by Lara Bergen
Copyright © 2006 Disney Enterprises, Inc.
All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.
ISBN: 978-1-4231-5830-1
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Table of Contents
All About Fairies
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10
IF YOU HEAD toward the second star on your right and fly straight on till morning, you’ll come to Never Land, a magical island where mermaids play and children never grow up.
When you arrive, you might hear something like the tinkling of little bells. Follow that sound and you’ll find Pixie Hollow, the secret heart of Never Land.
A great old maple tree grows in Pixie Hollow, and in it live hundreds of fairies and sparrow men. Some of them can do water magic, others can fly like the wind, and still others can speak to animals. You see, Pixie Hollow is the Never fairies’ kingdom, and each fairy who lives there has a special, extraordinary talent.
Not far from the Home Tree, nestled in the branches of a hawthorn, is Mother Dove, the most magical creature of all. She sits on her egg, watching over the fairies, who in turn watch over her. For as long as Mother Dove’s egg stays well and whole, no one in Never Land will ever grow old.
Once, Mother Dove’s egg was broken. But we are not telling the story of the egg here. Now it is time for Bess’s tale.…
“EVERYBODY! COME TO my room!”
Tinker Bell flew about the tearoom. In a silvery voice she called out to the fairies and sparrow men gathered around the tables.
Lily and Rosetta, two garden-talent fairies, looked up from their breakfast of elderberry scones.
“What’s the hurry, Tink?” asked Lily.
“Bess has just painted my portrait—and you’ve got to come and see it!” Tinker Bell urged.
Rosetta and Lily looked at each other in surprise. It wasn’t every day that Bess painted a new portrait! What was the occasion? they wondered. But before they could ask, Tink had darted out the tearoom door and into the kitchen.
“Let’s go,” Rosetta said to Lily. They followed Tink through the Home Tree up to her room.
There the fairies packed themselves in wing to wing, like honeybees in a hive. They could see Bess, in her usual paint-splattered skirt, standing at the front of the room. She was hanging a life-size, five-inch painting of Tinker Bell.
“Isn’t it amazing?” gushed Tink. She flew up behind Lily and Rosetta and landed with a bounce on her loaf-pan bed.
And indeed it was. Bess’s painting was so lifelike, if a fairy hadn’t known better, she might have thought there were two Tinks in the room. No detail—from the dimples in Tink’s cheeks to her woven sweetgrass belt—was overlooked. What Tink loved most about the painting, though, were the gleaming metal objects piled all around her: pots, pans, kettles, and colanders. She felt as if she could almost pull each one out of the painting.
It was a perfect portrait, as everyone could see. Right away the oohs and aahs began to echo off the tin walls of Tink’s room.
“It’s lovely!” said Lily. “Bess, you’ve outdone yourself again!”
“You’re too kind. Really,” Bess said. Her lemon yellow glow turned slightly tangerine as she blushed. As Pixie Hollow’s busiest painter, she was used to praise. But she never tired of hearing it.
“It’s just what Tink’s room needed,” added Gwinn, a decoration-talent fairy. She gazed around Tink’s metal-filled room.
“What’s the occasion?” asked Rosetta.
“Oh, no occasion, really,” said Bess. She brushed her long brown bangs out of her violet eyes. “Tink fixed my best palette knife, and I wanted to do something nice in return.”
All around her, the fairies murmured approvingly. Bess felt her heart swell with pride. This is what art is all about, she thought. Times like these made her work worthwhile.
“Personally, I don’t see what the fuss is for,” a thorny voice said above the din. “Honestly, my little darlings, what’s so great about a fairy standing still?”
Bess didn’t have to turn around. She knew who the voice belonged to—and so did everybody else. Vidia, the fastest—and by far the meanest—of the fast-flying-talent fairies, came forward.
“Oh, Vidia,” Tink said with a groan. “You wouldn’t know fine art if it flew up and nipped you on the nose.”
“Yeah, don’t listen to her, Bess,” Gwinn called out.
