Gold Dust Letters

by Janet Taylor Lisle

  “Will you be back for lunch?” Angela’s mother called after him. “It’s Saturday, you know. Martin called. He’s coming home early. I was thinking of making something good, like roast beef sandwiches.

  “No,” came the answer. “I have to be in the office all day. Things have mounted up. I won’t be back until late.”

  A minute later, a door shut, and Mr. Harrall was gone.

  “You know,” Georgina said to Angela later, out of Mrs. Harrall’s hearing, “your dad was trying to be nice to you. Why didn’t you want to go to the movies with him?”

  “I just didn’t.”

  “He looked really sad when you turned him down.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What do you think? Did he see Pilaria?” Georgina went on. “He was right there. He walked right into the room.”

  “Are you crazy? Of course he didn’t see her,” Angela replied in disgust. “Pilaria would never show herself to somebody like my father.”

  Chapter Eight

  (DELIVERED TO THE MANTELPIECE late Sunday night)

  DEAR PILARIA,

  I loved your letter. It’s all right if you can’t grant wishes anymore. I don’t want things like that, anyway. My parents are always buying me presents—clothes and games and stuff. They even gave me a TV of my own. I have it in my room, but I don’t like to watch it. I feel sort of lonely sitting there all by myself.

  Now I have seen you two times. Maybe you didn’t know, but the first time was a few days ago when you went down the hall to the living room late at night. Well, you probably did know. Thank you for letting me see you. I feel as if you really trust me and like me. I hope my dad didn’t upset you last night when he came in the room. He doesn’t know anything about you, so you don’t have to worry. I would never tell him or show him your letters.

  I am sorry to hear that your kingdom is in hard times. Georgina says it’s that way for everybody these days. I feel sad a lot, too, and I know what you mean about stiff faces. In my house, people don’t say what is on their minds, either.

  Respectfully yours,

  ANGELA HARRALL

  Fourth Earth (I guess)

  (Received on the mantelpiece on Friday morning)

  ANGELA:

  I, Pilaria, known also as the Gray-Eyed Faerie, send greetings from my invisible world. Your letter amazed me. We are not so different as I’d thought. I was sorry to hear that you, also, are lonely sometimes. When I saw you with your friends the other night, I imagined you to be the happiest of mortals. I am a full-time worker for the Kingdom of the Faeries. This means constant flying to distant parts of the globe. There is a great deal to be done every day. Did you know that we invisibles (as we call ourselves) help birds stay on course during their migrations? We are responsible for informing fish of their position in the vast oceans. We also keep records of volcanic eruptions and earthquakes, big storms, tidal waves, and other natural disasters. It is hard to find time in between to make friends. I’m afraid I have grown out of practice over the years. Can you give me some advice? You are obviously a person who knows about this subject.

  Respectfully yours,

  PILARIA

  of the Kingdom of the Faeries,

  Eighth Tribe, Fourth Earth,

  Under the Sun-Star Aravan,

  May It Shine on Our Land

  Forever and Ever

  (Delivered to the mantelpiece Saturday night)

  DEAR PILARIA,

  You are so beautiful. I can’t believe you don’t have hundreds of friends! When I saw you on the mantelpiece, I could hardly breathe! Do all invisibles have such shining, golden wings?

  To make a good friend, you only have to think what things look like from her side. (Or his side.) Sometimes it isn’t easy. Georgina makes me mad when she tries to boss me around, so I don’t feel like looking from her side anymore. Why should I? She isn’t looking from my side, either. Poco is a very nice person. I would always be friends with her if she didn’t have to talk to those dumb animals all the time.

  Respectfully yours,

  ANGELA HARRALL

  P.S. I don’t mean Juliette.

  P.P.S. Can you explain what Eighth Tribe, Fourth Earth means? Where is the Sun-Star Aravan?

  (Received on Friday morning)

  ANGELA:

  I, Pilaria, known also as the Gray-Eyed Faerie, send sincere thanks for your advice on the matter of friends. I had not thought about them in that way before. I will try it.

