Dragonfly Secret

by Carolyn J. Gold

  Mother looked at him blankly. “You mean Allison didn’t lie? You do believe in fairies?”

  “Did she say I believe in fairies, or did she say I said I believe in fairies?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what difference does it make? Do you or don’t you?”

  “Makes a heap of difference, Kate. She did hear me say that I do. That’s no lie of hers.”

  “Did Allison tell her mother about the fairy story we made up this afternoon?” I asked, hoping to ease Mother into believing what we’d told Allison.

  “You made up a story about fairies?” Mother looked confused again.

  “It’s about a fairy who loved roses,” Jessie piped up.

  “And Allison made me pick half your roses for her, too,” I said, frowning at the memory.

  Mother looked across the table at me. “Let me get this straight. You made up a fairy story, and Allison was here and knew that. Then Gramps said he believed in fairies, and she heard him. Was it part of the story?”

  “Yes,” said Jessie.

  At the same time I said, “Sort of,” and Gramps said, “No.”

  Mother folded her napkin and pushed her plate away. “I think it’s time someone told me the whole story, and I don’t mean the one you made up.”

  I glanced at Gramps, but he shook his head, ever so slightly. We had agreed not to tell Mother about the fairy until after Miss Ryderson was finished, and nothing had really changed. If anything, it would be harder for her to know about the fairy now than before.

  “Jessie and I put some doll furniture and some flowers in the lizard cage in my room. Then Allison came in. I told her we were going to make up a fairy story, sort of like a play. The stuff in the cage was the scenery. Then to get Allison out of my room I picked her some roses. After she left, we were talking about fairies, and Allison came back. She didn’t hear everything we said. I guess it sounded like Gramps said he believed in fairies. But he didn’t exactly say that.”

  Mother looked at me. Then she looked at Jessie. Jessie nodded. “It was like Nathan said.”

  Mother looked at Gramps. He glared at his plate and scowled. “Believe what you want.”

  Mother got up and stood behind his chair. She put her hands on his shoulders. “I love you, Dad. We all do. Even Louise, in her own way. I don’t think it matters whether or not you said you believe in fairies. I don’t even think it matters whether you really do. But I am worried about what Miss Ryderson will think. Promise me you won’t be cranky with her.”

  Gramps softened, and said he’d try.

  “And Dad, please don’t joke with her about what Allison said. She might not understand.”

  He looked at me and winked. “Don’t say I saw a fairy?”

  “Right,” Mother agreed, missing the wink. She got dessert, and we talked about other things that had happened that day. I went to bed feeling happy, because I thought everything was going to be okay. I slept fine. The nightmare didn’t begin until the next morning.

  Chapter Ten

  “Your room is so stuffy, Nathan. Why don’t you open the window?” Mother didn’t wait for an answer. She opened the window herself. “Now go have your breakfast. I’ll make your bed for you.”

  I couldn’t pass up an offer like that. I scooted for the kitchen. I wasn’t worried about Mother seeing Willow. She never went near the cage. Lizards and bugs and frogs made her nervous. That’s why I’d had to give away my lizards the second time they got loose.

  After breakfast Jessie and I decided to check on Willow. As I opened the door to my room, I heard a crash and saw a flash of gray fur. Smokey, Mrs. Pruitt’s cat, bounded up onto the ledge and out the open window. “Shoo, you pesky cat,” I hollered after him.

  Jessie giggled. “You sound like Gramps.” Then her eyes grew wide and her face turned pale. “Nathan! The cage!”

  I was across the room in three quick steps. The cage lay smashed on the floor. Crushed roses and wet plastic doll furniture were jumbled amid the broken glass.

  “Willow!” Jessie cried, kneeling down and reaching for the wreckage.

  “Wait!” I ordered. “You’re going to cut yourself. Hand me the wastebasket.”

  I started picking up the mess cautiously, not wanting to injure Willow further if she was buried somewhere under there. I picked up jagged pieces of glass. Then wet roses. Then doll furniture. I sat back and stared at Jessie.

