up your work by correspondence. When we return home to Oregon, you won't be behind the rest of your class."
"You think I'm going to New York and to Oregon with you." She didn't bother to make it a question. The answer was obvious.
"Yes, Keelie, I do. You're my daughter. We're family. We belong together."
Hot anger blazed its way through her. She threw the pillow onto the sofa. It bounced off and landed on the floor. She jumped up and kicked it.
"Mom and I were family. You ditched us, remember? I belong in California. That's my home. Not Oregon. And not with you."
He looked hurt. Good.
"Keelie, I am so sorry you're hurting. I know you miss your mother very much. But you belong here with me."
"Did you even think about what I've lost? Not just Mom, but my friends, even my room?" She was mad at herself now. Was she going to cry? "You made all the decisions. One minute I'm at home, the next I'm here in this, this-" She waved her hands around, the words gone.
"It's another world, isn't it?" He looked around the room. "My life has changed, too. I'm not used to having a child around. Or a woman."
"Oh yeah, I'll bet your groupies are all in grief counseling now."
His eyes widened. "Groupies?"
"Don't tell me you don't notice all the women throwing themselves at you all the time. And what's with all this Keliel stuff? And the Spock ears everyone's wearing? This place is beyond bizarre." Keelie kicked the cushion again. "I want to go home. To California. I want my old life back."
"Even if your mother still lived, you would have come to me eventually," he said.
"That is so conceited. Like I was suddenly going to want a father, after years of nothing?"
"You needed to come
here to learn how to control your gift." He looked serious.
She looked at him. He knew? She'd gone through hell her entire life thinking she was some kind of genetic mutant, and he knew about it?
"Did Mom know?" she whispered, her lips numb.
He looked down, avoiding her gaze. "Yes. It's one of the reasons she left."
"She left? She said you left." Her world was suddenly sideways. Had Mom lied to her?
"We were in Oregon, and she took you and went back to California." His voice grew softer with each word.
"So why didn't you sue for custody? Of course, I'm fifteen now and it wouldn't work. After twelve, you get to choose where you live. I wouldn't pick here, that's for sure."
Her father was suddenly still, as if he was holding his breath. "Is that what your mother told you? She said I left you and that I didn't want you?"
"Well, not in so many words. But we were in California, and you were off being a gypsy. And you never asked for custody or even visitations." All of her friends with divorced parents had scheduled visitations.
"Visitations? Custody?" He looked totally bewildered, and a little angry, too. "Unbelievable. Keelie, your mother and I were never divorced."
eight
Earth magic, magical gifts, never divorced. The words spun through her head, making her dizzy. Keelie flopped onto the tall bed and hugged a pillow.
Tears burned her eyes, and she closed them tightly. She wouldn't cry. Why not, though? Who would see? She buried her face in the pillow and let the tears come.
She wanted to throw or break something, to tear something up until all of her anger melted away.
Colorado, New York, Oregon. But not California.
Never.
Never.
Never.
Something purred near her head. She opened her eyes. There, like a furry pile of autumn leaves, was Knot, curled into the corner behind her pillow.
"What are you doing in here?"
He purred louder.
"Go away."
The inner rumbling increased.
The Tree Shepherd's Daughter Page 9