“It’s okay,” Bess assured them. “Every fairy is welcome to have her own opinion.”
But as she looked at the portrait again, she frowned slightly. It wasn’t that Vidia’s criticism bothered her. She’d learned long ago to let the spiteful fairy’s snide comments roll off her wings like dewdrops. But Vidia’s remark had started the wheels in Bess’s mind turning.
“You know…,” Bess began.
She searched the room for Vidia. But the fairy had already flown away.
“ ‘You know’ what?” asked Tink.
Bess shook her head. She turned to Tink with a sunny grin. “There’s a whole day ahead of us!” she said. “I don’t know about you fairies, but I’ve got work to do.”
Spreading her wings, she lifted into the air. “Thanks for coming, everyone,” she called.
And with a happy wave, Bess zipped off to her studio.
NOWHERE ELSE DID Bess feel as content as she did in her studio.
Most of the art-talent fairies had studios in the lower branches of the Home Tree. But to Bess there never seemed to be quite enough light—or privacy—there to get her work done. Instead, she had made her studio in an old wooden tangerine crate that had washed up onto a shore of Never Land. She had moved the crate (using magic, of course) to the sunniest, most peaceful corner of Pixie Hollow. It had been her home away from home ever since.
Over time, she’d added things to the crate: a birch-bark cabinet to keep her canvases dry, a soapstone sink in which to wash her brushes, and even a twig cot with a thick hummingbird-down quilt to sleep on when she was painting late into the night.
Bess’s studio had grown more and more cluttered. It was, in fact, a bit of a mess. She was not one for tidying up. Why put things away, she always wondered, when you were sure to have to pull them out again someday?
As soon as she reached her studio, Bess began to mix her paints. She took a jar of fragrant linseed oil down from a shelf. Next she brought out a gleaming cherrywood box. The box was polished to a mirrorlike shine. Bess’s name was carved into the lid. A carpenter-talent fairy had given it to her as a gift many years before. It was still one of her most prized possessions.
Bess lifted the top of the box. She looked down at the rainbow of powdered pigments inside. Of all the things in her studio, these were the ones she treated like gold.
“Hmm,” she mused out loud. “Which colors should I mix first? Orange? Indigo? Hmm…What is that smell?”
Following her nose, Bess turned to find two brown eyes peeking in at her through the slats in the tangerine crate.
“Dulcie?” she said in suprise. “Is that you?”
Visitors to her studio were rare. Bess fumbled with the latch as she opened the door. “What is it?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Dulcie sweetly. “I was just passing through the orchard and thought I’d say hi. Oh! And I thought you might like
some poppy puff rolls. Fresh out of the oven!”
Dulcie grinned and held up a basket. She lifted a checked linen cloth off the top. The rich scents of butter and tarragon filled Bess’s nose. Her mouth began to water.
“Goodness, Dulcie—your famous rolls. You’re really too kind!” said Bess, more surprised than ever.
“I thought you’d be hungry,” said Dulcie, handing one to Bess. “Especially after working so hard on Tinker Bell’s portrait.”
Bess took a bite. “Mmm,” she said. She closed her eyes and let the flaky layers melt on her tongue. “Delicious, Dulcie! This is so unexpected—and very nice of you! If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
“Well,” replied Dulcie, “if you wanted to do a portrait of me, that would be fine! I guess I could even pose for you right now. Why, I could pose with my rolls! What do you think? Should I carry the whole basket or just cradle one in my hand like this?”
Bess swallowed what was left of her roll in one surprised gulp.
“Um…uh…actually,” she stammered, “I was just about to…”
“I know!” Dulcie exclaimed. “I’ll hold a roll in one hand, and the basket in the other! There! Are you getting this, Bess?”
Bess wiped her buttery hands on her skirt. She hadn’t planned to paint another portrait. But how could she refuse? And it certainly was flattering to have such an eager model.
“Okay,” Bess said. “Why not? I just need to mix up some paints and pick out my brushes.”
