by Lara Bergen
“I came as soon as I woke up!” Dulcie explained excitedly, almost as if she could read Bess’s thoughts. “I haven’t even been to the kitchen yet to bake.”
“Really?” Bess was touched. How important this was to Dulcie! “Let’s take a look, then, shall we?” she said.
She led Dulcie to a row of easels, each draped with a thick velvet-moss cloth. With a quick flick of the wrist, and just the right touch of drama and modesty (something every art fairy arrives with), she yanked off the cover of the nearest one.
“Ooh!” Dulcie fluttered up and down. She clapped her hands. “I love it! I love it!” she gushed. “I can practically taste those poppy puff rolls right now!” And as if to test them, she reached out to touch the painting. Then she stopped.
“What? What is it?” asked Bess.
“Do my wings really stick up like that in back?” Dulcie asked. The joy slowly drained from her face.
“What do you mean?” said Bess.
“My wings!” said Dulcie. “They’re…huge.” She strained her neck, trying to see behind herself. “They’re not really that big, are they?”
“Actually, they are,” came a cheerful voice from just outside the door. “Good morning, Bess. Dulcie. Is my portrait ready, too?”
“Hello, Rosetta,” replied Bess. She was still stunned by Dulcie’s reaction. “Er, yes. Yours is done, too.”
While Dulcie anxiously compared her wings with those in the painting, Bess reached for the second velvet cover and pulled it off.
Rosetta beamed. Then a tiny wrinkle formed between her brows.
“How do you like the lilies of the valley?” Bess asked. “I tried to make each one practically perfect, just like yours, but not so perfect that they wouldn’t look real.”
“Oh, yes, they’re very nice,” Rosetta said. Still, she looked concerned. “It’s just…my nose. I know for a fact that it’s much prettier than that.”
Dulcie glanced away from her portrait. “Actually, it’s not.”
Rosetta frowned. “Yes, it is. Would you mind, Bess,” she went on, “going back and straightening my nose…and maybe taking a little off the sides?”
“Oh, yes!” said Dulcie. “Could you make my wings smaller, too, Bess? That would be wonderful!”
Bess’s mouth fell open. Every fairy had her opinions. But Bess had never before been asked to change her art. Like all talents, she prided herself on doing her best from the very beginning.
What were these fairies thinking?
But Bess didn’t even have time to reply before a dozen more fairies swooped into her studio, each one eager to see her brand-new portrait. And each one, Bess could tell, was eager to offer her honest opinion.
By the time the fairies had left, Bess was drained—and hungry.
She looked at the sun outside her window. It was high in the sky. She had probably missed breakfast by a good hour. But perhaps a few kind serving talents would still be serving tea.
Bess sure hoped so.
As soon as she reached the Home Tree, she flew straight through the lobby and down the long corridor to the tearoom.
She headed directly for the art-talent fairies’ table. As she had feared, the other art-talent fairies had finished their breakfast and returned to their own studios. Most of the tables in the tearoom were empty, in fact. The cleaning-talent fairies were busy taking dirty teacups and breakfast trays away.
“Bessy, dear!” called Laidel, a serving-talent fairy. She swooped up beside Bess. “We were afraid you weren’t coming. Let me bring you some tea. And maybe a scone?”
“That would be lovely,” said Bess, sinking into a chair.
“Coming right up!” said Laidel.
In moments, the fairy was back. Her tray was piled high with Bess’s favorite tea, sweet cream and clover honey, heart-shaped currant—Ugh! Bess thought—scones, blueberry muffins with freshly churned butter, and a tall stack of buckwheat pancakes dripping with warm syrup.
“I thought you looked a bit tired, Bess,” said Laidel. “So I brought you a little extra.” She gave Bess a wink as she poured a stream of tea into a cup. She set it down before Bess. “Don’t tell the other fairies!”
Bess smiled at her gratefully and took a sip. “Ahh! Just what I needed.”
“I’m so glad,” said Laidel. “Now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy your tea. There you go. I’ll come back in a little while and we can talk about my portrait.”
