Jim Henson's Enchanted Sisters

by Elise Allen

  As always at this moment, Autumn thought about the Outworlders. They knew nothing about the Sparkle Ceremony, but Mother said they could see the fireworks; the display looked different to them. Mother said they called it the “northern lights,” and while they shone brightest on Ceremony days, Mother said that in just the right spots, their echoes could be seen dancing in the sky even between Ceremonies. Autumn imagined an Outworlder looking up at those lights at this very moment, just like Autumn herself. She felt a connection to that Outworlder whom she’d never know, and it filled her heart.

  “Well done, my girls!”

  Mother Nature’s voice drew Autumn’s attention away from the sky, and she and her sisters rushed to Mother for a group hug. Afterward, the Sparkles raised their scepters to the sky, ready to ride back home, but Mother stopped them.

  “Autumn, can you stay a moment?”

  Autumn froze. Mother always liked to rest by herself after the Ceremony. Why would she want Autumn to stay? Had Mother realized she’d almost ruined the Ceremony? Was Mother upset? Autumn checked with her sisters. Summer stood straighter, as if she sensed danger. Winter gave a low whistle. Spring nervously bit her bottom lip. Autumn could tell they felt bad for her, so she tried to be brave.

  “Of course,” she said.

  Mother nodded to the other Sparkles, gently dismissing them. Reluctantly, the three raised their scepters in the air and chanted together:

  They touched their scepters to the gems in their headbands, and Autumn watched as three sparkly rainbows streamed out to carry her sisters back home. Autumn kept watching even after her sisters left and the shimmery lights disappeared. Better to look there than at Mother and see the disappointed look on her face. Autumn’s insides twisted as she pictured it.

  Yet when she did look up, Mother was smiling down at her.

  “I messed up the Sparkle Ceremony,” Autumn blurted. “I almost ruined everything. I feel terrible.”

  “We can’t have that.” Mother clucked. She waved her scepter, and a patch of giant pumpkins sprouted from the ground, each carved with a jack-o’-lantern face so silly it made Autumn laugh out loud. The jack-o’-lanterns joined in, giggling and chuckling right along with her.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” Mother said. “Happiness!”

  “But I—” Autumn protested.

  “You got lost in your own head,” Mother said. “I have no doubt it’s a fascinating place to wander. But I was never worried. I knew in the end you’d come through.”

  “I knew it too,” boomed a deep-voiced jack-o’-lantern.

  “You did not!” another retorted.

  “I knew it before all of you,” a long, skinny jack-o’-lantern claimed.

  “You weren’t even there!” piped another.

  Soon the entire patch of jack-o’-lanterns was squabbling so loudly that Autumn couldn’t make out any words, just a jumble of screeches and shouts.

  “Enough!” Mother said. She waved her scepter and all the jack-o’-lanterns’ mouths disappeared. Another wave and two vines sprouted from the ground and wove themselves into a low bench. Mother Nature sat, then gestured for Autumn to join her. Once she did, Mother said, “But if you have something on your mind and want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  Autumn was too embarrassed to admit what had really bothered her. Instead she said, “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

  The look in Mother’s eyes made Autumn feel like her mother already knew every little thing going on in Autumn’s mind. Then Mother smiled.

  “Excellent,” she said. “Because there’s a reason I asked you to stay. I have a favor to ask, and you are perfect for the job.”

  Autumn sat up straighter. “Me?”

  “Yes,” Mother said. “It’s a matter that requires great responsibility.” She looked up, as if searching for spies, then turned a raised-eyebrow gaze on the mouthless jack-o’-lanterns. “Can I trust you all to behave?”

  The jack-o’-lanterns nodded. Mother waved her scepter, and their mouths reappeared. “You know what to do,” Mother told them. “Let me know if you see her.”

  “Aye, aye!” the jack-o’-lanterns chorused.

  “See who?” Autumn asked.

  Mother placed a finger over her lips, then waved her scepter again. A new pumpkin sprouted from the ground, this one huge and hollow. It grew around Mother and Autumn, enclosing them inside. Autumn couldn’t see anything until another scepter wave from Mother filled the space with glittering lightning bugs. Their glows reflected off the inside of the pumpkin and cast everything in an orange shine.