  “Willow’s not here.”

  “Smokey got her!” she said, tears running down both cheeks.

  I shook my head slowly. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. The cat might have gotten Willow, but where’s the grub-thing? I don’t think a cat would eat that.”

  I looked around the room. There was nowhere for a fairy to hide.

  “The window,” Jessie and I said at the same instant.

  “She’s outside!” I looked at Jessie. “We’ve got to find her, before the cat does.”

  We ran outside. How would we ever find her? She looked like a dragonfly, and I had seen dragonflies in the garden sometimes. It was hard enough trying to catch any old dragonfly. How would we ever find the special one that was really a fairy?

  Then I saw Smokey again. The cat was slinking around the corner of the house like a puff of smoke, headed toward Mother’s rosebushes.

  “The flower bed,” I guessed. “Willow is used to roses. Maybe she hid there.”

  Smokey seemed to think so, too. I scooped up a handful of gravel and hurled it at him, but he didn’t give up. He hunkered down and went around to the other side of the flower bed and kept hunting. I could see the tip of his tail swishing back and forth.

  “Come on. We’ve got to hurry.”

  Jessie started from one end of the flower bed and I started from the other. I scratched myself on rose thorns, but I kept going. I was pretty sure we were on the, right track because I couldn’t get Smokey to leave, no matter how many times I yelled at him and threw sticks. He knew there was something special in that flower bed. We had to find Willow before he did.

  “Nathan!” Jessie’s cry sounded excited. I hurried over to see what she had found. “Look,” she said softly, pointing at a big yellow rose high up on Mother’s favorite climbing rose bush. I could see the tips of dragonfly wings. But were they Willow’s?

  “Willow,” Jessie called softly. “Willow, it’s us.”

  The wings fluttered, and Willow’s tiny face peered between the petals, but she didn’t fly down to Jessie’s outstretched hand.

  “She’s probably scared,” I said. “I would be if that stupid cat had tried to eat me.”

  “We can’t leave her out here,” Jessie said. She wasn’t crying anymore, but she looked as if she might start in again any minute.

  “I’ll get the ladder,” I told her. “You stay here and keep an eye on Willow.”

  I grabbed the big garden shears off the workbench and lugged the ladder out to the rosebush. I steadied it against the wall and climbed up until I could reach the rose. Holding the stem carefully, I cut the rose loose and handed it down to Jessie.

  “Thank goodness you’re safe,” Jessie crooned to Willow. I sighed with relief and went to put away the ladder and shears.

  When I came back, Willow had climbed up onto her finger, but Jessie was still holding the rose in her other hand. “Nathan, come look.”

  “What is it?” I asked. She sounded so happy I was sure it couldn’t be anything bad, but I couldn’t imagine why she wanted me to look.

  “Her wing looks okay,” I said, giving Willow a quick once-over. “That toothpick seems to be working out fine.”

  “Look at the rose, dummy,” Jessie said, gently thrusting it under my nose.

  I bent my head to look. Willow hummed with her wings and chirped at me. There, nestled among the pale yellow petals, was the tiniest baby I had ever seen. He wasn’t pink, the way human babies are, but palest gold, only a little browner than the rose petals. Otherwise, he looked exactly like a miniature baby boy. Except, of course, for the pale
blue wings that jutted from his shoulders.

  Chapter Eleven

  “He was born in the flower bed. Let’s call him Sweet William,” Jessie said happily.

  I sniffed. “No. Sweet William is one of the flowers that makes me sneeze. Besides, no boy would want to go through life being called sweet.”

  She peered down at the tiny infant still nestled in the heart of the rose. “If you say so. What do you think we should call him?”

  “How about Ash? That’s a tree, sort of like an aspen or a birch tree. I saw some of them up on the farm.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Reminds me of what’s left after you burn the trash.”

  I could see her point. The new fairy was delicate and beautiful, like a soap bubble in the sunshine. Ash didn’t fit. “How about Reed, then? People usually spell it R-e-i-d, but he’s not a person. And a reed is a water plant like a cattail. I think that’s where he belongs.”

