Locking my knees as the room rolled and my legs threatened to buckle from lack of oxygen, I peered around him to Della who’d retreated to the rocking chair, glowering at everyone as if they were our mortal enemies.
And who knew, perhaps they were, but unfortunately, I wasn’t at my usual strength, and I had to be smart about leaving that wouldn’t end up with us split apart or me being shot by a farmer.
Because a bullet in my brain was a real possibility.
All farmers had guns.
Just because he didn’t carry one right now didn’t mean I was safe.
Sticking out his hand, John Wilson grumbled, “Do we have a deal?”
It took another few moments for my fuzzy head to clear, but I finally concluded I didn’t have a choice. I had to continue playing nice and hopefully whatever drugs I just took would work fast and we could be out of here by this afternoon.
I nodded, keeping my hands by my sides. “You have a deal, but I won’t shake your hand. According to your doctor, I’m sick, and I don’t want you to catch it.”
John Wilson cracked a smile. “Courteous fellow. I like that.” Striding from the bedroom, he threw over his shoulder. “Come on then. Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
It took a few minutes for everyone to shuffle from the guest bedroom, down the wood-panelled corridor to the peach and cream kitchen.
Another minute later, Patricia Wilson had ensured each of her children, husband, me, and Della had a mug of something hot placed in front of us at the dining room table.
Once settled, John Wilson sipped his drink, looked me up and down, then glanced at my dirty, tired backpack wedged against his kitchen cabinets. “Okay…first, I’m going to start with the obvious.”
My heart rate picked up. I wrapped my fingers around the hot cup to stop myself from grabbing Della and running.
“Obviously, you lied to us about a bus trip and visiting relatives. I understand why you did and appreciate your need to protect yourself and your sister, but that’s the last lie you’re ever allowed to tell me, understand?”
My teeth clacked together. I didn’t reply other than narrowing my eyes in warning.
He continued, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you two don’t seem to have a home. If I was to put money on it, I’d say you’ve been living rough for a while. It’s winter. You’re going to freeze out there. To be honest, I don’t know how you’ve survived with the cold snaps we’ve been having.”
“Honey, don’t go off on a tangent,” Patricia Wilson piped up, smoothing her son’s hair who sat next to her.
My eyes strayed to her daughter who sat directly in front of me, her gaze burning me with an intensity that prickled my skin and not from fever.
I sat back in the chair, resting my hands on my lap before Della’s tiny one crept across and slipped into mine, squeezing me. Scooting my chair closer to hers, I did my best to resist the urge to cough and squeezed back.
John Wilson carried on, “I pride myself on being a good judge of character, and I like you, boy.”
“Not Boy,” Della immediately snapped. “Ren. He told you his name. It’s Ren.”
Cassie Wilson tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Ren Wild. Yes, we know.” She rested her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm, studying me. “What I want to know is who is Ren Wild? Why did I find you in our barn?”
Della squirmed, opening her mouth with some retort, but I squeezed her again and said, “I’m sorry we slept above your horses, but I wasn’t feeling well.”
Cassie cocked her head. “You weren’t well, and you wanted to keep your sister from the cold. That’s what you said before.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Where are your parents?” she asked, fast and sharp.
“Dead.”
Her coldness suddenly thawed, her shoulders rounding and a sweetness she’d hidden filling her gaze when she looked at Della beside me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I squeezed Della’s fingers harder.
“Is my dad right? That you’ve been on the streets for a while?”
I shot her father a glance. He’d said I couldn’t lie, but he didn’t say I could omit the truth. “We’ve never slept on the streets.”
Technically, it wasn’t a lie. We slept in forests with tents and sleeping bags, never on empty concrete in heartless cities.
“I don’t believe you.” Cassie Wilson crossed her arms. “You look like you’ve just crawled from the jungle.”
My lips twitched, not from her joke, but from pride. I liked that I looked more feral than civilized. I enjoyed being different to her even though the longer I stared, the more I found to notice about her.
Her hair caught the kitchen lights with golden strands as well as brown. Her eyes had specks of hazel and not just green. She licked her lips when she was angry or nervous. And she vibrated with energy I desperately needed so I could get better and leave this place.
She made me nervous, and I daren’t analyse why.
“I don’t care what you think of me,” I muttered. “We made a mistake sleeping in your father’s barn.”
She waved her hand. “Meh, I don’t care that you slept there. You didn’t hurt my ponies, so you’re already better than some of our old farmhands, and you care for your sister like I care for my brother, so that makes you kind. Dad says to give you a chance, so I will.” Her eyes slipped back into suspicion. “But don’t make me regret it.”
“That’s enough, Cas.” John Wilson cleared his throat, then pinned his eyes on me. “Before Cassie steals this entire conversation, I better come out with it. My wife and I have discussed options. Our first instinct was to call the police and have them tell your parents where you are. You haven’t told us your ages, but I doubt you’re legally able to live on your own with a minor. I didn’t invade your privacy and go through your bag, but if I’m right about you guys being homeless…that leads to the question of why.”
