three

"So what should I call you? Zeke? Lord Heartwood?" Keelie sat on her father's overstuffed green sofa, swaddled in a leaf-colored quilt, a mug of hot tea in her hands. Her straggly wet hair tickled her cheeks as she looked around the apartment above the shop.

It had taken him two hours to return, and it would serve him right if she died of pneumonia. At least she'd be with Mom.

"Call me Dad."

"How about not?"

"Knot's the cat. I'm your father."

"Well, you don't act like one. Why'd you take off like that? It was just a dumb tree."

His smile faded. "How did you know that the tree was on fire? Did you see the lightning bolt hit?"

Keelie was relieved he'd supplied the answer. "Yeah. And I saw smoke."

He didn't look like he believed her. "I ran because fire is very serious up here. We live in a forest. If it had spread, our lives would be in danger."

"Oh. That's the first thing anyone's said that makes sense in this wacky place."

From the window beside her, she could see the jousting arena at the bottom of the hill. The jousters were gone, and the field was empty except for a couple of workers picking up garbage.

She wondered if her golden knight had won and pictured him bending down for a kiss from the girl with the perfect Goldilocks hair. She frowned. Bad image. She needed to imagine him kissing her.

What was she thinking? She wouldn't be here long enough to hold his hand, much less kiss him.

"So, what'll it be? Dad?" Her father was still angling for a title.

"How about not?" She'd already called him that, but it was a mistake. She'd been swept away by the moment. "Dad" sounded so intimate, so close. Everything they were not.

"How about Father, then?" He picked up his own mug, embellished with a leaf motif.

"Formal, but acceptable," she said. "Do you prefer Zeke or Lord something or another when I talk about you to others?"

He grinned at her. "Lord something or another? Now who's being formal?"

She grinned back. Despite her recent dark mental trend, she was usually pretty nice. And she was pleased that they were having their first normal conversation. She didn't want him totally out of her life. Where would she go for holidays?

She wondered what kind of freak show Thanksgiving celebration they'd have here. It would probably include that evil hairball.

After her father's return she'd fallen into a mud puddle as she was preparing to climb the shop stairs. Her capris were soaked, stained with brown slime, all because that stupid shop cat tripped her again. On purpose, she was sure of it.

As she sat in the cold puddle, her underwear glued to her skin, she'd seen the cat run up the steps past her father, who gave him a stern look before he jumped down gracefully to join her.

Her father reached down to scratch the cat's ears. He lifted his chin and purred, eyes closed.

"What's with that cat? I never knew you had one."

He sighed as if already exhausted from dealing with her. "You have to watch out for Knot. He's a sneaky cat."

She looked at her father, incredulous that he owned a cat. He'd had time for a cat, but not for a daughter? "You know Mom was allergic to cats."

"So she said." He didn't sound convinced. So now Mom was a liar, too? "Knot is different from most cats. He was the only cat your mother would pet." He smiled at some long ago memory. "We used to be a happy family, believe it or not."

Goose bumps flecked her skin. A happy family. Keelie searched her father's face and saw pain in his eyes. Maybe at one time they had been a happy family, but he'd screwed it up when he left. Any chance they had to be a family again, just the two of them, was haunted by that fact. Thirteen years of nothing did not entitle him to be called Dad or Father. She'd call him Zeke.

The cat opened his eyes and looked at her, almost as if issuing a challenge. Could cats be that smart? She wanted to boot his heinie out the window.

The cat was a relic from her childhood, from the time when Mom and her dad were together. She stared back at the evil feline. It didn't seem that old. How long did cats live?

"Knot must be really old."

"Very. But he comes from a line of long-lived felines. He might outlive us." Her father smiled.

"Hypothermia kills millions every year, Zeke. I may be the next victim."

"There's a big tub in the bathroom," he said, pointing to the only real room in the apartment. "You can wash out your clothes in the sink. I put the bag with Tarl's costume by your bed. You won't have to wear them for long, just until we get your luggage from the airline and get you fitted for decent garb."

She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the hideous mud costume. "Thanks, I think. At least they're dry. What's garb?"

"It's what we call the costumes we wear here. Since this is a Renaissance Faire, you'll have to wear Renaissance costumes, at least during the day when the mundanes are about."

"Mundanes? It sounds like a disease."

He laughed. "They can seem like one, too. But it's just what we call the visitors."

"Oh." She put a world of feeling into that little syllable.

He looked at her, silent. "Of course, we also call them our bread and butter, and we're always polite to them. Courtly, in fact."

"I won't forget it." Did he think she was a baby? She'd wear the clown outfit until her sweater set and capris were washed and dry. He could wait to hear that she wasn't about to dress like the inmates in this asylum.

