“I’ll take that as a compliment, sort of.”
She smiled. “It was a compliment, sort of.”
I should be sleeping now, but I am deep in the frets, wondering what this is about and what will happen tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 3
Things have gotten very strange.
I went to the school this afternoon as planned. (Bubbles was quite good about agreeing to carry me, and Alex got me in with no problem.)
When we entered Ms. Kincaid’s room, she looked surprised to see Alex. I caught this, because I was peeping out of the top of the backpack.
When a teacher is more surprised to see a student than to see what she must have thought until the day before was a mythical person, things have truly gone upside down!
In answer to Ms. Kincaid’s expression, Alex said firmly, “I’m the chaperone.”
The teacher nodded, then whispered, “Have you brought the…other one…with you?”
Alex set the backpack on one of the tables, and out I climbed.
I had hoped for this meeting with Ms. Kincaid to be more cordial than our first. To my dismay, she burst into tears again!
“Here, now, why are you crying? I’m nae here to talk fierce to you. I came at your request, remember.”
“It’s just that…you’re real!”
“Aye, I am that. But you’ve already seen me once, so that should be no surprise.”
“You don’t understand. I have someone who needs to meet you.”
“And who might that be?” I asked, wary at the idea of revealing myself to yet another human.
“My great-grandmother, Ailsa McGonagall.”
I near fell off the table at those words! Alex started with surprise as well.
“Where is this great-grandmother of yours, and why does she need to meet me?” I asked.
“She lives at the Happy Oaks Senior Home.”
“I know her!” Alex cried. “She’s my mother’s favorite resident.”
Ms. Kincaid smiled. “Yes, I often see your mother when I visit Gran.”
“But why does your gran need to see Angus?”
Ms. Kincaid looked puzzled. “I thought his name was Herbert,” she said.
“I prefer Angus,” I said quickly, not wanting to get into the whole story. “And I still want to know why your Gran needs to meet me.”
Ms. Kincaid had the gift of smiling and looking sad at the same time. “Gran is very old. I don’t think she has long to live. For the last couple of years, she’s been talking to me about a place she calls the Enchanted Realm. And about brownies. I think it’s all kind of jumbled together in her head from old stories she’s remembering. Whatever the reason, it’s become an obsession with her. She’s sad all the time, and I know it would lift her heart if she could meet him.”
“You know I’m nae supposed to be seen by humans,” I said.
“But I’ve seen you!”
“I was taking a chance when I came to you, but I felt it was important for Destiny’s sake. But I’m piling up violations of the Great Oath. The queen alone knows what price I’ll pay for it someday.”
“If you do this, you would make an old woman very happy.”
“Will she blab about it?” Alex asked.
It made me happy to see that my girl was looking out for me.
Ms. Kincaid smiled again. “Probably. But you needn’t worry about that. She talks about brownies and the old country all the time. No one will think anything of it.”
I sighed. “All right, I’ll come.”
Writing this now, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. I would say that I am getting soft in my old age, only I’m still fair young for a brownie.
I think it must be that this new world is making me a bit mad.
That’s me. A mad brownie.
Wednesday, November 4
Last night Alex convinced her mother that she, Alex, needed to go to Happy Oaks this afternoon so she could do a report on her mother’s workplace.
“I told her it was a make-up assignment, so I could improve my grades from all the assignments I didn’t hand in on time,” she told me.
“Won’t she wonder when your grade doesn’t go up?” I asked.
She smiled. “But it will go up. I already talked Mrs. Winterbotham into letting me do it.”
I’ll give the girl this: when she actually wants to get something done, she can be quite determined.
When she got home today, she once again emptied her backpack onto the bed. It’s nae such a problem now that I’ve got the thing organized. Also, I scrubbed out the inside so it’s not disgusting when I ride in it.
After I had climbed inside, Alex strapped the pack to her back. Then she went to the garage and got out her bicycle.
The trip to her mother’s workplace took about fifteen minutes. When we went in, I heard (from inside the backpack) a woman tell Alex, “Your mom’s waiting for you in her office, dear.”
I felt a bit of a thump when Alex set her pack down on one of the chairs.
Sometimes I wish I had a wee clock to wear about my wrist as the humans do, save that I never want to worry about time that much. Still, I couldn’t help but fret as I waited for what was to happen next. Finally someone picked up the pack again. Hoping it was the right person, I suddenly wondered if our plan was more foolish than I had thought.
A few minutes later, the pack was set down again. Big hands, much bigger than Alex’s, opened the top, and I blinked as the light streamed in. Then I heard Ms. Kincaid say, “Thank you for coming, Angus. Shall I lift you out?”
“No, please, ma’am. I don’t like to be picked up. Just lay the pack sideways and I’ll come out on my own.”
She did, and I crawled out. As I stood and stretched, I heard a gasp from my right. Turning, I found myself facing the oldest woman I had ever seen. Two bright blue eyes peered at me from a collection of wrinkles topped by a swirl of snow-white hair. Tears began to roll down her cheeks, but they were lost in the creases of her face, which was split in the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.