  “Serenity,” Mother answered Autumn’s question. “As you know, today is her birthday.”

  Autumn nodded. She did know. Mother had invited the sisters to a party at sundown in Mother’s Sparkledom to celebrate.

  “But did you know,” Mother asked, “that in all Serenity’s life, no matter how hard I tried, I have never once managed to surprise her?”

  “Never?”

  “Not once,” Mother answered. “Until this year.”

  She winked and waved her scepter once more. The bottom of their pumpkin bubbled as a walnut-shaped seed pod rose out of the ground. Mother pulled it open like a treasure chest and gently took out the most delicate blanket Autumn had ever seen. It was woven from petals, leaves, and needles in every color. It was so thin it was almost see-through, and it twinkled like the stars.

  “It’s beautiful.” Autumn sighed.

  “I’m awfully proud of it,” Mother admitted. “It’s made with spiderweb silk. That’s what keeps it strong. Feel it.”

  She slung the blanket over Autumn’s shoulders. It was so cozy-warm she wanted to melt into it. “It’s perfect,” Autumn said. “Serenity will love it.”

  “I hope so,” Mother said. “But it’s very important to me that she doesn’t see it before it’s time. Can you keep it safe in your kingdom and bring it to the party tonight?”

  Autumn couldn’t believe her ears. Out of all the Sparkles, out of everyone in their entire world, Mother wanted her to hold on to Serenity’s present?

  “I would be honored,” she said.

  “Serenity alert!” a jack-o’-lantern cried. “On the horizon, eleven o’clock!”

  “Not eleven o’clock,” another jack-o’-lantern snapped. “She’s at five o’clock!”

  “Five o’clock from where you sit,” the first jack-o’-lantern boomed. “From here it’s eleven!”

  “I have half past ten,” another jack-o’-lantern said.

  “We mean the direction, not the actual time, pumpkin head!”

  “Hey! Who are you calling pumpkin head, gourd-face?”

  Mother laughed. “You should go,” she told Autumn. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Autumn said. She quickly tucked the precious blanket into the folds of her dress, then raised her scepter in the air as she chanted:

  She touched her scepter to the orange gem in her headband, and as the sparkling rainbow streamed out to carry her back home, she tingled with excitement. Nothing would get in the way of her safely delivering Serenity’s blanket tonight.

  Nothing.

  The second Autumn stepped out of the glittering rainbow light into her own realm, her sisters surrounded her.

  “What did Mother say?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Did you get in trouble?”

  Even Whisper was worried. The elephant curled his trunk around Autumn in a tight hug.

  A little too tight. Autumn could barely breathe. She looked to Summer for help.

  “Let’s back up and give her space,” Summer said. “You too, Whisper.”

  Autumn gasped as Whisper relaxed his trunk. He kept it draped gently over her shoulder, where Autumn could scratch the orange, leaf-patterned skin.

  “So tell us,” Summer asked, “are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Autumn promised. “Everything is fine.”

  “Mother wasn’t … disappointed?” Spring’s violet
eyes welled up at even the mention of the terrible word. Autumn took her hands to comfort her.

  “Not at all!”

  “‘Concerned’ then, right?” Winter asked. “If it’s not ‘disappointed,’ it’s ‘concerned.’ Just as awful.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that,” Autumn said. “She knew I messed up, but she wasn’t upset.”

  “Then … why’d she keep you back?” Winter asked.

  Autumn didn’t know what to say. She was dying to share what happened, but she didn’t want to hurt her sisters’ feelings. What if they got jealous that Mother chose her to watch Serenity’s gift and not them?

  “It was something good,” Summer said. “Your smile is even wider than your face.”

  “Yes, it was,” Autumn admitted. She tried to leave it there, but she couldn’t stop grinning, and she thought she might burst if she didn’t tell them everything. Still, she wasn’t positive it was the right thing to do.

  As always, Summer seemed to understand.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell us.”

