“I know,” Danny says, “they’re the mean cousins, right?”
“That’s right. So Ethan asked, ‘Who are you?’ and they said, ‘We’re Yram’s cousins. We’ve known her for a really long time, back when she was Dottyrambleon.’
“‘Why are you here?’ Ethan asked. And they said, ‘We thought you should know about Dotty. She’s always making up stories. Her latest one is that she will be an angel.’
“‘But maybe she will,’ Ethan said.
“‘Not by helping you!’ they shouted, and then they laughed and danced in the air.
“‘What do you mean?’ Ethan said.
“‘There’s a reason you’re not going to school or playing kickball or hunting with your father. Dotty can’t change that. She just pretends.’”
“That’s mean,” Danny says.
“Yes, I know, I didn’t like this part,” I say. “Here’s what Ethan said: ‘But I can walk and run, and I did it this evening.’ And they laughed and said, ‘That’s just a little fairy magic. It has nothing to do with you. Dotty is good at creating false hope.’”
“That’s a lie,” Danny exclaims. “Is it a sad ending?”
“No, it’s a really happy ending. I didn’t think so at first, but it is, so you don’t need to worry. Everything works out.
“Well, the mean fairies flew off, and the next morning, Ethan didn’t feel like getting up. He thought about what had happened the night before, about delivering the package, and it suddenly seemed like a dream, like it wasn’t real after all. In fact, his legs felt tired and sore, and he thought he should stay in bed all day long. He started telling himself that he was stuck with his old problems and that Yram was a silly fairy who couldn’t change the way he was. Of course, Yram later visited him and knew right away that he wasn’t believing in his ability to do more. She flew in as usual, doing acrobatic loop-the-loops and trying to catch his attention. He pretended at first to not notice her. He was reading Robinson Crusoe.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know, but Mrs. Zinc says it’s a good book. Ethan can read almost anything.”
“Just like Rob.”
“Yes, just like Rob.”
“So after all her usual ways to cheer Ethan up didn’t work, Yram finally said, ‘Ethan, you can stay in bed and be miserable because you believe what those other fairies have said, or you take a chance and come with me and see what we have created together.’ At first, Ethan whined and said, ‘I can’t, my legs hurt.’ Yram right away left him. He then felt lonely and sad. So when she returned later, he was ready to go with her. But first they had a serious conversation. She told him that he was wrong to be mad at her for not changing him. She said the other fairies were right that she couldn’t change him; he had to do the changing himself.”
I pause and notice Danny’s breathing has slowed down. I wait a little longer. He doesn’t say a thing, so I decide this is a good place to end the story. But this isn’t the ending, the ending that had made me cry even though it isn’t a sad ending.
I say another prayer to Saint Rita with eyes I can barely keep open. Danny’s breathing rocks me to sleep, when all at once my eyes are wide open. A bright light flashes outside my window. I sit up wondering if it’s Yram coming to visit. But it didn’t flicker, and now I hear the engine of a car turning off. I roll out of bed and meet Mom and Father at the door.
“Madelyn, what are you doing up so late?” Mom asks. Her red lipstick is fading and dark streaks run under her eyes.
“Where’s Rob? Is he okay?”
“Rob’s fine. He needs to spend the night at the hospital to make sure he’s breathing okay.”
Father walks past without saying a thing, and Mom frowns. “Let’s get you back in bed. It’s way past your bedtime.” She kisses me good night and carries Danny out of my room. I turn over and say one more prayer to Saint Rita before drifting off to the world of Yram, Ethan, and Alice.
~CHAPTER 47~
2005
I STEP INTO the serenely silent room scented with chamomile and peppermint tea, and my eyes are drawn to the colorful shawl draped on the rocking chair. I notice its likeness to the crocheted lap blanket that had graced the top of my mother’s cedar hope chest. The overstuffed couch calls to me. I surrender, and at once, my tears flow. There’s no need to look out the open window. I’m here to welcome Maddie back into my life. I can’t live another day without her.
