The Half-a-Moon Inn by Paul Fleischman Page A

thought of changing his mind and going along with her after all, imagining himself up on the wagon where he always sat, sailing grandly through the forest, with the morning air sharp and the birds flitting gaily about the trees—then he awoke from the vision, knowing that it wasn’t to be.
    His mother finished her barley and rose up from the table. “You’ll do fine, my dove,” she said to him.
    She moved about the room, filling a basket with food for the journey. “I’ll put up overnight at The Peacock’s Tail, and be home noon tomorrow, just as always. And not one moment later.”
    She stopped what she was doing and looked into Aaron’s face. “There’s just one thing you’ll have to remember, my dove—and that’s never to leave sight of the house. For there’s no town to be reached but by traveling inland, where the roads wriggle about the forest like a family of snakes, broad and fine as the king’s highway one minute and dwindling down to rabbit runs the next. Always keep close to the sound of the waves, for the woods are full of wolf packs and bears, and a-crawling with brigands like a corpse full of maggots.”
    A shiver swept through Aaron as he recalled how only last month on the journey to Craftsbury they’d passed Lord Tom himself, the most notorious highwayman of all Bingham Woods. He was raging in a fury, with his huge arms bound with chains and his great red beard flying madly in the wind, having been captured at last and being escorted to prison to be hanged once and for all. Aaron shuddered at the memory of his snarling face, with his one blue eye and his other brown, and Aaron tried to shake off the sight of the man as he got up from the table, picked up his mother’s basket of food and accompanied her out to the wagon.
    â€œThere’s oil in the lamps and food in the cupboard and no need to worry, my dove.”
    Aaron gazed up the road, following it through the dry, brown fields and into Bingham Woods in the distance. His mother kissed him on the cheek and climbed onto the wagon. Handing the basket of food up to her, Aaron felt lonely and abandoned, longing to be up on the wagon as she was, going where she was going.
    â€œThere’s only one thing that’ll be out of the ordinary,” she said. “I’ll be a-bringing you back a certain something for your birthday, something befitting such a hardy young man.”
    Aaron tried to look cheered.
    His mother smiled down at him. “Good-bye, Aaron.”
    He waved good-bye.
    â€œI’m proud of you, lad,” said his mother, and she flicked the reins and headed off toward the trees.

2
    Long after the wagon had disappeared into the woods, Aaron remained standing where he was, staring off in its direction, following along with his eyes where he imagined it to be. Sea gulls circled and squawked overhead. A breeze blew through his hair, and at last he turned back toward the house and lay down in the grass, gazing out at sea.
    After all, it was only half a day’s journey to Craftsbury, he said to himself. She’d be back soon enough—why, tomorrow at noon, and not one moment later. He’d begun to feel better already. And there’d be a birthday present coming home with her as well! He broke into a smile, feverishly wondering what it might be. His mind was aflutter with visions as he lay there, listening to the gulls and feeling the sea breeze on his face, when he suddenly realized he was all on his own—and free to do whatever he wished. He felt airy and light and bursting with energy, and he began rolling in the grass, dizzily, joyfully, squealing with laughter inside. Staying home all alone would be grand!
    He picked himself up and scampered down to the beach. Immediately he remembered what his mother had told him, and he looked back at the house, perched just beyond the grasp of the tides. His father had loved the solitude of the sea,