Pwahhh! Bess’s eyes popped open and the tea she’d been sipping sprayed across the tablecloth. Her cup fell to the floor, where the rest of the tea made a stain on the floral carpet.
Bess reached down to mop it up with her napkin. But another hand, clutching a springy moss sponge, beat her to it.
“Allow me,” said Colin, a rather tall (in fairy terms) and rather plump (in any terms) cleaning-talent sparrow man. He dabbed at the spill until no trace of tea was left. Then he flew off with the empty cup and returned in an instant with a new one.
“If there’s anything else I can do for you, Bess,” he said with a bow, “let me know.”
“I will,” said Bess.
“For instance,” Colin went on, “if you’d like me to pose for one of your portraits, just ask. I’m sure you don’t come across a model like me every day!”
Bess shook her head. “Er, no, I don’t,” she said. “But to tell you the truth, Colin, I don’t need any more models today. I’m a little behind, I’m afraid.”
“No problem,” Colin said with a shrug. “We’ll do it tomorrow.” With a smile, he turned. “Hey, Elda!” he called to a cleaning-talent fairy across the room. “I talked to Bess. She says we should come by her studio tomorrow!”
Bess poured a new cup of tea. But the joy of the meal had gone away. Not even the buckwheat pancakes (which had always been Bess’s favorite) tasted good.
Maybe I should leave, she thought. I should get busy painting again. Besides, who knows how many more portraits I’ll have to do if I stay!
But it was too late. Suddenly, a whole line of eager fairies flew out of the kitchen—baking talents, dish-washing talents, silver-polishing talents, serving talents, and everyone else who happened to be around.
“Hi, Bess,” called Dulcie. “Colin said you were here. Did you like the scones? I told everyone in the kitchen about my portrait. And don’t you know, now they all want one!”
“Oh, yes!” said another baking-talent fairy. “We’ve each got to have a portrait, too!”
Bess tried not to groan. But it hardly would have mattered if she had. The fairies were busy chattering with each other, describing exactly how they wanted their portraits to be.
“Just be sure to keep your wings tucked in,” Dulcie said knowingly.
Finally, Bess held up her hands.
“Friends,” she began, “I am truly, truly honored by your regard for my work. But I’m not sure I can paint all your portraits right now. Maybe a quick sketch would do?” she asked hopefully.
The fairies looked at one another.
“No,” said one silver-polisher. “We want portraits, like everyone else.”
“Yes!” the others chimed in. “We want portraits! We want portraits! We want portraits!”
BESS LEFT THE TEAROOM with sixteen more portraits to do.
She hoped she’d have enough paint. But as she pulled one, and then another, paintbrush from the pouch at her waist, she realized she would definitely need more brushes.
Vole hair made the best paintbrushes. Bess could usually find patches of it near the edge of the forest. (Those voles just shed like crazy.) The forest was not far from her studio. She decided that she should fly by and collect some on her way.
And she was so glad she did. The light was gorgeous! It was streaming through the trees, casting deep, dark shadows that were so…interesting!
Back to business, Bess reminded herself over and over.
But where were all the vole hairs?
Then, at last, just when Bess thought she would have
to make do with dandelion fluff, she spotted a tuft of tiny gray hairs stuck to a blade of grass.
She darted over and began to collect them. All of a sudden, she felt a firm, sharp peck on the top of her head!
“Chrrrp-chrrrp! Trillillillillill!”
Bess spun around to see a stern gray bird staring at her. It was twice as big as she was.
“Eeeek!” shrieked Bess.
“Eeeek!” chirped the bird. “Chrrr-chrrr-chrrrp-trrrillll!”
A voice rose from the shadows. “She says she needs those hairs for her nest.”
Bess looked to the right and saw a reddish brown head poke out from behind a short stump.
“Fawn,” Bess said. “I’d fly backward if I could. I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay,” Fawn replied. She was an animal-talent fairy. She could talk to animals in their own languages. “These mockingbirds are a little testy. But they don’t mean any harm. Just looking out for their babies.”