I pause between sobs, direct my eyes toward Irene, and hear my words freely fall upon the canvas of our shared space. Without inward grasping, censoring, or my usual holding back, memory upon memory tumbles forth, beginning with, “More than anything, I wanted to learn to read.”
Quite suddenly, I’m aware that I’m sitting on a couch, in a small room, in this other world where I have opened doors. A world that I have been careful to keep hidden, yet I am weeping without shame while a woman with an incredibly warm gaze rocks in her chair, murmuring encouragement. And I also realize that I have said it all, told her everything: Father, Yram, the dream, hope, weaving threads, and a rebirth that still has not been completed. I am weeping pure, refreshing, soothing tears, and I am also incomprehensibly at peace.
“My God,” I say, regaining a moment of composure. “It’s as if a dam I built inside finally gave way.” I wipe my face and notice a buoyancy. “I had no idea.” My head moves left to right and back. “It’s bigger than a bursting dam.” I place my hand across my upper chest. I look pleadingly at Irene while a small swell of doubt bubbles up: Am I being ridiculous?
Reading my expression, she answers, “Mary, you’re renewing my faith.”
“Your faith?” I say, grabbing another tissue.
“Yes, my faith in the ever-present possibility of transformation.”
I reach into my pocket, fumble, and feel the smooth shell. I take the acorn out and hold it in the palm of my outstretched hand. I’m ready to heal the haunting ache in my heart.
We sit in a long, comforting silence, and for the first time, I feel no need to be anything other than who I am: Mary Madelyn—once upon a time, a Sparrow.
~CHAPTER 48~
1967
“MADELYN, look out your window.” Ethan is standing in my bedroom; my curtains are pulled to the side, flooding the room with sun. Flying around the oak’s trunk, weaving up through the branches, I see Yram’s lavender tunic and yellow-gold hair.
I dump my coat in a heap on the floor and race out the front door. She’s flying in figure eights.
“Yram! I read the word you sent me on the leaf. I figured it out all on my own.”
She circles above me, then lands on a small branch within arm’s reach. I step closer and peer into her eyes; heat rushes through my body.
“I knew you’d break the spell.” Her voice is as strong as Father’s and as soft as Miss Stanley’s. She’s more beautiful than her picture.
“But . . .” I’m not sure I want to say anything and spoil this moment. Yram flutters before me, and I know I can’t keep the truth from her. “I didn’t teach Alice how to read.” Yram smiles, making me smile. I blurt out, “I love that we share the same name backwards!”
“That’s what makes you special!”
“Did I really break the spell?”
“You figured out the word. And now that you believe in yourself, you removed the most powerful spell of all.”
“The word . . .” It has so many syllables. I look away and remember it ending in shun. I know I read it, but standing so close to Yram, I’m much too excited to remember.
“It means . . . it’s like when I saw you as the most beautiful dragonfly ever. You changed form, and the word, it means change form but also something else.” Mrs. Ellen had said change nature, which would be trees. Like the oak tree whose leaves change from green to brown and then crinkle up and blow away. This makes me sad.
“Yram, here is what the word means: Beware—you might change your form, like die or something. But there’s hope because you might, li
ke a leaf, come back new again.”
“Yes, you’re right! Now, come with me, I have something special to show you.”
I reach for her, fall forward, and my body lifts. I’m flying through the air as though on a high trapeze that swings only forward.
Soon, the clouds part, opening up to a giant palace in the sky. Yram lands on a crystal, and it’s so large I too am standing on it. This has to be where Yram lives. I follow her gaze and almost fall over. In front of us is a web, as large as Gwendolyn’s, with threads the color of a rainbow sprinkled in gold dust.
“It’s a dream catcher.” The silken threads shimmer. Are they spun of real gold? “It’s your magnum opus! This is what you’ve been up to. Ethan told me.”
