My Fairy Godmonster

by Denice Hughes Lewis

  I push gently on the top of the head and move it forward and down toward the front hooves. A contraction hits and I gasp from the muscles clenching my arm like a vise. Sweat drips down my face. I slip my arm out before the next contraction.

  Sunny whinnies and lies down. The second hoof comes out.

  I hold my breath. The head comes out. Sitting back in relief, I wait for the rest of the delivery.

  Sunny’s nostrils quiver. Another contraction doesn’t move the foal.

  “Please come, please come.”

  Sunny whinnies and doesn’t look like she’s resting between contractions. I take a deep breath and grab a dry towel from the foal kit. Gently, I wrap it around the foal’s slippery feet. Hold my breath and pull down toward the mare’s feet. The foal moves a few inches. I stop and gasp for breath along with Sunny. I know the hips come next and I pray they’ll slip out fast and easy.

  The minutes creep by, punctuated by cracks of lightning. Still no hips.

  Another contraction hits. I grab the foal’s feet and try to rotate the hips. The foal slips out, and I land on my butt with the baby horse in my lap. The clear sack covering the foal shines like a present.

  I can’t stand up with the weight. I scoot across the straw and slide the foal off my lap by Sunny’s head. She starts licking off the sac. I crawl away to give her space. Panting, I fumble around in the foal kit, find the watch and check the time of birth. Seven thirty-three.

  My body is rock-hard with tension. I sit nervously to see signs of life from the foal. It wiggles its head. Tears leak down my face. Great sobs of relief shake through me.

  Sunny rests for about ten minutes after removing the sac and then stands up, breaking the umbilical cord.

  I coat the foal’s navel to protect against infection and realize we have a colt. Another possible stallion for Smith’s Paso Finos.

  I sit there in the gloom. Grinning. Drained. Unable to move a muscle. Thunder rolls in the distance. If Dad approves, I want to call the colt, Storm.

  Encouraged by his mother, the colt tries to stand. He makes it up on his two front feet and collapses. Tries three times before he stands there wobbling on four legs. I stare in rapt joy. He’s perfect. Black, like his sire, with a white blaze on his forehead and three white socks.

  Sunny licks him all over and I start to dry him with a towel. The mare expels the afterbirth and I clean it up, sighing with relief. My legs drag in slow motion. I’m so tired I can hardly stand.

  Shoving the foal kit and towels out the door, I crawl back inside the stall. Turning the lantern on low, I sit against the wall watching the foal nurse. My eyes close with heaviness.

  “Win! Are you in here?”

  I wake with a start. Sunny nickers.

  “Win?”

  It’s Jac! I stumble up and let myself out of the stall. “Back here!”

  A light shines in my face with three shadows hovering behind it.

  “Too bright!” I yell painfully. The flashlight moves.

  Jac says, “Oh, gross. Is that dried blood?”

  Her mom stares at me in horror. “Oh, Chiquita, what has happened? How you hurt yourself?”

  Peering into the stall, her dad says, “I think Winifred just delivered a foal. Congratulations!”

  I grin. “Thanks.”

  Jac and her mom join Mr. Garcia in looking at the colt.

  “Ooh, he’s so cute!” says Jac.

  “A beauty,” adds her Mom.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Mrs. Garcia says, “My Jacinda call cell phone when we get back from vacation.

  Your dad tell us you stay home and no go to restaurant. When lights go out, we worry for you.”

  “How come you’re not at the rehearsal dinner?” asks Jac.

  “Long story.”

  “You come inside. Get clean and tell us,” her mom insists.

  My throat tightens with her genuine concern.

  We go to the kitchen and suddenly the lights come on, flooding the room. I blink in the brightness.

  “Gotta’ clean up,” I say wearily.

  I’m glad I didn’t have time to put the clean clothes upstairs. Staggering to the laundry room, I wash up and pull on jeans and a t-shirt. Then drag into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Garcia puts a bowl of ice cream in front of me. My favorite.

  “Eat, you look like scarecrow,” she says.

  I dig in and the small, chocolate peanut butter cups melt in my mouth. I should have tried ice cream sooner. It’s the only food that’s tasted good all day.

  “Talk,” Jac says.

  I tell them everything, except about Fairy Godmonster.

  “What ruined the wedding heart?” Jac asks.

  “They don’t know.” I don’t lie, but I can’t tell her the truth.

  Mr. and Mrs. Garcia whisper together.

  “We can use your phone?” asks Mrs. Garcia.

  “Sure.”

  She makes one phone call and turns, smiling. “I have big surprise for you.”

  I love Mrs. Garcia’s accent. She is the only one in her family who doesn’t speak perfect English. Mr. Garcia was born in America and married her in a poor village in Mexico when he was in the Peace Corps.

  Twenty minutes later, I hear a bunch of cars honking in the driveway.

  Mr. Garcia smiles. “The troops have arrived.”

  “He watches old war movies,” laughs Jac.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, opening the front door.