Bess rubbed the sore spot on her head. “I see.” She watched the bird pluck the hairs with her beak.
“Do you think she could spare a few hairs for a new paintbrush?” Bess asked Fawn.
Fawn grinned and turned to the bird. Together, they twittered and chirped for a good three or four minutes. Then the fairy turned back to Bess and nodded.
“Take as many as you need,” Fawn said.
“That’s kind of her!” said Bess. “What in Never Land did you say?”
Fawn grinned again. “I just told her what a fantastic and famous fairy artist you are. And that you needed hairs for a new paintbrush. And that if she shared hers, you would paint her portrait!” She winked at Bess and whispered, “She’s quite vain, you know. Oh, and I also told her you would paint me, too.”
“Paint you?” said Bess.
“Would you?” asked Fawn. “Everyone is talking about your portraits, and I’ve never had one done. I just saw Madge’s. I don’t care how much she thinks she looks like a dragonfly—I think it’s wonderful! What a great talent you have! Tell me”—Fawn paused and wrapped her arms fondly around the bird—“do you want to paint us here? Or back at your studio?”
“Right now?” Bess said.
“Why not?” said Fawn with a shrug.
“It’s early. Besides,” she went on with a nod toward the mockingbird, “it’s the only way you’re going to get your vole hairs.”
With a halfhearted sigh, Bess sank onto a patch of moss. She pulled some pencils and her sketchbook from her smock. “I’ll sketch you here,” she told the eager pair. “Then I’ll paint you back at my studio. Alone.”
The mockingbird warbled something to Fawn. “Be sure to paint her right side—it’s her best,” Fawn translated. “See, what did I tell you? Oh! And when you do me, don’t feel as if you have to make my teeth so big, you know? There are some fairies who call me Chipmunk. Can you believe it?”
Bess began her sketch, just as she’d done for all the fairies.
But she soon found her interest drifting away from her models and off to the forest.
The sun slowly shifted across the late-morning sky. A gentle breeze swept up and blew a flock of woolly clouds across the blue horizon. Closer to the forest’s edge, shadows shivered and danced about on the ground.
And then, the west wind kicked in. At first, it was refreshing. But Never winds are fickle and prone to mischief, especially those from the west. And this one was no different.
It began by blowing all the dandelions’ fluff off their stalks, leaving their baldheaded stems to flap about. Then it moved into the trees. It worked the leaves into a rustling frenzy. It sent acorns and hickory nuts crashing to the ground.
Feathers flying, the mockingbird did her best to hold her ground—and her good side. Fawn clung to her neck with all her might.
“Uh, Bess! Shall we call it a day?” Fawn hollered over the din.
“Hold on!” Bess called back. She was sketching furiously in her book. “I’m almost done.”
“I can’t hold on!” Fawn cried.
The mockingbird let out a stream of frantic chirps. The wind gleefully carried away half of them. But Fawn understood.
“She has to get back to her nest, Bess,” Fawn shouted. “Crazy wind! Her babies are scared!”
Bess sighed. Fawn was right. They all should go. Besides, by now it wasn’t easy to keep her sketchbook from blowing away.
She said good-bye to the mockingbird, who swiftly flew off to her chicks. Fawn asked a chipmunk to carry her and Bess home. And off they rode. Bess held her book of sketches tightly. Her heart was full of newfound joy.
Then the wind died away.
BESS COULDN’T wait to start painting!
She was bursting with inspiration. Her brushes flew about the canvas.
It wasn’t until she stepped back from it that Bess realized that what she had painted wasn’t a portrait at all. It was the forest, as she had seen it, in all its pinwheels of texture and color. Great swirls of greens and blues, whites and browns, bright yellows and mysterious grays filled her canvas.
Oh, but it was satisfying! So full of energy and life. Bess hadn’t felt this good since she’d finished Tink’s portrait. What’s the difference? she wondered. What has been missing from all my paintings lately?
Bess left her studio and flew toward the Home Tree. On her way, she saw a message-talent fairy. Bess stopped her.
