Shorn: Chapter 23

They were eating breakfast a few days later when Melda said, “What does Rascal have?” Rascal was squatting on the floor, turning something in his furry paws.

“It looks like a ring,” Kit said, shoving a bite of egg in his mouth.

“So, that’s where it went.” Melda got up from the table and approached Rascal. “Lina said yesterday that she couldn’t find her ring. She took it off to help with the washing up, and when she went to look for it, it was gone.” She crouched and reached for Rascal.

Something about her tone or movement made Rascal suspicious, and he backed away from her.

Melda, still crouching, waddled after him. “Come here, you little stinker.”

Rascal ran for the front door. Melda stood up. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re giving that ring up whether you like it or not.”

Rascal leapt up, got hold of the door latch and opened the door. In a flash, he was gone.

Melda stared after him, amazed. “When did he learn how to do that?”

Lysa spoke up. “A couple days ago. He wanted out. I thought it would be a good idea to teach him how to open the door. That way we don’t have to.”

Melda walked to the door and put her hands on her hips. “Not sure that was a good idea.”

Lysa got up from the table. “I’ll get the ring, Mama.” She went outside. “Come here, Rascal!”

But Rascal wasn’t having it. He scurried away and hid under the chokecherry bush. Lysa flushed him. This time he climbed up onto the wagon. On the seat, he berated her, chittering. He set the ring down on the seat.

And that was all it took.

Old Croakey saw his chance and took it. He dropped down out of the oak tree and snatched the ring. Cawing victoriously, he flew back to his nest.

Rascal stared after him in dismay. When Lysa picked him up, he made a sad sound and wrapped his paws around her neck.

“It wasn’t yours anyway,” she scolded him. “You shouldn’t have taken it.” Rascal cried some more.

“I can get it,” Pol said. “I climbed up to Old Croakey’s nest before. It’s easy.”

He climbed the tree with no problem, hands and feet finding the holds with the natural ease of a child who has climbed many trees. The canopy hid him from view, but they could see the limbs rustling as he climbed.

“Be careful!” Melda called.

“Careful!” Ren echoed.

More rustling. Then came Pol’s triumphant cry. “I got it!”

His words were followed by a shriek of rage from Old Croakey. There was the sound of flapping wings. Pol yelled. Old Croakey flew out of the tree and perched on top of the chimney, looking disgruntled.

Soon, Pol was back on the ground. He gave the ring to Melda. Rascal jumped out of Lysa’s grasp and ran over to Melda. He stood on his hind legs, paws on her thigh. A sad trill came from him.

“Cry all you want. You’re not getting it back.”

Rascal cried again.

“Nope.”

Rascal dropped to the ground and walked away, making sad noises to himself. When Lysa reached for him, he ran back under the chokecherry bush and hid.

“That animal is getting to be a handful,” Melda remarked. “He stole two spoons yesterday and my brush right off the table. And don’t get me started on the flour incident.”

Several days earlier, Melda woke up during the night to a terrific crash in the kitchen. She emerged from her room to find that the flour bin had been knocked off the shelf. There was flour everywhere. In the midst of the wreckage was one small raccoon. He was almost completely white with flour except the black holes of his eyes. Then he started sneezing. She was still cleaning up white footprints and yesterday’s loaf of bread had sand in it.

“Maybe he needs to be in a cage sometimes,” Melda said.

All three of the older children instantly voiced their unhappiness with this idea.

“You can’t put him in a cage!” Lysa wailed. “It’s mean.”

Melda put her hands up. “It was only a thought. But if he keeps being a problem, we’re going to have to do something.”

“He’ll be good from now on,” Lysa said earnestly. “I promise.”

“He’s a curious animal with lots of energy. I don’t think you can make that promise.”

 

They had harvested peas, tomatoes, and corn the day before, and the wagon was already packed for a trip to the market. Shorn began harnessing Patience to the wagon.

When Rascal saw the wagon being hooked up, he quickly emerged from hiding. He ran to the wagon and crawled up onto the seat. He trilled, urging Shorn to hurry up.

Shorn paused to pat him on the head.

Rascal grabbed his finger and held it in both paws. He fixed Shorn with his bright eyes and purred.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

Rascal gave his hand a pat and let him go. He ducked and hissed as Old Croakey flew over low.

Once Patience was harnessed, the whole family climbed into the wagon. Everyone, that is, except Kit. Melda looked at the twins. “Where’s your brother?”

“I don’t know,” Pol said. “I saw him by the barn awhile ago.”

Melda called his name. After a bit, Kit appeared in the door of the barn. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes turned down.

“Come on, Kit. What are you waiting for?”

Kit shuffled reluctantly toward them.

“We don’t have all day,” Melda said.

Shorn walked over and picked up the boy, throwing him over his broad shoulder. Normally, Kit loved being picked up, but this morning he only complained.

Shorn put him in the back, and Melda turned to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just don’t wanna go.”

Lysa couldn’t believe that. “You always want to go to town.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What happened?” Melda asked.

At first, Kit just shook his head. But his resolve soon broke. Tears ran down his face. He wiped at them angrily.

“They were mean to me.”

Melda looked at Shorn, who shrugged. “Who was mean?”

“Those other boys.”

“What did they do?”

“They made fun of my shirt. My favorite shirt.”

Kit had a favorite shirt that he’d worn for years. It was too small and completely disreputable. The last time he’d torn it, while jumping down out of a tree, Melda had said she was going to throw it away. But he’d cried and begged so much that she relented and fixed it. But since she hadn’t had any spare cloth to use to patch the large, missing piece on the back, she’d used a piece of the sack their flour came in.

“It’s an ugly shirt,” Pol said. “I don’t know why you keep wearing it.”

“Because it’s my favorite! You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re—”

“Pol! You’re not helping.” Melda hugged Kit and wiped his tears. “I’m sorry they were mean to you.”

“They’re dumb, and I hate them.”

“No, you don’t. No child of mine is going to waste their life hating. It’s a poison that will kill everything you love. You know that.”

“I know,” Kit said miserably. “But I still do.”

“It’s okay to be angry. But you don’t want to stay there. So what if they made fun of your shirt? You like it, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t worry about what others say. You’re not wearing it for them, are you?”

“No.”

“If it happens again, just ignore them. Or better yet, laugh.”

Kit looked up at her, confused. “Laugh?”

“Sure. They think they’re being funny, so laugh with them. Laugh louder than them.”

“But why?”

“Let me explain something to you. When those boys teased you, they wanted you to get upset. They wanted you to get mad or cry. So, what’s the best thing to do then? Is it get mad or cry?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what they want?”

“Exactly. And they’ll keep doing it. But if you laugh and show you don’t care, what’s left for them then?”

Kit thought about it, his little brow furrowed. When he looked up, determination was written on his face. “That’s what I’m gonna do.” Before anyone could stop him, he’d jumped out of the wagon. He ran into the house. When he emerged, he was wearing his favorite shirt.

He climbed into the wagon. He still had the determined look on his face. “Let’s go.”

They rolled down into the valley. Rascal stood on Shorn’s shoulder, eyes darting as he took in the world from his elevated vantage point. The twins talked excitedly. Ren sat close to her mother, pointing out things and saying their names. She was often wrong. Melda corrected her, but Ren mostly ignored her. She was having too much fun.

Kit said nothing the whole way, only sat there with a serious look on his face. The others all left him alone.

The square was busy as usual, with ten other wagons already there, all bursting with produce. Several farmers also had crates full of baby chicks or ducks. A yearling horse was tied to one of the wagons. A man was haggling with the farmer for it.

The moment Shorn parked the wagon, the older kids all jumped down. “Do we have to help?” Lysa asked. “I want to play with Emma.”

“I suppose Shorn and I can handle it.”

“Me too,” Ren chimed in.

Melda laughed. “With Ren’s help, of course.” Lysa ran off. “If you see her mother, tell her I have her ring!” Melda called after her.

Pol ran off to find his friends. While removing the rear gate from the wagon, Shorn kept an eye on Kit, wondering what he would do.

Kit was standing near the wagon, still with that intense look on his face. Shorn could see that he was afraid, but he was also determined. Shorn thought the determination would win.

Shorn saw the boys a short while later. He’d seen them around before. Both were a little older than Kit. He wouldn’t have been sure it was them if he hadn’t seen Kit stiffen.

The boys were heading toward the wagon, but it didn’t look like they’d seen Kit yet. One of them, taller than the other, with shaggy black hair, was focused on something that he was carrying. The other was carrying a small stick and pretending it was a sword.

When they got near, Kit stepped out and walked right up to them. “Hey,” he said.

The boys looked him over. The one with the stick said, “It’s that kid that lives with the monster.”

Kit scowled. “Shorn isn’t a monster.”

“He is. Have you even looked at him?”

Kit set his jaw. “He isn’t a monster.”

Shaggy Hair said, “Are you a monster too?”

“No.”

“But your daddy is a monster, so you must be too.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

Stick Boy chimed in. “The monster can’t be his daddy. His daddy’s dead.”

Kit fell back with a look like he’d been clubbed on the side of the head. Tears started in his eyes.

“Are you going to cry now?” Stick Boy asked. “Is the little baby going to cry?”

Kit looked around, but his mother was talking to a customer who was blocking her view of him. He looked to Shorn.

More than anything, Shorn wanted to march over there and show them what a monster could really look like. Scare them so bad they wouldn’t leave their beds for a week.

