Dragonfly Secret (6 page)

“That Miss Ryderson seems a nice enough sort, ‘cept for what she does for a living. ‘Tweren't for that, I'd be inclined to tell her what's really happening here.”

“I like her, too,” said Jessie.

“So do I,” I admitted. “I don't think we ought to pretend we're different than we really are. She'll make a fair report. Only one thing. Don't say you saw a fairy.”

Gramps puffed on his pipe, his eyes still on the lizard cage. “I hate to think what Louise would have said if you hadn't made up that story. She wouldn't believe in a real fairy, but she'd be sure Miss Ryderson knew I did.”

“My
mother says you're crazy,” Allison said from the doorway.

Gramps turned so fast I thought he might fall down. “What in thunder are you doing here?”

“I had to go to the bathroom, so my mother brought me back,” she said primly. “And I'm going to tell her what you said.”

I
think Gramps would have gladly strangled Allison right then. I know I would have. But by the time we got over the surprise of her being there at all she was gone.

“Will she really tell?” Jessie asked.

I nodded. “Allison is the biggest tattletale in the state. She'll tell. What are we going to do, Gramps?”

He shrugged. “Not much to do, is there? Like we did with the little critter, just wait and see what happens.” His words were reassuring, but his face was grim.

That night, none of us talked much at supper. Mother looked across the table at Gramps and asked, “How did the interview with Miss Ryderson go today?”

He grunted.

“She brought him a test,” I offered. “But she didn't have time for him to take it.”

“Why not?”

“'Cause your sister Louise and her kid dropped by for a chat right about the time she got here,” Gramps said sourly.

He stuffed a piece of roll in his mouth and started chewing vigorously, as if to say he wasn't going to discuss it any further.

Mother paused with her fork in the air, halfway to her mouth with a bite of salad. She looked bewildered. “Why would Louise come by? She never visits. And she knew Miss Ryderson was planning to . . . Oh, I see.” Her mouth shut with a snap and the fork dropped to the plate with a clink. She stood up and stalked into the front room, where the phone was located.

“Uh-oh,” said Jessie.

“Uh-oh is right,” I echoed.

“Hush!” ordered Gramps. “I want to hear this.”

We strained our ears, but Mother kept her voice low. It was easy to tell that she was angry, though. Then she paused for a minute, and when she spoke again her voice was louder.

“Louise, that's pure baloney. He was probably reading a story to the kids. And even if it were true, you had no business telling Miss Ryderson. Dad could be seeing flying saucers and still be competent to handle his own affairs. You promised to abide by her decision, so keep out of it and let her do her job.” The phone slammed down with a plastic thwack.

Mother came back to the table and sat down without a word. She picked up her fork and jabbed the bite of salad into her mouth. We all looked at our food instead of each other and ate as if it might be our last meal ever.

After a minute Mother sighed and set down her fork. “Louise says Allison heard you say you believe in fairies, Dad. Want to tell me about it?”

He chewed a minute, thoughtfully, then swallowed. “Nope.” He speared another bite of meat loaf and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Honestly!” Mother stared at him. “Louise hired someone to find out whether you're too senile to handle your own affairs, and told that person that you believe in fairies, and you don't want to talk about it?”

Gramps shook his head. “Why? Damage is done. No sense gettin' you involved.”

“But I
am
involved, Dad. What am I supposed to tell Miss Ryderson?”

Gramps fixed his stare on Mother. “Why should she ask you? Ain't Allison's word good enough to get me shipped off?”

“Dad, you know that's foolishness. But if you start acting this way around Miss Ryderson, no telling what she'll think. I'll just tell her Allison lied.”

Gramps shook his head. “No. It ain't right to get someone in trouble by saying what ain't so, even someone as pure disagreeable as Allison.”

Mother looked at him blankly. “You mean Allison didn't lie? You do believe in fairies?”

“Did she say I believe in fairies, or did she say I said I believe in fairies?”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, what difference does it make? Do you or don't you?”

“Makes a heap of difference, Kate. She did hear me say that I do. That's no lie of hers.”