Dulcie positively fluttered with glee.
From her box, Bess pulled out jars, each filled with a different color of paint powder: green, blue, black, gold. She decided to start with the chestnut powder, which was remarkably close to the shade of Dulcie’s hair. She poured a small mound onto a piece of glass and added linseed oil. Then she carefully used her palette knife to fold the two together. Soon she had a smooth chocolaty brown paste.
She mixed a few more colors and scooped them onto her palette. Pleased, she pulled a clean paintbrush from her pocket. Then she took a hard look at her model. Bess frowned.
“Dulcie,” she said, “I wonder if maybe you could move around a little.”
“Move around?” said Dulcie. “But what if I drop my rolls?”
And just then, a knock sounded at the door.
BESS OPENED HER DOOR to find an enormous bouquet of flowers. Two dainty feet in violet-petal shoes poked out below.
“Rosetta? Is that you?” Bess asked.
“Yes, it’s me,” replied a muffled voice from behind the flowers. Rosetta’s pretty face peeked out from the side. “I brought you these,” she said. With a groan, she heaved the heavy bunch toward Bess.
“Lily of the valley. My favorite! What a nice surprise, Rosetta!” Bess exclaimed.
Bess managed to drop the flowers into her cockleshell umbrella stand. She knocked over a few paint pots and canvases as she did.
“I thought you’d like them.” Rosetta beamed. “In fact, I thought you might enjoy painting them. Or perhaps it would be better for you if I posed with them! As if I were walking through my garden, you know? Something like this—”
Pointing her nose in the air, Rosetta rose on one toe and struck a dramatic pose. “Luckily, I just had my hair done. Usually it’s such a mess. Make sure you get each curl, now. Oh, this is going to look so great in my room!”
Bess was speechless. “Er…”
“What Bess is trying to say,” Dulcie called from across the room, “is that we are already in the middle of a painting.” She held up her basket of rolls for Rosetta to see. “As we say in the kitchen, ‘First fairy to come, first fairy served!’ But don’t worry. Bess will let you know when she’s done with my portrait. Won’t you, Bess?”
“Er…,” said Bess.
“Oh, I see,” Rosetta said. Her delicate wings slumped sadly. “Well, in the meantime, I’ll go clear a space back in my room for my new portrait. I know exactly where it should go!” She gave them both a little wave and hurried out.
“Fly safely!” called Dulcie.
Bess closed the door behind Rosetta. She felt extremely flattered—and still a little stunned. It was part of her role as an art talent to do paintings for her fellow fairies. Till that morning, they had always been for special occasions: an Arrival Day portrait, or a new painting for the Home Tree corridor. In between, she was as free as a bird to paint whatever she wanted.
But now, right out of the blue, two fairies wanted their pictures painted in one day! That was a record for any art-talent fairy, Bess was sure.
Bless my wings, she thought. Who knew that Never fairies had such great taste!
“Shall we continue?” asked Dulcie.
Bess picked up her brush and nodded. “Of course!”
But within minutes, another knock sounded at the door…then another…and another!
By midday, fifteen fairies had paid Bess a visit, and fourteen wanted their portraits painted. (Terence, a dust-talent sparrow man, had stopped by only to drop off Bess’s daily portion of fairy dust and to compliment her on Tinker Bell’s portrait.)
Everyone wanted a portrait just like Tink’s. There were so many requests, in fact, that Bess had given up on painting them one at a time. Instead, she had each fairy come in to sit for a sketch. Her plan was to finish the paintings later. But by the fourteenth fairy, even finishing a sketch began to look iffy.
“Fern, it’s really hard to sketch you when you keep dusting my paper,” Bess said to the dusting-talent fairy hovering over her easel.
“Oops!” said Fern. She darted back to the pedestal Bess had set up for her. “It’s a habit,” she explained. “But really, Bess.” She shook her head. “I do wish you’d let a dusting talent in here once in a while! How can you stand it? And now, with all these baskets and flowers…my goodness! It’s a forest of dust-catchers!”