Meanwhile, she'd call the airlines and use her lawyer voice to demand that they find her luggage and return it to her. Mom would be proud of her for taking action, being firm, and for Keelie thinking of herself as a lawyer.

She'd use the lawyer voice to keep the "mundane" clothes, too. No way she'd play one of Oz's little Munchkins.

Her father went downstairs and she jumped up to examine her new home. Temporary home, she reminded herself. The main living area was an airy, open room. Wind chimes hung from the four huge wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. The white walls were hung with tapestries full of unicorns and flowers. Two areas were curtained off, carving out private rooms. One had the curtain pulled back with a tasseled silk rope. A tall, wood bed was inside, its high mattress covered with colorful pillows. A homely paper sack was on the floor next to it, a red hand print clearly visible on the yellow cloth spilling from the top.

She walked around, not touching anything, her eyes jumping from one thing to another, trying to take it all in at once. It was like walking into a fairy tale house.

A sense of belonging and freedom welled up inside of her, although this was the total opposite of her California home. Mom preferred the dark cherry wood furniture that had belonged to her Grandmother Jo. The huge pieces had always seemed so oppressive, and they had not been friendly. She avoided it, preferring her own bedroom's chrome and fiberglass retro look.

The tinkling chimes made a constant music, a soothing song. She smiled. Mom would have called it drafty.

Keelie noticed a cluster of framed photographs on a corner table. She walked over and picked up a frame with hearts carved across the top. Keelie, age six, grinned back at her, proud of her missing teeth.

All the photographs were of her. He had every school photo taken of her since she attended kindergarten, including last year's ninth-grade picture.

She spun around as the door reopened behind her.

"Keelie, I'll be in a meeting by the front gates until late, and then we can talk," said Dad. "If you're hungry, grab something from the fridge. Don't wander off. It gets dark fast."

Keelie spun on her bare feet. "You're going back to work? I just got here." She wanted to be alone, but it seemed unfair of him to desert her. Of course, he was good at it. He'd had practice.

"I want to spend time with you, too, but there's a Faire vendor's meeting."

"I'm so sorry Mom picked such an inconvenient time to die," she shouted. She froze, shocked. She wasn't an out-of-control freak. What was happening to her?

He looked stunned. "No, Keelie, that's not what I meant at all."

Her face hurt from holding back the latest round of tears. "Just go, okay? I need time alone." She sobbed and swallowed hard to stop the next sob from bubbling up.

"When you get dressed, you can go explore," he said. "There's lots to see, although everyone's closed up. Stay away from the Shire." He sighed. "You can stay up here, too, if you wish. Ms. Talbot said that you'd be here next week, so I'm not ready for you, but since you're here, we have to make do. It's my responsibility to care for you, and that includes financially, with my business. That's what I meant, Keelie. You're not a burden or an inconvenience."

He walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. She accepted the kiss but didn't look at him. She really did need time alone-her stomach rumbled-and some food. She was hungry and confused.

After he left, she found the little bathroom behind a plank door. A huge claw-footed bathtub with a hand-held shower took up most of the room, along with a gleaming porcelain sink, the bowl painted with twining green leaves. She found fresh towels in a basket and lavender-scented soap in the tub. This was more like it. It reminded her of the bathrooms at Chico Hot Springs, where she'd vacationed with her mother.

Cleaning up took a long time, but at last she was mudfree. She felt like a different person, especially after she dressed in the stupid clothes the mud man had loaned her. Just as she'd suspected, she looked like a fool. She thought of the beautiful girl with the pink and gold hoopskirt and the perfect golden hair, the one who would be kissing Sean the golden knight. Keelie looked down at the frayed pink ribbons on her purple bodice. She peeked over her shoulder. The red handprints on her bottom all but glowed on the yellow skirt. The blouse was dingy, but clean. At least her skin was free of crusty mud. She should have packed an extra outfit.

She attempted to finger comb some of the tangles out of her hair. Her detangling spray was in her luggage, along with her salon shampoo, conditioner, straightening iron, and gel. Curls and ringlets had popped out all over her head from the moisture in the air. She threaded a strand of her brown hair through her fingers. Except for the owl lady, nobody at this festival had short hair, which was fine. She didn't want to fit into this place, anyway.

Keelie touched her cheek where her father had kissed her. That had been weird. She hadn't even tried to move away. The whole day had been twisted. Sometimes she wanted to run away, to return to civilization, and other times she wanted to be the little girl in his arms. It must have been a reaction to the stress of her mother's death and the move.

Maybe what she needed was to keep busy, to keep moving so that she didn't have time to think too much. Thinking led to thoughts of her mom, and how much her life had changed, and then the tears would start again.

She glanced out the multipaned window that faced the jousting field. The rain had stopped, and jousters were practicing in the lengthening shadows of the field below. Now that the Faire was closed, she decided to check out the after-hours action, although really she just wanted to see if Sean was there without Princess Perfect-Hair Elia.

