The Great Big Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 4)

by Dani Haviland

  “Umph!” the woman cried out involuntarily as the rock hit her in the back of the head. She reached for the wound by reflex then pulled back her hand and saw blood. Benji turned to see what had happened and saw a brighter red than what was on her hand. He was livid.

  “Say yer sorry and dinna be doin’ it again,” he said to the man with the pistol in his belt. They hadn’t been introduced, but Benji would bet his last dollar that this was the infamous Mr. Jonathan.

  “What?” the man asked incredulously. He was obviously shocked by Benji’s reaction. “Say I’m sorry to a nigger? My nigger?”

  Benji turned to the woman and gave her a questioning look as if to ask, ‘Are you okay?’ She nodded minimally in answer, ‘I’ll be fine.’ He nodded back: ‘Wait here.’

  “It looks like ye have some mighty bad manners there, mister…” Benji had drawn himself up to his full height and shoulder breadth, an imposing Colossus who was now controlling the conversation by asking the questions.

  The man put his hand on his pistol and gave a big, gapped-tooth grin. “I’m Mr. Jonathan, and you have my nigger. I want her back. Now!”

  “First off, Mr. Jonathan, I’d appreciate it if ye would not refer to this lass as ‘yer nigger.’ That’s not only an offensive term, but she is not yers in any way, shape, or form.”

  Mr. Jonathan strode toward Benji, his hand still on the pistol butt, his grin of confidence growing. “Oh, yes she is, and I can prove it. Turn around lass,” he sneered.

  The woman didn’t move, nor did she look at him. But, she did look to Benji, this time looking him in the eyes with a combination of resolve and hope, not fear. “Ye dinna need to move,” he said softly. He turned his attention back to the ill-mannered, gun-stroking town boss and spoke in a controlled, even tone. “I mean to take care of this misunderstanding right now. However, Mr. Jonathan, I think it’s best we conduct our business in a more suitable environment. The main street of this fair town is not the place fer discussion of these matters. Now, if ye’ll buy us both a drink, we can settle this.”

  Mr. Jonathan hadn’t expected courtesy and sensibility, and it took him completely off guard. “Sure, sure,” he said agreeably, “I am a bit thirsty now that you mention it.”

  Benji had won another round of the head game. He looked at the woman and gave her a nod. “Come on, the man said he’d buy us a drink.”

  “What? Buy a nigger a drink?” he said in shock. He saw the glare on Benji’s face and changed his wording. “Buy her a drink? Not for all the tea in England.” His rage and anger were back. “No, and no to you, too. We’ll get this settled here and now, and with witnesses,” he barked.

  And, there were plenty of witnesses, too. Benji looked over and saw at least thirty people watching the verbal exchange.

  “Everyone here,” Mr. Jonathan announced as he surveyed the crowd, giving each one a glare that said, ‘Don’t you dare cross me,’ “knows that I bought this nig, um, lass last year. It’s kind of hard to miss her, her being a giantess and all. You don’t have a problem with the word giantess, do you?” he asked sarcastically.

  Benji didn’t answer the direct question, but responded with, “Get on with it,” crossing his arms in front of his chest in defiance of whatever was coming his way.

  “You see, I brand all my stock, right down to my wife’s little lap dog. And she was no different. See, right there on her right shoulder is my brand. I did it myself,” he crowed with pride. “Took all of my men and chains to her wrists and ankles to hold her still enough, but I did it.”

  Mr. Jonathan started toward the woman. She moved behind Benji for protection just as he uncrossed his arms to guide her behind him. “Ye’ll not lay a hand on her again,” Benji said. “And she’s not yers now, even if she was once. I have a bill of sale right here,” and patted his sporran.

  Benji could tell by the look of shock then quick recovery that the man couldn’t read. That was definitely in his favor. “Here,” he said as he opened up the sporran and took out the paper. “This says that I bought one giant female Negro for, well, ye dinna need to ken the high price I paid fer her, and, oh, yes, it says that she can also be identified by an ‘X’ brand on the right shoulder, and that she also has multiple lash wounds on her back. Here, read it fer yerself,” Benji said with mock sincerity as he shoved the paper under the now recalcitrant man’s nose.

  “Um, no, I broke my reading glasses,” he said meekly, then changed his tune, “but I know you’re lying; it doesn’t say that!”

  Benji took the paper and went over to the store clerk who had warned him about the extortionist. “Here, ye can read, right?” The man nodded and let a small grin escape, but quickly got it under control. “Doesna it say that this is the woman I bought, even down to the,” Benji winced, “brand?”

  The clerk took the genuine bill of sale and tipped his head down as if to read it. He really did read it, too, and saw that the description of the lashes and brands weren’t included. He handed it back to Benji. “It’s all true folks, every bit of what he said. He bought her fair and square. Sorry, Mr. Jonathan, I think that man who bested you in cards resold her. I mean, you said yourself that she was quite a handful…”

  “He didn’t best me; he cheated. And you’re right; she was too much trouble. Well, you can have her,” he said to Benji with a sour grapes attitude. “But, if you don’t already have a whip, you might want to buy one before you leave town. Tell the blacksmith that you want the ‘Jonathan Special.’ It’s a cat ‘o nine tails with little metal tips that adjust a slave’s attitude right away. There, is slave an acceptable word?”

  Benji didn’t answer with words, but simply turned to leave, confident that the woman was close behind him. “Slave is never acceptable,” he said, low enough so no one but she could hear. “The whole concept sucks!”

  21 The Name Game

  “W rongway MacKay, strikes again,” Benji huffed in frustration. He wasn’t lost, but wasn’t where he wanted to be either. At least he had been able to find a decent place to spend the night. This site wasn’t as accommodating as their last stop, but it still had access to water.

  “Do ye ken where we are?” he asked his charge brightly, hoping to lighten his own dour mood. He knew she didn’t understand him and couldn’t possibly know where his family lived. “Weel, at least I can ask which is more than ye can do,” he said with resignation. “Doesna it bother ye that ye canna understand me?” he asked with eyebrows raised.

  She raised her eyebrows in answer to his. He smiled and said, “Weel, at least yer not a bother to me. I like havin’ ye around to talk to, even if ye canna talk back. Or willna. I’ll wager ye can talk. I mean, I heard ye singin’ that little bit. I can sing, too. Happy birthday to you,” he bellowed.

  Benji’s uninhibited singing brought a full smile to the woman’s face. He turned and saw it before she brought it back to stone. “Oh, please, if ye canna do anythin’ else, would ye please at least be honest with yer looks? I mean, smile when yer happy or I do somethin’ silly that entertains ye, or frown when yer hurt… Weel, I hope the hurtin’ part’s over. I mean, I promise that I will never, ever strike ye with whip or fist.” He shook his head then walked around her to look at her back, shuddering at how anyone could intentionally flail another person’s skin until it came apart. “But, I will have to clean yer wounds or ye’ll be sick. Come on over to the creek. I have this special soap and I’ll use my kerchief for scrubbin’.” He bent his head down to look for the bar in his sporran. “And, after we’re done, I have a surprise fer ye. Come on,” he said and reached for her hand.

  She walked to the creek, but didn’t take his hand. He squatted down at the water’s edge, rinsed out the bandana, then soaped it up. He stood back up and called to her, “Come on now, please dinna be stubborn. It’s fer yer own good.”

  But, the woman was leery. “I’ll let ye scrub my back later if I can wash ye now?” He smiled, gestured to his back, and motioned scrubbing, then pointed to her. She tipped
her head side to side, walked to a point three feet away from him, and took off the camouflaged cloth that was her sarong.

  “No, no, ye can leave it on,” he said as he turned and averted his eyes from seeing her nakedness. He kept his head turned and explained, his hands flapping in the air behind him to urge her to get dressed again, “The cloth dries quickly; the water willna bother it.”

  Benji glanced up and saw that she had figured out what he was saying and was tucking in the cloth. She had wrapped it differently, though, and both of her shoulders were now exposed. He gently applied the suds to the wound and dabbed at the cuts, trying to float the black specks out of the infection. “I think I need to hurt ye a bit to get this cleaned up. I ken I said I hoped the hurtin’ part was over, but this really is fer yer own good.”

  The woman straightened her back, but didn’t move away. She hadn’t said a word, but he understood her body language: she was telling him to get on with it.

