Chapter Eight. Dorothy
EIGHT
Dorothy
Cleo lets out a startled sound, then immediately sinks to her knees.
Both knees, I note, head bowed, shoulders hunched. If she sunk any lower, she’d be kissing dirt.
Aakin and Mathian quickly follow and Mathian says, “Bright tidings to you, Good Witch of the North.”
The golden light swirls around the figure as she steps out of the hazy brightness.
The woman slowly takes shape.
I’ve read a lot of fairy tales, both as a child and as an adult. There is nothing I love more than a fairy godmother. Fairy godmothers portend blessings and good luck.
This woman is dressed like one in a gown with a billowing skirt and a bodice tailored perfectly to her body. Diamonds shaped like stars glimmer from the fabric.
There is one incongruous fact about her—she’s younger than I am. She barely looks a day over twenty.
“We meant to hail you,” Aakin says, still pointed at the ground. “Please accept our apologies.”
The woman’s smile is tight against her teeth. Her attention shifts to me and I immediately want to shrink away.
I know the sensation of being examined, of being sized up like competition.
Tension fills the space between us, reminding me of the subtle change on the farm when a new bull is introduced to the herd.
“Worry not,” the woman says and she finally breaks our gaze.
My shoulders relax and I let out a breath of air.
“I’ve come just in time!” She lifts the slippers. “We can’t let something as powerful as these end up in the wrong hands. It’s best if I take them in—”
The slippers disappear in a swirl of smoke.
The woman’s mouth drops open and she looks around.
“What just happened?” I ask for the hundredth time. I must have a concussion. I must be delusional.
The crowd whispers among themselves.
The woman laughs but it’s hard to miss the nervous edge to the sound. “Slippery little things! I’m sure they’ll resurface soon enough.”
“I’m sorry,” I start. “Who are you exactly?”
The woman steps forward. Her movements are exaggerated and graceful like that of a dancer. Thin and tall, she certainly has the build for it, but there is a vibrating energy about her, something just below the surface that feels rushed and impatient.
“I am Lacosta.” She extends her hand to me, knuckles up, fingers down. “The Good Witch of the North.”
She stares at me expectantly.
Am I expected to kiss her knuckles?
“Nice to meet you,” I say and take her fingers, give them a pump.
I’m not kissing her knuckles.
Her perfectly arched brows sink over her hazel eyes.
I am defying her expectations.
“Dorothy,” I tell her. “The Good Girl of Kansas.”
Cleo snorts and covers her mouth. Aakin’s shoulders jerk like he’s trying not to laugh.
The witch frowns at me.
Beyond her, the dark sky gets darker and several lampposts that stand along the perimeter of the picket fence flare to life. The golden light drives away the sheen of midnight blue, and the diamonds on Lacosta’s dress send out a dozen sharp flares.
The wind shifts.
“Speaking of Kansas,” I say because I’d like to get this moving, “I need to return there. Do you know how I might find my way back?”
The witch considers me, then, “I’m not familiar with this Kansas you speak of, but you know who might know a thing or two?”
“Who?” I ask because I can tell I’m supposed to.
“The Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the crowd’s demeanor change. They visibly pull back, curl up, like a slip of paper put to flame.
Lacosta quickly steps in between me and them, dominating my line of sight.
“There is no one more powerful than the Wizard of Oz. I’m sure he’ll have the answers you seek.”
Now we’ve added wizards to the mix. What else will they reveal to me? Talking animals?
“How do I reach this … Wizard?”
The witch turns and gestures to a field just barely within sight. “Follow the Yellow Brick Road west. It will lead you to the Crossroads, the very center of Oz. From there, go south, following the signs to Emerald City.”
“Is it far?” I ask.
“Very far,” Mathian says. “And very dangerous.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” the witch starts.
I sidestep her to speak to the others. “How so?”
“The forest is brimming with beasts.” Aakin gestures wildly with his hands. “Some big. Some small. Some hard to detect at all.”
“And there’s the Witch of the West,” Mathian says.
“The what?”
“The wicked one,” Aakin adds.
“And the heartless man,” Cleo mutters.
I glance over at her. A strand of hair has fallen forward and sticks to the corner of her mouth. She swipes it back and avoids making eye contact.
“Who?”
It’s Aakin who answers. “The Tin Woodman.”
“Only the worst of the Oz mercenaries,” Mathias adds.
“He has no heart, you see.” Aakin taps at his chest. “You best steer clear of him. He’ll cut you down if you get in his way.”
“Is there any other route to reach the Wizard? Perhaps a different road?”
“There is no other way.” Lacosta comes forward but halts at the sound of barking.
The crowd freezes.
The barking gets closer.
“That’s Toto,” I explain. “He’s just a little dog,” I add because I’m starting to doubt these people know what dogs are by the way they’re reacting.
Toto appears in the broken screen door and barks at the group.
“He won’t hurt you—” I start to say, but the others turn around and run screaming.
“Good luck, Dorothy from Kansas. The Wizard, don’t forget. Go to the Wizard!” Lacosta gives a hasty wave and disappears in a flash of light.
