Sylva and the Fairy Ball

by Margaret McNamara

  “It’s the strongest magic on Sheepskerry Island. Maybe even in the Wide World.”

  “That’s why Queen Mab takes it out just once a year at the Fairy Ball.”

  They both thought about that for a while. Next year did not seem so very far away anymore, and that cheered them up a lot.

  “Let’s collect some decorations for Clara and Rosy and Goldie,” said Sylva. “They might like shells for their hair—”

  “I’m not sure, Sylva. . . .”

  “—and starfish for their dancing shoes.”

  “Haven’t they chosen all their own decorations already? Goldie must know just what she’s wearing.”

  “Of course she does, but I know I would like it if someone did such a thing for me!”

  Poppy wasn’t so sure, but the two best friends scoured the Shoreland Trail for all manner of treasure.

  They found three hermit crabs, two of whom agreed to act as shoe buckles for one night. They collected heaps of sea glass, some of it the rarest shade of deep blue. And the mermaids, usually so greedy, took pity on the two little fairies and gave them a bucket filled with ropes of tiny seed pearls. “And you don’t even have to bring them back,” they sang.

  The sun was going down by the time Poppy and Sylva had finished their treasure hunt.

  “Come on, Poppy! Let’s get home before dark so we can show my big sisters what we’ve done for them!”

  ten

  It took Sylva a long time to get home because she was so laden down with treasure for her sisters. Clara, Rosy, Golden, and Squeak were all asleep by the time Sylva walked through the birch-twig door.

  The great room was pitch-dark, so Sylva lit a fairy lantern. What she saw took her breath away.

  Three gowns were hung on the mantelpiece. Three pairs of dancing pumps and three little evening bags were set next to the dresses. Set out on the dressing table were sparkling necklaces, and a pile of earrings, bracelets, and rings. And tiaras! Never had she seen anything so utterly gorgeous.

  Sylva’s gaze lingered over the lovely dresses and shoes and jewels. She knew it was naughty not to ask her sisters’ permission before she started changing their outfits and adding to their dresses. But she didn’t want to wake them up. They had such a big day ahead of them!

  “I’ll be quick and careful,” she said to herself. “They’ll be so happy in the morning!”

  Sylva turned to Clara’s dress, which suited Clara perfectly: It seemed very simple at first, but she could see it was beautifully made, with lots of hidden tucks and delicate bell sleeves. Perfect for a Fairy Bell sister, Sylva thought. Clara’s dark skin made her look beautiful in vibrant color. She had chosen a deep turquoise silk with beads on the neckline and hem.

  What would Clara like best? She rummaged through her bucket of shells as quietly as she could. Even so, they seemed to make a great rumbling sound. Sylva stopped rummaging. The rumbling went on for a moment; then it stopped.

  “Squeak!” said Squeak, standing up in her crib, which was placed, as are all fairy cribs, in a cozy nook of the great room.

  “Oh, it was you making that noise!” said Sylva. “Squeak, you did startle me.”

  Sylva picked up baby Squeak, checked her fairy diaper (luckily not wet!), and brought her over to help. Then she heard another rumble. Very faint, very distant. Squeak squeaked again, more quietly this time.

  “Hush, now,” said Sylva. “Not to worry about that racket. I’m sure it’s nothing at all.”

  eleven

  You’ve guessed it, I’ll wager. The racket Sylva heard was not made by baby Squeak at all.

  But let’s not speak of trolls now, while everything’s going so nicely. Surely the trolls wouldn’t be getting up to too much mischief. Not on the eve of the Fairy Ball.

  twelve

  All night long, Sylva worked hard. She had to move the jewelry off the dressing table so she could use it to do her work. “I’ll put it all back, Squeak, don’t worry.”

  Sylva knew just what would suit Clara’s outfit best. She sewed six bright pieces of sea glass on the neckline of Clara’s turquoise gown.

  “Doo!” said Squeak.

  “Oh, do you think it’s pretty?” asked Sylva. She sewed on two more.

  “A-dah!” said Squeak.

  “Yes, I’d say it’s perfect, too.”

  Next, Sylva looked at Rosy’s cheerful pink gingham dress a long time. It was fresh and sweet and not too fancy, just like Rosy.

