Aye, I am a Fairy

by Dani Haviland

  “Thank you, Ms. Frankie, you have been most helpful.” James gave her a short bow, and then picked up her hand, bringing it to his lips. He gave her the briefest and lightest kiss possible, and said, “I hope our paths cross again. Have a pleasant day.”

  Frankie brought her hand up to her chest and said softly, “You’re welcome. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Me, too,” he said with a grin and a nod.

  Leah had come over and joined Bibb on the sidelines of the little display of British comportment. They looked at each other and shared a tender smile at his generosity. The act meant so much to the waitress, and took little effort on his part. He looked over to his two new lady friends, shifted his eyes from them to the cars outside, and held the door open for them.

  “Good-bye,” the two of them said to Frankie at the same time. “You’ve got great cherry pie,” added Leah. “I’ll be back.”

  “Sure,” replied Frankie, cradling her recently bussed paw to her breast, “sure.”

  The odd trio—the nurse on her day off, the older businesswoman, and the English lord on hiatus—gathered in the parking lot next to James’s ‘new’ acquisition. Bibb looked at the front of the old red truck, and then peered into the rolled down driver’s window. “’64 Dodge with push button automatic transmission: sweet! Does it have a 318 in it?”

  “Yes, it does. The only thing it needs is a new paint job and an upgrade from its 2-55 air conditioner.”

  “Two fifty-five?” asked Leah.

  Bibb had picked up on the joke, and answered her, “Two windows down at fifty-five miles an hour. Ready to lead the way?” she asked Leah.

  “Let’s roll,” she replied with a hopeful tone. “Yeah, let’s roll,” she echoed softly as she got into her car, remembering what the little conference was going to entail. “How in the hell am I going to get them to believe what happened? Shit.”

  *7 The White Knight

  “Drive on the right side. Just follow behind her, and drive on the right,” James said out loud to help him concentrate on driving on the wrong—for him—side of the road.

  Leah was correct; it was an easy place to find. He drove into the parking lot, and Bibb pulled into the space next to him. The two of them walked past the apartment complex’s fenced-in swimming pool. “Sweet,” remarked James at the sparkling, clear water. He pulled out his white handkerchief and wiped his sweat-beaded brow. Hopefully he could find a motel with a pool. Summer in North Carolina was hotter than he could ever have imagined.

  James and Bibb strolled side by side, a business-friendly two feet apart, toward the little four-plex building that held Leah’s apartment unit. They knew they were at the right place. They could see Leah up ahead, sorting through her large bundle of keys, searching for the right one to open the door.

  It happened so quickly, it seemed as if time had jumped forward a few seconds while they watched. Someone was suddenly behind Leah, grabbing and pulling her towards him. The young, ponytailed punk with jeans slung so low that six inches of his plaid boxers showed, must have been stalking her, hiding in the bushes.

  Leah’s attacker wasn’t aware of his audience—he was focused on subduing her. He yanked Leah towards his chest and slammed his body up against hers. His sweaty forearm wrapped around her neck in that same split second, making sure she didn’t get a chance to yell. Her hand reflexively unclenched with the shock of impact, and her keys dropped to the ground.

  “Go ahead and scream,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. “I’ll cut the noise outta you right quick, I will.”

  She tried to gulp in fear at his words, but his arm cut off her ability to swallow. She could, however, still smell. He reeked of alcohol and fear, sweat and stale cigar smoke.

  “Open the damned door, and don’t try no funny stuff,” he growled.

  Leah tried to tell him that she had dropped her keys, but couldn’t breathe a word because of his stranglehold. She cautiously lifted her right hand and pointed to the lock with her finger, made a twisting movement, as if she was unlocking it, then pointed to the ground.

  The odiferous assailant realized what she was trying to say and loosened his hold, just enough for her to bend sideways to pick up the keys. He kept shadowing her body, though, so close that when she moved, he was like her second spine.