  You asked about Eighth Tribe, Fourth Earth, etc. They describe my time and place in the cosmos. The Kingdom of the Faeries is very ancient. Invisibles were here on earth from earliest times, and have existed through three different ages on this planet. First Earth was a time of bare land and mighty oceans. Second Earth was warm and saw the rise of jungles. During Third Earth the first animals and birds made their appearance. It is only during the present Fourth Earth that you mortals have appeared among us.

  There are presently ten tribes of faeries wandering the planet Earth. I am a member of the eighth.

  Have I said that Aravan is an ancient name for the sun? We are all (animals, plants, mortals, and invisibles) under the Sun-Star Aravan together. All of us would be lost if our great yellow star should cease its glow.

  I am golden to your eye. To others, I may appear in different colors. And shapes.

  Respectfully yours,

  PILARIA

  of the K. of the F.,

  E.T., F.E.,

  U.T.S.S.A.,

  M.I.S.O.O.L.F.&E.

  (Delivered to the mantelpiece on Saturday night)

  DEAR PILARIA,

  My friends Poco and Georgina are very interested in you. They wanted me to ask if you would let them see you. Would next Friday night be all right? My brother will be away on a football trip and my father has to go to South America on business. Please say yes.

  Respectfully,

  ANGELA HARRALL

  Fourth Earth,

  U.T.S.S.A.,

  M.I.S.O.O.L.F.&E.

  (Received Monday morning)

  ANGELA:

  I, Pilaria, known also as the Gray-Eyed Faerie, am pleased to grant your wish.

  On the morning that Angela received this last letter, the three friends went into a state of wild, barely controlled excitement. They walked the halls at school with glowing eyes. They met around corners for mysterious conversations and passed notes to each other during classes.

  At lunch, they could be seen forgetting to eat their sandwiches as they spoke in low voices at a table near the wall. But the worst was soccer practice, where they had to be separated three times by Mr. Corelli, the coach, for bunching together and talking on the field.

  “Girls!” he howled. “Where is our team spirit? Where is our defense? The goal is wide open to enemy attack! Must we have a summit conference after every play?”

  “No, Mr. Corelli.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Corelli.”

  “Good grief!” Georgina whispered to Poco, as they sat together briefly on the sidelines bench. “School is getting more impossible every day. They herd us like cattle from class to class, and scramble our brains with formulas and rules, and then they take away the one thing every American—man, woman, and child—has a right to in this country.”

  “What’s that?” Poco asked.

  “Freedom of speech!” Georgina hissed, with a furious glance at Mr. Corelli. “It’s written in the Constitution, in case you didn’t know.”

  Poco had heard about this vaguely before, but somehow had never applied it to real life.

  “That is so interesting!” she said. “A lot of friends of mine have exactly the same trouble. Rabbits, for instance. They’ve had to keep their voices low for years because no one likes the sound of their high little shrieks. The only time you hear a rabbit really talk is when it’s stuck somewhere or about to be killed.”

  Georgina was opening her mouth to tell Poco that this was, by far, the weird
est remark she had ever made, when Mr. Corelli ordered them both back onto the field. They brushed past Angela coming toward the bench, but no one dared to stop and talk. By now, Mr. Corelli was stamping around like a power-mad military dictator and not allowing anyone even to pass the ball without his permission.

  Pilaria’s promise to appear before the group was incredible and miraculous but, like many miracles, it was going to require some management to put into action. The friends had no illusions about this. They went to work immediately after school that afternoon.

  First, and most difficult, was the problem of persuading Angela’s mother to allow another sleepover so soon after the first.

  “Especially since we were not exactly perfect guests the last time,” Georgina pointed out. The three were walking along the sidewalk toward the Rusk home, where they planned to consult at length.

  “Maybe she’s forgiven us,” Angela said. “She was terribly nice the next morning at breakfast. And she’s never mentioned it since.”

  “Are you sure your father won’t be there?” Georgina asked. “I don’t think my nerves could stand running into him again.”

  “Positive. He left this morning for a week. Something happened in his business down in South America. My mother is furious because he waited until the last minute to tell her.”

  “I guess the best way is for you to ask your mom tonight, then,” Georgina went on. “And try to break down her arguments one by one.”

  “Oh no,” said Poco, who had been trailing behind gazing up into trees along the street. “The best way is for all three of us to go and ask her. Then she won’t have any arguments.”

  “Why not?” asked Angela and Georgina, slowing down to walk with her.

  “It’s a well-known tactic in the bird world,” Poco said with a shrug. “Say you’re a wild duck, and you want to persuade another wild duck to fly south with you for the winter. If you go to her and say, ‘Let’s fly south,’ she’ll probably have all these reasons why she doesn’t want to leave right now, or she doesn’t like the route you picked, or something. It’s duck nature to be grumpy about new ideas. But if a group of ducks decides, ‘We are going south for the winter!’ then the one duck is a lot more likely to be persuaded. She doesn’t want to make a fuss and look bad in front of the others. Besides, the trip begins to sound like more fun.”

  Angela and Georgina had stopped walking by the time Poco finished. They stared in awe at their friend.

  “That is so right!” Georgina exclaimed after a moment.

  “It sounds just like my mother, too,” Angela said. “She’d hate to disappoint all three of us at once.”

  “Where do you pick up these things?” asked Georgina, her eyes narrowing into their old suspicious squint. “I know it’s not really from birds.”

  “It most certainly is from birds!” Poco declared.

  “Of course it’s from birds,” Angela said. She gave Georgina a warning look. “Poco should know where she gets her information.”

  Georgina sighed. “Okay, okay. In that case, what are we doing walking to my house? We should be going to Angela’s to talk to her mother.”

  At this, as if they were a flock of wild ducks themselves, the three friends spun around in a single swoop and began to walk briskly in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Nine

  POCO’S BIRD TACTIC WORKED so well on Mrs. Harrall that, before she knew it, she had agreed to take the group to a movie on Friday night, as well as allow another sleepover. She insisted on only one thing.

  “You must all be in bed no later than midnight,” she told the friends. “That is reasonable, don’t you think? A little too reasonable for your age, in fact, so please don’t tell your mothers, Poco and Georgina. They will think me weak-kneed and unable to stand up to children. Then I won’t be allowed to hold sleepovers in the future.”

  Everybody laughed at this. “Don’t worry, Mom,” Angela said. “No one will tell.”

  “Mrs. Harrall, you are the best mother,” Poco exclaimed. “Would it be all right if Juliette spent the night with us, too? In Angela’s room, I mean, instead of under the radiator? She could sleep in my bed. I wouldn’t mind at all. She doesn’t get invited to very many sleepovers, you know.”

  “Oh, certainly,” said Mrs. Harrall, giving Poco a curious glance. “How kind of you to think of her.”

  So the night was arranged, and the friends settled down to wait out the week. By Friday, they were twitching with impatience. In the afternoon, Georgina and Poco walked home with Angela, as they had on the other Friday. There was no need to investigate the house this time, however. Angela had received no new letters all week. She had not sent any letters to Pilaria either, wanting not to bother her at such a delicate moment.

  The minute they arrived at the Harralls’ house, Poco went to speak to Juliette. But the cat was dull and unresponsive, and kept falling asleep in the middle of questions. It was as if her cat spirit had flown off somewhere, leaving the big, lumpy body sprawled behind on the floor.

  “Juliette. For goodness’ sakes! What is wrong with you?” Poco cried.

  Georgina pursed her lips. “I expect I know,” she said. “I expect she’s sick of acting like a person and has decided to act like a plain old fat cat for a while. Everybody needs a vacation, you know.”

  Poco scowled.

  At five o’clock the group ate an early supper. At six, they went with Mrs. Harrall to the movie theater, where they sat and wiggled through the film like a group of three-year-olds.

  “This movie seems so stupid and fake,” Georgina whispered to Angela when the first half hour had gone by. “I can hardly wait to get back to your house. Do you think Pilaria will look different to us than she does to you? Remember in her letter when she said—”

  A loud shushing came from the person sitting behind them. Georgina shut her mouth and slouched angrily in her seat.

  “Did you bring your mom’s camera again?” Poco whispered to Georgina a little later.

  “Yes! And this time I won’t forget about it. I’m going to get a picture of Pilaria no matter what.”

  By nine o’clock, they were home again, wandering about the house with restless eyes. Angela’s mother looked tired. She had hardly spoken all evening, which was unusual for her.

  “If you girls don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed,” she said apologetically. “I started working longer hours at the bank this week. I’m all worn out. I know you will take care of yourselves.”

  “We will. Good-night.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  “Good-night.”

  “Sleep well. Nighty-night.”

  “Night.”

  “Good grief!” Georgina’s jaw clenched in exasperation.

  “Everything is so boringly ordinary!” she exploded, when Mrs. Harrall had finally disappeared into her room. They were all sitting on Angela’s bed. “First dinner, then a movie, then those horrible nighty-nights. I can’t stand it anymore! This is beginning to seem like every other sleepover that ever was in the world. When is something interesting going to happen?

  There was the briefest of silences after this outburst, just long enough to hear a few notes from Mrs. Harrall’s classical music station float down the hall. Then, incredibly, something did happen.

  Very slowly, the door of Angela’s room began to move. Inch by inch it swung into the room until it was about halfway open. With a ghostly squeak, it came to a halt. A large gray shadow shot across the threshold and disappeared under the bed.

  “What was that!” whispered Angela.

  Georgina’s eyes grew round with fright.

  Poco rose to her knees and bent over to lift up Angela’s bedspread.

  “It’s Juliette!” she cried, as the cat sauntered back into view. “Look, she’s come awake!”

  There was no doubt that Juliette wished to tell them something. She padded over to the middle of the rug, looked up with wide, anxious eyes, and mewed. When no one moved, she mewed again, long and
plaintively. She sat down and began to lick a paw.

  “What’s she saying?” Georgina asked Poco, without taking her eyes off the cat.

  “There’s someone downstairs,” Poco answered softly. “Juliette is telling us that someone has come.”

  Angela sucked in her breath. “Who?”

  “She isn’t saying,” Poco replied. “But it might be—”

  “Pilaria!”

  “Not already,” objected Georgina. “It’s too early.”

  Angela climbed off the bed. Juliette was on her feet again and had started to walk toward the door. When she reached it, she paused and looked back at them.

  “She wants us to follow her,” Angela said. “I can understand that without even speaking Siamese.”

  Poco and Georgina slid off the bed and the three girls went quietly across the room. They paused in the doorway. Mrs. Harrall had turned out the hall lights. The whole house was in blackness.

  “Should I get my flashlight?” Angela asked.

  Georgina shook her head. “Not enough time,” she whispered, thinking suddenly of the camera. No wonder magic beings were so rarely photographed. There was never enough time to catch them in the act. “Look! There goes Juliette.”

  A flash of gray streaked away down the hall and disappeared in the dark. The girls crept out and followed. When they reached the stairs, they looked down. A pale glow was coming from the living room. It cast a dim rectangle of light into the hall—just as before. Only now—what was that? The friends’ eyes opened wide. The dark figure of a cat stood poised upon the threshold.

  “How did Juliette get downstairs so fast?” Georgina whispered. “It’s not natural.”

  Poco didn’t answer. Angela was already starting to descend. They moved together down the stairs, a close, nervous band of white faces and cold hands. The air in the hall seemed thick, unbreathable.

  “Angela! Wait! Juliette has disappeared,” Georgina whispered.

  “She went in the living room.”

  “No, there she is again!”

  “Keep going. Hurry up!”

  The old cat seemed worried about losing them. She stalked in and out across the doorway, gazing sometimes into the room, sometimes at the approaching group. They reached the bottom step and moved out into the hall. The dim light in the living room flickered suddenly, as if it were beckoning. They crept to the doorway and peeped in.