It was true. Bess’s studio was even more cluttered than usual. Fairies who’d come hoping for portraits had brought gifts. There were berries and walnuts from the harvest-talent fairies, cheeses from the dairy-talent fairies, and baskets upon baskets of goodies from the talents in the kitchen. Then there were more baskets from the grass-weaving talents. Not to mention a bubbling foot-high fountain from Silvermist, the water-talent fairy.
Luckily, not all fairies had come with gifts. Hairdressing, floor-polishing, and window- and wing-washing fairies had come offering their services. One music-talent fairy even played a song she’d written just for Bess. (To Bess’s dismay, it was still stuck in her head!)
“Oh!” Fern exclaimed suddenly. “There’s a speck on your pencil there! Hold on!” She examined it. “Looks like pollen.” Then another grain caught her eye. “Over there by the door! Fairy dust. I’ll bet Terence left that one.”
Feather duster waving at full speed, Fern darted about the room. Bess tried her best to sketch the fairy in action.
At least this is the last sketch I have to do, Bess told herself. Then just fourteen portraits to paint…
Knock-knock-knock.
Bess’s stomach did a backflip. Again? For a second, she was tempted to pretend that no one was home. But she quickly realized that Fern’s darting glow and humming duster had already given them away.
Slowly, Bess opened the door.
“Oh, Quill! It’s you!” Bess let out a sigh of relief that even Fern could hear. “You wouldn’t believe how many fairies and sparrow men have come to my studio today,” she said.
She tried not to sound boastful. But she wanted Quill to know how much the other fairies liked her work. Bess always felt self-conscious around Quill. Perhaps it was because Quill was so unbelievably neat, while Bess was so messy.
“Fourteen!” Bess blurted, unable to hold back. “Everyone wanting portraits! I’ve never seen anything like it!” she went on. “I mean, just look at all the things they’ve brought me!” She waved her brush at the piles of gifts. Then suddenly she paused. “You weren’t coming to ask for a portrait, too, were you?”
The art-talent fairy shook her head and smiled. “No, I just came by to see if you were ready to go to lunch. I’ve heard they’re serving mushroom tarts and buttercup soup!”
Buttercup soup! Bess hadn’t had that in ages, it seemed. Mmm—she could taste it already. Then her eyes fell on the pile of sketches on her table.
“I can’t.” She sighed. “Everyone is counting on me to finish the portraits as soon as I can. I’ve never seen fairies so passionate about art.” She glanced at Quill out of the corner of her eye. “My portrait of Tinker Bell really touched them. Deeply! Mushroom tarts and buttercup soup will simply have to wait.”
Bess sighed again. “It’s hard to be so important. But I am up to the challenge—and I won’t let Pixie Hollow down! Please give the other art talents my greetings, though, won’t you, Quill?”
Quill was about to respond when Fern suddenly poked her head out from behind the birch-bark cabinet.
“Did you say buttercup soup?” she asked. “Hang on, Quill. I’m coming with you!”
She flew across the room, swiping at a few dust grains along the way. “Let me know when my portrait’s done, Bess. Oooh! I cannot wait to dust it!” she said brightly.
Bess watched the fairies go, and she shut the door behind them. She looked at the sketch she had tried to do of Fern. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fine for a sketch, she decided. And it’s probably a good idea to start painting now, Bess thought. I have a lot to do!
Filled with a sense of duty, Bess churned out several portraits in the next few hours. But when she started the portrait of Rosetta, the garden-talent fairy—who had insisted on wearing her best rose-petal outfit—Bess froze.
Oh, no!
She couldn’t believe it. She was all out of red paint! She couldn’t finish Rosetta’s portrait without it!
There was just one thing to do: go out and get more. This emergency called for berry juice—and lots of it.
Bess picked up a piece of paper and one of her best calligraphy twigs. She wrote a sign and hung it on her door:
