The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (19 page)

“Hmm, that’s funny,” Candy shrugged, wiser than she let on. Of course Aunt Beth would keep her brood tucked away from the licentious horde, with all the beer and secular conversation amidst. Heck, she even kept them from watching Disney cartoons, because of some church boycott about Disney’s Gay Days or something. Candy knew that was the reason John’s cousins were playing board games instead of watching the dangerous television set. John’s Grandma Pearl had showcased all of her Disney movies and artifacts prominently in the den, where the television was located. Pearl had even found a way to make the Disney Channel the home station when you turned on the set, claiming it was some “auto-glitch” in the programming.

No sooner had they thumped the sodas down next to the beer cooler, than Pearl Robinson herself appeared out of the shadows to plant a kiss on James’s cheek. “Thank you, Jamie. Candy. Don’t worry—they’ll swarm like locusts when we bring out the s’mores.”

S’mores always reminded Candy of John, and she looked around to find him again. Somehow, she found herself in front of the high school principal, Mr. Warren, instead. A much less pleasant outcome.

“Well now, Candace Vale. Ready for school to start tomorrow?”

“Oh, you mean Monday—day after tomorrow, sir,” Candy replied. Big surprise: Mr. Warren was already in his cups.

“Blessed news about Joe, isn’t it?” he said, slurring without apology.

“Oh, is there good news about Mr. Robinson?”

Mr. Warren found someone more interesting to talk to and wandered off.

“Yes, there is good news,” Candy heard from behind her. She turned around to find John sitting with his back close to the fire, letting the blaze roast his behind so that his front side felt unnaturally cool. Like he always loved to do. “This is sort of a triple celebration—the after-party to the music festival, me and Dad’s homecoming, and the surprise information this morning that my grandfather made a turn for the better.”

“Really?” Candy felt ashamed that she hadn’t even wondered about the health of John’s grandfather. Though she arranged her face to look concerned and relieved, she had the feeling that John was well aware of her self-centered preoccupation.
I wonder if he’s already connecting it with the waltz comment.

“Yeah, me and Dad went to see him at the hospital this afternoon. They say he might be able to come home in a couple days. He was having a hard time I guess, but late last night things just sort of… ‘turned’ as his nurse said.” John smiled in a way that said he cared, but it was okay that Candy didn’t, and then he motioned to the empty log seat next to him. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. Come on sit down, there’s plenty more to talk about.”

“Is there?” she asked, plopping down next to him. “Like what?”

“Me living here.”

Oh, that.
She had been feeling mounting anxiety about that impending situation. John going to school with her meant he would see all the sides of herself she wasn’t sure he would understand. Candy searched her mind for something to deflect the conversation away from herself. “Isn’t your girlfriend going to miss you. What’s-her-name?”

John looked at his hands and chuckled. Candy knew her name, and John knew she did. “Clara.”

“Yeah, Clara?”

“Saw pictures online, huh?”

“Didn’t everyone. So, aren’t you two going to be broken-hearted?”

John’s smile faded. “That wasn’t anything serious, Candy. No. I’m not.”

Sure looked serious.
Candy’s jealousy piqued, hearing him talk about her. Clara was very pretty.

John was good at deflecting, too. “Come on, Candy-cane, you’re the expert on Shirley County. Tell me what I need to know about Andrew Jackson High.”

“Somehow…” Candy leaned back, appraising his athletic build and all-American face. And the beauty wasn’t skin deep; she was well acquainted with John’s confident spirit and friendly disposition. She shook her head and had to admit (with a sprinkling of shame and a pinch of pride), “I think you’ll probably do a lot better than I ever have here, John.”

He let her comment sink in, acceptance and understanding in his features. He already knew. “Don’t do well with rules, huh, Red Hot? Square peg in a round hole?”

He was so perceptive Candy felt naked. Not ugly, but not beautiful. Just her. How could he have such unfettered access to her heart and mind, after all the time he’d been away? It was like they’d never been apart, and she knew with the certainty of death that John didn’t give a crap about how anyone else judged her. Candy was ecstatic to have her best friend with her, once again. Finally. “I don’t want to talk about school. I want you to tell me a campfire story.”

John’s face split into the grin that Candy had known and loved most of her life. “Funny you should mention that, because I have one ready for you, Candy Vale.”