  “Yes, you do!” Winter insisted. “I can’t take the suspense!”

  Autumn laughed. She was probably being overly careful. It’s not like Mother asked her to keep the blanket a secret from her sisters.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Winter said. “If you don’t tell us in two seconds, I’m tickling Spring.”

  “What?” Spring gasped.

  “Oooh, can I help?” Summer asked.

  “Summer!” Spring exclaimed.

  But Summer and Winter were both grinning now, moving closer and closer to their incredibly ticklish sister.

  “Autumn!” Spring pleaded.

  “All right!” Autumn cried. “I’ll tell you.”

  Instantly, her sisters dropped everything and turned to face her. Winter plopped to the ground, cross-legged, and rested her chin on her hands. “Yes?”

  Carefully, Autumn reached into her pocket and pulled out Mother’s blanket. Her sisters gaped.

  “It’s so twinkly.” Spring sighed. “Can I touch it?”

  “Of course,” Autumn said. “Just be gentle.”

  Spring ran her hand over the woven petals and leaves. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re really lucky to get something so special from Mother.”

  Spring’s eyes clouded over with sadness, and Autumn rushed to explain.

  “This isn’t a gift for me,” she said. “Mother made it for Serenity. For her birthday. She just gave it to me to hold and keep a secret.”

  Summer nodded. “So it would stay a surprise. She knew you’d keep it safe. That’s smart.”

  Winter snorted. “No smarter than giving it to any of the rest of us.”

  “That’s not true,” Spring said. “If she gave it to me, I’d be too afraid I’d lose it. Autumn’s perfect.”

  “Yeah,” Winter muttered. “Perfect.”

  Autumn moved to her sister and put her hand on Winter’s shoulder. “Please don’t be jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Winter laughed. “I’m not jealous at all! Mother’s right. It’s like I said this morning—you never do anything without thinking and planning it out. If I had something I wanted to keep safe, I’d give it to you too. That way I’d know nothing would happen to it. Seriously—nothing would happen to it.”

  That sounded mean. Autumn didn’t like it. “What are you saying?”

  “She’s saying you’re responsible.” Summer jumped in. She stared at Winter as she said it, as if urging her to agree.

  Winter shrugged. “Yeah. You’re responsible.”

  That’s what she said, but Autumn knew it wasn’t what she meant. Winter thought she was boring, and that’s why Mother Nature could trust her with the blanket. Well, maybe she was a little boring, but she’d rather be boring and trustworthy than wild and—

  Spring broke into her thoughts with a high-pitched squeal. “I have an idea! How about we all play a game?”

  It was an odd moment for such a suggestion, but Autumn knew her sister. Spring couldn’t bear to hear any of them fight with one another. She would do anything to make things light and happy again.

  “Okay, let’s,” Autumn agreed. “What should we play?”

  “I know,” Winter said. “Let’s have a Sparkle-Powers Contest!”

  Autumn sighed. Winter always wanted to have a Sparkle-Powers Contest. Each of the Sparkles had a special power tied to her season. There weren’t any rules about how they could use their powers, but Autumn felt like they shouldn’t be used without a purpose. Winter, she knew, couldn’t disagree more. Their Sparkle Powers were fun, Winter always said. And besides, if they wanted to truly master their powers, didn’t they need to practice?

  “I’m in,” Summer said. “Spring?”

  “Okay, sure!” Spring chirped. “How about you, Autumn?”

  “I’ll judge,” Autumn said. It was her usual compromise. It meant she could play without using her powers. It also meant she could declare a tie no matter what. She crunched over the fallen leaves and made her way to Whisper, then nickered softly. Whisper lowered his trunk and pushed it against her legs, sweeping her off her feet and swinging her to his back. Autumn started to fold Mother’s blanket again, but it was so shimmery she didn’t want to take her eyes off it. Instead she spread it out carefully on Whisper’s back, and rubbed one soft edge between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Okay,” she said, “the Sparkle-Powers Contest starts now!”