  “Rosy doesn’t think she’s as pretty as other fairies,” Sylva whispered to Squeak. “But I think she’s the loveliest of them all.”

  Sylva wanted to do a good job for Rosy. She was planning to save the hermit crabs for Golden, but she noticed that they both had a little pink sheen to their shells, so she tied them onto Rosy’s dancing shoes. It was fiddly work, as the hermit crabs weren’t used to being shoe buckles, and they were rather snappish.

  When it came to Goldie’s dress, Sylva knew she’d have to get it just right. Golden’s dress quite took her breath away. It was pure white, whiter than the snow just after it falls. The top would show off Goldie’s pretty shoulders. And the skirt! Well, it was made of the softest down feathers and looked as if it could float away.

  “This will be so beautiful when Goldie gets her diamond wings!” said Sylva in a hushed voice. “What could I possibly do to make it more beautiful still?”

  thirteen

  Sylva carefully chose her most precious items for Goldie: the ropes of seed pearls the mermaids had given her. She had thought she might save them for Tinker Bell’s homecoming, but Tinker Bell so rarely came home these days that it seemed a shame not to use them for Golden’s gown.

  Sylva knew she would have to be very, very careful with Golden’s gown. It was so delicate and precious. But slowly, painstakingly, Sylva sewed on the ropes of pearls. At first it went pretty well, and the pearls sat easily on the downy feathers. But Sylva was so tired, and her hand was shaking because she was worried she wouldn’t do it just right, and soon things went a bit wrong. A few of the downy feathers got crushed under the weight of the pearls. A few more disappeared as Sylva snipped here and there to make everything even. And then snipped again to get it just right. Sylva’s eyelids were heavy, which made it hard for her to concentrate. Finally she cut off the last thread. It was almost dawn.

  “All done, Squeak,” she said. But Squeak had fallen asleep hours ago. Sylva looked around the great room. It was a dreadful mess, she had to admit. But there would be time enough to tidy everything up. Her sisters wouldn’t be awake for hours.

  Sylva lifted up Golden’s dress and held it to her in front of the fairy mirror. “I think this will be perfect for Goldie,” she said to herself. “But there’s only one way to be sure.”

  Gently, oh so gently, Sylva picked up Golden’s gown.

  “I know I really shouldn’t,” she whispered to Squeak. “But it’s the only way to make sure I’ve done a good enough job for Goldie.” Sylva lifted the dress up into the air and slipped it over her head. Then she turned around to look in the mirror and—

  “Sylva! What are you doing?” Goldie’s panicked voice pierced the silence of the dawn. “My dress! You’ve ruined my dress!”

  “No, no, Goldie! I was just trying—”

  “You spiteful little busybody! Get that off right now!”

  “Goldie, I—”

  “Get it OFF!”

  I’m sure you have guessed what Sylva did not. Goldie, who usually loved to sleep in late, had been awakened by the excitement of the ball. She had come downstairs to try on her dress one more time. And what had she found?

  “It’s a disaster in here! Sylva, you are in so much trouble!”

  Sylva’s tears fell on the silk. She was trying to be so good. Couldn’t she make Golden understand?

  “Stop that crying! You’ll ruin it even more!”

  “What is going on?” Clara, in her flannel pajamas, peered down into the great room. She looked around at the scene.
/>   Goldie stood as still as a statue, her hands on her hips, her cheeks flaming. Snippets of fabric and thread were caught in the fairy carpet of moss on the floor. Shells, seaweed, driftwood, and yes, even sand, were scattered everywhere. Rosy’s gown was in a crumpled heap, one of the hermit crabs had wandered away, and three of Clara’s new sea-glass jewels were already falling off. The commotion had woken up Squeak and made her wail. And in the corner of the room, Sylva, half-in, half-out of Goldie’s gown, was racked with sobs.

  “Sylva! What have you done? Here, let me help you.” Clara glided down to poor Sylva and helped her struggle out of the gown, which was sadly drooping under the weight of the mermaids’ pearls.

  “Look at my dress! It’s ruined!”

