Ha'penny Jenny: Book One and a Half in The Fairies Saga

by Dani Haviland

  Ha’penny jenny

  The Fairies Saga

  Sweet, naïve—and psychic—preadolescent Jenny has just been adopted into a wonderful, yet different family. She knows Mommy and Grannie are from someplace where carriages fly in the air and books have moving pictures, but she doesn’t care. Her new family tries to protect her from her past. However, no amount of love can prevent the problems the chatty young girl ‘sees.’ But she won’t stop trying.

  SEQUENCE OF THE BOOKS:

  Part One: NAKED IN THE WINTER WIND (previously released as three e-books: AMNESIA, ABANDONED, ADOPTIONS

  Part One and a half: HA’PENNY JENNY (novella)

  Part Two: AYE, I AM A FAIRY

  Part Three: DANCES NAKED

  Part Four: THE GREAT BIG FAIRY

  Part Five: FAIRIES DOWN UNDER

  SOMETHING SPECIAL:

  Just so you won’t get confused about who’s who, I put a cast of characters on the last page of this book. I figured it was the easiest place to refer to. And if while reading, you find that someone is narrating the story—that it’s in the first person—that’s just Evie taking over. Sometimes that old lady in a young person’s body just won’t shush!

  Contents

  1 History of Jenny

  2 Evie and Wallace: together at last

  3 Wedding Night

  4 Jenny and the mumblety peg

  5 The Game of Rooster

  6 Who did it?

  7 Why did they lie to me?

  8 Jenny’s Gold and Gems

  9 The Trip to Town

  10 Please don’t go

  Thanks, in no particular order

  Cast of Characters

  1 History of Jenny

  August 6, 1781

  Master Simon may have been the person who physically put the painkillers and antibiotics in the pockets of the pink terrycloth robe I wore from the 21st century back to 1781, but I knew it was God guiding his hands.

  “Thank You, Lord,” I said, as I downed half an oxycodone.

  I didn’t like the idea of taking any pain medication, but this was for the purpose intended, not for getting high, and was only half a dose. The musket ball had pierced muscle and bone close to my heart, only three days ago. Sarah said the surgeon and surgical nurse were sure to have scrubbed aggressively and that I had both internal and external stitches. The jostling wagon ride home—stretching at all those tender parts—added to the reasons my pain was so great.

  I didn’t like to admit to myself or anyone else that I needed the chemical help, but the pain was so great, I couldn’t focus and could barely function. Dulling the pain with whisky wasn’t an option I was willing to take. It would take a substantial amount to work, anyhow. I didn’t want my judgment impaired, and besides, I was nursing. I didn’t want Jody’s 160 proof to pass through my milk to the babies. Sarah insisted that half a pain pill wouldn’t bother them.

  I was a tough old broad in a young woman’s body, and my pain threshold was pretty high, but by all rights, I should still be in a hospital bed, letting others take care of me. Or at the very least, I should be kicked back on my little couch, letting my family take care of my chores and tend to my three babies.

  But I was too proud for that. I felt obligated to at least see to the limited tasks my dear sweet husband and good mother-in-law allowed me to perform—feeding my six-week-old babies and changing their clouts. My range of motion was restricted because of the pain. On top of that, I noticed that I was downright cranky if I didn’t get at least some relief. Sarah didn’t have a problem with me taking the pills—no one did, for that matter—but I felt guilty that I couldn’t handle day-to-day tasks without taking ‘substances.’

  “This isn’t like labor,” Sarah reminded me. “You did wonderful with that, beyond wonderful. You were perfect as far as how well you handled the contractions, but this is different. With labor, you got a few minutes of relief, more or less, between the pains. This is constant discomfort. Take the pills. I’ll make sure you don’t take too many, and that I always have willow bark tea brewed to rotate with the painkillers. Eventually you won’t need either one of them. All right?”

  “Okay, but I still feel like a failure.” I accepted the cup of water, swallowed half a pill, and then realized something. “Hey, just think how much whisky I’m saving! Me taking a pill now and then is better than everyone drinking in order to put up with how crabby I get when I’m hurting, huh?”

