Aye, I am a Fairy

by Dani Haviland

  “My mom’s disappearance was real, that’s for sure. But her getting younger, that’s just too radical.”

  “And traveling back in time to meet fictional characters isn’t?” James countered with a snort.

  “Time travel has been fabled, romanticized and theorized for, what, centuries? ‘Once upon a time’ was the accepted way of saying ‘two hundred years ago’ when telling a story in the old days. You see, that was the length of time people typically time traveled in the legends. They called the people who came to them from other times ‘fairies,’ so the stories were called fairy tales.”

  Leah sat up, all drowsiness gone, excited about the new topic of conversation. “Shoot, astronomers have already named the means of transportation people will use, even though they still haven’t found the ways, except in theory. They call them wormholes. That’s what people used, use now, or will use in the future to transport themselves forward and backwards in time, and even travel across vast regions of space. For nearly a hundred years, modern science has been investigating…doo de doo doo…” She widened her eyes and wiggled her eyebrows as she sang the melody of the old TV series, “…‘Twilight Zone’ events. You can hardly watch a movie or read a book nowadays without time travel being involved somehow.” She wound down and settled back into her new husband’s arms, her view being stated and case won.

  “Yes,” James said tentatively, not sure whether he wanted to commit to her line of reasoning or not. But he felt the same way—sort of. “And flying through the air, traveling underwater, and harnessing power from the sun were all science fiction theories or fantastic dreams that have become reality in the last one hundred years or so. It seems as if we’re hardwired to know that these concepts are possible, even though they haven’t been proven yet. Just because we haven’t seen something with our own eyes doesn’t mean that our brains won’t accept the idea. Our instinctive beliefs are about a hundred years ahead of current technology. I guess what you call the hardwiring is what makes people—scientists—push the envelope and search for what they know is possible. They believe the solution is out there, but man just hasn’t been able to put the nine and negative five together to get four. But it looks like the ability to travel back in time has been around for ages.” He sighed then added, “It’s just that it hasn’t been available to everyone. But, whether it’s a genetic anomaly or simply some exotic knowledge that has been handed down by family or secret societies through the ages, we know it’s possible. I’d like to think of it as a transferable gift—to be shared judiciously and not abused or used for personal gain or retribution.”

  “Oh,” groaned Leah, “Can you imagine if someone decided to go back in time and assassinate someone? No. That’s too much to fathom. Who really did kill JFK? Did the assassin sneak back to his or her own time after the shooting? Is that why the Warren Report was inconclusive?” Leah shook her head and yawned. “Nope, too much to think about, even if I wasn’t so beat. Hmph. Not that it would do any good to know—who would believe it? Not many in this century, that’s for sure…” she said, mumbling her last words as she scooted closer to James. “G’night, dear.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Melbourne.” James kissed the top of his new wife’s already sleeping head. “Sleep well. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  ***54 Searching for Mama

  Leah popped awake at the same time she always did: 5:15 AM. But today, she didn’t need to go to work, do research at the library, or go for a run. She rolled over and saw James stirring beside her. Two weeks ago, she didn’t know him from Adam. Or Ian Kincaid, she chuckled to herself. And now he was her husband. ‘Things happen so quickly here’ came to her mind. Wasn’t that Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz who said that first? Yeah, well this wasn’t Kansas, but things were happening pretty fast here, too, in North Carolina.

  “Are you ready to follow the yellow brick road?” James asked, as he pulled himself up into a seated position. He chuckled with satisfaction when he saw that she knew exactly what he was talking about. How did he get such a wonderful woman? Last year, he was in a miserable relationship with a conniving, thieving gold digger. And today, he was restarting his life, in a new—yet old—world, with a smart, considerate, and beautiful wife who shared the same hopes, aspirations, and insights as he did.

  “Yeah, well, if we can find the road, and if it leads to my mother, then yes, I’m ready. Or will be after a…um…a little relief and some breakfast. Gee, where’s a port-a-potty when you need one?” she asked.