  He hadn’t left her any room for a self-defense move, and Leah definitely didn’t want to be breathing out of a second hole in her throat. She looked down for her keys and saw movement behind her. She didn’t dare turn her head to focus, though. She’d have to trust the man she had just met to help her out of this predicament.

  She straightened up slowly, the mugger still molded to her back. She used the wrong key on purpose, fumbling first, trying hard to get it into the keyhole. She wanted her attacker to try to unlock the door himself; that might give her enough slack to slip away.

  “Just give me the damned keys,” he huffed. “And which one is for the meds cabinet at the hospital?”

  Leah slid the keys up the doorframe, up high so he would have to reach with his knife-holding hand to grab them. As soon as she felt the blade back off, she twisted out of his grasp and darted away, her head ducked down as if she were in a low overhead tunnel, sprinting to the opening and daylight.

  James had sneaked up behind the assailant without a sound. As soon as Leah was free, he kicked the legs out from underneath him.

  “Oof.” Thunk! The punk’s head smacked the ground. “Oh, bollocks,” he groaned, as he looked up at the sky from the hard concrete walkway.

  James stomped his cross-trainer sneaker on the wrist of the tweaked-out mugger, popping the switchblade knife out of the sweaty, dirty palm.

  “I’m calling 911 right now,” Bibb hollered.

  James pulled the skinny drug seeker up by his unharmed left hand, twisting it up behind his back until he stopped resisting. “Okay, okay, already,” the punk whined, almost in tears.

  “What’s going on here?” thundered Billy. Leah’s neighbor was in his doorway, his left hand clutching the towel wrapped around his waist, his service revolver in his right.

  Leah was several yards away, in the middle of the commons area, clinging to the metal upright pole of the communal mailbox, frozen in terror, hyperventilating. Billy looked at her, then back to James, the apparent white knight in Leah’s rescue.

  “This rogue just put a knife to Ms. Madigan’s neck and was forcing her to let him into her apartment. Apparently he also wanted to know which key opened the pharmaceutical cabinet at the hospital,” James said, as he craned his neck, looking to make sure Leah was safe. He turned his attention back to the man holding the revolver and asked, “Are you a police officer or does everyone have a gun here in America?”

  Billy’s mouth twitched. He didn’t know whether to scowl or grin at the Englishman’s question. Instead, he settled into police detective mode. “I’m a police officer, but I fear you have me at a disadvantage.” A sheepish grin crept up his face as he looked down at his towel. “Do you have him under control?”

  James opened his mouth to say, “Yes,” then changed it to a loud and forceful, “NO!” and pushed the mugger forward into the locked front door, slamming his face into it, momentarily incapacitating him. Not caring if he had inflicted severe damage on him or not, James sprinted across the freshly mowed lawn toward Leah, still crouched behind the island of mailboxes. Harry, the bartender who had slipped the date rape drug into her iced coffee, was sneaking toward her from the blind side of the apartment building, holding an object in his hand.

  Harry saw his former customer running at him, his eyes black with vengeance. He switched directions, like a running back avoiding the defensive end, but the young man’s fleet feet weren’t fast enough. James, the former rugby player, had a few moves of his own. He faked right then moved left, cutting off his opponents retreat. Harry screamed out in his own defense, “She was coming on to me, then backed out. She’s a prick tease, she…”

  The whi
ning ex-bartender didn’t get a chance to finish. James tackled him in the midsection and knocked the wind out of him, causing the cowardly liar to drop his blackjack at the same time. James kicked the weapon out of the way, then squatted down and picked it up. “Get up,” he snarled, “then move over there with the other one.”

  James heard the sirens in the background as Harry stumbled forward. Leah’s attentive neighbor had the first man laid out on the grass, spread-eagled. “You get down there, too; you know the drill,” the cop barked, motioning to the ground with his gun. The nearly naked police officer turned his focus to James, “Thanks for the help, buddy. I’m Billy Burke.”