  Jody had walked in unobserved and responded, “Nah, we’d jest ignore ye either way. We’d drink whether ye were cranky or no.” He gave me a fatherly kiss on the top of my head. “Are ye feelin’ better today, lass?”

  “Yes, much better than yesterday, thank you. You know what I’d like to do—and this may sound crazy—but I want to go outside in the sunshine. I know it’s hot, but, well, I guess my body needs it. Vitamin D, right, Sarah?”

  “That’s true. Speaking of nutrition, there’s still one banana left. Do you want it now or later?”

  “Where’s Jenny? I’ll share it with her,” I said. “She sure is a good helper.”

  My adopted pre-adolescent daughter had become my extra set of arms. She even offered to feed me. “No, but thank you for the offer.” I saw her face fall. “But when these three start on porritch, I’ll definitely need your help,” then watched her beam at the prospect.

  Just then, Jenny, the lady of the moment, ran through the door, her bounty clutched in her arms. “Look what I got! Daddy said I could pick them, and he even let me use his knife to cut them off so I didn’t tear up the plant by pulling on ‘em. They’re peppers, he said, and José says if you fix them right, they’re real good with cheese and eggs, and since we already have those, maybe I can help make dinner tonight. Grannie, do you know how to cook these?” she asked, as she pivoted in place, looking for an empty flat spot to set her harvest.

  “Uh, no…” Sarah drew out her answer, then looked at me. “Maybe your mother does.”

  I almost purred at being called mother again, then felt weepy, and it wasn’t because of the presence of what looked like Anaheim green chilies. I was that happy. “Yes, I know a great way to fix them: chiles rellenos.” Now my eyes were definitely tearing, but for another reason. “Jenny, put them into that basket, please. Then, would you like to share the last banana with me?”

  “Ooh! Ooh! You mean the yellow custard fruit? There’s still one left? Are you sure you don’t want the whole thing? I mean, Grannie says you have to eat lots of food because your body is making milk to feed all those babies, but if you think there’s enough for both of us, yes, yes, yes, I want some, too!” Jenny was literally jumping up and down with excitement.

  “Well, while your siblings are quiet, let’s go outside for a little walk and talk. I want to know more about my big girl.” I nodded to Sarah to make sure she was fine with watching—or rather, listening for—the babies.

  “You two go ahead and take those peppers out there with you. I don’t have enough room in here as it is.”

  “Sure, Grannnie!” Jenny trilled.

  I cut off the end of the banana, wiped the blade, and put Sarah’s paring knife back on the table. I had given Wallace my Leatherman, sort of as a wedding gift. He had always admired it, although I never felt like he coveted it.

  “When I get to feeling better, and have more time, maybe I can make a little holster for it,” I had told him.

  “Well, I’m not too sure how I’d wear a holster, but I can make a little pouch to put it in so it’s handy. You know, on second thought, I think I may just have to make a sporran. I’m sure Jody would let me use his as a pattern. H
e seems to be able to keep everything he needs in there.”

  Jenny started in on a new subject, breaking my reverie. “So I’m your big girl now? Does that mean that I’m your oldest daughter?” she asked with a mouthful of banana.

  “It’s not nice to speak with food in your mouth, dear,” I said, hoping the subject would change. I didn’t want to tell her that she wasn’t my eldest. That would be too confusing for her and painful for me. I still missed Leah, the daughter I had left behind in the 21st century.

  “But I am your biggest daughter, huh?” she persisted, making sure she had swallowed her food before she spoke.

  I rolled my eyes comically and said, “Well, you’re the biggest one I see. Now, how old are you?” I asked, redirecting our discussion.

  “Uh, I dunno,” she practically whispered, her face red in embarrassment. She became unusually quiet, and focused on her bare foot as she made circles in the dirt with her big toe. Her energy level was nil and her happiness in the negative zone.

  “Ooh! Ooh!” I squealed, mimicking her animated, attention-getting noises. She looked up and smiled at me, genuinely happy to see me acting like her. “Does that mean I get to pick your birthday? I mean, the year and everything?” I was dipping up and down, as if ready to jump. I would have, too, but was afraid the jostling would hurt my shoulder.