  “Right there. See? It’s even green, just like the ones at the fairs and construction sites. It’s just that these don’t come with a seat or toilet paper.” Leah snorted at his joke, and he added, “Hey, it may not have those amenities, but at least these bushes don’t stink like those fiberglass shacks do. I’ll take the loo over there,” he said, nodding to a clump of scrub in the opposite direction.

  Leah got up, but made a detour to look in on Ian before heading to her bathroom bushes. He was still asleep, his son curled up and dozing next to him, inside the little twig and duct tape shelter. She didn’t want to disturb him by touching him to see if he had a fever, but he looked to be doing fine. She’d come back and give him a thorough examination after she took care of her own early morning needs.

  She met up with Marty on the way back from the designated ladies room. He started discussing his dilemma right away, not even offering her a ‘good morning’ first.

  “I know I said I’d stay with the boy—and I will if he wants me, needs me to—but I really want to go back. I’ve spent too much time away from Bibb, and now she needs me.” The frown on his face reflected the mixed emotions churning within him, the bags under his eyes showing that he had been up all night fretting, trying to decide whether to honor his verbal commitment to the Kincaids or return to the now cancer-stricken woman who he had neglected for thirty years.

  “I’ll know more about Ian’s condition in a few minutes and how important, or necessary, a second caretaker will be,” Leah said. “But first, did you happen to bring any coffee? A vanilla soy latte sounds great, but I’ll settle for a cup of boiled java, grounds and all.”

  “I think I can set you up. Where’s…oh, there he is,” he said, as he spotted James, hobbling towards them, leaning on his roughly-hewn cane. “Hey, son, are you feeling better? You look better.”

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you. Good food, good company, and a good night’s sleep—all conducive to a rapid recovery. Oh, and good family, too. I told Wee Ian yesterday that Evie was Leah’s mother.”

  James had expected their shocked expressions. “Hey, he asked me a direct question and I answered him. He already knew, though. I’m sure he did. He just wanted confirmation. So, now I call him my little cousin, even if he is more like—no, he really is—my brother-in-law.” James winked at Leah, ignored her gapped-mouthed ‘huh?’ and turned to his father. “Now, on another subject, you said you knew the way to the Pomeroys’, right?”

  “Well, yes, sort of. I was going to go with you. I’d like to meet your mother,” Marty said, nodding to Leah, “but, as I was telling her,” he turned back to face James, “I want to go back and see Bibb. And take care of her.” He shook his head in shame. “Why was I so selfish?”

  “Well, you could also ask, why was she so proud? I mean, she didn’t—wouldn’t—ask you or anyone else for help with anything. My suggestion is that both of you stop kicking yourselves in the pants for being so stubborn and start looking forward to a future together, okay?”

  Marty nodded in agreement, his usual garrulous demeanor stifled by his self-imposed shame. He was locked in his own prison of sorrow and solitude, and was loathe even to look up from the ground.

  “Hey,” James asked suddenly, breaking the bleak silence, “How can you go back? I mean, isn’t there some sort of time window or something? You told me precisely when to come back. Don’t you have to wait for a certain moon phase or planetary alignment or something?”

&nb
sp; “No,” Marty said glumly, his terseness magnifying his despair.

  “Well, then why the cryptic message to leave two weeks after my 28th birthday at sunrise?” James was drawing out the conversation on purpose. He didn’t want his father to wallow in self-persecution, but he also needed an answer.

  Marty shrugged his shoulders. “That’s when Ian Kincaid was nearly killed, and the fairy came and put his spirit into him.” Marty inhaled deeply then held his breath. He blurted out in exasperation, “But there was only one fairy in the story we heard from the Cherokee historian.” He looked up, a spark of life catching fire in his eyes. “Hey, I wonder why that is? I mean, that brings up a huge subject for debate: free will and predestination.” Marty was back to being his old self again—sort of. “I wonder how far forward I could go. Could I find a cure for Bibb’s cancer in, what, like the 22nd century, and then come back and give it to her?”