  Jac’s brothers and sisters, wives and husbands stand on the porch. About twenty-five people. They smile, say “Hi” and swarm into the house.

  I gasp. “What are they doing here?”

  Mrs. Garcia says, “We rebuild decoration. Before David get home.”

  I shake my head. I don’t think I hear her right. “What? Where are the kids?”

  “Angelita is watching them,” Jac says.

  Angelita is Jac’s sixteen-year-old sister.

  “How many cousins do you have?”

  “About forty,” she answers.

  “Forty! How can she take care of them?”

  Jac laughs. “Don’t worry. Some are at camp. Besides, we all take care of each other.”

  I guide the family to the hay barn. “There it is.” I point to the broken pieces.

  “Bello!” exclaims Mrs. Garcia. She turns to her husband. “Can we fix in time?”

  Jac’s Dad looks around at the leftover supplies. “Yes. If we stay organized. I leave that to you, my love.”

  The family works hard and fast, cutting, twisting and piecing the broken parts together like a puzzle. Her brothers, Raoul and Jesus, skillfully weave the different vines. Although Jac’s dad is a banker, her whole family is artistic. They work together like a machine.

  Jac and I keep out of their way. We carry lemonade to the workers. Occasionally, Mrs. Garcia asks me a question about what the heart looked like.

  Three hours later, the last string of lights is added.

  We follow all the men as they carry the heart to the garden and secure it to the footings. I’m surprised there is little water on the ground after the storm. I glance over at the tent and see it hovering like a white ghost.

  My legs feel like concrete as I move one leg in front of the other. I blink with light-headedness.

  Mr. Garcia plugs in the lights.

  I can hardly breathe with the beauty that shines in the darkness. I stumble to Mrs. Garcia. “I will never be able to thank you enough.”

  “Your smile is thanks enough, Chiquita. We get you to bed now and see you at wedding tomorrow.”

  We start moving out of the garden toward the kitchen, me in the middle of this amazing family.

  Dad comes racing out of the house.

  “Winifred! Winifred!”

  “Here Dad.”

  The family moves apart.

  “I saw all the cars and panicked! Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I whisper. I take a step toward him and
fall into blackness.

  Chapter 26: Proceed With Caution

  My mind swims with drifting voices.

  “Why you work girl to skin and bones?” asks Mrs. Garcia.

  Weasel replies, “You didn’t tell us you hire immigrant workers, Charles.”

  Dad’s insistent voice orders, “David, call the doctor. Winifred. Please wake up.”

  I drag open heavy eyelids and see Dad’s pale face wrinkled with worry. “Did you have a good dinner?” I murmur.

  “Thank God.” Dad instantly looks twenty years younger. He sinks to the floor next

  to the sofa I’m lying on. I look at the ceiling and wonder how I got into the living room.

  I sit up and a kaleidoscope of staring faces swirl in dizziness. “Ooohhh.” I catch a glimpse of Scott. Two of him. Whoa, he looks totally awesome in a suit.

  Dad rises off the floor and gently pushes me back onto the pillows. “Don’t move.”

  “Doc’s coming,” says David, hurrying into the room. “Just got home from delivering twins a few minutes ago.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I’m just tired and excited.”

  Claire leans over me. “Here’s a drink of water.”

  I smile. “Thanks.” I gulp down the water and hand her the glass.

  Weasel stares at the mob of Jac’s family, her eyes tight knots of fear. She takes

  Daria’s hand. “Time for bed.”

  “I want to meet the black people.”

  The room is instantly silent.

  “Shush, Daria. These people are not black,” whispers Weasel. She looks like she is about to faint.

  “Who are they?” asks Daria.

  Dad says, “They are my friends.”

  Mr. Dudley propels Daria up the stairs. “Mind your mother.”

  Daria whines as she and her dad disappear, “Daddy, I want to meet those brown people.”

  I sit up, breaking the tension. “I need to show you something, Dad.”

  “You are not moving until the doctor comes, young lady.”

  “But, Dad - ”

  “Absolutely not!”

  I sigh. “Mrs. Garcia, would you mind showing David and Claire the garden?”

  “Of course,” she says, glaring at Weasel. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Whoa, I guess Mrs. Garcia can speak proper English when she wants to.

  David grabs Claire’s hand and Mrs. Garcia hustles them out of the room.

  “Can I come, too?” John asks as he follows them.

  I laugh at Dad’s perplexed face. “What’s going on, Winifred?”

  “They fixed the wedding heart.”

  “What!”

  “It was a delightful task,” says Mr. Garcia.

  Dad shakes Mr. Garcia’s hand. “Thank you, José. You must have been here all night.”

  Mr. Garcia smiles proudly. “It doesn’t take long when many hands work together.”

  Dad looks around at the smiling faces. “I thank all of you.”

  “I speak for all of my family when I say, you are welcome,” says Mr. Garcia. “You should be very proud of your daughter, Charles. She did a very grown-up thing tonight. And in the dark.” Mr. Garcia pats Dad on the back.

  “The dark?” Dad frowns.