“Do you think you could ask everyone to gather in the courtyard today, just before teatime?” Bess asked her. “The light should be perfect for the unveiling of my newest painting! It’s a masterpiece!”
“Of course,” the message-talent fairy said, and she quickly flew off.
Bess counted the minutes until teatime. And she couldn’t help staring at the masterpiece. Any fairy who appreciated fine painting would absolutely love it! She was sure.
Bess’s new painting was quite large by fairy standards—five by seven inches. She sprinkled it with fairy dust to make it easier to carry. Then she covered it with a piece of silky cloth and set off for the courtyard of the Home Tree.
Bess had planned on being the first fairy to arrive. But to her surprise, the courtyard was practically full. Everyone was eager to see Bess’s great masterpiece.
“It might be a portrait of me!” a dust-talent fairy told a water-talent fairy.
“Or it might be of Fawn,” said an animal-talent fairy. “I heard that Bess wouldn’t stop sketching her this morning—despite a windstorm!”
“I don’t know,” someone else said. “It’s so large. Perhaps it’s all of us!”
Finally, it was time. Bess flew up to call everyone to order. Her glow was practically white with excitement.
She smiled at the crowd. “I think you will be glad you flew here today…especially considering what art lovers you all have become! It is because you appreciate art that I couldn’t wait to share my newest painting with you. And so…” Bess grabbed the cloth. She yanked it away with a flourish. “I call it…Swept Away!”
In the courtyard, there was silence.
Bess looked happily at her painting. Then she turned to her fans. But the faces staring back at her were blank.
“That’s not me,” she heard one or two fairies mumble.
“That’s not me, either,” echoed several more.
“No, of course!” Bess chuckled. “It’s not any of you. It’s…it’s a feeling I had of being swept away! In the forest…in the moment…in my art! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It’s what?” she heard Fawn call out.
“It’s a feeling,” Bess repeated.
Honestly! Bess’s forehead wrinkled in frustration. She began to explain once more—but before she could say another word, the tea chimes rang.
“Teatime!” called Laidel.
“We’re coming,” several fairies cried in reply.
“Very nice, Bess,” said a few water-talent fairies politely as they flew by. Bess looked for tears of emotion. But their eyes were surprisingly dry.<
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The other art-talent fairies applauded her. But even they seemed more eager than usual to make their way inside.
“Wait!” Bess meekly called. Where were all the adoring fairies? Where were all the requests for paintings of their own? Fiddlesticks! Where were all the compliments Bess had…well…gotten used to?
Within minutes, the courtyard was empty. Bess’s glow faded from white to a dull, disappointed mustard color.
She felt her chin begin to tremble. Her eyes welled up with tears.
“Darling, I sincerely hope you’re not crying. Don’t we get enough of that with those pitiful water-talent fairies?”
Bess sniffled and looked up. She saw Vidia flying over.
“I’m not in the mood for your comments right now, Vidia,” she managed to say, despite the lump in her throat.
“Suit yourself,” said the fairy, turning to go. “I really didn’t want to tell you anyway that I liked your painting.”
“You what?” Bess said with a gasp.
“I like it,” replied Vidia, looking back over her shoulder. “And I’d appreciate it, sweetheart, if you didn’t make me say it again.”
“Wait!” Bess called out. “Don’t go! Stay!” She watched in amazement as the fairy zipped back toward her. “So you really like it?”
Vidia rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said.
Bess grinned. “Ah. At least someone does.”
“Why, Bess, dear, don’t you like it?”
“Well…” Bess stopped to consider Vidia’s question. “Yes, I do. I like it very much.”
“So there you are. Of course, I can see why you would value my opinion. But do you really care so much what those silly slowpokes think?” Vidia scoffed. “Really. And here I thought you were an artist.”
It was hard to agree with someone as unpleasant as Vidia. But she has a point, Bess thought. Bess loved her painting, and she’d loved painting it. And wasn’t that really what art was all about? How could she have let herself forget so easily?