  Jessie nodded. “I like it. Let’s go tell Gramps.”

  “Not so fast. What if we run into Mother? We still don’t want her to find out about them. And now that the lizard cage is gone, where are we going to keep them?”

  We talked about it awhile, and didn’t come up with much. Finally I left Jessie with the two fairies and went into the house, going through the back door to the kitchen. I found a big empty coffee can in the cupboard where Mother keeps them to store things in. It wasn’t as nice as the lizard cage, but it was big enough and safe enough until we could come up with something better. I took it back outside.

  “Let’s pick some roses and put them in the can. And some clover blossoms for Willow to eat,” Jessie said. She held the two fairies and watched me as I did it. When I was finished she lowered the yellow rose into the can. Willow buzzed in after it and settled next to her son.

  “You know, Jessie, clover blossoms may not be enough.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “We know Willow eats clover. Or drinks it or something. But maybe that’s like us trying to live on lemonade. Besides,” I added, shifting the coffee can so Jessie could see better, “baby fairies may need something special to eat.”

  Jessie looked so stricken that I hurried to reassure her. “Willow has done all right so far, and she seems to be happy, so maybe it will be okay. Even so, I think we better figure out a way to get them back to the farm where they belong as soon as we can.”

  She nodded, looking sad. “I know we can’t keep them. Willow’s not like a pet. She’s more like a friend, even if she can’t talk.”

  We went in the back door. “I’m going to take Willow into my room for a while,” Jessie said.

  “Good idea,” I agreed. “We don’t want Mother getting curious about why you spend so much time in my room.”

  Mother was sitting in the living room sewing a button on one of my shirts. I nodded to Jessie to go ahead through the laundry room and went into the front room just as a knock sounded at the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” I told Mother. I opened the door. “Good morning, Miss Ryderson,” I said politely, the way Mother taught us to greet special visitors. “Won’t you come in?”

  “Nathan!” I heard Gramps screech my name from the hallway and turned away from the door. “The fairy’s gone!” he cried. Then he caught sight of Miss Ryderson and stopped, his mouth opening and closing as if the words were stuck in his throat.

  Mother sat stock-still with the mending clasped to her the way Willow had held the baby the first day. It was a wonder she didn’t stick herself with the needle.

  Miss Ryderson recovered first. “I seem to be interrupting something. Would it be better if I came back?”

  “No, no,” I said, finding my voice. “Come on in.” I turned to Gramps. “It’s all right. Jessie took the fairy in her room to work on the story.”

  Gramps swallowed.

  “Honest,” I said.

  Mother threw her mending back in the basket. “I wish you’d finish that story and do something else,” she snapped. “What’s wrong with playing ball in the backyard? Every time I turn around you’re talking about fairies.” Then she seemed to remember why Miss Ryderson was there. “I’m sorry. I guess I got up on the wrong side of the bed. I’m so worried about your report I can’t seem to sleep. I’ll be glad when that’s over, too. Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

  Miss Ryderson set her briefcase on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. She looked at me. “Does your fairy have a name?” she asked with a smile.

  “Yes,” I said with reluctance. “We call her Willow.”

  “A pretty name. Does she have a magic wand?”

  I shook my head.

  “How about your three wishes? What are you going to wish for?”

  “She isn’t magic,” I said, wondering how I could get out of this conversation. “She’s like a tiny person with wings.”

  Miss Ryderson laughed. “If I were inventing a character for a fairy story, I’d have made her more magical. What if she could grant wishes, Nathan? What would you wish for?”

  I looked at her, wondering if she was trying to trick me. I couldn’t tell. “I’d wish that Gramps could stay with us,” I said at last. “But that isn’t up to fairy magic. That’s up to you.”

  She looked down at her hands, a little embarrassed, I thought. “Nathan, I don’t decide what will happen. I only make recommendations. Sometimes older people get confused enough to do foolish, dangerous things. It’s my job to determine whether they are likely to do things to hurt themselves or the people around them.”

