The Tree Shepherd's Daughter (13 page)

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."

"Elementals?"

"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."