An Ordinary Fairy

by John Osborne

  “Do fairy friends ever … well, develop relationships beyond just friends?”

  Why did I ask you that? I must be out of my mind!

  Willow’s expression turned solemn. “Yes, sometimes, but it’s rare. Rowan and Ruthie became lovers.” She paused. “But you and I are plowing new ground here, so to speak.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve never heard of a man and woman fairy friend relationship. That’s why I didn’t consider it a possibility at first. The human is always the same gender as the fairy.”

  “Always?”

  “Always.”

  Noah felt embarrassment, and knew it was his own, not Willow’s. His question about relationships had to sound intrusive. “Willow, I don’t want you to think I meant … I mean I would never take advantage of …”

  Willow held up her hand for him to stop.

  “It’s okay. I’m feeling my way along, too.”

  They both fell silent, lost in thought. Willow sat on the floor and picked at a loose thread in the carpet, while Noah studied the far wall. Noah felt a wave of apprehension, and knew it came from Willow. Her features were troubled.

  “Are you married?” she asked.

  “No. I never have been.”

  “Good. I mean, not good if you don’t think it’s good. I mean it might be hard, you know, for a wife or a girlfriend if you suddenly had a woman friend.”

  Especially one like you.

  Willow’s emotions flowed faster than he could keep up. First worry, then relief, next happiness and finally embarrassment.

  Slow down, you’re going to hurt your—

  “Aaah!” Noah jerked as a sharp electric jolt coursed through him.

  Willow sprang to her feet. “Are you okay?”

  Noah’s hair stood on end. He took a few quick breaths, his hands clenching the bedcovers. “Was that more fairy magic?”

  “Huh? I didn’t do anything.”

  Noah rubbed his eyes, shaking off the effects of the shock. “I think you did. Your feelings stopped all of a sudden, and it hurt. Like static electricity.”

  Willow blushed deep red. “I’m sorry. All I did was … well, turned my thoughts inward, I guess you would call it.”

  “It’s okay. Anyway, where were we? Oh, marriage. I’ve been in a couple of relationships,” Noah said, “but nothing lasting. Right now, I’m unattached. I have been for two years. How about you?”

  Willow seemed surprised by the question. “Me? Oh, no. I’m not married, or seeing anyone. I never have been. Married, I mean. I’ve been with a couple of guys, but never for long. I’m kind of a loner. The last time I hooked up with a guy was one summer when I visited Rowan in Kentucky, but it didn’t continue.”

  Silence again. Willow sat on the floor again. More picking at the carpet and staring at the wall. Noah broke the quiet this time.

  “So, you’re ‘my’ fairy?”

  “Yes,” she said with a grin. “I think it appeals to you.”

  No secrets with you.

  “There are disadvantages to this sharing moods thing,” Noah said. “I’ll have to try that blocking thing you did.” He paused for a moment. “What you did with the name thing was, well, intense. I could feel the energy, as I never have before. Magic is controlling and directing the energies of the universe. I’ve done magic and felt energy flowing and stuff, but you blasted the energies any way you wanted.”

  Willow shrugged. “It’s a fairy thing. We don’t do magic, we live it. Most people feel the energies, as you call it, every now and then. Fairies feel them all the time. We can communicate with animals and plants and we do some simple healing. We can do some psychic things, but nothing we do is dramatic.”

  “You can fly. That’s dramatic.”

  “I bet you have a broom. Can’t you fly?” she said with the grin he liked.

  “Very funny. Yes, I have a broom, but it’s for cleansing sacred space. That witches flying stuff was all a misunderstanding. My magic knife doesn’t even have a sharp edge. It wouldn’t cut paper.”

  “The knife, that’s your athame?”

  “Yes. I guess you’ve done your homework. While we’re on the subject, how does flying work?”

  “Hmm.” Willow thought for a moment. “It’s sort of a combination of magic and physics.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s something we do.”

  “Like disappearing.” She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, and then stood and brushed off the seat of her pants. Facing him where he sat on the bed, her eyes were only slightly above his. “I should show you my wings.”

  “I’ve already seen them,” Noah said.

  “Not close up.” She began to pull off her sweatshirt.

  “Wait!”

  You’re not wearing a bra and if you feel what I’ll feel…

  The sweatshirt was already over her head, but she still had her arms in the sleeves and her torso covered. She grinned. “What’s the matter? You’ve already seen me nude.”

  “That was unintentional.”

  “Oh. But you kept your eyes open long enough to see me fly. Unintentionally, of course.”

  Well, you’ve got me there.

  She finished pulling off the sweatshirt to reveal a white cotton camisole with spaghetti straps and a row of tiny buttons down the front. Cut high enough to cover but low enough to be fascinating. And it was thin.

  Distraction, Noah. Count the buttons. Seven. There are seven buttons.

  Count them again.

  He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He felt worried, then realized it was Willow.

  Her face was solemn as she turned her back to him. Her wings hung straight down over the low camisole and were tucked into her jeans. She hooked her thumbs on the waistband and slid the jeans lower a couple of inches, then rolled her shoulders forward and flexed her back muscles. The bottom ends of her wings popped out.

