The Faerie Ring Dance

by Kara Skye Smith

  making me feel I was in trouble somehow to which she

  only replied,

  “O, dear,” and went on. “I think I might have

  met someone. I have only seen him twice, but one the

  second occasion we had a stroll and such lovely

  conversation that I invited him out to the house. He is

  coming tomorrow for tea, Mr. Twinks, like you are,

  today, so I was, well, I was hoping you would not, well,

  you do understand that tomorrow I will be buys, you know, and-”

  That was it! I interrupted, “Honor, please, I’ve

  met someone too. Someone who I’d like you to meet.

  That’s what I was doing. There’s a whole world out

  there, for you, for me!”

  I started to stutter, then Blithe walked back in,

  “and she!” I looked down not knowing what to say at

  this point.

  “What?” Blithe said sensing tension in the room.

  “I’m afraid I’ve upset Mr. Twinks.”

  “O,” she said.

  “Narn,” I said.

  We shared tea and Blithe sent me home with

  another linen napkin packed with treats as she always

  when she’d implied and done everything but downright

  accuse me of only stopping in for tea and food. I took

  the napkin outside agreeing to take it home this time

  only because she launched into a whole ‘thing’ about how

  the McGillicuttys were never a brood to turn away a visitor, a guest, a friend in need.

  She drew the word out as if it had 3 or 4 e’s between

  the n and d. I left almost offended, determined to

  introduce - rather than my first thought of capture

  Blossom, who could not be lovelier, whose sparkle - in

  my opinion - outshined even fair Honor McGillicutty

  and whose life and world was so fascinating.

  “O,” I reeled, “if only Honor knew.”

  And then in the same moment, I spat,

  “Affections?! Sheesh!” I’d had it with the uptight

  English for the day and I sat down on the back stoop to

  tie the linen napkin into a knapsack. I heard dishes

  clanking through the open window and I listened, I

  admit, a bit too closely, as they talked. In fact, I

  listened so intently - because I kept hearing my name

  passed about - that I didn’t even hear the housecat

  approach until I turned to the left as what I’d heard

  turned something inside me, too, and I looked right into

  the shining, huge, yellow eyes of Peter, the McGillicutty house’s housecat, sitting outside with me, right next to

  the stoop. So close, if he’d have lowered his head and

  opened his mouth he could easily have taken off my head

  in one single bite. His head alone was enormous, really,

  he was the largest cat I had ever seen walking around.

  Miss Tullie had a stuffed one in her study area

  enormous, striped, some exotic breed, I think, somekind

  of wildcat, but this one this one was supposedly tame. I

  got the willies and the fright just the same.

  First, what the ladies had said about me, and then

  what Blithe said about Honor; and then, what I did

  about the C-A-T.

  Honor: Blithe asked, “How did he respond?” and

  Honor paused.

  “He said I couldn’t have been more wrong - in a

  way, without really saying anything at all. Then he told

  me he’d met someone.“ The ladies laughed right out

  loud, and then they insinuated I’d lied to them.

  “Hissize?” “He didn’t say,” and then they laughed even

  louder. Then, Honor, acting almost giddy and strangely

  enough at ease with her sister, once again, opened up

  into how she had - in the process of carrying out her

  sister’s wishes - untangled Mr. Twinks’ ill-placed

  affections and so had actually gone into town and run

  into Mr. Fitzpatrick, once again.

  “Who?”

  “The sewing machine man,” and she told Blithe

  what a lovely time she had talking with him, and that

  they had gone for a walk. Then she explained to Blithe,

  how in her quest of honesty in the situation, so as not to

  have lied to Mr. Twinks, she’d actually invited him, Mr.

  Fitzpatrick, out to the house for tea. Once again, she

  explained she was only doing what Blithe had asked her

  to do.

  “As it turned out,” she continued to explain, she

  really did think she was ‘seeing someone’ now, as during

  their stroll he let known his affections for her. She sighed, her chest heaved on long exhale, and then

  she put her hand to her forehead, explaining he had even

  mentioned the word, ‘wife’.

  “He’d talked in great detail about his need for a

  wife, and said that he was away from his factory, at this

  time, in order to meet someone with which he could

  become engaged!”

  She paused then and said, “And I think, dear

  sister, well he strongly implied, anyway, that ‘someone’

  just might be me!” There was a long pause. I listened

  closer, thought maybe they’d moved from the window,

  that I just couldn’t hear. I looked up through the

  kitchen window. I could see Honor turn to her sister.

  Her sister’s gaze icy and frozen - a tightly clenched jaw

  and a dish grasped with both hands, half in the soap

  bath and half in mid-air.

  “A glower,” is how it could best be described.

  Then, what she said made even me turn away - inside

  from Blithe McGillicutty and from the window, realizing that jealousy and bitterness had won the woman over.

  Perhaps the fear of what Miss Tullie’d said - fear of

  being alone, fear that it may be too late for her, in this

  life to ‘find someone’ had taken over - gotten the best of

  Blithe. She couldn’t be a ‘shrew’ if

  sweet Honor was in the same singular position.

  Apparently she’d made up her mind. She wasn’t going

  to spinster in a big house all alone.

  “You can’t, Honor! You just can’t be his

  ‘someone’. You are too old to marry and too young to

  die. You must accept that you live, here, with me, in a

  life shunned from England, the outside, our friends. But

  we’re here, doing our best, and we have - all on our own

  - created a life for ourselves. It’s pleasant here. It’s

  nice. We have our comforts and that’s the way it is for

  us, now, sister. You must put away these sill dreams and

  thoughts of a profession in the sewing machine industry;

  and, I absolutely forbid, forbid you to marry! I will

  meet with your sewing machine man.” “Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

  “And, put away all of his hopes for such things a

  courtship - with you?! O, Honor, no! Absolutely not!”

  She turned toward Honor and took hold of her wrists,

  “If you even mention - if you even think about

  - such obviously silly things, again, dear sister, well, I

  shall be forced to put you away - you are not thinking

  right! No, not at all.”

  To that, sickening threat, I muttered,

  “Nonsense!” and turned away from the window to lock

  eyes with a cat. My wings fluttered a bit, nervously,

  which
only served to intrigue the kitty.

  “O, no,” I sighed as it put a paw up and swatted

  the air, not trying at first. I flinched and jumped back

  toward the door. Now, I’m not teeny tiny! Those rats

  from the barn misled with their taunting and teasing.

  No, I’m no housefly or gorsefly, neither. I’m taller than

  buttercups and shorter than cornflowers. About the

  same size as daffodils, or, okay, a little smaller; but, its not like one paw swipe could waste me entirely. I did

  have a bit of a chance, here, I told myself. About the

  size of, about the size of, okay, a rat! I’ve said it. This

  cat, I guessed, had caught his fair share of rats, so I

  panicked. I yelled. I flew up through the window and

  saw Honor standing there, weeping, all alone. I hated to

  interrupt, and my heart sank at the sight of her, really,

  but this was about life and death. I had to get inside

  and quick! I’d been a guest for such a long time that a

  common break and enter move didn’t feel right.

  “Honor!” I said, but her weeping only got louder.

  She hadn’t heard me. The housecat leapt up onto the

  window sill, right next to me. He swished his tail as it

  hung over the side and with his claws still retracted he

  took another playful swat at me. I tumbled into the

  dishwater head first with a splash that caused Honor a

  fright. She shrieked, then she wailed. The housecat

  bounded right through the window onto the kitchen

  counter. As I arose from submergence, sputtering and spitting the terrible taste of dish soap out of my mouth, I

  swam for the side of the pot of hot dishwater, only to

  find the huge, yellow

  eyes of the cat, anticipating my arrival. A satisfied ‘game

  on!’ kind of smile, like we’d just begun a long journey of

  fun toward my death. I sensed he was even being ‘lazy’

  about it. I cried out loud for Honor to help me. At the

  mention of her name, she clued in to what it was that

  had just fallen in her dishwater and she picked meup in

  her hands, her thumbs against my battered wings. She

  lifted me right up to her eye level, where I just kind of

  whimpered and nearly cried. With warm eyes, also full

  of tears, she just looked at me; into my eyes, and then

  into my soul. Her tears stopped rolling from her eyes as

  they had been, and I was touched by the look of sorrow.

  We exchanged a silent, “Help me!” At that

  moment, Honor did help me. She shooed the cat out,

  and vowed to my wounded pride that if he didn’t stop

  chasing me, she would get rid of him. I don’t think she would have, but the mention of it helped me to recover

  from the disgrace of it all, at that moment anyway. And

  after that day, I vowed to respond to Honor’s silent

  plea, just as she had done for me. I did help Honor, I

  still believe to this day, although my actions were rather

  controversial, and my faith in the faeries during the time

  was a bit less than solid. I knew then, as she setme into

  her dish towel, shooed away the housecat, and mademe

  a thimble of hot cocoa to help me dry off, the rightness

  of my plans. Over the years, I have thought back on this

  very moment, often, to validate my convictions to the

  cause.

  She repeated the words, “My goodness!” several

  times, but got me to safety and nicely dried off.

  Then she kiss me upon the top of my head and

  said, “There, there, Mr. Twinks, Narn. Are you alright?

  I am so sorry,” she went on before I could answer, “We

  shall train the housecat, properly. You must be treated

  like any other guest in this household, despite your slight stature. If the kitty cat does not understand this,

  measures will be taken, I assure you. Although this must

  have dinged your pride, Mr. Twinks, I can say that

  sharing this experience with you has opened my eyes to

  what life must be like for you.” At these words, I sat

  down, almost about to weep, now, myself. I clicked my

  tongue against the top of my mouth as the taste ofdish

  soap still lingered.

  “There must be many, many dangers to you in

  this world that I hadn’t even thought about, aren’t

  there?” I nodded my head up and down. She whirled

  about the kitchen investigating objects common to her

  which could potentially pose a threat to me, while she

  mixed up a glass of 1 teaspoon camphor oil, one of

  Echinacea flowers - center parts only which she mashed

  up with a mortar and pestle - two parts goat’s milk, and

  several teaspoons of sugar.

  “Here,” she said pouring drops into a thimble,

  “drink this. I can smell with my nose you are catching a cold. Rather nasty sore throat, too. Not now, though.

  Drink. Works every time.” It tasted only slightly

  better than the dish soap, but I was too worn out to put

  up a protest, and I did as I was instructed. She refilled

  the thimble.

  “One more?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You really should,” she encouraged.

  “I’ll take my chances,” I said. Then I confessedI

  had overheard her talking with Blithe.

  “I’d like to be, here, with you tomorrow, because

  Honor, you deserve all that life has to offer - really, you

  do. I’d like to be there - with my friend - to stand up

  for you, though small we may be, to tell this Mr.

  Fitzpatrick of yours that you deserve the best of

  everything life has to offer.”

  “Why Mr. Twinks,” she said taken aback by my

  words, “that would be the kindest thing anyone has ever

  done for me. It’s like I can’t talk to Blithe about this I’ve tried. She just won’t see her own -”

  “I know,” I interrupted, “and it isn’t fair. Why

  just look at you, Honor, you’re the loveliest maid in this

  hollow. You’re kind and caring, and your sewing

  fashions are the best I’ve ever seen. Certainly that I’ve

  ever seen.”

  “You think so? Why, thank-you,” she smiled and

  then she said, “Narn.”

  “Okay!” I exclaimed at this sincere sign of

  friendship, “It’s settled, then. I’ll go find Blossom. O, I

  hope she can make it - but don’t you worry, I’ll be here!”

  I went out the same window I’d come in, as I did not

  wish to bump into the housecat who was most likely

  lounging in the front room by then, after letting himself

  in as he did.

  I set out immediately to find Blossom and invite

  her to attend a gathering at the house of the humans,

  where we were most indeed needed - almost as much, I

  felt, as in the case of Einion Gloff; and then, I felt a twinge. A twinge to which I should have paid more

  attention. A twinge arises in the area sometimes called

  ‘the gut’ and ‘a gut feeling’ is an indication to be

  followed instinctively; but, I continued on with my plan,

  almost ignoring the twinge. I would look back on this

  ‘almost’ moment someday, as continuing on was about to

  change my life, forever. I did not allow my gut’s

  in
tervention to slow me down, but looking back, my

  motivation to ‘help’ and to ‘rescue’ may have been too

  zealous, involving the fairies as I did, my new friends in

  the intensity and confusion disrupting the lives of the

  humans I’d grown to care about.

  In the end, I’m forced to wonder if humans and

  the magical wee folk - fairies, pixies, sprites - can really

  co-exist without one species trying to overtake the other.

  Was I singling Honor out, as a subject of enchantment

  because I didn’t want to be alone in my ‘different-ness’?

  Or, was I trying to master a fear of something I felt a bit

  bad about being a part of too early, too fervently? I loved the fairies, the fairy ring. I was a pixie gnome in

  the company of humans, after all, and for all these years.

  Humans had had their say in my life for as long as I

  could remember. Maybe I was simply so thrilled with

  the magical world I had seen at the Faeries’ Ring that I

  was picking out a human to throw in to the ring

  throwing Honor as a sacrifice to become part of this wild

  world entirely, like throwing out human control and its

  power of discrimination which I’d had my fill of, but

  didn’t know it, until I met Blossom and the other fairies.

  I liked Honor the best, though, but was she the weakest?

  Did that make her vulnerable? Either way, I’d disguised

  my intentions, even to myself, and that ‘twinge’ told me

  so - I just didn’t want to hear it. Not yet. I was so

  happy.

  Blossom and the fairy world filled my thoughts.

  Was I jealous of Blossom and the fairies of these North

  Woods, whom all their lives had known only the

  splendor of this fantastical world without the humans reducing their powers in any way? Sure! I had to be.

  They’d never known this world was not their own.

  They’d never worried would a human see them. Humans

  worried, here, would they see the fairies? If so, would

  the fairies be nice, or serve mischief for causes the humans

  thought unknown? I was jealous, but I was involved. I

  was now included. Maybe the twinge told me, “Letgo

  of the humans,” rather than trying to drag my two

  favorite worlds together, maybe I should have just let

  one of them go. I couldn’t let go the exciting world of

  the fairies. No, it was me! And I knew it. Just my first

  steps into the Faeries’ Ring implied - with every breath I

  took and sight I saw - a better life existed; I had been