  “Yeah! Yeah! You and Daddy can pick my birthday, even the year! Should I have the same birthday as Wren and Judah and Leo, or maybe it can be on Christmas or…or…”

  Jenny was all wound up, dancing around what I called the family tree, blabbering names of events like Easter that she could share a birthday with.

  “Slow down there. First off, Easter wouldn’t work because it falls on a different date every year. It has something to do with spring equinox and full moons and Sundays and…” I looked over and saw that I had lost her. “Anyway,” I continued, “I want you to have your very own day. But it would be nice to have it in the spring, so when you do go to school, your classmates can celebrate with you. We can make a birthday cake and give you a party and…”

  I looked down and saw that Jenny was crying. “What’s wrong, honey?” I gathered her close. I really had no idea what was wrong. One moody female in the house—me—was already one too many.

  “I’m just so happy,” she sobbed. “I get to go to school and have a party? And a cake? Just for me?” Her upturned faced was searching mine, asking for confirmation that what I had just told her was true.

  “Yes, but I’ll have to find out if there’s a school around here. I don’t know if there is one yet. But,” I stressed, “if there isn’t one, we’ll just have to start one ourselves. In the meantime, I’ll make sure we set aside a little time…uh…five days a week. I’ll teach you to read and write and do your numbers. You can take time off from schooling on Saturdays and Sundays.”

  “I know what Sunday is,” she bragged. “I learned about it from Mrs. Short. She kinda took me in as a helper when my brothers and me—that is, my other brothers that died and went to heaven—when we went into town to do some tradin’ and get some supplies. She was real nice sometimes, but other times…” Jenny shook her head back and forth, as if she was having a hard time believing what she was thinking, “She was real mean.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I looked at the last of the banana, took one more bite, and then offered the rest to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, and bit off the last morsel. She chewed slowly, then suddenly stopped and spit the half-chewed mass into her hand. “Can we get the seeds out of this and plant them? We can have more custard fruit if we plant the seeds. Then we can have them every day!”

  “No, no,” I said, as I shook my head, refusing her masticated glob. “Go ahead and finish eating it. Bananas are different than most fruits. They don’t grow from seeds. They grow from…” I paused, trying to figure out how to explain rhizomes and cuttings, “they grow from runners, and we don’t have the main plant around here. So, just enjoy it while you have it, okay?”

  “Okay. That means all right, huh?” she said, then licked off the slimy mess, bent over, and wiped her sticky hands through the fine soil at her feet. She rubbed her palms together and let the little grunge worms of food residue mixed with dirt fall onto the ground. She briskly dusted off her hands, turned them over for closer inspection, and then wiped them on the back of her skirt. She had apparently adapted to her earlier soap-less environment and found a way to keep from becoming grimy and tacky. I’d have to remember to teach her to use soap and water after her little dry cleaning routines.

  “Do you still want to know about Mrs. Short?” she asked, then bit her bottom lip in mildly suppressed anticipation. She and I hadn’t had much alone time, and she wanted as much of my attention as she could get.

  “Sure, tell me all about her while we walk a little.” My body needed exercise, at least something other than lifting or bending over babies.

  “Well, she started out real nice. She saw me in town with my brothers—my other brothers…” She looked at me to make sure I understood. I nodded, so she continued. “Well, I don’t think she liked that bag I was wearing for clothes. My brothers didn’t have any pants ‘cept the ones what they wore. For me, they just cut holes in old flour sacks for dresses. I had two of them,” Jenny said proudly. “But Mrs. Short said I needed somethin’ proper. I was a young lady and deserved more, whatever that meant. I mean, I didn’t pay for nothin’, so why did I deserve somethin’?