  “Whoa, whoa,” James said, and held up his hand. “We aren’t supposed to know everything. Leah said it best when she said there are mysteries to be solved and mysteries to be accepted. Now, Leah’s free will is what brought her along with me, so that’s why there are two of us. It could just as easily have been that no one came. If I had never read the letter—letters—or I did, and decided that they were just the ramblings of some old coot, and that my real grandfather had died out on a small sailing ship from some strange disease, drunk out of his mind on high dollar whisky…” James glared at his father—he was still slightly peeved at him for deceiving him with the fabricated tale of his own demise.

  “Or,” he continued, “it could be that because Leah is a woman, she isn’t, wasn’t, worthy of being mentioned in the Cherokee oral history. I mean, aren’t the Indians around here and now pretty much chauvinistic? Women are to be seen, bear children, plant crops, cook, and not be heard?”

  Marty grinned at the suggestion and pointed his index finger at James with the gesture of ‘that’s right,’ then went back to the subject of finding Leah’s mother.

  “I think the lad or his father would be your best bets for guiding you to the Pomeroy homestead, but they can’t—or shouldn’t—travel yet, so we’ll nix that idea. I’ve never been there, but I know it’s due east of here. Now, if you hit the town of Gibsonville, you’ve gone too far. It’s just a hint of a town, but someone there could probably point you in the right direction. It’s not too far from there, I hear. Too bad there aren’t any GPS systems around.”

  “Well, a good map and a compass should work. I have a good map, but I’m not exactly sure of where we are now.” James pulled out his hand-drafted map. “We came through here,” he pointed to the XX time portal designation, “and then we… Shoot, I didn’t pay attention to which direction we ran. We just followed the screaming voice,” he said in frustration. Why didn’t I pay closer attention?

  “Weel, I’m glad ye did follow the hollerin’, even if it did cause ye to get turned around from where ye were heided.” Wee Ian dipped his head in gratitude, then changed the subject, addressing Leah on his father’s condition. “He slept fine last night. He groaned a bit, but that medicine ye gave him kept him from thrashin’ about. Will ye be leavin’ soon?”

  Marty handed Leah his cup of cowboy coffee. She took a sip, then spit out a few grounds before replying. “I’ll make sure an infection hasn’t started—that’s the redness and pus—and that you have extra dressings—that is, bandages—and pills, the medicine. As long as he stays put, and doesn’t go wandering around the countryside for another five days or so, he should be fine. The stitches on the inside of his neck will dissolve; the ones on the outside can be removed with a tool I’ll leave with you. If I ever see you again—and I hope I do—you can return it to me then. Just make sure he drinks lots of fluids—that is, water or broth—eats when he can, and gets lots of rest! Oh, and the little bandage on his scrotum, er, balls… Well, probably by the time he discovers it, he can remove it. If the skin has grown together, then the bandage should be taken off. Don’t let it stay on too long or the adhesive will get gummy. I guess I’ll check on it while he’s still sound asleep.”

  Leah went to the foot of the shelter and lifted the breechclout. Wee Ian must have taken it off in the middle of the night and cleaned it. It was smooth, clean, and dry, but just lying over his groin, not wrapped around properly. Such a considerate young boy, she thought. Yeah, right. Who was the child in this two-person arrangement? It seemed as if the son was taking care of the father, not the other way around. And he appeared comfortable with it, too. This must have been going on for quite a while.

  Leah checked Ian’s vital signs and neck wound. He was healing quickly and without complications. “Thank You, Lord,” she offered, as she got to her feet.

  “Let me check your vitals, too,” she said to James, who was seated next to the small fire, enjoying her cup of coffee.

  “I’m sure glad we’re all willing to share,” he said, and saluted her with the cup. She grinned and put her finger on his pulse, then lifted his sleeve to use his Rolex to check the rate. The wristwatch was a bit gaudy, but no more than the fancy pocket watches that were all over Europe and therefore, in select areas of America. They hadn’t had time to convert the watchband to a fob, but it was under his sleeve and not readily visible. As soon as they found a home for themselves, it would be put away in a safe place. Gold was still gold and subject to theft from villains in any century.

