The Tree Shepherd's Daughter (3 page)

She imagined what would happen if her friends ever
learned that her father was no better than a gypsy, a man
who made his living traveling between Renaissance Faires,
going from show to show, hawking his wares to the public
like some Wild West snake oil salesman. It sent shivers of
embarrassment coursing through her.

When her friends asked about her dad, she told them
he was in the government, working for the National Park
Service in Alaska. It was too remote for him to come
home. That would definitely be preferable to the truth.
Alaska seemed very REI and outdoorsy, but this-this
was not dealing with reality. She watched a woman go by,
carrying garlands of flowers to sell as hair ornaments. She
wore a laced-up bodice and a flowing skirt. It seemed to
be a kind of uniform around here. Some wore their bodices tighter than others. Trailer-park tight.

Raindrops hit her, and Keelie touched her blunt-cut
hair, smooth and shiny from her morning session with gel
and a straightening iron. Now it was going to frizz and curl
in every direction. She'd spent an hour on it for nothing.

The hawk screeched in the trees behind her. She'd
thought she was like the hawk, tied up, blindfolded, and told what to do, but maybe the hawk was scared. Maybe it
needed the safety of its handler's arm. Who knew? No one
had asked the hawk what it wanted before it was captured
and tamed. No one had asked Keelie before turning her
life upside down.

Lugging the bag, she caught a whiff of a delicious
green scent. Not a scary tree smell. More like the smell of
a meadow in the morning, or so she imagined. Her allergies had kept them away from forests and parks. She followed the smell to a booth with a wooden sign that said
"Herbs." By the doorway was a smaller sign: "Remedies for
sore muscles and bad cooking." Was that a joke?

The shelves inside held baskets, bottles, and different
kinds of soaps and lotions. A whole section was labeled
"Herbal Remedies." That got her attention. She loved anything to do with medicine, although her mother would
have dragged her out of here. She had scowled when
Keelie mentioned volunteering at the hospital and told her
to focus on her studies. She had, of course, meant her future law studies.

It made Keelie feel guilty to be in the shop, even if
her mom was gone and couldn't tell her to leave it alone.
Would it betray Mom's wishes if she just glimpsed the
herbal tinctures and salves and sniffed a few? The open
sample jars smelled wonderful.

The lady in charge wore a flowing purple gown laced
in front with a silver leather cord. A snowy apron was
pinned to her chest with straight pins and tied behind her
waist in a bow. Her big, flowing sleeves almost dragged on the ground and were laced to her shoulders with more
silver cord.

This was something Keelie could see herself wearingif she were going to stay here, that was.

"Can I help you find something?"

Keelie lifted an intriguing pot. "What's this used for?"

"It's a form of liniment for sore knees."

"Keelie Heartwood, where are you?" The call from outside almost made her heart stop. She'd forgotten Ms. Talbot! It was as if her mom's voice had called out, reminding
her that this wasn't her world. The herb woman seemed
startled, too, and seemed about to speak.

Keelie didn't give her a chance. She stepped outside,
looking up the hill toward the sound of Ms. Talbot's voice.
She tripped on the lifted end of a flat gray paver and went
down hard on her knees.

Her bag flew off her shoulder and hit the side of the
stone, spilling her belongings down the hill. Keelie jumped
up and ran, grabbing things up before anyone could get
them. Her hairbrush, with leaves stuck in it; her extra
panties, muddied; her journal, safe-thank goodness.
With each thing she scooped up, the tears she'd fought
earlier came closer to the surface. No amount of blinking
would send them back. She brushed her arm across her
face and reached for her clear plastic toiletry bag.

A hand reached it first, and Keelie followed it up as the
person straightened. Knee-high laced boots, emerald green
tights, a fancy tight black and gold jacket with a hawk embroidered on the chest, and a green and black satin cape. What an outfit. And above it all, a handsome face like a
California surfer, all blonde and sun-browned.

