Chime by Franny Billingsley Read Free Book Online Page B

the clean, muddy smell of life.
    Eldric’s whistling slid into words. “Your father says you know the swamp like the back of your hand.”
    “I am not at all interested in the back of my hand.”
    “But you’re interested in the swamp,” said Eldric. “So why have you stayed away for so long?”
    “Who told you that!”
    “You did,” said Eldric.
    Had I? Eldric and I drifted through the swamp. We wept across the Flats, we bled around the remains of ancient trees. Mr. Dreary had fallen behind us; he didn’t know how to drift. He splatted along on his dreary legs.
    “I see you love the swamp,” said Eldric.
    I didn’t love anything. But I couldn’t say that, and I couldn’t explain why I’d abandoned the swamp.
    There were so many things I couldn’t say. That Stepmother had proven to me that the swamp and I, together, were dangerous. That I’d promised her never again to set foot in the swamp.
    When I was hollowed out with craving, I’d remind myself that the swamp and I were a combustible combination. When I bit at my own teeth, I’d remind myself that my swampy combustions hurt people.
    “There’s always Rose to look after,” I said. “She wants a lot of minding.”
    But I wasn’t minding Rose, not right now. I was in the swamp, for the second time in two days, leaving Rose in the Parsonage. But it was all right, wasn’t it? Pearl had promised never to take her eyes from Rose, not even for a moment (although I’d told her she could blink). It was all right, wasn’t it, because I was doing it for the best? I was doing it to save Mr. Dreary—wasn’t I? A witch is wicked enough to fool her own self.
    Best check on him—yes, there he was, in the finest of dreary fettles. Don’t fool yourself, keep checking.
    “But you’ve always had Rose to look after,” said Eldric.
    “Don’t forget we all fell ill,” I said. “First Father, then I, then Stepmother. Rose too, just a bit, toward the end of Stepmother’s life. We each of us had to mind the other.”
    All, that is, save Father. He didn’t mind anyone, and I mind that. He’d been quite ill for the first year or so after he married Stepmother. But then he got better and went off, or maybe he went off and got better. I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is that he came home only to sleep. We rarely saw him.
    “She didn’t kill herself, you know.”
    I hadn’t known I was going to say this, but it was too late to take it back. “My stepmother wasn’t the type to kill herself.”
    “She was murdered?” said Eldric.
    I tried to answer without answering, as this was not a popular hypothesis. “She wouldn’t have killed herself.”
    “No?” said Eldric.
    I looked up at him, his cheeks not exactly rosy, but pinkish gold. “You don’t believe me?”
    He paused. “I don’t not believe you.”
    I should never have said anything. Of course he didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t myself. Why didn’t I think about it all the time? Why didn’t I turn into Mr. Sherlock Holmes and bring her murderer to justice?
    We fell into silence. Eldric fell back to whistling; his whistling slid into singing. “Gin a body meet a body, comin’ thro’ the rye.” Beyond the Flats lay the fields. I had used to love lying in them in the fall, the rye waving above my head, bronzed and feathered.
    “Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry?”
    Eldric and I bled and wept round twists of black branches. It was most peculiar to hear Eldric sing. I felt he was singing just for me. I’d not felt that since Father stopped singing to us, at bedtime. I suppose we’d grown too old for that, Rose and I, but still, I’d missed it for a long time.
    Now I had to struggle to keep up with Eldric. He wasn’t short of breath; he was fresh as the proverbial daisy. Unfair! This is my swamp and I’m wolfgirl, tireless and fierce. Unfair! I wished I could uproot him and pluck his petals, one by one.
    He loves me.
    He loves me not.
    He loves me.
    But I already know