Red's Untold Tale (9 page)

The Roberts family lived near the fork in the stream, in one of the nicest cottages in the whole village. Mrs. Roberts hosted gatherings every few weeks, whether or not she could name an
occasion worthy of celebrating. With Violet's eldest sister at the piano and their father's pitch-perfect baritone, they entertained the villagers, who enjoyed singing, clapping, and
dancing for hours after they'd cleaned their plates and emptied their glasses.

Most people found Mrs. Roberts's get-togethers charming and made every effort to be in attendance, but Granny found the parties altogether loathsome, complaining that Mrs. Roberts only
adored being adored. “It would save that woman a lot of time and money if she'd just sit in front of her mirror and tell her reflection how wonderful she is,” Granny always said.
Granny had made up excuses to miss the parties so often the invitations eventually stopped coming.

I never really minded, because it gave me extra time to practice shooting arrows or to swim with Peter and the boys, which is what I wished I was doing right then. I inhaled, exhaled, and rapped
on the door.

From inside, I heard Mrs. Roberts holler, “Violet, be a lamb and see who's here. I just have two more rows to finish.”

I took another deep breath and hoped Violet wouldn't notice the beads of sweat on my forehead.

“Red? What are you doing here?” Violet asked when she opened the door.

“I was hoping I could buy some milk.”

She raised her left eyebrow and tilted her head. “Is that so? Well, I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Miss Cates made a large order,” I couldn't resist saying. I knew she thought my granny was as mad as a hatter, and now a drunkard as well, so I wanted her to know that
Granny's baked goods were very much in demand. “We've barely been able to keep up with all the baking and deliveries—and it's all we can do to keep enough ingredients
on hand. Granny's business is doing very well, you know.”

“Well, I do now,” Violet said, twirling one of her dark curls around her finger. “Good for her.” I didn't want to hear about how Granny had crashed the bonfire
party with her mighty crossbow. Or about how Granny was scheming to get the Forget-Me-Not ball canceled. The quicker I could procure the milk and get away from Violet, the better.

Violet gestured for me to follow her inside, and I did. Someone—most likely one of her sisters—was playing the piano in the music hall, and when we entered the living room, Mrs.
Roberts glanced up from her sewing.

“Red, is that you?” Mrs. Roberts asked. Her hair was every bit as thick and long as Violet's, yet streaks of white lightened her temples. “My, you've been growing
like a beanstalk. Skinny as one, too. Is that grandmother of yours feeding you enough, dear?”

“Red has come for some milk, Mother,” said Violet. “Do we have any to spare?”

“I believe we do,” Mrs. Roberts answered. “Once I get to a good stopping point, I'll go and check. In the meantime, why don't you take a seat, Red? I'm sure
you girls have plenty to chat about. I overheard Violet telling her sisters what a nice time she had at last night's bonfire. I'm sure you did, as well.”

“Yes, but it's too bad you had to leave so early,” Violet said. “And it's too bad what happened to the lovely cake you brought.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Roberts set her needlepoint on the armrest of the sofa. “What happened to it?”

Digging my fingernails into the tapestry of the chair I sat in, I said, “Florence smashed it.”

“Goodness me.” Violet chuckled. “That's the truth, but of course it was a most unfortunate accident. She tripped and fell onto it. She felt horrible about it. It's
all the poor, clumsy girl talked about all night long: how terrible she felt.”

“And you played a part in it, as well, Violet,” I reminded her.

She chuckled again. “I sure did, Mother. I tried to put the cake back together using my own two hands.”

“That's my precious little lamb.” Mother and daughter shared a sickeningly sweet moment that made me shudder. Finally, Mrs. Roberts excused herself to go check on the milk.

Violet crossed the room and opened the window, probably to rid the room of the stench of dishonesty. I was thankful for the fresh air, but I wished Mrs. Roberts would hurry. I couldn't
stand being in that house or anywhere near Violet. With each passing second, I wished I had never come. If only there had been another way to get the milk Granny needed.

“So, I'm sure you're eager to hear what all happened at Peter's party after you left,” Violet said.

“All right,” I agreed, against my best instincts. I couldn't leave without what I came for, and because of that, I couldn't risk acting cross—especially since we
hadn't negotiated a price, and I might not have had enough in my pouch.

Violet leaned on the curio, her shiny black boots reflecting rays of sunlight. “Gregory pulled out his fiddle, and before you knew it, everyone was dancing round the bonfire. It was
delightful.”

That did sound nice, I had to admit. “Oh?”

“I took a spin with Peter—it was his birthday, after all—and what better gift than a dance with me?”

“Oh.” My stomach roiled. I couldn't bear to remain sitting, so I walked over to the window, hoping to see Mrs. Roberts on her way back from the barn with the milk. But sadly,
the only creature in the path was a starling, pecking at an insect or worm in the dirt.

Violet continued, “You wouldn't believe it if you didn't see it, but Peter can dance. The other girls saw it, too, and one by one they asked him to dance with them. One by one,
he turned them away. He danced with me and only me. I guess I must have been caught up in the excitement of it all—the fire, the music, the dancing bodies all around me, the big, silver
moon—and when Peter asked me to save him the first dance at the Forget-Me-Not ball…” The song her sister was playing on the piano came to an abrupt end. As the muffled sound of
rustling papers came from the music hall, Violet pressed her lips together and widened her eyes. “…I said yes!”

My jaw dropped. It was too late to try to disguise my shock. “I didn't realize he fancied you.” I held my hand up to my mouth, silently chastising myself for letting that slip
out, and before they'd given me a price for the milk. “What I meant to say is I'm quite sure he's never mentioned it, not even once.”