  He got as aggressive as he needed, but no more. When he was done, he cupped his hands and poured water over the area to rinse it. “Now hold still; I have some medicine fer ye.” He opened his sporran and found the little plastic tube of antibiotic cream. “This should be the ticket,” he said, then saw her look at what he had in his hand. “This? Oh, this is to help ye heal. I brought it back with me. We have lots of good medicines where I’m from.”

  He spread it on her back then pointed to a tree, indicating that they would take a break here. “Ye ken, I’ve only been back to this time fer three days, and I have to tell ye, I dinna recall it bein’ so hostile. I mean, I guess we never had to deal with the slave issue back at home. Nobody owned a slave or was a slave. Gamblers and people who take advantage of ye, shoot, they’re everywhere, always have been, and probably always will be.” He shook his head, then thought out loud, “I wish I could take ye back with me… Hey, what is yer name?”

  The woman flashed understanding of the question, then returned to her empty look. “Okay, I must apologize, I dinna introduce myself. I am Benjamin Ian Pomeroy MacKay, but ye can call me Benji. See, me Benji and you,” he said as he pointed back and forth, waiting for the answer that he was sure wouldn’t come. “Tarzan,” he crowed and pointed to his chest, “Jane,” he said and mocked a thump to her chest. She flinched when his hand got near her. “Benji, um,” he said again in a comedic manner, ignoring the shrinking back that she had done, but now only pointing to her, not letting his hand near her body.

  “Jane,” she said plainly and pointed to herself.

  “Weel, I’ll be. Ye do talk, and as jest as pretty as ye sing. Jane. I like that name. Where did ye get it?” he asked, knowing full well she wouldn’t give him an answer.

  But she did. She pointed to him.

  “Me? I gave ye the name Jane?”

  She grinned and pointed to herself and said proudly, “Jane,” then pointed to him and said, “Benji.” Her mouth opened as if to say more, then shut quickly, like she had changed her mind about something. But, the slight grin she sported from receiving the gift of her name, remained. Now she was somebody.

  22 The Storm

  T he late afternoon air was so hot and full of moisture that it was hard for him to breathe: the summer heat really was trying to smother him. Benji wanted, needed, had to get cool. True, it was full on daytime, and their location wasn’t as secluded as the night before so he couldn’t take off all of his clothes, but at least he could remove his boots and socks. He took them off and felt immediate, but short-lived relief. He looked over and saw Jane seated on a fallen log. Weel, at least she thinks more of herself now: she’s not kneelin’ on the ground. He wiped his brow and made his decision: he was going to get comfortable, no matter what.

  “Now, if ye dinna mind, and even if ye do, I’m gonna drop my pants. But, dinna worry; it’s jest to get cooled down. And, I’ll not be exposin’ myself, either.” He unbuttoned then unzipped his pants, and shimmied them down, stepping on the hems to pull them off all the way. “See, my shirt’s plenty long enough to be coverin’ my bits and pieces. Lord kens, I wouldna want to embarrass ye or start ye laughin’ at me again,” he said with exaggerated dramatic flair, his forearm up to his forehead like he was a damsel in distress in an old silent movie.

  Her answer was to walk into the creek up to her ankles. Evidently, her feet were hot, too. She looked back toward him and intentionally let a grin escape. Even though she quickly replaced it with her poker face, she had relaxed her guard and let him see it on purpose. He saw it and decided to take it as a show of faith in him as a person.

  “Come on, we have one chore to do and then we can chill, I mean sit back and do nothin’.”

  Benji picked up the bolt of fabric and pulled the leading edge away until he had loosed about three yards. “Watch this,” he said as he kept a tight grip on the free end of the cloth. He threw the rest of the bolt up high, out over the water. The calico projectile made a tall, blue arch then dropped into the creek. Benji ran toward the falling fabric display, lily-white legs splashing through the low flow. He tugged on the end still in his fist and pulled the cloth to him, like he was reeling in a big fish. He gathered the azure cotton into a large mass, then pushed and swished it through the water at his feet. He looked back to see her reaction and saw shock.