She looked down at her feet. No shoes, but if she stepped on patches of grass, then her feet would stay clean, or at least free of mud. After all, the jousting field was practically next door. She ran back to the bathroom, where she'd left her dirty clothes on the floor. Her capris were a disaster, but she wasn't going to do laundry until later. She rummaged in the pocket for the rose quartz and tucked it in her bra. Luckily, the top was baggy enough that no one would see the weird lump.

A quick search of the tiny kitchen area showed that there wasn't much to eat, but she found a canister full of oatmeal cookies. Perfect. She shoved one in her mouth and carried two more, then slammed the door behind her and picked her way down the wooden stairs, bare toes tingling. Yellow pine from Georgia.

Hopping down the hill from one green grass patch to the next was more difficult than she'd anticipated. When she got to a spot where the next patch was four feet away, Keelie regretted giving up ballet. She jumped and landed squarely in the middle of a puddle. No mud, thankfully.

The jousting field was labeled by the sign next to the grandstand that had earlier been full of tourists. Mundanes, in the local lingo. All around her, armor clanged, horses and riders called to each other, and harnesses jingled. She wondered which way the Shire was. Her map of the site, soggy like all of her belongings, was deep in her purse back at the apartment. The workers' campground probably wasn't on it.

Two armored knights, helmets removed, stomped past, as muddy as Keelie had been earlier. They didn't seem to mind. One waved to her as they passed. She started to lift her hand to return the wave, but they had gone on.

Two clumps of grass grew between her and the rough wooden barrier at the edge of the field. A giant horse was tied to one of the posts. It turned its massive head and looked straight at her, then whickered a greeting.

It was almost as if he wanted to meet her. She'd never been near such a large animal, but she wasn't frightened. Keelie judged the distance to the next clump and jumped, but missed. Water flew everywhere.

The horse tossed his head as if in approval, and Keelie laughed. She stopped, startled, as she realized it was the first time in days that she had laughed.

Ankle-deep in water, she giggled. The horse nudged her with his nose, and she petted him. "Pleased to meet you, too," she said. She offered him an oatmeal cookie. The horse chomped it noisily. Horses liked cookies. Who knew?

"I should have known you'd be one of the mud people."

Keelie turned and saw Miss Goldilocks Perfect-Hair standing arm in arm with Sean. Great. They'd both gotten a long look at the handprints on the back of her skirt.

She decided to tough it out. She extended her right hand. "Hi, again. We didn't introduce ourselves properly. I'm Keelie Heartwood. I'll be living up the hill with my father." It felt strangely good to say that.

Lord Sean bowed, smiling. "I am Lord Sean o' the Wood, and this is Lady Elia."

The girl looked down at Keelie's outstretched hand with disdain. "Ladies curtsey, Katy." She dipped gracefully and fanned out her pink skirts. "Like this."

"Oh. Like this?" Keelie gathered her hideous yellow skirts daintily in each hand and dipped, extending her left foot, then deliberately smacked it down on the mud in front of her. Slimy brown mud splattered in all directions.

"Oh, you klutz!" Lady Elia shrieked, spreading her wide skirts, searching for spots. The girl's hate-filled eyes turned to Keelie, taking in the mismatched, tacky clothes. "You did that on purpose," she hissed. "And you will be sorry."

"I'm already sorry. And the name's Keelie."

Elia stalked off, nose in the air. "Come along, Lord Sean. It's going to rain again any second."

Sean stared at Keelie, fighting to keep a smile from turning into a full-fledged grin. "Lady Elia hates to get wet."

"I've heard that about witches. Don't they melt in water?"

One of the knights gathered nearby guffawed. Sean shrugged and followed after Elia.

Thunder boomed overhead. Keelie snatched the quartz from its hiding place in her bra, holding it tight in case she got another tree voicemail. The sky had darkened again, and wind thrashed branches high overhead. The little crowd scattered, and a rider came to lead away the horse tied to the post.

As big raindrops started to hit the ground, Keelie was left alone. There was no sign of the real world. The gray sky hid any airplanes, the only sounds were rain and the distant shouts of Faire workers scurrying to shut down for the day. No sign of her mother or Ms. Talbot or her old life existed.

What was left was this green place, alien and wet, so unlike California that she needed a guidebook to figure it out, and filled with people who didn't want her here.

Rain sheeted down, plastering her hair to her head. Her costume hung in heavy folds, although her legs were warm and dry under the layers of cloth.

Slowly, she started back up the hill, away from the abandoned jousting field, not caring if she forded suddenly created streams, bare feet splashing heedlessly through mud and water.

Keelie had to accept the fact that she was stuck. Stuck in Medieval Hell... but she wouldn't be here for long.