Thistle Down

by Irene Radford

  “You are insane. There is no such thing as Pixies or Faeries or ghosties and ghoulies.”

  The dirt floor beneath her began to vibrate. A persistent rumble built and rattled the shed.

  A look of pure terror crossed Hay’s face, turning his clean features into a twisted mask.

  “What’s the matter? Why does a train scare you so badly?” She knew where she was now. South of town above the falls in the abandoned lumber mill. The train tracks ran right beside it, with a spur backing into the main yard. Lots of odd little buildings falling in on themselves.

  “All the iron.” He shuddered. “Iron burns us, robs us of our magic, makes us sick, twisted, and insane.”

  The rumbling faded along with the shaking of the shed walls. Hay relaxed and pulled a fat roll of duct tape out of his inside jacket pocket.

  How did he look so cool and calm in the rising heat and humidity? Everyone else went about in as few layers of clothing as possible, sweating profusely. Dark stains around the underarms and along the back had become so normal that few people noticed them anymore. He didn’t even have a gloss of perspiration on his face.

  “If you are a Pixie, how’d you become so proficient with computers? I didn’t think imaginary creatures needed electronics.”

  “Most Pixies and Faeries don’t. That’s why so many of us die young these days. The electronics. But Pixies must befriend those who need friends. It’s an instinct with us. And I have special powers.”

  “No one ever befriended me when I needed one,” she grunted.

  “By all accounts, Thistle tried. All you did was trap her in a jar with a wolf spider. Like I said, you never had the imagination to appreciate an offer of friendship.”

  Phelma Jo snorted again. She remembered the incident. “It was just a dragonfly. And Dick Carrick spoiled my game. I was pretending the fly was my mother and the spider her abusive boyfriend.”

  All the pain of those years came flooding back. Phelma Jo felt as helpless now, subject to the control of a man, as she did then.

  “I’m stronger than that child. I will get out of this, just as I got out from under my mother’s curse. Her boyfriend is still in jail on a thirty-year sentence.” Her anger shot new adrenaline through her system. A little bit of mobility came back to her arms and knees.

  “Oh, poor PJ.” Hay gave her a false pout.

  She struggled and rolled again, loosening the bonds a tad more. In another minute she’d be able to jump up and punch him in the family jewels. That should incapacitate him long enough to get away.

  “As I was saying, the boys I befriended were all gamers. They learned early on that hacking into another computer system to steal things was just another game. I showed them how to send themselves inside a computer game. They became addicted to the high of explosions. I strengthened their addiction with mushrooms.” He laughed and began unrolling the tape.

  She fought to move her knees. Anything to get away from this madman.

  Her left leg jerked up.

  He caught her foot and pushed it higher, throwing her balance backward. “Oh, my, I do enjoy a feisty female. Later, dear. We’ll take a nice little flight together later.”

  Then he used his free hand to expertly wrap the fibrous tape around and around her ankles.

  “Anything you want to say before I close your mouth?”

  She spat at him; a big gob of saliva splatted against his right eye.

  “Too bad that’s all you can muster for the moment.” He slapped a long length of tape across her mouth and around her head, pulling and tangling her hair in its stickiness.

  Thirty-four

  THISTLE WATCHED DUSTY CAREFULLY after dinner. Her friend sat listlessly in the bay window, playing her music box over and over. It had returned to its normal tune. No Pixie magic or Pixie music left in it. The ballerina spun around and around, winding down slowly until the music ground ponderously through its last notes.

  Dusty sat silently for a bit, letting tears slide down her cheeks. Then she turned the music box key and repeated the process.

  The tinny notes irritated Thistle’s ears and disrupted her sense of life tuned to the music of wind and rain, and plants talking to bugs, and bugs whispering the news to trees.

  Finally, after Dick had gone off to the bar to meet Chase, Thistle yanked the music box out of Dusty’s hands before the music completely stopped.

  “You’ve had enough,” Thistle insisted.

  “Give that back! I can’t lose it again. I can’t . . .”

  “Then come and get it.” Thistle held the box high over her head.

  Dusty turned her head away, staring out the window.

  “You’ve been listless and boring all day.” Thistle curled up in the window seat facing Dusty. She stroked the soft covering the way humans petted cats.

  “I . . . can’t talk about it.” Dusty reached for the music box again.

  Thistle held it behind her back, out of Dusty’s reach.

  “Tell me why you sit here hour after hour crying over this music box. I thought you’d shed all your tears over it when Chase fixed it.”

  At the sound of Chase’s name, Dusty turned her face toward the window again.

  Thistle saw a new spate of tears in the reflection.

  “You and Chase had a fight. I saw it from the window.”

  “Worse.”

  “Worse? What could be worse than a fight?”

  “A fight you can make up. He gave up on me just when I thought I’d grown enough to appreciate how much I love him. How I’ve loved him since we were small children. How I loved him even though he broke my music box. But then he fixed it for me and I thought we had a chance.”

  “But you ruined it because Hay had bedazzled you and Joe offered you safe haven.”

  “How . . . how did you know?”