  “Ye see, I need to wash the extra dye out of this and get it preshrunk. I dinna ken what they call it now, but if I dinna do this first, when we make a dress fer ye, and maybe a shirt fer me, it would shrink the first time it got wet. Of course, it might be better if we had some detergent to wash it with, but I dinna think ye brought any along with ye. I mean, if ye did, I dinna want to ken where ye were hidin’ it,” he said then made a funny face to see if he could get her to smile. It almost worked, he noticed.

  He walked up to the long, flat area above the creek, the blue bundle held close. “Come here; I need yer help,” he said, and gestured for her to come with him. “Here,” he said as he handed her one end of the fabric. She accepted it, but jerked back when his hand touched hers. He moved it aside and let her get a firm grasp of the cloth edge.

  “Now, what we’re gonna do is play clothes dryer, except that this isna clothing yet.” He backed away, feeding the cloth to her while holding the bundle high, not letting the long length of fabric hit the ground. When he had the whole nine yards extended, he called out, “Now hold on tight,” and flipped his end up and then down, moving the air under and about the cloth. “See, we’re drying the cloth faster this way. And it knocks out most of the wrinkles, too. I dinna think ye brought yer iron either,” he joked.

  The two of them raised then lowered their banner, Benji singing his favorite early Beatles tunes. He was raising and lowering the yardage gently then suddenly hollered, “Watch out!” and flipped it briskly toward him, like he was snapping a towel, nearly pulling Jane’s end out of her hands. He could see her smile release and stay, this time not retreating to the timid corner of her demeanor. She made sure she had a tighter grip on the cloth after that, though.

  Fatigue overtook his arms, so he loosely folded up the cloth and took a break. “It may have been that we were doin’ work, but when yer with me, it feels like we’re playin’ a game,” he said as he neared her to gather the last yard of cloth.

  She could see where he was, even though her head was bowed. She let go as soon as his hand neared hers. Their game time was over. She still needed to be cautious; he was still a man. A nice man, but still a man.

  “Jane,” he said with a big grin.

  She lifted her head, but not all the way up. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, but couldn’t help but smile when hearing her name.

  “Janie,” he teased in a singsong voice, “I told ye I had somethin’ fer ye.” He returned to his normal voice. “I dinna mean to be spoilin’ yer dinner, but here.” He held his fist out, fingers down, and waited for her to put out hers. She cautiously stuck her hand out, palm up under his, to receive its contents. He opened his hand and said, “The store owner tho
ught ye deserved a treat. I think he kinda liked ye.”

  Jane’s eyes widened when she saw the candy, but when she heard that the store clerk liked her, her chin popped up to look him in the eye, quickly bobbing back down.

  “Go aheid and eat it; it’s yers,” he encouraged, gently touching the back of her hand to guide it up toward her mouth. “It’s mighty tasty. Not quite as good fer ye as yer greenballs, but sweet and jest a little sour, like ye,” he teased.

  Jane brought her head down and palm up, and candy met mouth in the middle. Her back straightened in amazement at the new taste sensation. “It’s a lemon drop,” Benji explained. “Now, I have a few more, but I’ll save them fer later. If ye eat too many, they’ll put a knot in yer waim, or worse,” he said, and bent over in a parody of a bellyache.

  Her eyes cut over to him quickly, and her mouth puckered up as if to spit it out. “No, no,” he said, and put his hand in front of her mouth. “That’s not what I meant.” He put up one finger. “One candy,” he held up his index finger several times to enforce his remark, pointed to his mouth, and mimed the bliss of a mouthful of good candy. “Five candies,” he put up all five fingers and pretended to stuff his mouth full of mock candies, “ye’ll get a bellyache.” He bent over and moaned and groaned, then decided to take the act to full tilt, and rolled back and forth on the ground, peeking over to see her reaction.

  Her hand was over her mouth as she stifled a full-blown laugh. “Go aheid and laugh; it’s good fer yer soul and makes me feel good, too.”

  Jane dropped her hand and her head at the same time and allowed a hint of a chuckle to escape. He was funny, had protected her, washed her wounds, fed her, even gave her candy, and so far had not tried to touch her body ‘that way.’ A slight frown darkened her expression: what did he want? She quickly snorted to shoo away the bad thought, then looked at him to see if he had seen her slip of emotional fear.