The boy smiled and handed her the bag. She took it
from him, unable to say a word, hovering between extreme
thrill and rock-bottom mortification.

"Here's your bag, Keelie Heartwood." The woman
from the herb booth had picked up her leather bag. The
stuff that hadn't rolled downhill poked out of it at crazy
angles.

"Thanks." Keelie shoved her panties into it before the
guy could see, then dropped in the rest of what she'd managed to gather.

"Did you get everything?" His voice was low and sweet.

"Yes. I mean, I don't know."

"Oi've got her mirra."

She turned. A massive man held her pocket mirror,
the little blue plastic clamshell, pinched between two very
grimy fingers. He was caked in mud, every inch of him,
and behind him were three other grinning Mud Men.

The head mud guy held out her mirror. She reached
for it, and he laughed and tossed it to one of his mud buddies. Keelie knew they meant it to be funny, but all she
could think of was Christmas morning last year, when
she'd found the mirror in the toe of the stocking her mom
had fixed for her. Mirrors and lipstick. It was a tradition.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she didn't wipe them
away. Why didn't it rain? Why didn't it rain so that all these
bozos with their stupid kiddie tricks would go inside and
leave her alone? No one could see her tears if it was raining,
and she felt as if she could cry all day and all night.

"Ho there, Blurp," the prince beside her called out.
"Give the lady back her mirror, or I'll thrash ye with my
sword."

Blurp, the mud guy, roared with laughter, then glanced
at Keelie. Something crossed his face. Regret, maybe, although he was too coated in mud for her to tell. "Here,
lad," he said, and tossed him the mirror.

The prince wiped it clean with his beautiful satin cloak
and offered it to her, bowing from the waist.

Keelie nodded, but her nose was going to run if she
said anything, and she couldn't come up with a smile.

A girl in a pink and gold hoopskirt picked her way
through the mud, a golden harp cradled in her arms. She
glanced scornfully at the mud guys, then frowned at Keelie
and the prince. Long golden curls twisted down her back,
like a fairy princess from a storybook.

"Lord Sean o' the Wood, the Queen awaits your pleasure," she said, eyeing Keelie up and down.

Lord Sean? How likely was that?

"Thank you, Lady Elia." He turned back to Keelie,
looking embarrassed. "I have to go. I hope you found
everything."

"I think so, thanks." Her voice seemed kind of choked,
but at least she got the words out.

"Oh, you poor child," Lady Elia said, pouting.

Poor child? Where did this Elia person get off calling
her a child? They seemed to be the same age. Keelie felt
her eyes scrunch up with distrust. The airy-fairy princess
pouted like someone who wanted to be admired. Keelie knew the type. Her long wavy hair and green eyes probably got her lots of attention.

"Did you have an accident?" the golden girl asked.
"Shall we call security?" She twitched her skirt back as if
Keelie might get mud on it. Keelie hated her already.

"No need," Lord Sean o' the Wood said. "She says she's
fine. I think she is, too. Right, Keelie? I may call you Keelie,
may I not?"

Had she just heard that? Keelie nodded dumbly, afraid
to look at him, in case he didn't mean what she thought
he did.

"Keelie Heartwood! Come up right now. I've found your
father." Ms. Talbot's strident voice rang through the crowd.
"You'll have time to play with your new friends later."

Play? Mortified, Keelie froze. The pink and gold girl
folded her arms and stared at her, eyes narrowed.

Keelie was positive that Ms. Talbot's use of the word
"friend" was premature.

Murmurs erupted around her. She thought she heard
someone murmur "Heartwood."

She didn't wait to hear what they said. Dork! she
thought. She was a dork for coming here, and a dork for
mooning over the prince. Lord Sean. As if.

She whirled and ran up the hill, trying to outrun her
humiliation. Slipping in the mud, she still moved fast
enough to get all the way to the top without looking back.
Her father was up there somewhere, and that was trouble
enough.