  Mother came back with the coffee, and I took the chance to escape. I went outside, and sat on the grass beside the flower bed, thinking about the way everyone is always making decisions for other people. Parents decide what’s best for kids. Grown-ups decide for old people like Gramps. Even Jessie and I were deciding what was best for Willow and Reed. No matter how sure we were, no matter how much we cared about them, we could never really know what other people thought or needed.

  Mother came outside with a pair of scissors. She walked over to the flower bed and looked at the roses. She cut a pink one and two red ones and a couple of white ones. Then she came over and sat on the grass beside me, her knees drawn up under her chin with her arms resting on them.

  “Nathan, I think Jessie’s been crying. Is everything all right? Is there something you should tell me?”

  I wanted to tell her about Willow and Reed. I hadn’t lied to her, but I hadn’t told the truth, either. I didn’t like the way that made me feel. I couldn’t tell her, though.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. “We’re just worried about Gramps.”

  She sighed. “I am, too. Especially this talk about fairies. I think Louise may be right. He may be getting senile.”

  “Does senile mean you have a good imagination?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, it means you can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s imaginary.”

  “Gramps can tell the difference. He jokes around and won’t say what you want him to sometimes, but he knows what’s real and what isn’t.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  She stopped as Miss Ryderson’s voice drifted to us from the open window. “Nathan says his fairy doesn’t grant wishes. Do you believe in magic, Mr. Bentson?”

  Gramps’s reply was muffled, and I guess Miss Ryderson couldn’t hear it, either. “What?” she asked.

  “I said I don’t know,” Gramps said, clearing his throat and sounding irritated. “If you mean the three wishes variety, I reckon Nathan’s right, ain’t likely anything to it. But there’s other magic, young lady, and them who disbelieve it and shut their eyes to anything what’s not ordinary lead mighty dreary lives.”

  “Your daughter, Louise, for example?”

  “For example,” agreed Gramps.

  “Do you think she understands you?” asked Miss Ryderson.

  “How could she, when we don’t see each other any more than a beggar sees
lamb chops?”

  “Why do you think she asked me to do this evaluation?”

  There was a long pause. Then Gramps said, “I reckon you’d have to ask her that.”

  “I have,” said Miss Ryderson. “She seems to care about you a lot, Mr. Bentson. Can you believe that?”

  “Louise cares a lot about Louise.” He paused again. “Maybe she does care about me, right enough, in her own way. But that don’t give her the right to meddle. That’s mighty hard to forgive.”

  “Did you ever think she might be right? That it might be best for you to live with people your own age, with the same sort of interests?”

  “Like what?” Gramps demanded. “Like whether my rheumatiz is actin’ up when a storm’s comin’, and whether I’ll live to see my grandkids through college? Like how to keep my teeth in so’s I can eat an apple, or how to pick up a newspaper off the porch when I can’t bend over? I don’t rightly think I’d like living in a place where everybody shared that sort of interests, missy.”

  Beside me, Mother shook her head and stood up. “Eavesdropping isn’t right. People hear what they shouldn’t.” She picked up the roses and went around to the back of the house. I heard the back door open and close.

  Inside the front room, Miss Ryderson said something about the recreational opportunities at a senior citizens facility.

  “Ain’t much to live for, is it?” Gramps asked. “Pinochle and TV shows. Might as well sit on the porch and smoke my pipe until it’s time to die.”

  Mother was right. Eavesdropping wasn’t a good idea. I wished I hadn’t heard the sadness in Gramps’s voice. I wished that Miss Ryderson had never come. I wished more than anything that Gramps could stay with us. If Willow had been a magic fairy, those would have been my three wishes, for sure. But she wasn’t. She was nothing but a freak, a cross between a human being and a dragonfly. There wasn’t any magic in that to help any of us.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you think Miss Ryderson will say in her report?” I asked Mother when the two of us were sitting at the breakfast table alone.