  “Because I’ve watched you for many, many years. Because I was your friend even when you were sick and no one came to visit you but me. Even when you let your cancer define who you were. Because I’m still your friend.”

  “I don’t think even you can fix this.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll have to do most of it yourself, though. Now tell me exactly what Chase said yesterday.”

  “You aren’t going to try to talk me out of loving him? I might be better off with Joe because you love his daughters and because Chase was ungentle with you when he arrested you the day you landed in the fountain.”

  “Well . . . Chase is still not my favorite person. But he’s learning to appreciate Pixies. Joe hasn’t. His daughters are wonderful friends, and they need me right now. But you need Chase. He’s the one you love. And if that’s what’s right for you, I have to be your friend and help you get him back. Not that I think he’s gone far, you understand. But he’s going to need a little prodding to get over his blue funk.”

  “He . . . he said that friendship and trust are a two-way street. I have to prove to those who love me that I can be trusted and that I take seriously the responsibility of friendship.”

  “You see, he loves you. He said so himself. I don’t think I even need any magic to push him back on the right path. You can do that all by yourself. All you have to do is . . .”

  “Oh, Thistle, you are the best friend ever!” Dusty nearly fell off the window seat as she threw her arms around Thistle and hugged her tight.

  The phone rang. Shrill and insistent.

  “I’d better get that. There are a million details to settle before tomorrow night.”

  Dusty grew very still the moment she answered the phone. “Hello, Ted. My mother told me to expect your call.”

  Thistle squirmed. Another barrier between Dusty and Chase—her mother’s interfering pity dates. What could she do to stop this?

  “No, I don’t think I can go to the Masque Ball with you. I’m chairing the fund-raiser this year and have too many responsibilities to volunteers and friends to properly pay attention to a date,” Dusty said stiffly. Her skin grew cold. Another lie Hay h
ad told her. How had he found out about this delayed call? Oh, my God, he listened over the airwaves! Her vision started crowding in from the edges until all she could see was Thistle’s face.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the tenor voice on the other end of the phone line sputtered. “My mother has been pressuring me for a month to call you because she doesn’t like my girlfriend. A pity date with you had to be better than listening to her whine.”

  “Pity Date!” Dusty bit her lip until she drew blood. That small pain helped her focus, removed the gibbering ape that threatened to take control of her mind and her feet.

  Run! it said over and over again. Run away from the cancer before you become the cancer. Run away from those who challenge you. Run away from those who only want to hurt you, judge you. Make you less than what you are. Everyone is lying to you. No one can tell the truth.

  Hay lied. No one else did.

  She ignored the voice, the voice of her cancer trying to protect her from herself. She’d beat the cancer, but not its control over her emotions. Resolutely she settled her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “Ted, you’re welcome to buy a ticket and bring your new girlfriend to the Ball.”

  “I just may. Maybe a date with you wouldn’t be about pity, but I really like this girl, in spite of my mother’s opinion.”

  “I look forward to meeting you and your friend there,” she said on a laugh. “I hope she’s as much your friend as your girlfriend.” They said good-bye, and she hung up with relief.

  Friendship is a two-way street.

  “Thistle, friendship carries responsibility and has to be mutual. Trust has to be mutual. So I’m going to be a friend to you as much as you have been to me. I need to do the same for Phelma Jo.”

  “Thank you, Dusty.” Moisture made Thistle’s eyes glisten in the dim light. “Phelma Jo?” she asked then, sounding dubious.

  “Yes. Before we had that fight on the playground we were friends. I allowed some other kids, more popular and cliquish, to pressure me into calling her a bad name. I should have realized that she stopped bathing for a reason. I should have taken her aside and offered her the chance to take a shower here, with privacy and safety. Instead I called her ‘Stinky Butt’ in front of everyone. I owe her a big apology.”

  “First thing in the morning we’ll find her and take care of that.”

  “I hope tomorrow is soon enough. But I need to deal with Chase tonight.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Dusty looked around for her discarded shoes and purse.

  “Chase needs to know . . .”

  “That I love him, and I trust him, and that he can trust me.” The happiness started in Dusty’s toes and brightened as it traveled upward, till she broke out in a huge grin. “Phelma Jo needs to know that, too, but Chase is more important. Will you come with me, Thistle?”

  “I bet we’ll find Chase and Dick at the Old Mill Bar.”

  Dusty grabbed her purse and car keys and headed out, a little Pixie tune adding bounce to her step.

  Dum dee dee do dum dum, she sang out loud.

  Thirty-five

  CHASE SCRUBBED HIS FACE with his hands, hoping to banish the weariness of heart and body that plagued him. He stared longingly at his barelytasted beer.

  His attention spread around the bar, seeking malcontents and those normally mild mannered souls with tempers frayed by the heat and humidity.

  “God, I wish a thunderstorm would blow in and clear the air,” he muttered and took a sip.

  The beer tasted sour and didn’t help at all.

  “Off duty?” Dick asked, settling onto the stool beside him. He signaled the bartender for a beer of his own.