“Really? For me?”

“Just for you. Wait—let’s get something to drink first, this is a long one.”

“Ooooh, good.” Candy thrilled, clapping her hands with glee. “Need to wet your whistle, I know.”

When they arrived at the coolers, Candy reached in for a Coke just as her brother Simon reached in at the same time. He pretended to search for a drink for himself, but he grabbed her hand and pulled it out of the ice. The image of stealth, he shoved two beers into her hand instead, blocking the adults’ view with his body.

“Thanks, Bro,” she whispered.

Simon gave her a benevolent nod.

She and John rotated their seating arrangement so that the bonfire shielded them from the adults and the rest of the party. Between the blaze and the deep, black woods, they enjoyed their own private space. Uncle Pat had brought out his guitar, strumming chords and tuning, while Zoë gingerly picked through a melody and Carol tested her strings. But they sounded far away and so did the constant murmur of conversation on the other side of the fire—like the rumble of a dog pack, interspersed with the occasional quacking duck. The muted sounds made the real world sound like a dream, the perfect ambiance for a campfire story. Candy hoped it was a spooky one. She sipped her stolen beer and leaned in closer.

John cleared his throat.

“Once, a very long time ago, there lived a beautiful Indian princess—”

“What was her name?” Candy interrupted, thinking what a strange coincidence it was that John had chosen an Indian princess for his heroine. She had been thinking of that Indian woman in the painting at the Buffalo Lodge almost nonstop. “Bet she had black eyes.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Black as yours. Let’s call her Beloved. It would be a perfect name for her, because not only was she young and lovely, with flowing selkie hair and fathomless dark eyes, but she was also a great treasure to her people. Her mother was the matriarchal ruler before she died, and Beloved inherited her mother’s charisma and natural leadership. We come upon Beloved’s story at a most important event in her life—her wedding night.”

“Wow, that’s so romantic of you, John.”

“I try to please the ladies when I can. So, Beloved’s tribe decided to join forces with another, more powerful, neighboring tribe. The other tribe chose a man suitable for the princess—”

“She was actually a princess?”

“Sure. The other tribe chose a fierce warrior, the son of their chief. We’ll call him Champion. The Indian tribes in the region had a tradition, that when a warrior lost a battle, he had to cut his hair, to the scalp. Champion’s hair had never been cut, since birth, and it hung far below his waist. He won the princess’ heart, and even though the marriage was arranged, Beloved and Champion were in love.”

“Nice touch.”

John winked and took a sip of his illegal Budweiser. “On the night of their wedding, both tribes came together in celebration—the party of the century. There was a grand feast, with dancing and music…”

As if fated, Pat, Zoë, and Carol brought their tentative notes together into a real song. Carol’s fiddle rose joyously above the fire. Pat’s wife, Aunt Mickey, joined the song with a high, trilling soprano. John and Candy froze, fixing each other in surprise. They erupted in stifled laughter, snuffing out their snorts on each other’s shoulders, not ready to be discovered in their hidden seats.

“…with dignitaries and medicine men.” John continued, catching his breath and clutching his side. “People came from all around to give their blessing. The joining of the hands was presided over with religious chants and incantations. Even the sky above blessed the union,” John mimed a heavenly explosion, “with an unexpected meteor shower.”

Candy gasped. “Ouch, that could be a bad omen.”

“Don’t be so superstitious. It was like ancient fireworks.”

“Uh-huh…”

John sent her a sly look over his beer. “So, the feasting lasted from early in the morning until late at night, long after the newlyweds retired for the evening to their wedding tent, to consummate the union.” John lifted his eyebrows once or twice suggestively. “Champion’s long, uncut hair hung around his chiseled abdomen.” Candy snorted and almost blew her drink out through her nose. “You like that? But before our hero could make his move, thunk! He was taken out cold, with a heavy wooden club from behind.”

“Oh, no. Was he killed?”

“No, not dead, just knocked out. A villain emerged from the shadows behind Beloved, shoved a gag in her mouth, and pulled a bag over her head. Another burglar grabbed her feet, and the group of thieves silently made away with our poor princess. Not that they needed to be too quiet, remember the raucous party going on all around?”