“That’s none of your business,” I said coldly, calmly. “Our life is our own. It’s not your place to call the police or—”
“Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong.” John Wilson held up his hand. “It is my place if I believe you’re at risk, parents are missing you, or if you’re up to no good. We’ve dealt with a few runaways while operating this farm, and most of them we send directly home to parents who are sick with worry and only have love and honourable intentions for their children. Other times, we…” He looked at his wife, trailing off.
“Other times, you what?” Adrenaline filled my veins, already hearing horror stories of eating children for lunch or selling them like I’d been sold.
Such filth shouted loudly in my head, so I wasn’t ready for him to say, “We give them a safe place to rest and figure out what they want to do. We don’t pressure them to go home and we don’t call the police with the understanding that there are no secrets between us.”
He leaned forward, planting his large hands on the table. “I’ve been around a while, Ren, so I know a kid that’s been abused versus one that has been loved. Winter is a slow time of year for a farm, but I’m willing to offer you employment, if you want it, and a place to stay with the only proviso that you tell me the truth.”
I froze. “You’re offering me a job?” A cough punctuated the end of my question, bending me over with wracking convulsions.
John Wilson waited until I’d stopped coughing before chuckling. “When you’re better, yes, I’m offering you a job. For now, your only task is to get better.”
I shook my head. “I-I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” I searched his face for an ulterior motive. I begged my instincts to strip back any falsehoods and help me see the fine print of such a deal.
No one could be that generous…surely?
“I’m doing this because a while ago, my eldest boy ran away thanks to a fight we had. He was missing for three years. We all believed he was dead and mourned every day from lack of news and guilt for failing him. I should never have lost my te
mper. He was just a kid—your age or thereabouts. It was my fault.”
Patricia Wilson reached out and patted her husband’s hairy hand. “It wasn’t just your fault, John. Adam was as much to blame.”
He smiled at his wife and shrugged at me. “Anyway, the good news is one day, a few years ago, we received a phone call from a family two counties over. They said they’d found our son sleeping behind their local supermarket. He was pretty beaten up, but when they’d tried to call the police, he’d hobbled away on a broken leg to avoid the mess between us. Instead of tying him down and calling the authorities, they took him in, cared for him, and believed him when he said he’d run from an abusive home and didn’t want the police to send him back.”
Pain shadowed the old farmer’s eyes, a wince smarting even now. “Obviously, he lied to them, but they gave him shelter and offered him no judgment or expectation. They helped him find a job, earn some money, and mature enough to see that our fight was stupid and idiotic and not worth the estrangement anymore. Finally, my son told them the truth; that he wasn’t from an abusive family, bore the brunt of their disappointment that he’d lied, let them call us with the news, and came back home.”
Cassie picked up where her father left off. “What my dad is trying to say is now he has a debt to repay the kindness of the family who took Adam in. Without them, he would probably be dead. Instead, he’s at university and about to graduate as a lawyer.”
John Wilson nodded. “I’ve always felt humbled that complete strangers gave me back my son. If you need a place to stay, money to earn, and time to do whatever you need to do, then I want to give you that.” He held up his finger. “Under one condition.”
My thoughts raced, trying to unravel the story he’d just told and doing my best to sniff out the truth, but his gaze was clear and honest, earnest and fair unlike the evil that lived in others.
“What condition?” I asked around another cough, even though I knew what it was. Honesty. Truth I didn’t know if I could share.
Della scooted closer, resting her head on my arm in sympathy.
John Wilson smiled at Della’s move to touch me, understanding what anyone who wasn’t blind could see—that our bond was tight and true. That we looked out for each other. That she cared for me as much as I cared for her.
He said, “That you tell me the truth about who you are and why you’re running. Whatever your answer is, I swear to you my offer will not change. I won’t judge. I won’t call the police. I won’t interfere in any way. If you’ve run away from a family who misses and loves you, then my one stipulation would be to call them and say you’re safe and give them my number so they can contact you while you’re away from home. Do that and the only reason my offer will expire is if you hurt my loved ones, steal from me, or I find out you were lying.” The kind-hearted giant was replaced by a gun-slinging lawmaker with a single harsh look, hinting he was the reason his daughter had inherited a sharp tongue.
“So…” He crossed his arms, looking me up and down. “What’s it going to be?”
I swallowed past the razor blades in my throat and looked at Della.
She shook her head, a whine falling from her lips. “Forest…please, Ren?”
It killed me that I couldn’t give her what she’d fallen so in love with, but I also refused to kill her by giving her what she’d fallen in love with.
I didn’t want to stay either.
But winter was our nemesis.
The moment the snow melted, we’d leave.
For now…this was our best option.
Sitting straighter, I locked eyes with John Wilson and gave him a blended version of truth and lie. I lied because I didn’t separate Della from my own tale. We’d already said we were blooded brother and sister and not just two kids who’d found solace in each other. I intended to keep that secret for however long we stayed here.
And I told the truth because her tale was now my tale, and I wouldn’t hide behind false veneers. I wasn’t afraid of showing the ugly truth that went on behind closed doors.
