Aye, I am a Fairy

by Dani Haviland

  James laid his hand on his father’s leg and brought him out of his self-imposed hell. “No, she never remarried, but I have a brother. And you have another son. She got pregnant the first time you two got together. She thought she would never see you again. She didn’t want you to marry her out of guilt for having a love child, so she gave him up for adoption. He’s a great guy and was actually Leah’s best friend. He became my best friend several days before we found out that we were related, actually full-blooded brothers.”

  “When…who...his name?” Marty wasn’t entirely speechless, but couldn’t manage to put a coherent question together.

  “Billy Burke was born on the fourth of July, 1984.” James leaned back again and shut his eyes as he related the short biography of his brother. “He’s a police detective—and a darn good one—for the Greensboro Police Department and looks a lot like me. Actually, he went to see Bibb in the hospital right after the attack by Niner. She couldn’t see—her eyes were swollen shut and, well, she was in real rough shape—but she could hear just fine. When Billy spoke, she thought it was you. She thought she was telling you about your son who she had given up for adoption because she didn’t believe she could rear a child by herself. Can you imagine the surprise when he found out that he was that child? I mean, he had the same birthmark and birth date and was dropped off at the same hospital…”

  James opened his eyes to see his father’s reaction to the story—and wasn’t surprised. He was actually proud of him. Marty was crying, sniffing and snorting, and had resorted to wiping his runny nose on one sleeve, blotting his eyes with the other.

  “Here,” James said, and gave him his red handkerchief, “it looks like you donated yours to the berry basket cause.”

  “Oh, and here, I have a picture of the three of them I snapped just before we left.” Leah handed Marty the small laminated photograph. “Bibb still looks rough, but she’s going to be just fine. And I know she’d like to see you. She asked if we’d send you back. I think it might be a good idea for you to acknowledge your other son, too. He and James did blood tests for Bibb’s transplant and the DNA was so close…. James wanted him to legally change his name before we came back so all was in place for inheritances and such, but Billy was hoping you’d return, and then he could get christened with you there. I mean, I know it would mean a lot to him.”

  James paused, then felt as if he needed to add clarification. “It’s not as if he’s in it for the money—he’s not—but I wanted him to be a steward for the funds, even if he didn’t want any of it for himself. You couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

  Marty started to giggle. Leah and James looked at each other—they didn’t see anything funny in what had just been said. Marty’s giggle turned into a big belly laugh.

  “No, I didn’t ask for him, but according to you two, I got one. And yes, I will acknowledge him, for sure. Although,” the laughing stopped suddenly, “I don’t know how I’ll go about explaining you. Hmm, see where lying gets you? You need to keep making up more lies to keep up the deception.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about kicking Bruce out of the family lineage. If Billy is my legal uncle rather than my brother, I won’t mind. I’m not going back. I guess Leah and I disappearing can just be another unsolved mystery, and one that I would prefer not be investigated. Anyone who matters to us, knows where we are, so let’s just let the genealogical inaccuracy about me stay in place. I’m proud of you, whether you’re my father or my grandfather. Always have been and always will be. At least, for another 230 years, anyway.”

  ***52 Food Finding Foray

  Wee Ian walked proudly up the creek, leading the mare by her halter, the other two horses following behind her by instinct, not rein. Capturing them had been an easy task—well, sort of—and the rewards were great. Now he had a horse for his father to ride, and Leah and James could have one, too. Hmm, the mount that had belonged to that captain might still be back at the site where he had been attacked. He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to return there, even if there was a horse to be had just for the taking. He didn’t want to go back there for anything. He’d rather walk barefooted for the rest of his life! His father was all that was important, and now he was safe and healing back at the camp, being watched over by the fairies.

  He knew James and Leah were fairies, and the man, Marty—well, he was probably one, too. Why were there so many fairies around all of a sudden? Hmm. At least they were helpful sorts and weren’t trying to hurt anyone. It was just the opposite—his father was alive because of them and their fairy healing.