  “Me first!” Winter cried. She raced to a pyramid of hay bales and scrambled to the top. She pulled her scepter from the inside pocket of her parka, held it high in the air, and cried:

  She swirled the scepter above her head, then touched it to the hay bale under her feet. Blue sparkles flew out of her scepter and danced over the hay. When the sparkles disappeared, the entire bale was frozen into a giant iceberg. Winter squealed with delight as she threw herself onto her bottom and slid down its side.

  Autumn clapped. “Very impressive.”

  “That was excellent!” Summer cried. “I want to ride down too!” She scrambled up the mountain of ice, but her sandals didn’t have the grip of Winter’s boots, and she kept sliding hopelessly back down. “That’s it,” she finally declared. “I’m changing it up.”

  She unhooked her own scepter from her belt and aimed it at the ice.

  Summer shut her eyes tight as a bolt of the brightest yellow sparkles screamed out of her scepter and covered the mountain of ice. The ice melted instantly into a massive SPLOOSH of water that rushed downhill like a river.

  “This is more like it!” Summer threw herself onto her stomach and slipped and slid down the hill, laughing all the way. At the bottom, she called up to her sisters. “Now that was a ride!”

  “But you’re all wet!” Spring called down to her.

  Actually, Summer was soaked. Her long brown hair clung to her face in dripping strings, and her sandals squished with every step she took back up the hill.

  “Easily fixed,” she said with a smile. She raised her scepter high in the air. It was still so charged from her last burst of magic that she didn’t even have to chant. It easily rained warm yellow sparkles down on her. When they faded, she was perfectly dry.

  “No fair,” Winter said. “You’re only supposed to use your Sparkle Powers once in the contest.”

  “The second time doesn’t count,” Autumn said from her seat on Whisper. “Spring? Do you want a turn?”

  “Sure!” Spring said. “I just need to think …”

  She twisted her blond hair around one finger, then slowly turned her whole body in a circle. She spun faster and faster until she collapsed giggling into a pile of fallen leaves.

  “Are you okay?” Autumn asked.

  “Of course!” Spring said. “Why?”

  Her sisters exchanged looks. “Because we were in the middle of a Sparkle-Powers Contest,” Winter said. “It’s your turn.”

  “Oh, right!” Spring said. “I forgot! I was
twirling my hair, and that reminded me how much I love twirling around, because my dress swirls out when I spin—see?” She jumped back up to twirl again, and the purple skirt of her dress poofed out like a blooming upside-down tulip. “It keeps going even when I stop.”

  “Sparkle-Powers Contest?” Winter urged.

  “Yes! Okay, I know—here I go.” Spring pulled out her scepter and chanted:

  She moved her lips silently as if reciting a wish, then blew a kiss to her scepter orb. Violet sparkles danced out of it like dandelion fluff. They fluttered to the ground, where a patch of fresh green shoots sprouted up. More sprouts burst from the ground in a long path that stopped in front of Whisper. Whisper sniffed curiously at the fresh shoots, then jumped back in alarm as the plants grew taller and larger. They grew right over Whisper’s trunk, coating it in shimmering green vines and newly blossomed flowers. When Whisper tugged his trunk away, he broke his connection to Spring’s spell, but his trunk remained covered in a tube of green, pink, and purple stripes, woven from the freshly grown blooms.

  “It’s a Trunk Cozy!” Spring squealed. “Doesn’t he look adorable in it?”

  Summer, Winter, and Autumn actually thought Whisper looked kind of silly. Whisper himself didn’t seem so sure either. He curled his trunk upward to get a better look, then trumpeted his approval. He lumbered to Spring and nuzzled her cheek with his newly cozied trunk.

  “He loves it!” Spring giggled.

  “Go ahead, Autumn,” Summer said. “Tell us the winner.”

  “Summer, you know she’ll say it’s a tie,” Spring said.

  “No, she won’t,” Winter said. “Autumn, this time I want you to compete too.”

  “Winter …,” Autumn objected.

  “Come on, please?” begged Winter. “It’ll be so much more fun if you play too. And think how surprised Mother will be when you tell her you did something different!”

  There it was again. Did Winter know something Autumn didn’t? Would Mother be happier with her if Autumn tried something a little unexpected?