“You see, Lorna,” she croaked in a dry husky voice. “I told you brownies are real.”
Though her voice was harsh, to hear those words spoken as they would have been in Scotland, with the proper rise and fall and burr, was a kind of music to my ears.
Ms. Kincaid smiled. “Yes, Gran, you did indeed.”
“But you didn’t believe me. You should always listen to your old gran, my dear.”
“Yes, you’ve told me that, too,” said Ms. Kincaid, her voice warm with love.
“What is your name, brownie?” the old woman asked.
“Angus,” I said.
“Ah. And do you have a home to care for?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” called Ms. Kincaid as I scurried under the bed.
“Alex!”
The door opened and in stepped my girl. I came out from under the bed and climbed back to where I had been standing. “I do indeed have a home to care for,” I said. “It is with this fine girl, who I think you know.”
I thought it best not to bother the old woman with what was happening there now due to the curse.
“You’re a lucky girl, to have a brownie in your home,” said the old lady.
I fear I smirked a bit at this, though I tried not to let Alex see it.
The old lady sighed and murmured, “Ah, how I long for the old country.” The next thing she said sent lightning shooting through me. “How I long to return to the Enchanted Realm.”
She began to weep, and soon had wept herself to sleep.
“Angus, what is the Enchanted Realm?” Ms. Kincaid asked.
“I’m nae allowed to speak of it.”
“That might make sense if I didn’t know it exists and didn’t know that brownies are real. But I do. So you might as well tell me.”
I sighed. “It’s the world where the fair folk reside.”
Ms. Kincaid squeezed her eyes shut. “I was brought up on those tales. Only my mother insisted they were real. She drove me half crazy with it, and I thought she was daft. That’s why I was so hard on Destiny about her ‘invisible friend.’ It was so confusing to me as a child that I thought it was bad for her to be so wrapped up in it. I really am sorry for that.”
“Well, all’s mended on that front,” I said. “But why in the world did your gran say she wants to go back to the Enchanted Realm?”
Ms. Kincaid shook her head. “I don’t know. But, then, there’s a lot about her that I don’t know.”
I asked what she meant, but she tightened her lips and said she had better not say anymore.
I had to count to 748 in order to avoid pitching a fit at her.
Fit or not, it’s clear Lorna Kincaid knows something that she’s not telling us, and we need to get it out of her.
Text messages between Ellen Carhart and Dennis Carhart
Alex
We need to talk. When can we meet?
Ms. Kincaid
I am not comfortable doing so at school. Can you come up with a reason to visit my gran at Happy Oaks again?
Alex
I can interview her for some research I’m doing on the McGonagall family.
Ms. Kincaid
Perfect! And I can say I need to be there to watch over Ailsa and make sure she doesn’t get overtired. That work for you?
Alex
What time?
Ms. Kincaid
Afternoon, unless evening is better for you?
Alex
Evening. I’m mostly supposed to be keeping an eye on Destiny in the afternoon.
Ms. Kincaid
7:30?
Alex
Perfect.
Ms. Kincaid
Bring Angus?
Alex
Of course.
Thursday, November 5
This morning Alex said, “We need to go back to Happy Oaks. We have to learn more about Ailsa McGonagall.”
As I agreed completely, this was nae a problem, though I am getting a bit tired o’ traveling around in that backpack. This time I plan to bring provisions, so I can have a wee snack while I’m stuck inside the thing.
It should be an interesting night.
11/5
To Whom It May Concern:
Alex Carhart has my permission to interview my great-grandmother, Ailsa McGonagall, in her room at Happy Oaks. This is in relation to a project Alex is working on for school.
I will be present to monitor things, and to make sure that my great-grandmother does not become fatigued.
Sincerely,
Lorna Kincaid
Thursday, November 5 (late evening)
I will never forget this night as long as I live.
Ms. Kincaid was already in Ailsa’s room when Alex arrived (with me in her backpack, of course).
Ms. Kincaid looked glad to see us, but it was her gran who was really pleased. “You’ve come back!” she cried as Alex entered. “Did you bring Angus?”
“Of course,” Alex said. She opened the pack and out I popped.
“Come sit beside me,” said Ailsa, patting the arm of her wheelchair.
I scrambled up, glad to do so.
Alex took out a notepad. “Can we ask you some questions, Mrs. McGonagall?”
The old woman stiffened, and it was as if she had pulled a curtain across the room, separating herself from Alex and me.
“It’s all right, Gran,” said Ms. Kincaid gently. “We’re in this together now. After all, you know there’s a brownie here with Alex.”
“Wouldna do me a bit o’ good to speak the truth,” said the old woman bitterly. “There’s none who would believe me.”
Ms. Kincaid looked down. “I know that included me until now, Gran, and I’m sorry. But it was too much to take in. Besides, I was trying not to believe it about myself.”
That caught both Alex and me. “What do you mean, about yourself?” said Alex.
Ms. Kincaid took a deep breath, then said, “How old do you think I am?”