I dart my eyes from one thread to another. When I lock my eyes on to a purple golden thread, it knows—it shimmers and bursts into lavender, blue, back to purple, then it becomes a series of pictures, a movie. I see myself learning to walk, riding a bike, excited to read in first grade, the year I believed I would learn to read.
I turn toward her. “Yram, I know what this is. It’s my dream catcher, so I can see the dreams without the nightmares. Just like you made for Ethan. It’s so beautiful.” Then I notice a hole in the center that doesn’t look right.
“Yram, Ethan said you need my help so you can finish your magnum opus. Is it done?”
“It will be once you use your own magic and weave threads of gold.”
“Ethan told me about this. I remember.” I close my eyes, and I think about reading the big words with Mrs. Ellen. Just like when Yram had Ethan remember what it felt like to run strong and fast. I see Mrs. Ellen’s eyes light up as I read, syllable by syllable, the biggest word I’ve ever seen. My chest feels warm, expanding like a balloon. I now see gold threads floating all around me and whisper quietly to myself, “Weave threads of gold.” And then I remember.
“Yram, the word is transformation!”
Yram flies toward the dream catcher and begins whirling around faster and faster, swirling around so fast all I can see of her is a bright streak, a ribbon, from which Yram spins herself into multiple fine threads of colors I can’t even name. Her arms, legs, hair, all of her stretches out into spindles of gold-tinted thread that weave across the center of the dream catcher, leaving only a small pebble-sized opening.
I’m lost inside the threads; each one is like a musical note, vibrating inside me with its own sound. Each strand I follow with my eyes brings up a memory I want to keep, times I felt like a winner.
“Yram!” I close my eyes, and strands of shimmering color continue to dance in my mind. I want to run my eyes over the threads again and again, bringing to life each magical moment of hope turning to good.
I open my eyes and call out, “Saint Rita, where is she? What happened?”
I know the answer. Transformation. Leaves change form—they crinkle up and die. “Yram, come back,” I plead. “Saint Rita,” I sob, “I wanted her to help me. I need her.” I no longer want to look; I cover my face with my hands. “Why did she have to die?”
“Uncover your eyes and look.” Saint Rita’s voice sounds like Miss Stanley’s! I lower my hands and peer out.
Again, the brilliant colors bring memories, reminding me what I can do. I look toward the center, but even before seeing the center, the excitement of reading new words rushes through me. Yram made me a dream catcher, just like she did for Ethan. I turn my eyes upward.
“Yram, please come back, I need to thank you.” High, beyond the dream catcher, I catch a glimpse of halo and the small body of an angel. Instantly, I hear a bell ring.
The bell rings louder and louder. Again, I call out, “Yram, come back!” The only answer is my alarm clock. I slam it off, bury myself under the blankets, and slow my breathing down as if I’m asleep again. Bit by bit, pieces come back to me: threads of gold woven together with all my favorite colors, a web so large it can even capture my father.
“Maddie, time to rise and shine,” Father’s voice calls from the other side of my door. I can’t, not now. I need to get back to the dream catcher. I keep my eyes closed and imagine myself back in her sky cave.
The creaking sound of my bedroom door wakes me up. Without lifting my head, I pull enough blanket from my face to see light coming in my window.
“Maddie, honey.” Mom’s voice, the concerned nurse’s voice. I close my eyes again, lie still, trying to remember the dream, but it’s Mrs. Zinc, waiting to have The Fairy Angel’s Gift that I remember . . . and Paulette’s threat to tell on me if I don’t fess up. Suddenly, tears are dripping down my cheek, and Mom is peeling the blankets back one at a time. Her worried look makes it all the harder to hold back my sobs.
“Sweetie, what is it? Did you have a nightmare?”
“No,” I mumble, dampening the pillow. “My head’s hurting again.” It’s the easiest thing to say, but it’s a sin. Mom places her hand on my forehead.
“Hmm, you feel as cool as a cucumber. Are you sure you didn’t have a bad dream?”