“Did Allison tell her mother about the fairy story we made up this afternoon?” I asked, hoping to ease Mother into believing what we'd told Allison.

“You made up a story about fairies?” Mother looked confused again.

“It's about a fairy who loved roses,” Jessie piped up.

“And Allison made me pick half your roses for her, too,” I said, frowning at the memory.

Mother looked across the table at me. “Let me get this straight. You made up a fairy story, and Allison was here and knew that. Then Gramps said he believed in fairies, and she heard him. Was it part of the story?”

“Yes,” said Jessie.

At the same time I said, “Sort of,” and Gramps said, “No.”

Mother folded her napkin and pushed her plate away. “I think it's time someone told me the whole story, and I don't mean the one you made up.”

I glanced at Gramps, but he shook his head, ever so slightly. We had agreed not to tell Mother about the fairy until after Miss Ryderson was finished, and nothing had really changed. If anything, it would be harder for her to know about the fairy now than before.

“Jessie and I put some doll furniture and some flowers in the lizard cage in my room. Then Allison came in. I told her we were going to make up a fairy story, sort of like a play. The stuff in the cage was the scenery. Then to get Allison out of my room I picked her some roses. After she left, we were talking about fairies, and Allison came back. She didn't hear everything we said. I guess it sounded like Gramps said he believed in fairies. But he didn't exactly say that.”

Mother looked at me. Then she looked at Jessie. Jessie nodded. “It was like Nathan said.”

Mother looked at Gramps. He glared at his plate and scowled. “Believe what you want.”

Mother got up and stood behind his chair. She put her hands on his shoulders. “I love you, Dad. We all do. Even Louise, in her own way. I don't think it matters whether or not you said you believe in fairies. I don't even think it matters whether you really do. But I am worried about what Miss Ryderson will think. Promise me you won't be cranky with her.”

Gramps softened, and said he'd try.

“And Dad, please don't joke with her about what Allison said. She might not understand.”

He looked at me and winked. “Don't say I saw a fairy?”

“Right,” Mother agreed, missing the wink. She got dessert, and we talked about other things that had happened that day. I went to bed feeling happy, because I thought everything was going to be okay. I slept fine. The nightmare didn't begin until the next morning.

“Y
our room is so stuffy, Nathan. Why don't you open the window?” Mother didn't wait for an answer. She opened the window herself. “Now go have your breakfast. I'll make your bed for you.”

I couldn't pass up an offer like that. I scooted for the kitchen. I wasn't worried about Mother seeing Willow. She never went near the cage. Lizards and bugs and frogs made her nervous. That's why I'd had to give away my lizards the second time they got loose.

After breakfast Jessie and I decided to check on Willow. As I opened the door to my room, I heard a crash and saw a flash of gray fur. Smokey, Mrs. Pruitt's cat, bounded up onto the ledge and out the open window. “Shoo, you pesky cat,” I hollered after him.

Jessie giggled. “You sound like Gramps.” Then her eyes grew wide and her face turned pale. “Nathan! The cage!”

I was across the room in three quick steps. The cage lay smashed on the floor. Crushed roses and wet plastic doll furniture were jumbled amid the broken glass.

“Willow!” Jessie cried, kneeling down and reaching for the wreckage.

“Wait!” I ordered. “You're going to cut yourself. Hand me the wastebasket.”

I started picking up the mess cautiously, not wanting to injure Willow further if she was buried somewhere under there. I picked up jagged pieces of glass. Then wet roses. Then doll furniture. I sat back and stared at Jessie.

“Willow's not here.”

“Smokey got her!” she said, tears running down both cheeks.

I shook my head slowly. “Maybe. But I don't think so. The cat might have gotten Willow, but where's the grub-thing? I don't think a cat would eat that.”

I looked around the room. There was nowhere for a fairy to hide.

“The window,” Jessie and I said at the same instant.

“She's outside!” I looked at Jessie. “We've got to find her, before the cat does.”

We ran outside. How would we ever find her? She looked like a dragonfly, and I had seen dragonflies in the garden sometimes. It was hard enough trying to catch any old dragonfly. How would we ever find the special one that was really a fairy?