“Of course. No one would hear.” Candy bit her knuckle. “But who would do such a thing? Everybody loved Champion and Beloved.”

“Yes, and a warring tribe that hadn’t been invited to the party knew that. They didn’t love Beloved and they sure as hell didn’t love Champion.”

“Why?”

“Champion was a fierce warrior.”

“Right. And, Beloved?”

“Who can really love someone so beautiful—so perfect—yet, so beyond reach?”

“But did they hate her for that? Seems unfair.” The beer had numbed the edges, but she still felt the injustice of the ages. Maybe more so because of the beer.

John dismissed the question with a mock frown: she wasn’t derailing his story. “They were a band of fierce, raiding nomads, and they wore terrifying animal masks to frighten their prey when they attacked. They named themselves things like Pouncing Cougar…”

“Only the aging widows looking for new young husbands, though, right?” Candy couldn’t help interjecting the obvious.

“Okay, Pouncing
Leopard
, then. Slashing Bear, Stinging Viper—stuff like that. We’ll just call them the Animals, because their tribe was a lawless pack, with no real leader. They had been waiting for the right weapon to use against Beloved’s and Champion’s peaceful tribes. Because, though the Animals were cruel and fierce, they were a smaller band.”

“The peaceful tribes put all their eggs in one basket. Stupid,” said Candy, taking a swig.

“Exactly.” John fixed her with one long finger, pointing so close it almost touched her nose. She stretched out her neck and kissed the tip, and John’s face crumpled into confusion and hilarity at once. “Okay. Anyway... don’t worry, the Animals didn’t want to harm Beloved. Not really. They tied her up and hid her away as a hostage. The next morning they made their demands known.”

“What were their demands?”

“That’s not important.” John waved those details away, apparently not having polished that part of the story yet in his mind. “You know, Indian stuff—land disputes, territory, hunting zones, trading rights. What is important is that the debates went on and on for weeks, while Beloved was held captive. She was held for so long, in fact, that the lowly slave the Animals had assigned to her began to fall in love.”

“Oh, no.”

“His name was Chewing Spider. Or, that’s what the Animals named him when they captured him during a raid years before. He was considered the lowest of the low, and was regularly beaten and ordered to do all of the dirtiest work, like picking up horse manure in the campsite or cleaning carcasses after a hunt or…”

“Tending to a woman’s womanly needs.”

“Right. He was ready to escape his horrible life of slavery. And when he found out that the deliberations between all three tribes might finally be coming to a close, with Beloved poised to be returned home…well, he decided it was time to try. With her.”

“But, Beloved was about to be rescued.”

“Yeah. She wanted to go back home, not escape with the slave guy, right? So, naturally, when Chewing Spider forced her to leave with him, she started screaming and going crazy. He covered her mouth, trying desperately to silence her before she alerted his torturers.”

“Torturers?”

“Of course, torturers. The Animals were cruel, marauding beasts, remember? Anyway, he only meant to silence her. He didn’t mean to push so hard, for so long. He was just scared…” John looked down at his hands, affecting desperation.

“He suffocated her.”

“He did. When the Animals found out that they lost their bargaining tool, they were furious,” John nodded at Candy’s gasp. “They made quick work of Chewing Spider. They returned Beloved’s body to her people, as a paltry peace offering. She was buried facing the rising sun, to encourage a happier future in the afterlife. Champion refused to ever marry again, and he became a warmonger, taking out his sadness on his rivals with great savagery for the rest of his days. And Chewing Spider? Well, his soul haunts the land, still. He pines for his darling Beloved, tormented by the knowledge that it was his own hand that extinguished her beautiful flame.”

“Poor Chewing Spider…”

John sat up straight and stared at her, dumbfounded. “What? What about poor Beloved, or poor Champion?”

“It’s a sad story all around.” Candy sighed and looked at the sky. Somehow the stars helped her regain normality. That story was so weird, but somehow so familiar. She loved it and hated it at the same time. “That was a love story?”

“Don’t be so sure. They say that when you hear the wind whistling through the high mountain passes in Shirley County, that’s Chewing Spider crying for Beloved. And when you feel the hair stand up on the back of your neck and you catch your breath in the dark, that’s Chewing Spider trying to take your breath away, just like he did Beloved’s.”