  In a silent ballet, Willow raised her arms above her head, which emphasized the powerful muscles of her neck and upper back. Her wings followed as she raised them from their hanging position and spread them out with the flat surfaces parallel to her back. The upper pair was somewhat larger than the lower. Tip to tip Noah guessed them to be five feet wide, the lower pair closer to four feet. The edges of the two pairs overlapped an inch or so. Where the wings sprang from her back was a thick structure of bone or cartilage or both, sheathed in heavy muscles.

  No wonder you wear loose clothes.

  Nearly transparent, her wings gave the impression of looking through thick glass shattered into hundreds of tiny squares. Shaped like dragonfly wings, they attached in a different way than on the primitive insect, so they could swivel to hang straight down. The wings appeared firm, but Noah had seen them tucked into jeans and curved to the shape of her backside. The outer surfaces were smooth, the inner covered with ribs.

  Willow lowered her arms but left her wings extended.

  “So what do you think?” she asked. “Grotesque, isn’t it?”

  Noah’s eyes flicked up to her reflection in the wall mirror. Her face was questioning, anxious, and he felt her apprehension in his heart.

  “My dear little fairy, you are the most beautiful creation I have ever seen.”

  Her face softened. She bowed her head slightly, as her wings drooped behind her. She looked as a child might who is told they are good when everyone else says they are dreadful.

  What monster called you grotesque?

  “Turn around,” he told her. She obeyed, keeping her eyes averted from his. “Give me your hands.” She put her tiny hands out. Noah clasped them together and covered them with his. Warmth radiated from hers, but only subdued energy.

  “Look at me,” he said. She hesitated, and then raised her eyes to look into his. She bit her lower lip, and a tear spilled from one eye and rolled down her cheek. Noah raged inside at whoever had done this to her. He contained himself, desperate not to let his anger project. H
e concentrated and calmed himself, and read emotions of wretchedness and sorrow and loneliness.

  In a soft voice he spoke. “Willow, the night I saw you fly I kept my eyes open. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Your beauty … entranced me.” He smiled at her and she smiled back, a tight, unsure smile, still biting her lip. “I didn’t see swamp gas. Or an alien. I saw the most dazzling, enchanting woman I have ever seen in a display of grace and beauty no one could imagine. Do you know that when you came to the pond the entire place came alive? When you left, it was as if someone switched off a light. You’re not a freak and you’re not an ogre.”

  Willow fought tears as Noah spoke. He released her hands and she wiped her face, but sobbing overcame her. She came to his embrace without hesitation, his arms sliding between her back and wings.

  How did I know how to hold you?

  She clung to his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, overtaken with tears. He stroked her hair while weeping shook her. Her sorrow coursed through him.

  “I … I was afraid … you would think … I was ugly,” she sputtered out.

  Noah thought his heart would burst.

  Are you the same feisty woman I met two days ago?

  Noah didn’t speak, didn’t console her, and didn’t shush her, but let her become still on her own. After a few minutes, she quieted except for sniffling. She spoke in a hoarse little voice.

  “I got snot on your sweater.”

  Now it was Noah’s turn to giggle.

  “It will wash.” He stroked her hair. “Do you need some tissues?” She nodded without lifting her head, and then stepped back with her hands on his shoulders. Her face was blotchy, red, and wet. She let go and crossed the room to a tissue box on the dressing table.

  Noah rose and stood behind her while she blew her nose. “Okay now?”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said and turned to face him. “Thank you.”

  “Just taking care of my fairy.”

  She smiled up at him. He gently cupped her cheek, which began to glimmer.

  How did I fall so in love with you, little person?

  “Let’s sit down,” he said.

  He led her to the table under the window and beckoned toward the easy chair. She climbed into it and drew her legs up under her, looking like a child in the big chair.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked. He walked over to the little refrigerator. “I have some water I think, and beer, though you don’t strike me as a beer kind of a girl.” He did an imitation of the grimace she had done about coffee that morning.

  She smiled wider. “No, I’m not. Water sounds great.”

  Noah grabbed himself a beer and a bottle of water for Willow. He held up the beer as he handed her the water. “Are you sure? This is from my own Badger state you know. Brewed in Chippewa Falls.”

  Willow giggled. “Save it for yourself. It would be wasted on me.”

  Noah opened his beer and settled into a straight back chair by the table.

  “Willow, what’s this shadow following you everywhere? And I don’t mean a big black Labrador. Whenever I’m around you, I feel a sad undercurrent. I sensed it even before we figured out I’m a fairy friend. Why the gloom?”

  Willow considered this for a moment. “It’s time to tell you the story of the Big House. To do that I need to tell you the history of the Jones family.”

  Six

  “What I know comes from my father,” Willow began. “He knew everyone in town. He was everybody’s friend.” She smiled at the memory. “Father ran an investment and stock brokerage firm. He did well and helped many people in the community do well. They would have been astounded to know we were fairies. We lived south of the Jones property, just across the section line road. The house is gone now, burned years ago after a lightning strike.