  James didn’t take the time to introduce himself, but nodded quickly to acknowledge that he had heard him, then dashed over to Leah. “Are you okay?” he asked, biting off and swallowing the endearing term ‘sweetie’ he wanted to call her.

  She looked up at him blankly, the shock of the afternoon attacks stealing the color and emotion from her face. “I don’t know—am I?” she asked, confused. She put her hands out in front of her face and turned them over one at a time, looking for cuts or abrasions in a detached, distant manner.

  “Here, let me help,” James offered. He neared her cautiously and lifted her chin to check her neck, briefly touched her shoulders to knock off some grassy bits, and then walked around her. He pulled up her hair that had come undone to check underneath it. She bent her chin to her chest to help with the inspection. “No, no cuts on your neck; just greasy marks from his hands and arm.” He stepped back and looked further down, noticing how beautiful her legs were, accentuated by the simple sandals she wore. “And everything else looks fine down…well…” he stammered, “I can’t see any bleeding. But how do you feel?”

  Leah looked over at Billy, talking to the newly arrived police officers. By his stance, he was still the officer in charge, even if the towel was his only uniform. Bibb was talking to another officer, evidently giving him her report since she was the one who had called 911. Leah looked to James and said dejectedly, “I feel…I feel like I need a hug.” She moved cautiously into his arms, arms that had automatically opened up for her.

  Just as gingerly as she had moved into meet him, he enveloped her. He sighed at the scent of her hair, an aroma of violets and woman sweat, slightly salty and with just the right amount of musk. He closed his eyes and let her relax into his chest, finding his comfort and composure with her, too, his forearms subconsciously crossing her back in a gesture of protection.

  “Hey! What’s going on there?” Billy yelled at the young couple locked in a familiar embrace. He didn’t know the man who was hugging his girl. Even if he had just physically protected her from the two assailants, he didn’t want this stranger—or anyone else—hurting her emotionally. She was his to protect.

  “I’m okay now, Billy,” Leah said with complete confidence as she looked up at James, letting him know with a nod that he could let go of her now. She added, “He took care of everything.” She walked towards Billy slowly and asked apprehensively, “We don’t need to talk to them about it right now, do we?” She nodded to the police officers who were either writing reports or escorting the bandits into the backseats of the squad cars. She looked back at James to make sure he felt the same way she did.

  He nodded in reply—he would rather talk to them later, too. He was still enjoying the afterglow from the best hug he had ever had from a woman and didn’t want it to be tainted with words and reflections about the recent violence. He embraced the inner peace and comfort, the first he could remember as an adult. He felt his sense of satisfaction grow, and then inhaled sharply when he noticed Billy’s scowl. He turned away. He didn’t want to share this feeling with anyone.

  Billy’s mustache twitched before he answered Leah. He was unsure about his gut feeling that this Brit was a decent man. He had never before been wrong about his first impressions of people, but there was always a first time. “No, I’ll get the report started,” he said to her, “then I’ll bring it home for you. He can come down to the station now, or drop by here later, and look it over with you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Leah still felt shaky, although her white knight’s embrace had calmed her. “Yeah, I’m fine, really.” Leah turned her attention to Bibb and James. “Are you two ready to come in now?”

  She knew what she wanted to do. It was mystery-sharing time. Whether she could solve it or just expose it further, she didn’t know. However, she did know that these two people—strangers she had just met at the airport—were the crayons needed to help scribble and add color to her blank page of explanation about what had happened to her mother.

  *8 Mother

  James followed Leah to the front doorstep, surreptitiously scanning the premises while broadly using his white handkerchief to mop the sweat from his brow and the back of his neck. He tucked the cloth into his back pocket, and then squatted down to retrieve her oversized brass keyring. He stood up and offered it to her with a big smirk, then backed away, giving her a wide berth, making sure she had plenty of room to unlock the door.