I coughed, swallowed, and said, “We ran from a farm that buys children for cheap labour. I have a brand just like their cattle. I lost a finger due to their strictness. I ran before they could do such things to my sister, before they could sell us for cheap, or before they put us in the offal pit where other livestock go once they’ve died. There is nothing for us in our past, and I won’t allow anyone, anyone, to jeopardize our future.”
It was my turn to switch my tone from respectful to threatening, fighting off yet more coughs. “I know hard work, and I’m not afraid of it. I’m strong. I’m skilled. I will obey and do what is required, but I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for my sister, and as long as she is treated kindly, then I will be forever in your debt. But if there comes a moment when she’s not, I won’t hesitate to do what is necessary. Do you understand, Mr. Wilson? Don’t see a kid who’s sick. See a man who is prepared to do whatever it takes to protect what he loves.”
John Wilson held my stare then slowly nodded. “I see a man who reminds me of myself. I understand.”
Della pushed her forehead against my shoulder, knowing she’d lost the battle, and I’d condemned our next few months to be with strangers and not our chosen sanctuary of aloneness.
My gaze left John Wilson’s and settled on his daughter, Cassie.
She gave me a look that wasn’t full of suspicion or ridicule like usual. Instead, it was filled with fire that made my blood thicken and a feminine smile that made me feel strong for putting aside my mistrust and dislike of people and weak because despite myself…I liked one.
I liked her.
I liked her defending her family and home.
I liked her spirit and snap.
I liked her enough to know I should run far away from her, but I’d just promised to behave for the winter and work for her father.
It was a decision I would live to regret.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
REN
* * * * * *
2005
WE STAYED AT Cherry River Farm all winter.
We made a temporary home in the single bedroom with its own bathroom off the barn. After that first afternoon when the Wilsons escorted us to the private quarters and showed us where we would stay, Della had shown a glimmer of acceptance at having our own place even though she still tugged on my hand to run.
I must admit, I’d sighed in heavy relief.
I hadn’t considered where we would live, and if he’d given us rooms in the main house, we would’ve lasted a night before the loner inside me bundled Della into stolen jackets and vanished into the snowy night.
At least, even with our days filled with people, our evenings and nights were still ours…alone.
That first week took a lot of getting used to. I had no choice but to take it easy with my lungs sloshing with liquid, and Della paced like a caged tiger cub, desperate to run and leap while confined to a small cage.
I couldn’t tell her stories to keep her mind off my commitment to be an employee because I coughed too much, and I couldn’t ask for a TV to continue our unconventional education as I had no right to ask for more than what had already been given.
All I focused on was taking my medicine religiously until I no longer rattled with coughs, did my best to settle my jumpy nerves at being around people, and calm Della enough with promises and assurances that the moment we wouldn’t freeze to death, we’d leave.
A few weeks passed where John Wilson gave me simple, easy jobs around the house, barn, and fields. He showed me his paddock boundaries, pointed out landmarks, and gave an overall rundown of what he expected.
His farm focused more on hay and produce rather than milk and meat and had more acreage but less livestock than Mclary.
This was a world I was familiar with, and my time in the forest had given me an even greater arsenal of skills so anything he tasked me with was easy.
I spoke politely, did what was asked quickly, and foug
ht against the memories of doing similar chores for a much nastier boss.
It wasn’t that I hated working—the exact opposite.
I adored working with my hands, twisting metal back into place on broken fences, chopping firewood, or hammering nails into posts. Despite the conditions back at Mclary’s, I’d loved working the land, smelling the air full of animals and sweat, and waking up with the noisy cockerels every sunrise, knowing I was as connected to the land as I would ever be.
But there was something about working for someone else that itched and chewed, never allowing me to relax. I was still an asset to someone and not free. I didn’t own anything. I didn’t work my own stock or increase my own equity.
I was treading water, watching the frosts and judging when it would be time to run. I was fifteen, and although I had nothing and no way of knowing how, my dream was to have a place like the borrowed Polcart Farm with its boundaries in forest and bush.
I would have my own slice of wilderness one day where nothing and no one could touch me and Della without permission.
As the weeks went on, it wasn’t just me who preferred evenings when the farmhouse turned quiet and I finished work for the day. Della found more and more excuses to hide in our one-bedroom home rather than accept the offer of hanging with the Wilsons around their warm fireplace.
She tolerated Liam, glowered at Cassie, and didn’t let the adults get too close. She was a distrustful little thing, and I hated that I’d been the initial cause of such guardedness but also that her only experience with strangers had been good to begin with, then ended with teachers trying to rip us apart.
I didn’t blame her for her wariness.
I shared it.
And despite Cassie’s smiles as I worked around the farm and her offers of dinner with her family and the occasional gifted cookies as I repaired one of her horse jumps or helped stock hay nets, I never accepted an invitation.
Not because of the weird patter in my heart or tightening in my jeans whenever she was near, but because Della turned into a little monster whenever she saw us together.