  The outlaws’ saddlebags didn’t have much in them, but was still more than he had. Well, no, not really, he argued with himself. He and his father were still breathing, and those degenerates were all dead. Each one only had a short ration of flour, oats, a bowl and a spoon, and there was but one pot between the three of them. He’d give that to James and Leah, and accept Marty’s offer to stay and help cook for his father. It seemed that he wanted to stay, anyway.

  Wee Ian could see their camp now. Marty was wiping his eyes and face, as if he’d been crying. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but all three of them sounded cheerful. If the talkative old man was happy, then why was he crying? White men, hmph! They cried when they were happy and laughed when they were scared. He’d never understand them if he tried his whole life. But he wasn’t going to try. Hopefully, he and his father would find a tribe that wouldn’t mind having two more males. At least, they both were good hunters—or his father would be again after he healed.

  “Hey, whatcha got there?” Leah called out when she saw Wee Ian and the three horses approaching. She glanced over at Marty and saw him swiping his face with James’s red bandana, sniffling and snorting, doing his best to compose himself. She looked back at Wee Ian and saw that he had chosen not to stare at the emotional older man, but was busying himself, tying the horses to a tree.

  Wee Ian pulled the single, overloaded saddlebag off the mare and stood up under it, shouldering the weight of the consolidated goods. “They dinna have much, so I put the better bits and pieces in here. There’re some foodstuffs, bowls, and a pot. Ye and James can have the pot,” he said, and nodded to Leah. He changed his attention to Marty. “Is yer offer to help make a broth fer my da still open?” he asked politely.

  Marty sniffed one more time, then answered with more cheerfulness than the question deserved. “I’ll help with anything you need, lad. I see you got the horses. If you want to go check on your da, I’ll try to scare up a squirrel or some other tasty meat for his soup.”

  “Aye, I’d appreciate it,” the boy replied with a courteous nod, then half-ran, half-skipped over to check on Ian the elder.

  His father was still asleep and didn’t appear feverish, but Leah had said he needed plenty of water. Using the little drops of water on the lips trick that Leah had taught him, Wee Ian managed to get him to take one long sip through the straw before he groaned and turned his face away.

  Wee Ian sat back on his heels and surveyed the damages to his father’s body. The neck wound hardly looked serious now that it had been cleaned and stitched. The breechclout was still stiff and stained with blood, but that was no problem. He’d take it off and clean it later, but after the others went to sleep.

  It looked like his father was going to live now. Hmm. He had better not tell him that he wouldn’t be able to make more babies, though. That would probably upset him, and he didn’t want him to have another reason to be mad at anyone—even if they were already dead. At least all the pieces were there, and Leah said that the prick part would still work. He’d just tell him that he was fortunate not to lose his balls and would heal soon. Besides, his father didn’t need any more children. What he needed—what they both needed—was a home, or at least a tribe, to call their own.

  Wee Ian peered at the horizon. It wouldn’t be too long before the sun would be low enough to catch fish for supper. He remembered that James wanted to go with him. He subconsciousl
y nodded his head. Yes, he wanted to spend some time alone with the man—the fairy, he reminded himself. He had a few questions he needed answered.

  Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

  James was in the same location, now seated, propped up against the tree, shoulders bent forward, intent, focused on his project. Wee Ian stared wordlessly at the diaphanous array on his lap.

  James looked up, aware that he was being watched, and explained. “I was just putting the line back on the reel. It came off and made a mess. Here, would you pick out a couple of flies that you think these fish would like?” He smiled as he handed him the little tackle box. “I’ve never fished here in America. I don’t know if they like the same flies as English fish.”

  Wee Ian took the little wooden box that held the flies stuck into a roll of yellow flannel sheeting. “These,” he said, and pulled out two tiny twists of black and green. “They look like mayflies.”