  “So the Joneses were our neighbors, but we never knew them well. Mother and Father kept to themselves, which is the fairy way, and we lived on the back side of the Jones property, so we didn’t run into each other. We did visit their property though, at night, to enjoy the woods and the animals. Mother and I used to love flying together among the trees.” Willow sighed and continued.

  “The Jones family is from Alabama. They had money and a huge plantation with slaves. After the Civil War, things were bad, but somehow the Joneses managed to keep their slaves and part of their land. The South they knew was gone, so they decided to move north. A few years after the war, the family came to Hoopeston. How they chose Hoopeston is anyone’s guess, but Father thought it was because this was always a center for agriculture and industry. The market for vegetables required considerable hand labor to pick and process. The entire household moved, slaves included, though now they were called ‘workers.’

  “Clarence Jones moved the family, Chester’s great-great-grandfather. His son James was a little boy when they moved north to a huge land parcel with the woods in the center. The old Jones home stood east of the woods; the road into the heart of the woods still exists, though it’s grass-grown. Clarence saw the woods as a nuisance and planned to clear the land and fill in the pond, but James grew up in the woods and knew every twig and leaf, people say. When just a young man, James convinced his father to build a grand house of stone deep in the woods, to show the world the family’s sophistication. The house, which they just called the Big House, was completed around 1900. A separate wood and stone structure stood nearby to house the field workers. You saw the remaining stone portion when we went to the pond. Louie and I converted it to a storage shed years ago.

  “The Big House became a showcase for the family’s affluence. They entertained quite often. The house was built for that purpose: to show off, and to intimidate. Even the Jones’s enemies sought invitations.

  “Building the house was quite a project. Clarence and James did most of the work themselves, including the interior carpentry. The job proved too much for old Clarence. He fell ill and was bedridden until his death.

  “About the same time the house was completed, Armstrong Jones was born, Chester’s grandfather.”

  “Let me see if I have this right: the lineage is Clarence, James, Armstrong … who was next?”

  “Anthony, Chester’s father.”

  “Okay, so it was Clarence, James, Armstrong, Anthony, and Chester.”

  “You’ve got it,” Willow said. “Unlike his father, Armstrong had no use for nature and loathed the woods, but he became infatuated with the Big House. He wanted to change the name to ‘Jones Castle.’ Armstrong lorded over the workers, who for some reason stayed. The family had power over them that was never understood. They added to the group over the years, but unable to attract blacks, they recruited Roma.” Willow’s voice changed on this last word, to a rich, far eastern accent. She stopped at Noah’s questioning expression. “Sorry. Most people today call them gypsies, but their proper name is Roma or Romani. That in itself proves the Joneses had some power or threat over their workers, for the Roma didn’t take on work that caused them to stay in one place for long.” Willow paused and smiled.

  “Contrary to popular opinion, the Roma are wonderful people. Unusual, yes, but kind and thoughtful. Did you know they originated in northern India?”

  “No. I always assumed they were from eastern Europe.”

  “That’s where they migrated after leaving India. The Roma are Guardians of the Mystery. They have always known about fairies and they honor and respect us. For centuries, any fairy in trouble has been able to count on help from the Roma. They will do anything to aid us, at risk of life and limb, and our secret is safe with them. Likewise, we come to their aid when we can. It is so sad they’ve been persecuted and driven away in this country and many others.” Willow stopped. Her eyes became misty.

  “Do you stay in touch with any Roma?” he asked.

  Willow nodded. “Yes, I do. It’s a smart thing to do in case of need. Much of the Jones history Father learned from them, except for one important piece. Something happened on the Jo
nes farm that made the workers leave one night, something awful enough to overcome their fear. Father believed the Roma hid all the events to protect the workers when they fled. Later, the facts faded from memory.

  “When the workers left, the Joneses were almost ruined. They were forced to hire locals to do the work, people who demanded higher pay, and were immune to whatever held the Roma. It was a bad time for them until the Depression struck. The stock market crash affected them little, since they had everything in the farm, and cheap labor became plentiful again. The farm prospered from the many government food programs. Armstrong proved to be a shrewd businessman and traveled far to secure contracts while James remained in Hoopeston to run the farm. For the next twenty-five years, business was good as the Depression gave way to World War II and even greater need for farm products.

  “Armstrong’s son, Anthony, was born just before the Depression. He grew up during the farm’s heyday, but he didn’t care about the business side. His father and grandfather were too occupied with making money to spend time with him, so their commercial zeal wasn’t passed on to him.

  “Nineteen fifty was a pivotal year for the Jones family. It was the year Chester Jones was born, Anthony’s son, and a few weeks after his birth, James passed away. The lucrative Depression and war contracts had vanished, and Armstrong pressed Anthony into service to help him save the farm. Over the next twenty-five years, the family sold off several parcels to raise cash. The Big House became expensive to maintain, but Armstrong would not discuss parting with the old place. He and his wife, Clarisse, and Anthony and his wife, Janet, as well as Chester, lived in the old place, with no want of room.