Dragonfly Secret (8 page)

“Will you hold this rose while I put the fresh one in the can?” I asked, holding out the wilted yellow blossom. He took it hesitantly, like a new father, all gruff and gentle at the same time. He brushed back a petal to get a better look at the baby fairy.

“What did you kids say you named the little runt?”

“Reed,” I said, busy cutting the stem of the pink rose to fit in the can.

Gramps grunted. “Weed is more like it. Them blue-green wings and that stick of a body . . .”

His voice trailed off. I looked over and saw him gazing down at the tiny creature in his hand. It waved one chubby fist and tried to roll over, but its wings were awkward among the petals.

The pipe drooped in Gramps's mouth and his lips curved into a smile. “Kind of cute, ain't he?”

All of a sudden I couldn't stand it. “I wish we'd never found them,” I said, wanting to shout. “I wish they'd stayed in their dumb swamp and left us alone. Why should you have to go away just because of a couple of . . . of dumb dragonflies?”

“Nathan!” Jessie said, her voice sharp with shock. “You take that back!”

Gramps held up the hand that wasn't holding the fairy. “Hush, Jess, it's all right. Nate's upset, same's the rest of us.”

He turned to me. “This thing with Miss Ryderson's got nothing to do with Willow and her kid, Nathan. Maybe Louise is right, and it's time to admit I'm getting on toward old. Maybe she ain't. But finding these two . . . Well, they may not be magic like people think fairies ought to be, but they're plumb special, and whatever happens to me now, I'll have them to think on till the day I die. I ain't sorry we found them.”

I sat on the arm of his chair, where I could reach to put my arms around his neck. I was trying hard not to cry, but I guess a tear or two got away. “What are we going to do, Gramps? We love you too much to let anyone take you away. We couldn't make it without you.”

He put his free arm around me, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “I felt the same way when I lost your grandmother.” His gaze rested a moment on the pipe she had given him so many years ago. “I love you kids, too, more than anything. But we got to take what life brings and make the best of it. You'll do all right, no matter what happens.”

He took his arm away and dabbed at his eyes, the way I was dabbing at mine. I forced myself to laugh. “Too bad Willow isn't really magic. We could make a wish that everything would be all right, and it would be.”

“Don't you worry none,” Gramps said. “Everything will be all right. For now, we got to think about these two. We've got to get them back to the farm before . . .”

I didn't let him finish. Whatever he was going to say, I didn't want to think about it. “I asked Mother if we could go on a picnic to the farm this afternoon. She said she'd ask you when she got home.”

Gramps looked over to where Willow was perched on Jessie's shoulder, preening her wings. Then he looked down at Reed, clutching a petal in both tiny hands and sucking at the edge of it. “I'm going to miss the little varmints,” he said. He looked at me. “How about if we pack a lunch now so we're all ready to go when she gets home?”

I made tuna fish sandwiches. Jessie set out some apples and cookies while Gramps got the wicker picnic basket down from the hall closet. “Haven't used this much lately,” he commented. “We ought to go on more picnics.”

Neither Jessie nor I said anything. We were both afraid this would be our last chance for a picnic together.

I was right in the middle of wrapping the sandwiches when the phone rang. “I'll get it,” piped Jessie.

I could hear her clearly in the quiet house. “Mother's not here right now,” she told the caller. Then she was quiet for a minute, listening. “I guess that would be all right,” she said. “She'll be home about one o'clock.”

When she came back into the kitchen I frowned at her. “You know the rules. You can let people talk to Gramps, but you're not supposed to tell them Mother's not here, and never tell them how long she'll be gone.”

She nodded her head unhappily. “I know. But that was Miss Ryderson. She wants to talk to Mother. She's going to come over at one o'clock.”

A
t a quarter to one, Miss Ryderson arrived. I pushed the living room curtains to one side and watched her park on the street in front of the house, leaving the driveway clear for Mother. I had to admit she was more thoughtful than Aunt Louise, who always did what was most convenient for herself.