  “How’s the father?” Marty asked, holding the pot in his hand as if he had a parrot perched on his wrist.

  “He’s doing fine. It’s up to you and Wee Ian about whether you should stay or not. There aren’t any complications, and the boy’s more than capable of making sure he gets fluids in him—and anything else he needs, I’m sure. I’ve already given him the rundown, instructions on how to take care of him.”

  “We’ll be fine, sir, Marty, if ye have places to go. I appreciate yer offer, though,” Wee Ian said, adding a short bow of thanks.

  Marty opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it, his lips pressed together tightly as he tried to make up his mind. Should he take care of a wounded man and his son in the wilds of 18th century Revolutionary America, or go back to the cancer-stricken woman he had pretty much abandoned for the last few years—hell, thirty years—but who had hospitals and doctors to assist her. He snorted with frustration and squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to get some sort of inspiration.

  “But if yer going someplace where ye willna be needin’ the pan, could we use it?” Wee Ian suggested tentatively, embarrassed about asking for the pot.

  “It’s yours, lad!” Marty exclaimed, and put it in the boy’s hand. He suddenly realized that the Kincaids could take care of each other, just like he could take care of Bibb. The stuff needed—whether it was a pan and a bit of extra food, or doctors and warehouses full of medicines and diagnostic equipment—made no real difference. What was needed for complete healing was to have someone by your side to love you and support you. The Ians had each other, James and Leah looked to have a great future together, and now he could go back to Bibb.

  His part of insuring that his ‘treasure’—his son, James—came into existence had been secured. Bibb’s ancestor, Ian Kincaid, was alive because the notes handed down through the ages had ensured that he got his needed blood transfusion from ‘a fairy.’

  Now he could go back home to get reacquainted with Bibb and meet his middle son, Billy, the detective. He didn’t know which would happen first: his new son’s christening to receive the Melbourne name and acknowledging his paternity, or marriage to Bibb. Yes, he would definitely marry her, even if he had to sit on top of her to get her to agree to it. He smiled at that image. Yes, he’d sit on her all right, but as her husband, not her lover.

  Marty hopped and skipped over to his saddlebags. “Here you go, lad,” he called over. “I’m giving you everything I have except the horse and my canteen. Where I’m heading, I won’t need any of this. I’d give you the horse, but I’ll need her f
or a bit longer.” He paused, then added jubilantly, “But if you happen to see her wandering around without me in a day or so, take her—she’s yours.”

  Wee Ian walked over to Marty to accept the gifts. He eyed him from his dusty boots, planted firmly on the ground, up to the big, toothy grin the vibrant older man was sporting. “Are ye goin’ back to fairyland?” he asked suspiciously.

  Marty took a deep breath, as if he were going to give one of his long, wordy answers, then let it out and simply said, “Yes.”

  James walked over to the two of them, clacking his makeshift cane on the gravelly ground as he approached. “So, just like that? You’re going?” he asked, trying to mask the pain in his voice. He knew that a long absence was coming, probably forever.

  “Just like that,” Marty crowed as he snapped his fingers, totally unaware of James’s anguish. “I’m going that way,” he indicated the direction they had come from the day before, “and I suggest that you go that way,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction, the smile still radiant on his face.

  “Leah, it’s been great meeting you. I’m sure you and James will have a great life together. Make lots of grandbabies for me, okay?” Marty leaned in and gave Leah a firm kiss on the cheek, then changed his mind and pulled her close for a full body hug, ultimately picking her up off her feet and swinging her around, setting her down next to James.

  “Now, son,” he started in an instructional manner, then changed tones, “I am so glad I can call you ‘son’ now and know that you know it’s the truth. I’ll take care of the legalities with your brother Billy, or Uncle Billy as the corrected birth certificate will show. If he’s even half the man you are, I’m sure he’ll be a credit to the Melbourne name. Maybe I’ll get a few grandkids out of him, too. Is he married?”

  “Uh, no, but he has a very nice boyfriend,” James said and grimaced.