Alex made a face. “That is almost always a trick question.”
Ms. Kincaid laughed. “Feel free to give an honest answer. I promise not to be insulted.”
“Okay, from what I’ve heard, you’re fairly new to teaching. Even so, I think you look a little old for that. So I’ll say you’re thirty.”
“And very kind of you it is to say that to a woman who’s sixty-five,” said Ms. Kincaid.
Alex slid off her chair and onto the floor.
“It’s a thing in the family,” Ms. Kincaid said. “We just don’t age the way other people do. Gran here most of all.” She went to the door, opened it to make sure no one was listening, then closed it tight and came back to where we were sitting. In a low voice, she said, “Gran’s papers are faked. We paid a lot of money—and dealt with some pretty unsavory people—to get them. But it was the only way to get her into Happy Oaks.” She paused, then said, “I have false papers, too.”
My insides were jumping as if I’d swallowed a rabbit. Tugging on Ailsa’s sleeve, I said, “Have you ever heard tell of the Princess of Sunshine?”
She closed her eyes. A slow smile spread across her face. “Ah,” she murmured, “it’s been many a year since anyone called me by that name. Too long. Too long. Oh, Angus, I want to go home now. It’s been too long.”
“Bingo!” whispered Alex.
Ms. Kincaid stared at us in astonishment.
Then she began to cry.
She’s rather a soggy woman.
“What’s the matter?” Alex asked.
“I’ve spent my life trying to pretend it wasn’t true,” sniffed Ms. Kincaid. “I knew my family was different, but I didn’t know how different. How different am I? What am I, exactly?” She put her face in her hands. When she looked up again, she was a fair mess, her makeup streaked from the tears. “I made life so hard on Gran, not believing her stories.”
“How did she end up in America?” asked Alex.
“That I don’t know,” said Ms. Kincaid.
Ailsa’s eyes were closed, but she murmured, “I always tried to stay close to the family. When the last branch moved to the States, I came, too. Always felt a need to watch over them.”
I looked at the lines in her face and thought about the fact that she had been aging over these three centuries, aging slowly, so very slowly, but steadily. It must have been the effect of living in the human world, rather than the Enchanted Realm, where she belonged. Could she ever die here? Or would she just keep getting older and older forever?
The thought gave me the shivers.
“I want to go home,” she said again.
“It’s not that simple, Gran. I can’t just take you out of here and not bring you back. I’d be charged with murder!”
“You could stay in the Enchanted Realm,” Ailsa whispered.
Ms. Kincaid shook her head. “What am I, one quarter of that blood? One eighth? There’s no guarantee they’d have me. And I’m not at all sure I would feel comfortable there.”
“Well,” said Alex, “there’s only one answer.”
When we all looked at her, she smiled and said, “Jailbreak!”
By which I knew she meant we were going to have to steal Ailsa away from Happy Oaks in a way that could not be connected with us.
“There’s one other problem,” I said.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
“Bennett.”
Her eyes widened as she realized what I meant. The curse was very specific. What had been taken by Ewan McGonagall must be returned by a male of direct descent.
Of course Mr. Carhart would do as well as Bennett, but Alex and I both knew the odds of getting that to happen were slim.
I didn’t mention the other possible problem, which was this: What if the queen no longer wanted her daughter back? She had lived three hundred years in the human world and was frail and wrinkled, nothing like the Princess of Sunshine
must once have been.
What would it be like for the aged princess to come home to a mother who was still young and beautiful, while she was now a crone?
Friday, November 6
This afternoon, before Mrs. Carhart was home, Alex called an emergency council of the siblings. She wasn’t much worried about Mr. Carhart hearing it. He rarely comes up from his studio these days, and since the stairs creak, we would hear him coming if he did by chance rise from the depths.
I was present, though not visible, as Alex had asked me to wait in a box. It was a bit undignified, but we both knew we needed to break this to Bennett slowly.
When all three siblings were at the dining room table, Bennett said, “Can we make this quick, Al? I want to get back to my writing.”
She cleared her throat, then said, “Have you noticed that things have been kind of weird around here lately?”
Bennett snorted. “You’re not kidding.”
“Do you want to know why?”
“Yeah. Dad has lost his mind.”
It was interesting that the boy could spot his father’s obsession but not his own madness. ’Tis a subtle curse indeed.
“Well, do you want to know why Dad has lost his mind?”
I didn’t like Alex phrasing it that way, since it pretty much meant I was the reason for this mess. But then, my presence really was the reason for it. So I guess it was fair.
“He’s having a midlife crisis,” Bennett said.
“If only it were that simple,” Alex replied.
Then she picked up the box with me in it and set it on the table.
“What do you have in there?” Bennett asked.
“Brace yourself,” Alex said. Then she opened the box and said, “Come on out, Angus.”
I clambered over the edge and stood on the table.
Bennett shrieked and pushed his chair back so violently that it tipped over and sent him sprawling on the floor.
Diary of a Mad Brownie Page 11