  Clara flew over to Squeak to calm her down. “I’m sure Sylva has an explanation for this,” Clara said sternly. Then she saw her tiara and bracelets spilled on the floor. “Sylva! Did you do this?”

  “I didn’t think that—”

  “No, you didn’t think, did you?” said Clara.

  “You were trying to ruin the Fairy Ball for us because you’re too young to go!”

  “Golden!” Rosy’s voice rang out as she came down the stairs. “That is too, too unkind of you. I’m sure Sylva was only—”

  But then Rosy caught sight of her own pink dress in a heap on the floor. Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Sylva,” she said, “what have you done?”

  “Please, no, Rosy,” said Sylva in a whisper. “Not you, too.”

  And, as the morning sun streamed through the windows, Sylva ran up to her fairy bedroom and cried and cried and cried.

  fourteen

  The chilly mood that had descended over Tinker Bell’s little sisters was barely warmed by evening, when it was time to go to the ball. Sylva had spent the day asleep, which was just as well, for none of her sisters wanted to see her very much. They had thought they’d enjoy the morning with their fairy friends, curling their hair around pinecones and painting their nails with elderberry polish, but instead they found themselves cleaning up Sylva’s mess and repairing their gowns.

  “I quite like the idea of hermit crabs on my shoes,” said Rosy. “If only they’d keep still. And Sylva’s sea glass is pretty on your dress, Clara, don’t you think?”

  “She did do a nice job with that,” said Clara. “But they weren’t sewn on tight enough. That’s why they fell off. Poor Sylva! Trying to do so much in just one night.”

  “‘Poor Sylva’ nothing!” said Goldie, who was furiously sewing fresh white feathers on the skirt of her dress. Rosy noticed, though, that Goldie had kept three of the pearl strands on her gown and that they looked very stylish. “I’m just glad she hasn’t shown her face again today. I don’t know what I’d say to—”

  “Shh!” said Rosy.

  “Good afternoon, Sylva,” said Clara.

  Sylva had appeared at the bottom of the stairs. I hardly need say how sorry she looked and how much sorrier she felt. Squeak held out her arms to Sylva, and Rosy came over and gave her a hug, which, to tell you the truth, made her feel almost worse.

  “I’m sorry I spoiled everything,” said Sylva, “and ruined the ball.” She had cried out almost all her tears, but there was one still left. It fell now.

  Clara spoke up at once. “The ball is not ruined, Sylva,” she said. “And we’ve managed to salvage our gowns. The sea glass even looks quite nice.” She smiled a small smile. Then her face turned serious. “We know you meant well”—Goldie raised an eyebrow—“but it’s always a good idea to ask first.”

  “I know that now,” said Sylva. “And I really am sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven,” said Clara and Rosy together. Goldie mumbled something that might have been “Fine,” but no one could quite hear her.

  “Shall I help you—”

  “No, it’s all right, Sylva,” said Clara quickly. “We’ll just slip our dresses on and fix our hair, and we’ll see if the carriage is at the door.”

  Sylva sat in a corner of the great room and watched.

  In next to no time, Clara had brushed out her long dark locks, Rosy had caught her coppery hair back with a simple pink comb, and Goldie had swept up her golden hair into a gorgeous pile of curls. She fastened a feathered tiara on the crown of her head. Rosy tied a couple of daisy-chain bracelets on her wrist, and Clara slipped a bright coral ring on her finger.

  There was a whirring sound outside the door.

  “I hear the carriage coming!” cried Goldie.

  I suppose you are thinking the fairies were taken to the ball in a carriage drawn by snow-white horses or jet-black steeds or even a pair of loyal drays. But fairy carriages are not a bit like our carriages! They are made of oyster shells that have been polished to a high gloss silver by the Curricle sisters, who know how to do such things. Inside, they’re lined with the softest milkweed down and furnished with pussy-willow cushions. And fairy carriages are pulled by a team of six matching dragonflies: That’s why they make a buzzing sound.

  The Fairy Bell sisters—all except Sylva—could not have been more excited. “It’s time!” said Goldie. “How do I look?”

  “You look elegant and beautiful,” said Rosy.

  “I suppose I do look quite elegant and beautiful,” said Goldie. “Now, shall we go?”