  “Yeah, right,” Leah said, grinning. She had picked up on his little joke that he wouldn’t crowd her as the bandit had while she opened the door.

  James looked back and saw Bibb finishing up with her attending police officer. The man tipped his hat at her, and said, “Thank you very much, ma’am. It’s been a pleasure. If you remember anything else, you still have my number, right?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, Officer Daily. And if I have any more problems with break-ins, you’ll be the first person I call. You and your men have been so helpful and understanding with the mess at the mill. I hope it will all be resolved shortly. Have a nice afternoon now,” she said, dismissing him with an abbreviated wave.

  James waited for her outside the apartment door. She greeted him with a smile, then looked up at him and asked in a light conversational tone, as if the scrambling, knockdown incident had never happened, “Are you ready to go inside? I’m sure the heat here is insufferable compared to England.”

  “Yes, the atmosphere here is quite different from what I am used to. Here, allow me,” he said, as he opened the door for her.

  Leah was waiting with three glasses of ice water. “Sorry, I don’t have much in the way of refreshments. My life has been a mess lately. I, uh…” Leah suddenly remembered their little tête-à-tête in the café. Her face and heart turned to clay, her mood suddenly tense and chilly. She had to ask, or risk her chest bursting. “Bibb, why did you ask if my mother’s name was Evie?”

  A small groan escaped from Bibb as she slid into a kitchen chair. She swallowed hard, sat up straight, and glanced at Leah sheepishly. “I talk too much,” she said, and then looked down at pile of shoes on the floor beside her.

  Well, it looks like she’s going to be mum for a while, Leah thought. By the flinches and short, sharp breaths Bibb was now making, it appeared she was trying to conjure up her own disappearance. It was time for another approach.

  Leah didn’t know what her guests had planned for the afternoon, but she didn’t have to return to work until tomorrow. She wanted some answers and would rather have them sooner than later. She canted her head to the side and looked hard at James, not letting go of his attention with her piercing, soul-grasping gaze. “Now, what’s this about a letter from my mother?”

  James shifted his position in the softness of the couch. She sure didn’t dance around, but sprinted right to where she wanted to be. He could, and did, respect that. He quickly stole a glance at Bibb to see her reaction to the query. There was nothing. She was guarded. Her eyes were focused on the items scattered across the kitchen counter, as if by staring at them, she could clean up and rearrange the clutter.

  James cleared his throat. “For generations—actually, for over two hundred years—the Melbourne family have been guardians of a bundle of letters that were to remain sealed until 1st November, 2012. There was a note on the bundle that said to read only the first letter on
that date. Well, I read it, almost a year late, but…” James looked hard at Bibb to see if she leaked any signs of shame or knowledge of the letters, “someone looked at them early.”

  There, Bibb made a gesture. Whether consciously or not, she had dipped her head and shut her eyes in shame.

  “If I—or anyone who was supposed to—had read them,” he said, cleared his throat, and stared at Bibb again, “on the assigned date, you would have been spared the last ten months of not knowing where your mother was. As it turned out, well…” James cleared his throat again. “Hopefully you and I can read the letter together, and maybe you’ll find solace in the explanation given to you in your mother’s own words.”

  Leah bit her bottom lip, grateful that she had been prepared for the shock with James’s quick blast of information at the café. Lord knows what she would have done if she hadn’t been given a heads-up. “But did the letter say anything about how she, what would you call it, went back?”

  Since she was looking at him, James answered the question. “No. All she knew was that she ‘fell’ when she went back in time last year. Now, how she returned to then—which was 1781, by the way—I don’t know. It could have been the same way, but last year, didn’t they find her car—your car—way out of town?”

  Leah nodded. “Yesterday that phony doctor kidnapped her and forced her to drive to an empty lot, just east of town. The cops found the stolen car, but not them. That was nowhere near Hanging Rock Park—more than an hour away and northwest of here—which is where they found my car last November. However she traveled, I doubt she started off in the same place both times.”