  “Barely. I’m out of uniform, but with one man minding a desk and being short-handed to begin with, no one on the force is sleeping tonight. Even the lieutenant and the chief are in cruisers patrolling the hot spots. I’ve already put in a twelve-hour day. Mabel sent me home.” Chase rubbed his face again. He really wanted the rest of his beer—foul tasting as it was—but didn’t dare take any more alcohol tonight.

  “I don’t know why, but normal law-abiding folks think that because they are miserable they have the right to make the rest of the world as miserable as they are,” Chase sighed.

  “I know.” Dick shook his head in dismay. “It’s Festival, so abnormal behavior somehow becomes the norm. I had to run a couple of kids off this morning. They had a contest to see who could break the most windows by throwing rocks. I boarded up three broken panes in the basement before I headed out to work. Tomorrow I’ll replace them. I know those kids. They’re usually wellbehaved and respectful.”

  “I think I’ve spent more time this past week breaking up brawls and separating loving couples before a simple argument became violent.”

  “You ever find Phelma Jo? I noticed the CAT still parked beside The Ten Acre Wood.” Dick took a long swig of his drink. “Someone draped it in a blanket of Pixie lights.” His grin let Chase know he had done the mischievous deed.

  “No sign of PJ. And that worries me. For all of her faults and nastiness, Phelma Jo has never done anything illegal . . . that I know of. She claims Haywood Wheatland altered the bid for the timber by a factor of ten, that she’s not at fault. I’ve got the county police patrolling the carnival and keeping an eye out for him, too. God, it hurt my pride to run to them for help.”

  The local mechanic plugged a quarter into the jukebox and cranked up the volume to ear busting. The whining electric guitars and canned bass made Chase and a few others wince. Previously muted conversations dialed up to an obnoxious roar to top the music.

  Chase asked for ice water. It tasted better than the beer and helped clear his head a little.

  The high school principal stomped over to the jukebox and deliberately forced the volume back down to one notch above mute.

  The mechanic half rose from his seat right beneath the wall speakers. His fists clenched and his brow lowered belligerently. A round of applause greeted the principal’s action. That made the mechanic think twice about protesting with his fists.

  “Can you ease up the air-conditioning to Arctic?” Chase asked the bartender.

  “Sorry, Sarge. We’re already running at max, and it’s threatening to die.” The bartender shook his head as he polished an already immaculate bar. “The mood in this town is scary tonight. We really need a break from the heat. Heard a rumor that the power company is going to brownouts. Too many air conditioners running at full power all the time.”

  “The place is really jumping tonight,” Dick commented. He, too, looked askance at his beer rather than downing it. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?” Chase asked. His spine stiffened defensively.

  “About why my sister is sitting in the bay window cradling the music box and crying.”

  A wild leap of hope flamed within Chase, then died as if drowned by the entire glass of ice water.

  “I won’t let you hurt her. Not you or anyone else for that matter,” Dick continued.

  “There is nothing to talk about,” Chase replied.

  “Yes, there is.”

  “Nope. Not going to happen.” Chase threw a five on the bar and pushed his stool back. “I got work to do. People to find. Tow trucks to call.”

  “Not yet,” Dick restrained him with a firm grip on his forearm.

  “Take your hand off me before I arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”

  “Nope. You aren’t in uniform, so that doesn’t count. You are going to sit there and wait until my sister says her piece.”

  “What?” Chase turned toward the entrance cautiously.

  Dusty and Thistle filled the doorway. Gentle light haloed them both. The air suddenly seemed drier, easier to breathe.

  Dusty took a deep breath and aimed her steps toward Chase. She kept her eyes focused on him. The rest of the room, the noise, the heat, all faded away.

  “Dick, ask Thistle to dance,” she commanded, nev
er dropping eye contact with Chase.

  “Dusty, I . . .”

  “Dick, thank you for protecting me all these years. I appreciate it. But the time is long past when I need to stand up for myself. Now take Thistle over there to the dance floor. Give this crowd something to watch, and do other than complain and get angry.” She pointed to the empty dance floor.

  “Dusty, I . . .” Chase began.

  She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

  “Chase, I owe you many apologies. But first I have to thank you for telling me the truth when everyone else covered it up in the name of protecting me.”

  “That isn’t true,” Dick blustered.

  Thistle responded by grabbing his hand and dragging him away. “They need some privacy.”

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Chase dropped his gaze from her eyes to her shoulder and beyond. But his hands crept to her waist, his fingers gripping tightly as if afraid she’d turn and run.

  “My days of running away may not have passed entirely, but I promise to do it less often,” Dusty said, taking half a step closer to him. The heat of his body and his twitching grin—as if he were afraid to let it dominate his face—banished some of her fears. “All I ask is for the opportunity to prove to you that I accept the responsibility of friendship and will be as faithful and trustworthy as you.”

  “Oh, you are much more than just my friend,” he growled, dropping his head to capture her lips with his own. He kept his caress light, tentative. The tension in his fingers told her how much more he wanted.

  She pressed herself against him until she felt as if their skin merged; teased his mouth with her tongue, and clung to him with desperate fingers. Finally, her need to breathe overcame the urgency in their kiss.

  “Chase, I have loved you for a long time, from a distance. I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of the inherent violence inside me?”