Girl in the Red Hood by Brittany Fichter Page B

knew he was trying to
protect her, but she was desperate to know. "You don't know what
it's like to have nothing in the cupboard to eat."
    "Nothing?" Kurt had given her a hard
look.
    "You know what I mean."
    "Look, I'll bring some seeds and teach you
what I know."
    " You know how to garden?" Liesel had
raised her eyebrows. Kurt seemed too wild, too antsy to have ever
grown much of anything. He rolled his eyes.
    "When I disobeyed my parents as a child, my
punishment was working with my mother instead of playing."
    "Is it still?" Liesel couldn't keep the
small smile off her lips. For some reason, the picture of
adventurous Kurt being forced to garden was funny. He wiggled his
eyebrows mischievously at her.
    "I just make sure not to get caught." True
to his word, Kurt had come with an assortment of plant bits and
seeds the next day. He'd explained how to bury and water them, and
when they would ready to harvest. And in return, Liesel had worked
faithfully all summer, and now that the warm days were growing old,
she was proud of all she'd done. If only Kurt could see it.
    "Liesel!" Her father's voice interrupted her
thoughts.
    "You're home early," she said as she stood
and wiped her hands on her apron. Whatever he wanted must be
important for him to skip the tavern for the day.
    "I'm here to take you to buy your
ribbon!"
    "My ribbon?" Liesel stared at him
blankly.
    "Yes, girl! For the festival! The one that
got snowed out last year. It will be here soon, and you're old
enough to dance this time!" Despite her hesitancy to attend the
dance, Liesel had to smile. Warin really had felt guilty about
missing her birthday the year before. Oddly enough, once summer had
arrived, it was as if the winter had never happened, and Warin had
happily stepped back into being a father. He'd taken to
accompanying her to town over the summer. Sure that her reluctance
to go into Ward stemmed from shyness, he attempted to get everyone
he saw to have a conversation with Liesel. When they greeted her,
upon prompting from him, he was pleased, sure he'd made her a new
friend. She didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.
    "That's thoughtful of you," Liesel gathered
up her garden tools, "but I doubt that any of the boys will be very
keen on dancing with me."
    "Nonsense," Warin followed her as she put
the tools away. "You're turnin' out just as pretty as your
mum."
    "Father, they won't even talk to me. I
hardly think dancing is something they really want." Especially if
they thought she was marked for evil. But every time she'd tried to
bring it up, Warin would hear nothing of it.
    "That's because you haven't given the
foolish rascals a chance," her father continued to follow her as
she went inside and began to slice the bread for supper. "You spend
all your time in the woods with that friend of yours. Might do him
some good to see he's got some competition." Liesel felt the blush
rise to her cheeks.
    "Kurt is just a friend." As she said the
words, however, she felt their inadequacy. It was hardly mere
friendship that moved one person to keep another fed all winter. A
friend wasn't really what Liesel would call Kurt. But if not her
friend, what was he?
    "Daughter." Her father finally took the
knife from her hand and put his hands on her shoulders to face him.
His eyes were full of guilt. "Come here." He went over to the
wooden chest in the corner and knelt beside it, taking a small
brass key from his pocket. Liesel felt her throat tighten as he
did. The chest had once been painted in bright colors, paint from
the Western Shores, her mother had said. Liesel's grandfather had
made it himself when Amala was a baby. He'd carved the shapes into
the wood, and her grandmother had painted it. Its colors were
duller now than they'd once been, but Amala had loved that chest.
No one had touched it since they'd taken it out of their little
cart. "I was noticin' the other day that your dresses are too short
again," Warin reverently pulled something out of the chest and