  “Well, anyhow, she asked my brothers—my other brothers…” she looked up again, and I nodded again, “she asked them if it was all right if I stayed with her a while. They said they had some trappin’ to do, and if she wanted, then I could stay with her for the whole winter. Well, that was all right with me ‘cause it got real cold when they went out in the woods like that. They did their best to keep me warm and made me a coat outta some of the skins from the muskrats that got torn up in the traps. Those were the pelts that were spoilt and not worth much. But the coat was stiff. I couldn’t move very good in it and well, when she said I could stay with her for the whole winter, and that she had a nice big fireplace, and I could sleep by the hearth and everything… Well, I asked my brothers…”

  Jenny looked up at me, and before she could say ‘her other brothers,’ I nodded for her to proceed.

  “Well, my brothers thought that it was a good idea, too. But they asked her if she could give them some bacon and flour for me since she would have me workin’ for her all winter. I don’t think she liked that much, but still, she gave them some.

  “She was real nice at first, and I didn’t have to do much. She let me sweep the floors for her and even let me put soap in a bucket with water and scrub down the hearth one day when it wasn’t too cold.

  “And she had this basket that she said she got from an Indian woman. It had lots of pieces of bright cloth in it. And, well, she said it was time I learned how to sew. She said her eyes weren’t too good anymore, but she could still teach me what to do. So she gave me a little box and it had some needles in it. And then she showed me how to put the thread through the eye,” Jenny looked at me to make sure she was using the right word.

  “Yes, the eye of the needle is where the thread goes through. Go ahead. We still have some time, but I think we should head back to the porch. I didn’t know I’d tire so easily.”

  Jenny grabbed my hand in an attempt to help me walk. It didn’t make a difference as far as the walking went, but the emotional support was priceless. She was a chatterbox for sure, but she was our little chatterbox.

  “So, I got to thread every one of her needles. I’m not sure how many there were, but at least ten.” Jenny let go of my hand momentarily, brought up both her hands, and displayed all her fingers. “Ten,” she repeated.

  “See, she had me put the needle in her hand so the sharp end wouldn’t hurt her, and she showed me how to do a runnin’ stitch and a backstitch and a overcast stitch. Well, I guess I wasn’t as fast as she t
hought I should be, and sometimes she’d holler at me if my stitches were too big or too messy. You see, her eyes weren’t too good, but her hands could feel just fine. She’d run her fingers across my stitchin’ and could tell if I messed up. If I did, she’d make me tear it all out and start all over again. That is, after she smacked my hand for bein’ lazy or careless or whatever else she felt like callin’ me that day.

  “But she wasn’t always mean. I think it was just when her head was hurtin’ real bad. She had some tonic that she drank for it, and I don’t know if it helped or not, but it did make her fall asleep after a while. She called it a tonic, but I think it was just whisky. I’ve smelt whisky before, and that’s what it smelt like.

  “So I sewed all sorts of bits and pieces of the cloth rags together, and then she said that since I was such a good girl—you see, she wasn’t hurtin’ that day—that she would help me make my own dress. She showed me how to measure myself with a piece of string, and then stretch it across the cloth. Then she even let me use the shears—all by myself. Well, she said that her hands wouldn’t work the shears anymore, but still, I got to use them all by myself,” she repeated with pride.

  “So you made your first dress all by yourself?” I asked, proud of her youthful accomplishment.

  “Well, yes, I guess so. At least, I did all the cuttin’ and sewin’. I made one bad cut, but she didn’t even get mad at me. She said that I just had to fix it myself and learn from my mistake. Every time that I would see that bit of extra stitchin’, I’d remember to measure twice and cut once. But that was the dress that I lost at the mill last week. The one that the mean man made me take off and…”

  “And now you have another one, and maybe we can make you one more. And since you already know how to measure and sew, maybe you can help Grannie make one for me, too?”

  I was trying to make her feel better about her talent, but I also wanted to help her forget about that vile Captain Asshole who had attacked her at the mill. Hopefully, the soldiers had taken him before whomever, and a fair judgment and punishment was ordered. Well, I knew what the punishment was supposed to be, and it wasn’t up to me whether he was hanged by the neck until dead, or exiled to Elba or Timbuktu. As long as Captain Atholl MacLeod was out of our lives, that was fine by me.