Ms. Talbot stood at the top of the hill, a disbelieving look
on her face as she watched Keelie approach. A small, smiling brown woman stood next to her, looking just like a
gingerbread man's wife from a kid's picture book.

Keelie glanced down at her capris and realized she was
smeared with mud. She stood, embarrassed, in front of the
attorney.

"I'm Mrs. Butters, from the tea shop just beyond yon
clearing," the little brown woman said. "When I saw you
fall, I said to myself, Mrs. Butters, we've got to get that poor girl something to clean off with." She held out a damp washcloth and a tea towel.

Keelie was reaching for the washcloth when Ms. Talbot
put her hand up, her frown deeper than before.

"You've set me back two minutes, Keelie. Be considerate." She turned to Mrs. Butters and smiled grimly. "Mrs.
Butters, Keelie will come back soon. She's got to see her
father first. Follow me. We're almost done."

Almost done, she'd said, as if Keelie was a chore to finish quickly. She ignored the looks and giggles from the
people walking by. She must have looked like a little kid,
dirty and chastised, running behind her angry mother.

Mrs. Butters followed them up the road, either muttering to herself or speaking to them. Ms. Talbot charged
ahead, not paying any attention.

Keelie heard a crowd cheering. The sound came
through the trees, and as they arrived at the top of the
path she saw the brightly colored flags of the jousting field
below. The cheers came from the covered grandstand.

Two knights in armor galloped toward each other on
giant horses, each holding a long spear. It looked real. She
slowed down, then hurried up the path to where the trees
cleared. Here she had a better view of the battle below.
One knight and his horse were dressed in black-and-white
stripes, and his opponent wore green.

Keelie slowed, sure they were going to miss each other.
It seemed too dangerous to do for real. With a giant clash,
the knights' spears hit the brightly decorated shields they
carried. The knight in black-and-white was knocked back, almost lying down on his horse's back, before snapping
back up in his oddly shaped saddle.

They'd done it; they'd really hit each other. Amazed,
Keelie noticed the crowd was on its feet, cheering and
screaming, just like at a football game.

As he turned his horse, she saw that the green knight's
shield had a lion on it. He stretched out an armored hand.
A squire on the ground tossed him a lance.

"Keelie Heartwood!" Ms. Talbot's voice floated over
the crowd's noise.

Keelie tore her attention from the joust. It was the best
thing she'd seen so far.

She hurried toward a clearing with several buildings,
not that she was anxious to get this over with, but every
time Ms. Talbot called her name, everyone turned around
and looked.

The wooden post at the end of the path had four signs
on it. The top one read "Rose Arbor, Teas," then "Galadriel's
Closet" and "Village Smithy, Swords, Armor, Horses Shod,"
but it was the last one that caught Keelie's eye. It read simply "Heartwood." She glanced at her map. Sure enough,
this was it. The end of everything.

Her heart pounding, Keelie entered the clearing.
Ahead of her, Ms. Talbot waited, arms folded, in front of
a two-story wood-and-stone building with a thatched roof
straight out of a fairy tale. It looked familiar, and she immediately knew why.

Her father had sent her a replica of it for Christmas the
year she'd turned five. The play set included a two-story medieval house with little animals and furniture. He'd sent
her a copy of his shop.

Ms. Talbot stepped into the shadow of the building's
open first floor, and a tall, slender man appeared briefly
near the shadow's edge. Keelie couldn't see his face, but she
grasped her bag more tightly, clutching it to her chest like
a security blanket. It had to be him.

Zeke Heartwood. Her father.

Keelie quickly crossed the clearing and stepped onto
the cool flagstone floor of the building. She was surrounded by wooden furniture and the fragrance of sawn
lumber. She felt the presence of the furniture around her,
but instead of the unwelcome feelings wood brought on,
she felt she was surrounded by friends. Browsers still lingered here, and she pushed past them through the narrow walkways between displays, looking for the man she'd
spotted earlier.