  “Great. Here, I smoothed these down while you were out after the horses.” James handed him two fairly straight poles that he had knocked the branches and rough bark from, offering him his choice of fishing rods. Wee Ian took one, looked hard at the end of the pole, then at the middle section. James had screwed in little brass eyelets to run the line through.

  “It’s called a fly rod,” James explained. “Here, I’ll show you.” He struggled to stand up. “On second thought, I’ll show you when we get there. If you don’t mind, would you carry the poles? I think I had better use this walking stick. If I don’t, my wife or father will beat me with it!”

  Wee Ian gave a weak smile in return, then let it grow into a full grin. He shook his head. What a difference a few hours made. This morning, he and his father were near death—or worse—and now he was fishing with a fairy, using a fairy-made rod.

  “I’d be glad to carry the rods. Ye can lean on me, too, if the walking stick isna enough.”

  The two of them took their time getting to the pool of still water they both agreed was their best bet for getting dinner.

  “Here, like this,” James said, and threw a perfect cast, flicking it back and forth a few times over the water to get the attention of the fish he was sure were waiting for their fly-by dinner. It had been a long time since he had been fly fishing and was glad he hadn’t tangled the line. He was used to his lightweight carbon rod, perfectly balanced, and with a foam grip. This was a crooked, roughly-finished sapling, but the fish it caught would taste just as good. “Do you want to try with this or use the other one?”

  Wee Ian pursed his lips and looked back and forth, evaluating the rods, then picked up the one that hadn’t been used. He put it in his right hand, found the balance point, looked over the loops with the line running through them, and fingered the roll of extra line stuck into the notch at the end of the pole. “Is this fairy string?” he asked, as he ran his finger along the top of the thin nylon line.

  “Um, yes, it is. It’s thin, but very strong, and hard for the fish to see. Here, let me step back and you try.”

  Wee Ian took the little loop of extra line out of the notch, unwound it, and held it in his left hand. He grasped the rod with his right, inching his fingers up the pole until he found the balance point again. He stood back, surveyed the area around him for low lying branches and fairies, flicked the rod a few times, and let the line play out just above the surface of the pool. He snapped it again and again, as the fish leapt out of the water, trying for the little fly tied on the end of the invisible line. Finally, one trout found the lure. Wee Ian set the line quickly, and pulled it in, grasping the line, bringing in his dinner, hand over hand.

  James saw the familiarity the boy had with fly fishing. Evidently, this sport had been around for a quite a while. No, not sport—method of procuring sustenance, he reminded himself. He watched as the trout was landed with ease. Hopefully, he would be as adroit when he caught a fish.

  Wee Ian looked up at him, gave him a nod of thanks, then scanned the upriver edge of the pool. He indicated with a shift of his eyes and a nod that he would head up there so James could stay where he was and fish. The new arrangement would eliminate the chance of combat fishing—lines and elbows crossing—and give them both enough casting and flicking room. The courteous and agile Wee Ian—truly a gentleman, despite his youth—had offered to take the high side.

  James held back the urge to shout with victory when he caught his first fish. He didn’t want to seem like a greenhorn who had never caught one before, but he was in a way. He had never caught an 18th century fish with 21st century line. Shoot, he hadn’t caught any fish in over ten years. Yup, this was the first of many fish to be caught, he assured himself. God willing, he prayed silently.

  He caught two more fish in short order. He looked up and saw Wee Ian walking toward him with a stick strung through the gills of four fish. Seven fish and four people eating solid food. It looked like a hearty meal for dinner tonight.

  Wee Ian sat down next to him. “Do ye have a knife with ye? I’ll do the cleanin’ if ye do.”

  James handed him the Leatherman tool he had used to remove his bindings earlier in the day. He grunted softly as he realized how much had changed in such a short time.

  “I said, is this a fairy knife?” Wee Ian asked, apparently not for the first time.