I nod yes, thankful this is not a lie—it was the most amazing dream I’ve ever had.
“Are you worried about something?”
“No,” I whimper. It’s my second lie this morning. Now for sure my stomach is twisting and churning as if to give me my penance before I even have a chance to confess to Father Stevens.
“Sweetheart, I don’t want you staying home alone another day. I’ll get you an aspirin, but you don’t have a fever.” Mom leaves, and I search for the cave where Yram has created her magnum opus.
“Sweetie, sit up. Here’s an aspirin. Your father doesn’t need to be at work until later, so I want you to rest. If you’re not feeling good enough to go to school by noon, then he’ll drop you off at the hospital, and I’ll have Dr. Dean see you.”
“What?” I moan.
“Your father will take you to school later. I want you to get a little more rest. You don’t have a fever; I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Mom bends down, her lips press softly against my forehead. I imagine a lipstick mark. I lightly touch the spot and inspect my finger; I think I see redness.
When everyone except Father has finally left, I scoot up into reading position and gaze upon the picture of Yram on the front cover. I’m going to miss her. I can’t really draw her like this picture—even Miss Stanley said she was beautiful. And I know I saw her last night, flew with her. I run my hand over the book’s cover with my eyes closed as more pieces of the dream come back: Yram changing form, but not into a dragonfly, into something beautiful just for me.
I open the book, and my folded Read It papers slide out on my lap. I begin to read the words aloud, “Moon, bedroom, mushroom—”
There’s a knock on my door, and then Father sticks his head in. “Good morning. Your mother tells me you’re resting up a bit but should be fine in about an hour or so, and then I’ll be taking you to school.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Is Rob okay?”
He steps into my room. “Rob’s fine. They wanted to keep him overnight and watch how he does today. I’m sure he’ll be coming home with your mother.”
“Okay.” My stomach tightens, but I ask anyway. “Can I show you something?” He walks over to my bed. The Fairy Angel’s Gift is in full view. I hold the Read It lists, take one quick look at him, and then begin reading the words on the list.
“Start, card, star, arm.” I pause to look up, but it’s hard to know what Father’s thinking. I read the next group of words, “Stood, wood, cook.” I look at him again, and this time I make out the hint of a smile.
“Madelyn, that’s the best I’ve ever heard you read.”
“I’m really learning, Dad. I’ve a lot more words here. I wrote all of these words down myself and have been practicing them.”
“Where did these words come from?”
I glance at The Fairy Angel’s Gift. “I found them in this book that I’ve been trying to read.”
He picks it up and pag
es though it. “This looks like a tough book to read. I’m proud of you for trying to read this. Did this come from the library?”
“No. I sort of borrowed it from my teacher. Dad, I’ll keep practicing all summer long. I like working with the special teacher that Mrs. Zinc has for me. Her name is Mrs. Ellen, and she’s nice.” I look away, out my window, and then add, “I don’t want to do third grade again.”
“You’re doing all the right things to improve. We’ll see what Mrs. Zinc has to say at the parent-teacher conference coming up.” And then he’s gone.
I tuck my Read It lists back inside the book and gaze out the window. The sun is beginning to glisten through the leaves of the oak tree, sending streams of light dancing on my bedroom floor, making cool patterns. I pull myself out of bed, and my hand lands on something hard and smooth. I can’t believe it—an acorn. What is an acorn doing in my bed? I stand up in my nightgown and study it closer. From somewhere far away, maybe my dream, I hear Grandma O’Leary calling out, “It’s a message from Yram.”
“About what?”
“You decide. But remember, an acorn is meant to grow into a giant tree.”
I pull my curtains all the way open and look up at the huge oak tree and then back down at the acorn in my hand. It’s so hard to believe. I lean down to look up at the leaves, the way Father taught me to notice, and the light-green color is changing. I remember telling Yram in my dream that leaves die, but they will return.
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