I’m suddenly, staggeringly alone.
Toto trots over and sniffs at the pile of dust that was just moments ago a full-grown woman. A witch.
He whines.
“If they’re afraid of you,” I tell him, “maybe the forest beasts aren’t so bad. Maybe they’re just squirrels.”
He yips at me.
“How did you get out of Em’s chest?” I ask.
He barks twice. He’s always been crafty at getting out of, and into, places you wouldn’t expect.
The first summer he appeared at the farm, he would somehow escape the house and terrorize the chickens all night long, so Henry built him a crate.
The next morning, we found him at the chicken coop barking at the flock.
“Never mind,” I tell him now. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Come on.”
Back inside the house, I plop down into Uncle Henry’s chair in the middle of the kitchen. The worn fabric smells like him, like turned earth and old cigars.
Did he and Aunt Em survive the storm? Are they okay?
The worry gnaws at me.
Sensing my growing anxiety, Toto jumps up on my lap and curls into a ball. His ears twitch as if he’s listening for whatever might lie beyond the house. I can hear only the soft chirping of birds. A discordant sound in this kind of impenetrable darkness.
“I have to get home, Toto.” His tail thumps against the arm of the chair. “Should I take the witch’s advice?” I give him a scratch beneath the chin. “Or maybe I should stay put and hope someone comes to find me?” His tail wags again. “I’m a little worried we’re no longer in Kansas.”
He lifts his head and blinks up at me. Several shoots of dark, coarse hair hang in his eyes so I swipe them back for him, wishing I could hear his thoughts.
His expression has changed. Less antagonistic, more consternation.
The panic threatens to rise again so I close my eyes and sink my fingers into Toto’s fur and breathe.
Aunt Em has always anchored me, but it’s Toto that makes me feel … I don’t know … whole.
I have to get home. I have to get out of this place. And if the only way to do that is to find this so-called wizard, then I guess that’s what I have to do.
I lift Toto from my lap and set him down in the seat of Henry’s chair. He sits back on his hind legs and looks up at me with his all-knowing eyes.
“We need to do something.”
His tail swishes back and forth.
“I’m not going to sit here and hope someone comes to rescue us. I’m going to pack a bag and then we’ll leave for the Emerald City.”
Toto yips.
“Get some rest while you can. I suspect this will be a long walk and your legs are short.”
He growls, then barks.
“What? You know it’s true.”
He wrinkles his nose, his whiskers twitching, and then turns in a circle before curling into a ball.
I survey the wreckage of the house in search of a bag.
The only thing I spot is Aunt Em’s wicker picnic basket. I flip open its wooden lid and start tossing in food. Aunt Em always has salted nuts and dried meat on hand, and I find both exactly where they should be.
Scouring the rest of the house, I spot an apple that’s rolled behind the woodstove, and a baked roll crammed between the wall and umbrella stand. I check Em’s storage cabinet last, where she keeps the onions and potatoes.
But when I open the door, something metallic shines inside.
The silver slippers.
“Slippery little things indeed.” I reach in, plucking them from the shadows, fully expecting them to disappear again.
But they don’t.
When the soft leather is within my grasp, warmth spreads up my arms. “What do you think, Toto? Are they magical?”
He groans, stretching, and then pokes his head around the arm of the chair. He barks once as if to say he approves of them.
My brown leather boots were made for working in the fields, not for a long hike.
The shoes are soft and supple in my hands, the soles thick and cushioned.
I could try them on, I suppose. See if they fit.
At the kitchen table, I turn over one of the wooden chairs and perch on the edge of the seat, unlacing my left boot. I decide to keep the socks on just in case it gets cold in Oz.
Setting the slipper on the floor, I slide my foot inside.
That same warmth rushes up my calf, up my thigh, then floods my entire body.
I suck in a startled breath and let the warmth settle into my veins.
The sensation is not unlike the pleasure I feel when I’m with Edward in the haylofts.
Every bone, every joint is loose, all the aches and pains gone.
I remove the other boot and put on the second slipper, then do a test walk around the house.
“Oh god, these are divine.” They’re so much more comfortable than the boots. I’ve never owned shoes like these. We’ve never had money for such frivolous things.
“I think I could walk a hundred miles in these, Toto, and never get tired.”
With his front paws on the arm of Henry’s chair, he wags his tail back and forth, tongue hanging out of his mouth. The hair is back in his eyes. He needs a trim. I keep putting it off. Maybe once we’re home …
“Are you ready for a journey?”
He barks.
I look down at my bloody nightgown. “Right. If I’m to meet a great and powerful wizard, I shouldn’t look like I just murdered someone even though I did. I’ll go change.”
Back in my bedroom, I find my blue-and-white-checkered dress hanging on the hook beside the door. I quickly yank off the nightgown and toss it on the floor, then slip into the dress. It’s my nicest dress, one made by Aunt Em’s own hands.
In the front room, I give Toto a spin. “Better? Do I look presentable? Less like a witch-killer and more like a girl just hoping to find her way home?” He yips in agreement. I scoop up the basket. “Let’s go then. Off to see a wizard, I guess.”