  Goldie started out the door without so much as a glance at Sylva.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Clara.

  “Bye, Sylva,” Goldie muttered.

  “That too,” said Clara. “But you’re forgetting the most important thing: We need to take off our wings.”

  That’s another thing most children—the children who are not reading this book, for instance—do not know about fairies: Their wings come off. Like anything else, wings need cleaning and repairing from time to time, so they slip on and off for ease of care. Once a year, however, ordinary fairy wings are replaced by special wings, which are given to each fairy at the Fairy Ball.

  “Oh, of course!” said Rosy. “Sylva, can you look after our wings for us?”

  “You aren’t going to let her—”

  “Hush, Goldie,” said Clara. She looked at Sylva and shook her head. “No touching, Sylva. And no leaving the house until we are home.”

  “Will you do us the honor of looking after our wings?” said Rosy.

  “I will,” Sylva said. “I will do all that you expect of me.”

  Clara, Rosy, and Goldie doffed their wings and laid them out on the round copper wing table. Rosy patted hers gently.

  “Ready?” asked Clara.

  All four Fairy Bell sisters—and Squeak in Sylva’s arms—joined in a circle around the wing table. They had the clearest voices on all of Sheepskerry Island, and they sang out bright and true. First they sang all together,

  Keep our wings safe from harm

  With this heartfelt fairy charm.

  A circle, a circle.

  Then they sang the song again as a round, with Clara beginning, Rosy joining in, and then Goldie and Sylva adding their voices, until they reached the last line, all together.

  A circle, a circle.

  “Woo-woo!” said Squeak.

  “Yes, it is beautiful,” said Goldie. “We sound just like bells ringing. And we stayed on key, even though Tink was not here to lead us!”

  The dragonflies’ whirring got louder. “We must be off,” said Clara. “Bye-bye, sweet Sylva. Tomorrow is your special day.”

  Sylva had almost forgotten about her birthday. She brightened up a little bit.

  “And next year you will be at the Fairy Ball!”

  That cheered her up even more. Rosy gave her a tight hug. “Thank you for trying so hard, Sylva,” she said in a whisper.

  “You look beautiful, Rosy,” said Sylva.

  “Happy almost birthday,” said Goldie. “Don’t have any more bright ideas.”

  And with that, the three sisters picked up their evening bags, slipped on their dancing shoes, crowded into the carriage, and were f
lown off to the ball.

  The drone of the dragonflies’ wings seemed to take a very long time to fade.

  “Squeak!” said Squeak, just as she had the night before. Sylva shivered.

  “Nonsense, Squeak,” said Sylva. “That’s the carriages going by. Nothing more.” But Sylva held Squeak tight.

  I’m not happy to say it, but now might be a good time to tell you more about trolls. You’ll already know that trolls are jealous and grumpy creatures, who live under bridges and among the toadstools and bracken of the forest. They’re too big and lumbering to fly, so they envy Queen Mab’s powerful magic and wish they had some fairy magic of their own.

  I imagine you’re wondering why Clara and Rosy and Goldie would leave their sisters alone when trolls are about, but don’t be worried: Fairy houses are protected by magic, and it would take ten trolls—or more!—all working together to get through the birch-twig door. And everyone knows that trolls don’t like to work together on anything.

  fifteen

  “No lolo,” said Squeak.

  “Oh, I’m not sad,” said Sylva. “Not anymore.” She had slept almost all day long, so she was full of energy now at dusk. The Bell fairy house was mostly neat and clean, but there were a few hairpins on the moss floor, and there were always a few sticks and twigs out of place, so Sylva had a bit of a tidy up, played a game of fairy peek-a-boo with Squeak, and then settled down to read.

  She was just about at the part where the princess slayed the dragon when she heard a rumbling beneath the great-room floor.

  BRUUMMMMM. BRUMM.

  “Squeak!” said Squeak.

  “Hush, Squeak. It’s nothing,” said Sylva, more sharply than she meant to. “Thunder, maybe?” But she drew her fairy blanket up close to her as she kept reading.

  Not two pages later, when the princess had scaled the wall of the castle, the rumbling came again.