Which was strange, because up until a few months ago, he’d have told Kit to deal with the bullies himself. How else would he ever grow strong enough to stand up for himself?

But he understood that neither was a good option right now. Kit needed to know Shorn was there for him. But he also needed to learn how to handle the bullies of the world.

Shorn gave Kit a nod, trying to let Kit know he believed in him.

Kit nodded back. He wiped away the nascent tears and turned to the boys.

“I’m not going to cry.”

Stick Boy smirked. “Brave words from a little baby.”

Kit stood straighter. “I’m not a baby. I help on the farm. I have a spear, and I know how to use it.”

“Ooh, the little baby has a toy spear,” Stick Boy said.

“It’s not a toy. It’s a real spear. Your stick is a toy. Who’s the baby now?”

Stick Boy’s face darkened. He looked at the stick in disgust and tossed it away. “You’re going to be sorry you said that.”

“No. I’m sorry for talking to you.”

Shaggy Hair said, “You should keep your mouth shut. Anyone who wears garbage instead of clothes should just shut up.”

“It’s not garbage. It’s my favorite shirt, and you know what? I don’t care what you say about it. I don’t care what you say about me. Call me a baby. Make fun of my shirt.” His words were getting louder as he went along, so the last part was a shout. “I don’t care!”

“Baby,” Stick Boy said.

“Garbage shirt,” Shaggy Hair said.

Kit started laughing. It was clearly a fake laugh, but he put a lot into it. He held his stomach and slapped his knee. He made snorting sounds.

He didn’t stop, either. He kept it going. Finally, the two older boys got disgusted.

“Let’s go,” Stick Boy said. “He’s crazy.”

Kit followed them. “Don’t leave! You’re so funny. Say something else funny.”

“Get away from us, you weirdo,” Shaggy Hair said.

“But you’re so funny!”

The two boys ran off. Kit came walking back to the wagon, a big smile on his face. He looked up at Shorn.

“That was fun.”

“You handled that very well.” Shorn hesitated. He’d never said or had these words said to him before, and it felt strange. “I’m proud of you.”

Kit held his arms up. Shorn picked him up. Kit wrapped his arms around Shorn’s thick neck. “I was so scared,” he whispered in Shorn’s ear.

“That’s okay. Being scared is normal.”

Kit pulled back to look at him. “Not for you. You’re never scared.”

Shorn chuckled. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m scared all the time.”

“No way.”

“It’s true.”

“I don’t believe it. What are you scared of?”

Shorn wasn’t sure if he should say the words that came to him.

“Tell me.”

Shorn said, “I’m scared that something will happen to you. Or to your siblings. Or your mother.”

Kit hugged him again. “You’re the best monster ever. I love you.”

There was no hesitation this time. “I love you too, Kit.”

 

Around mid-afternoon, Moll showed up. Her bow and quiver were strapped to her back, and she was carrying something wrapped in cloth. Lysa had returned a while earlier, complaining that Emma had to help her mother and couldn’t play anymore.

“I have something for you.” Moll laid the cloth-wrapped bundle in the back of the wagon.

“For me?” Lysa’s sadness disappeared instantly. “What is it?”

“Open it up.”

It was a small bow with matching quiver and arrows and two strings.

“This was my bow when I was your age.”

Lysa’s eyes lit up. She picked up the bow reverently. “For me?”

“You said you wanted to learn.”

“I do, I do.”

“Then come on. I’ll start teaching you right now.”

“Can I, Mother?” Lysa asked.

“Go right ahead. Don’t be gone too long. We’re almost sold out.”

Rascal jumped out of the wagon and tried to scurry after her, but Melda caught him. “You need to stay here with us.” She nuzzled him. “We don’t want you catching a stray arrow.”

Rascal complained some more, but once she gave him some cherries she’d bartered with another farmer for, he forgot his unhappiness and tore into them. Unfortunately, they were soon gone, and Rascal made a pest of himself crying for more.

Melda and Shorn started packing up. Ren helped, though it was arguable her “help” only slowed things down. But she was insistent on it, so Melda let her.

Suddenly, Shorn tensed. In a low voice, he said, “We have trouble.”

Melda turned to see a large box wagon roll through the gate, pulled by four horses. It was painted a lurid red color. The man sitting on the seat, driving the horses, was burly, wearing a leather shirt with chain mail over it. A half-helm was clamped on his head. Two more guards hung onto the back. Each was armed with a mace and a short sword.

But it was what was behind the wagon that caused every conversation in the square to stop.

(If you're interested in reading more of Shorn's story from the time before this current one, go check out Wreckers Gate. It's book one of Immortality and Chaos, the series where we first meet Shorn. I will warn you that he doesn't appear until book 2, though!)

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