Then I thought of the article Aunt Louise had given Mother, and I felt confused. I didn't understand Aunt Louise any better than she understood Gramps. That worried me, because Aunt Louise had known Gramps all her life. Miss Ryderson had only had a few days to figure Gramps out, and she was the one who was going to say what would happen to him.

I let the curtain fall back across the window and opened the door.

Miss Ryderson smiled at me. “Hi, Nathan. I'm surprised you're inside on such a beautiful day.”

“We were planning a picnic this afternoon.” I couldn't help adding, “Before you called.”

She stood looking at me, clutching her briefcase in her arms. Finally she stepped past me into the room so I could close the door. “I haven't been on a picnic in years. Not since I was about your age.” I thought her voice sounded wistful, the way Mother's did sometimes when she talked about the good times they'd had before my father died.

She set her briefcase on the coffee table. When she turned back toward me, her voice was brisk. “I wish I could go with you. Don't worry, though. I won't be here very long. I just need to see your mother for a minute.”

My eyes strayed to the briefcase. Was it full of forms that had to be signed to send Gramps away? Was that what she had to see Mother about?

“You think I'm a terrible person, don't you?” she asked suddenly.

“No,” I said. “I think you have a terrible job.”

She sighed. “Sometimes it is terrible. It's not always easy to be sure you're doing the right thing.” She looked at me, as serious as could be. “When you're a little older, Nathan, you'll see that things aren't always good or bad, right or wrong. You just have to do what you think is best.”

Gramps had said almost the same thing the other night. It was confusing. I liked Miss Ryderson. And I hated her, too, because of what she was going to do.

The door opened and Mother came in. I hadn't even heard her drive up. She had stopped to buy groceries, and she held a big brown paper bag in each arm. Her smile seemed to freeze when she spotted Miss Ryderson.

“Let me help you with that,” Miss Ryderson said, reaching for the groceries. She took one bag and I took the other, leaving Mother to set down her purse and follow us into the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Mother asked.

“Oh, no thank you,” Miss Ryderson said. “I just wanted to stop by and talk to all of you one more time. I'm going to turn in my report Monday, and I thought you'd want to know what it will say.”

I held my breath. This was it. We couldn't even wait until Monday. She was going to tell us now and ruin our last picnic.

Gramps leaned forward in his chair. “So what are you going to tell them, missy? Am I a crazy old coot who shouldn't be out on his own?”

Miss Ryderson shook her head. “The only question is whether you might do something to hurt yourself or someone else. I don't find any reason to expect that.”

I grabbed Jessie and gave her a big hug. “Gramps can stay!” I was shouting, but nobody noticed. Mother gave Gramps a big hug and kissed him on the forehead, and he wiped his face with his sleeve, like he was embarrassed by the kiss, but I could tell he was wiping tears out of his eyes, too.

“Will you stay and celebrate with us?” Mother asked Miss Ryderson.

“No, I'd better not.” She glanced at me. “Nathan said you were going on a picnic this afternoon, so I won't keep you.” She looked at the wicker picnic basket on the table. “We had one exactly like that. It belonged to my grandmother when she was first married. It really brings back memories.”

Mother patted the basket. “Why don't you come with us?” She looked at me, smiling. “You packed enough for one extra, didn't you, Nathan?”

I wanted to say no, that there was only enough for us, for the four of us, for this special picnic together, but Mother went on without waiting for an answer.

“If not, we can always put in a little more. I bought potato chips and some marshmallows. Maybe we can build a little fire out by the spring.”

“Oh, I couldn't . . .” Miss Ryderson began, but Mother seemed to hear the same longing in her voice that I heard, and Mother wasn't going to ignore it.

Ten minutes later we were all packed into the station wagon, Gramps driving, Mother in the middle and Miss Ryderson sitting next to the window.

Jessie and I sat in the backseat, with Jessie over behind Gramps, as far as she could get from Miss Ryderson, clutching the coffee can full of fairies. Even with Miss Ryderson along, this was going to be our only chance to take them back where they belonged.

Miss Ryderson turned a little in her seat, looking back at Jessie. “What's in the can?” she asked cheerfully.