  “No, actually it’s American. But I guess you could also consider it a fairy knife if that makes it easier for you. Sorry, I’m a little fuddle-headed. One of these days, I’ll explain it all to you if you and I meet again… Shoot, where do you live?”

  Wee Ian shrugged his shoulders. “Right now, here,” he said plainly. He was glad that James was fuddle-headed, though. Maybe he could get an unguarded answer out of him. “Leah’s your wife and a healer, right?”

  “Yes,” James answered warily. The boy already knew it to be true.

  Wee Ian, watching him carefully for his reaction, asked, “So how come she said my father was her stepfather? Does that mean that Evie is her mother?”

  “Oh, shit,” James exhaled in frustration.

  “Why is everything ‘oh, shit’?” Wee Ian asked. “Is she or isn’t she?”

  “She is,” James said with exasperation. Sometimes he wished he could lie, but now was not a good time to start practicing.

  “So my da is not her stepfather, but my two little brothers and sister are her brothers and sister, too,” he stated, but almost asked as a question.

  “So the triplets are two boys and a girl? Cool. Leah always wanted a little sister. Oh, yes, the answer is yes, but I wish you wouldn’t tell anyone about it. I mean, just because something is the truth doesn’t mean you have to share it with everyone.”

  “Aye. Evie said almost the same thing. She asked that I refer to her babies as my kin, not my sib…siblings,” Wee Ian said dejectedly then brightened up. “But, can we be kin, too—or almost kin?”

  “Absolutely! Come on, cousin, I’ll show you how to open this knife, and then I’ll let you clean the fish.”

  Tom Sawyer would be so proud of him, he thought as he pulled out the knife blade for his newly discovered brother-in-law. So proud.

  ***53 Is it all a dream?

  It was late, and had been a very long day. After several ‘good nights’ were shared, everyone who could walk moseyed off—Wee Ian to rejoin his father, Marty to make one last inspection of the perimeter, and Leah and James back to the security of their healing tree.

  The temperature had dropped quickly with the setting of the sun. Leah was chilly, even though it was still in the 70’s. Her mind was totally fatigued, but her body wasn’t. She snuggled close, her head under her weak husband’s chin, appreciating the comfort and warmth his solidness afforded.

  “I remember the first time you did that,” James commented dreamily.

  “Mmm, ugh,” Leah replied with a sound of delight that ended with a tone of disappointment. “Yeah. In the pool, as my apartment was burning to the ground.”

  “Well, not to the ground, but wow—what a way to start a relationship.” James pause
d as he realized she was sending vibes his way. “No, I disagree. It didn’t start at the airport. Our relationship started there with the disaster. Before that, it was just a few words. If you hadn’t shared the video with me, had just thrown it in the rubbish bin, then we never would have gone forward. You’d be back working your shift at the hospital, sharing Billy’s life, not mine.”

  “Mmm hmmh,” she repeated, this time her tone of delight ending with agreement. His warmth was beginning to make her drowsy, and she didn’t want to argue the point, especially since he was mostly right. But before she lost her train of thought, she had to ask him, “Do you ever wonder if this is all a dream?”

  “What? Do you mean being here?” He really didn’t want to commit to a response, even though he was pretty sure that was what she meant. The doubt had crept into his consciousness, too.

  “Well, yes, that, too, but also you and me together—a well-matched marriage after knowing each other for such a short time. And then there’s the part with you finding out about your father, and getting a mother and the older brother that you always wanted, well….”

  “Could this just be a fantasy made from all the wishes and hopes I’ve had for the last twenty-five plus years? Well, yes, I used to fantasize that I had a brother. Sometimes I wanted a younger brother, other times, an older one who would stand up for me when the bullies were at their worst. A mother would have been nice, too. I was reared with Bruce as my father, and I hate to say it, but I often wished that Grandpa was my real father. But I did have Grandpa’s love and attention. I didn’t have a mother, but my Great Aunt Mary Jane was always there for me. But how could this be a dream? I mean, the letters and your mother—they’re real, right?”