“Who knows? Perhaps he's only recently fallen under my spell.” She paused a moment and then laughed as if a private memory had tickled her mind. “That tends to happen
when they kiss me.”

My knees went to mush, like they'd forgotten how to hold my weight. I reminded myself that Peter and I were friends, nothing more—but I hated the very thought of him kissing somebody
else. Especially if that somebody was Violet Roberts.

“You're lying,” I choked out. “You're nothing but a liar.”

“Am I?” Her rosy lips curved up. “My dear Red, if you only knew me better, you'd realize I never lie. Lying is unbecoming. Still, if you don't believe me, perhaps
you should ask your friend Peter to fill in the story for you.”

I wanted to say, “Oh, I will,” but my throat closed up, barely allowing me to breathe, let alone speak.

Once Mrs. Roberts returned, she said, “It's our lucky day!” and held a jug up in the air as triumphantly as a hunter holds a rabbit.

“Thank you,” I managed to croak. “How much do I owe you?” Averting my eyes from Violet's glare, I dug into my pouch. My hands were shaking, so it took me an
excruciatingly long time to gather the coins.

“Red? Your face is ghastly pale. Are you not feeling well?” asked Mrs. Roberts.

“I've never been better,” I lied.

“Well. Today, you owe nothing. It's on the house.” Mrs. Roberts frowned. “Maybe you should go home and rest, dear girl. You really do look like you're coming down
with something. And please, try to put some meat on those bones of yours.” The way she said the last part made me think of the story of the witch who made a house of candy in the hopes of
snaring children to feast upon.

“No, really. I have the money. Please, Mrs. Roberts, take it.”

I held the coins for her, but she shook her head and said, “Red, it's no secret that your grandmother is…How do I put this delicately? Not very stable right now. Please, accept our
offering. It is our hope that it helps you both in your unfortunate…situation.”

My eyes flickered over to Violet, whose lips were pursed like she was trying to hold back a huge grin. It felt as if someone had just forced a cupful of salt down my throat. “There is no
‘situation,' Mrs. Roberts,” I said, finally. “We're fine. Actually, I was telling Violet when I first arrived that Granny's baking business is doing very
well.”

Mrs. Roberts lifted her chin and arched an eyebrow, and she appeared every bit the older version of Violet. “Now, Red. Don't be disrespectful. Take our gift.”

I bit back a grimace. Taking the proffered jug, I mumbled, “Thank you,” then turned on my heels. Before dashing into the woods, I placed the coins in a pile on their stoop. I
couldn't get out of Violet's house fast enough. Though I knew my mind had to be tricking me, I heard her cruel laughter and felt her searing stare even after I'd slipped well out
of her view.

As I marched down the road,
I squeezed the jug with all my might, giving it a punishing death grip. How could Peter have asked the meanest, vilest, most
wretched girl in the village for the first dance at the Forget-Me-Not ball? Had I been only imagining it when he and I'd agreed to go to the swimming hole instead of the stupid, pretentious
ball?

How could he have
kissed
her?

I thought he had more sense than that—as well as taste and dignity. I could go on and on about all the reasons Peter should stay away from Violet. I'd never told anybody about the
red-hooded snow-girl in the forest, but I truly believed that Peter and I were on the same page about how Violet and her devoted duo might be fair on the outside, but were rotten on the inside, all
the way to the core. I longed for the comfort my cross necklace brought me at times like this, when I felt so alone.

But then again, I didn't feel alone. I couldn't quite explain it, but I had the strong sensation that someone—or some
thing
—was watching me.

The sun had started its descent in the west, and a heavy fog had rolled in, blurring the forest into hazy, unfamiliar shapes. Though I fought against it, my mind wandered to the wolves.

A branch snapped. I stopped in my tracks and pricked up my ears, listening for anything out of the ordinary. My ears filled with the strangest sound of anything I could imagine for a bustling
forest:
silence
. Not even a rodent scuttling, a bat's wings flapping, or a leaf rustling in the wind. For an eerie moment, the world stood still.

I turned just a hair and spotted a pair of huge amber-colored eyes. They had to belong to a wolf, and suddenly, my blood ran cold. The eyes gleamed at me from the hollow between a towering
spruce and a tangle of scrubs. Though I didn't dare move a muscle, I closed my eyes and focused on my red riding hood.
It will protect me always
, I recited in my mind. Granny
promised it would.

I waited, hearing only the pounding of my heart. The pounding grew louder, like someone was beating drums inside my ribs. Finally, questioning if what I thought I'd seen were eyes at
all—or just a cruel joke my imagination was playing on me—I took a second look.

This time, there was nothing but a dark, empty shadow.
It was probably just your imagination
, I told myself. I concentrated on my breathing for what seemed like forever. When nothing
out of the ordinary happened, I started walking home again, placing one scuffed boot in front of the other. The usual noises of the woods resumed. But the instant I started feeling safe, I heard
something behind me—footsteps falling on the forest floor. They were faster than mine, and I could tell that each covered more ground.

My legs seemed to have a mind of their own, and before I knew it, I was running.

“
You will never outrun it. Your only hope is to hide. Hide, child.
” The words echoed in my mind, the voice all too familiar. But it wasn't the voice I'd heard in
my dreams. It was Granny's.

The footsteps sounded close, too close. My time was up. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I'm sorry, Granny,” I whispered, hoping the breeze would bring my last words to her. I owed
Granny so many apologies, at least a thousand for each of the sixteen years she'd spent raising me.

On second thought, I wanted my final words to be something more poignant, something she could hold on to for the rest of her time. “I love you, Granny,” I whispered ever so softly.
It occurred to me that I hadn't said those words in a long while. Too long.