“Fairies,” I answered, grinning at her. I said it the way you might say, “Dinosaurs. What's it to you?” I knew she wouldn't think I really meant it, or I wouldn't have said it.

Mother didn't turn around, but her voice was half pleading, half ordering. “Come on, Nathan, let's knock off the jokes about fairies, okay?”

Miss Ryderson turned back to the window and didn't say anything for a while. I was a little sorry I had hurt her feelings, but I couldn't help wishing she hadn't come along. If she hadn't, we might have been able to tell Mother about Willow and Reed instead of hiding them in the coffee can all the way to the farm.

Gramps drove more slowly than usual. Maybe he was being careful because Miss Ryderson was in the car, or maybe he felt gloomy the way I did about saying good-bye to the fairies. I couldn't tell.

The farm hadn't changed since the last time we were here. It still looked like an old, empty farmhouse on the edge of a green meadow with woods beyond. Somehow, it felt lonely this time. Maybe that was because I didn't expect to come out here again for a long time. Willow and Reed would be nothing but memories, like my father and my grandmother, with no one around but the black-and-white cows.

I shook off the feeling and looked across the meadow toward the spring. Everything was green and gold in the slanting rays of the sun, the spring a splash of silver. I tried to feel happy for the fairies. If it was my home, I'd be glad to be back.

Mother and Miss Ryderson walked up toward the house. Jessie went into the barn. I followed her. “What are we going to do about Willow and Reed?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Leave them here in the barn, I guess, until it's almost time to leave. They'll be safe enough. We don't want to take a chance on anyone seeing them.”

I could see tears forming in her eyes. “Look,” I said. “Why don't we take them down to the spring now? We can open the can and play around as if we're chasing dragonflies or frogs or something. That will give us a chance to make sure Willow wants to be here.”

Gramps came into the barn behind us. “Your mother's showing Miss Ryderson the house. I'll fetch some wood for a fire, and keep them occupied so they don't follow you down to the spring.”

He looked at the coffee can. Jessie held it out, taking the cover off first. Gramps gazed down into the can for a long minute. “Good luck, critter,” he said softly. “It's been a privilege knowin' you.”

He turned and walked off toward the back of the house, where there was an old woodpile. Jessie and I took the path to the spring, feeling the tall grass swish around our legs. We stopped at the same spot we'd stood the last time. We could see ripples in the water where frogs had leaped to hide from us, and the green and brown cattails swayed gently in the breeze.

Jessie took the cover off the coffee can and held her hand out for Willow. The fairy climbed out slowly into the late-afternoon sunshine. Then she looked around and gave a little chirp, and then two more. It was easy to see she was excited. She didn't sit on Jessie's finger the way she usually did. Instead she seemed to dance, her wings humming and her feet barely touching Jessie's hand.

A second later she leaped into the air, still dancing, but now it was a graceful ballet of swoops and glides with her wings flashing in the sunshine. She hovered for a minute in front of Jessie. Then she darted over to me and hovered so close in front of me it made my eyes cross trying to look at her. She reached out one delicate hand and touched my cheek.

“Hey, that tickles,” I said, laughing.

Willow moved about a foot away and hovered, chirping.

“I guess she's glad to be home,” Jessie said.

“Yeah, she really seems happy,” I agreed.

Willow buzzed over to the can and dropped inside. A minute later she reappeared, with Reed tucked under one arm. He looked like an awkward load for her, but he wasn't wiggling much, and she didn't seem to have any trouble carrying him.

She stopped in front of Jessie, hovering the way she had with me. She reached out her other hand and touched Jessie's face. A tear slid down Jessie's cheek, and Willow touched that, too, chirping softly as if to say it was all right.

Jessie gulped and nodded. “Good-bye, Willow. Take good care of Reed.”

Willow swooped away, out over the center of the spring, and I heard the buzzing of wings from the reeds along the banks. I couldn't help wondering. There were lots of dragonflies around the spring, but how many fairies? I heard chirping, too, but it was probably crickets. I couldn't tell.