Then I saw Smokey again. The cat was slinking around the corner of the house like a puff of smoke, headed toward Mother's rosebushes.

“The flower bed,” I guessed. “Willow is used to roses. Maybe she hid there.”

Smokey seemed to think so, too. I scooped up a handful of gravel and hurled it at him, but he didn't give up. He hunkered down and went around to the other side of the flower bed and kept hunting. I could see the tip of his tail swishing back and forth.

“Come on. We've got to hurry.”

Jessie started from one end of the flower bed and I started from the other. I scratched myself on rose thorns, but I kept going. I was pretty sure we were on the, right track because I couldn't get Smokey to leave, no matter how many times I yelled at him and threw sticks. He knew there was something special in that flower bed. We had to find Willow before he did.

“Nathan!” Jessie's cry sounded excited. I hurried over to see what she had found. “Look,” she said softly, pointing at a big yellow rose high up on Mother's favorite climbing rose bush. I could see the tips of dragonfly wings. But were they Willow's?

“Willow,” Jessie called softly. “Willow, it's us.”

The wings fluttered, and Willow's tiny face peered between the petals, but she didn't fly down to Jessie's outstretched hand.

“She's probably scared,” I said. “I would be if that stupid cat had tried to eat me.”

“We can't leave her out here,” Jessie said. She wasn't crying anymore, but she looked as if she might start in again any minute.

“I'll get the ladder,” I told her. “You stay here and keep an eye on Willow.”

I grabbed the big garden shears off the workbench and lugged the ladder out to the rosebush. I steadied it against the wall and climbed up until I could reach the rose. Holding the stem carefully, I cut the rose loose and handed it down to Jessie.

“Thank goodness you're safe,” Jessie crooned to Willow. I sighed with relief and went to put away the ladder and shears.

When I came back, Willow had climbed up onto her finger, but Jessie was still holding the rose in her other hand. “Nathan, come look.”

“What is it?” I asked. She sounded so happy I was sure it couldn't be anything bad, but I couldn't imagine why she wanted me to look.

“Her wing looks okay,” I said, giving Willow a quick once-over. “That toothpick seems to be working out fine.”

“Look at the rose, dummy,” Jessie said, gently thrusting it under my nose.

I bent my head to look. Willow hummed with her wings and chirped at me. There, nestled among the pale yellow petals, was the tiniest baby I had ever seen. He wasn't pink, the way human babies are, but palest gold, only a little browner than the rose petals. Otherwise, he looked exactly like a miniature baby boy. Except, of course, for the pale blue wings that jutted from his shoulders.

“H
e was born in the flower bed. Let's call him Sweet William,” Jessie said happily.

I sniffed. “No. Sweet William is one of the flowers that makes me sneeze. Besides, no boy would want to go through life being called sweet.”

She peered down at the tiny infant still nestled in the heart of the rose. “If you say so. What do you think we should call him?”

“How about Ash? That's a tree, sort of like an aspen or a birch tree. I saw some of them up on the farm.”

Jessie shook her head. “Reminds me of what's left after you burn the trash.”

I could see her point. The new fairy was delicate and beautiful, like a soap bubble in the sunshine. Ash didn't fit. “How about Reed, then? People usually spell it R-e-i-d, but he's not a person. And a reed is a water plant like a cattail. I think that's where he belongs.”

Jessie nodded. “I like it. Let's go tell Gramps.”

“Not so fast. What if we run into Mother? We still don't want her to find out about them. And now that the lizard cage is gone, where are we going to keep them?”

We talked about it awhile, and didn't come up with much. Finally I left Jessie with the two fairies and went into the house, going through the back door to the kitchen. I found a big empty coffee can in the cupboard where Mother keeps them to store things in. It wasn't as nice as the lizard cage, but it was big enough and safe enough until we could come up with something better. I took it back outside.

“Let's pick some roses and put them in the can. And some clover blossoms for Willow to eat,” Jessie said. She held the two fairies and watched me as I did it. When I was finished she lowered the yellow rose into the can. Willow buzzed in after it and settled next to her son.