  “We lost the electricity, Dad.”

  “And no generator without the new part. I’m sorry Winifred.”

  Jac grabs my hand and stations herself next to me on the sofa. “She’s a heroine, Mr. Smith.”

  All of Jac’s family claps in applause. I choke up and hold back the tears.

  “What are you talking about?” asks Dad.

  I grin. “Sunny needed help with her delivery. The foal’s head was turned.”

  Dad looks shocked. “You delivered a foal? You could have been hurt with a maiden mare.”

  “What else could I do? Only one foot was showing. The electricity went off before I could call the vet.”

  Scott grins. “Awesome. I can’t wait to hear the whole story.”

  I grin back. “Dad, we have another stallion for Smith’s Paso Finos.”

  Dad collapses in a chair. “A colt. Oh, Winifred, if you hadn’t been here, we might have had two dead horses.”

  “Can I name him Storm, Dad? Please?”

  “You earned that and more.” He touches my face and gives me such a loving look that a burst of warmth spreads through my heart. Then he hugs me fiercely. “I am so proud of you.”

  David and Claire run into the living room. David’s smile spreads across his face. Claire wipes tears from her face.

  “Thank you, Garcia family!” shouts David. He starts shaking hands with them and introducing Claire.

  Mrs. Garcia says, “It is time to go home.” She kisses my cheek. “You rest, Chiquita.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Garcia,” I whisper, so full of gratitude that I can hardly speak.

  Jac squeezes my hand and leans toward me. “Is that Scott?”

  I nod.

  “When you get a boyfriend, you do it right. See you tomorrow.”

  I know I turn bright red. Somehow, it doesn’t bother me anymore.

  Wives, brothers, sisters and husbands head for the door.

  Weasel cringes and flattens herself against the wall as they leave.

  Mrs. Garcia smiles coldly at her. “Your Ralph Lauren suit is extremely attractive. I prefer Vera Wang’s designs. She’s infinitely more open-minded.” She stretches to her full height of five feet and sweeps past Weasel and out the door.

  Weasel can’t hide her shocked face. “I–I think it’s time for bed. Thank you for the dinner, Charles. Good night.” She hurries out of the room as the doorbell rings.

  Dad lets the doctor in.

  Dr. Waverly hustles past him and into the house like a tall, bustling bee. “Having a party? I would have been here five minutes ago, except for the long walk past the parked cars. Lovely night for a walk, though. All dazzling stars after the storm. Hi, David. Nice to see you. Who is this ravishing woman?”

  David laughs. “Claire, this is Dr. Waverly. Dr. Waverly, my fiancée, Claire Dudley.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” says Claire, blushing.

  Dr. Waverly pumps Claire’s hand. “Congratulations. Congratulations. Nothing like a wedding to spice things up.”

  Dad pats the doctor on the back. “Thanks for coming, Tom. I know you must be tired.”

  Dr. Waverly laughs. “Goes with the territory, goes with the territory. Where’s the patient and what’s she done now?”

  Dad pulls up a chair for the doctor. “Winifred fainted. I’m really worried.”

  The doctor looks sternly into my face. ”Stitches would have helped that cut. Have you been eating properly? You look like a scrawny beanpole. Tell me, what’s going on?”

  Dr. Waverly is the fastest talker in the world. Usually, I love to be around him. Tonight, he’s exhausting.

  I cringe at the concerned faces looming over me.

  “Not here,” I say.

  “Everybody out, except for her father. Out, out, out.” Dr. Waverly dismisses them with a flick of his wrist.

  After thirty seconds of ‘goodnights, get betters,’ and a wink from Scott that tingles my toes, the room clears.

  Dr. Waverly is finished a half-an-hour later. My eyelids are as heavy as horseshoes.

  “I don’t think there’s anything major wrong with you that a few meals and a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” the doctor says. “To be sure, I want you to stay in bed until the wedding. If you’re not feeling better by then, I’ll see you in my office Monday morning.”

  “But I need to finish the cleaning, help with the wedding, check on the colt - ”

  “No, no, and no. Bed rest until the wedding. That’s an order. Understand?” Dr. Waverly looks like all adults when they expect you to obey them.

  “Yes, Sir,” I mumble.

  Dad laughs. “I’ll lock her in her room if necessary.”

  I can’t bear to be alone without Fairy Godmonster. “Can
Kong stay with me?”

  Dad says, “Of course. I’ll get him after I help you up.”

  “I’m not an invalid.”

  “I know. You just want breakfast in bed.” He smiles.

  The world gets better, for a little while.

  Chapter 27: Pedestrian Crossing

  I crawl into bed. The room is empty without Fairy Godmonster. My throat is so closed up, I can hardly swallow.

  Kong bounds into the room and jumps on the bed.

  Dad goes to close my window.

  “Please, leave it open, Dad.” I still hope Fairy Godmonster will come back.

  “Goodnight, Win.” Dad kisses my cheek. “I am so proud of you.” He quietly tiptoes out and closes the door.

  “Goodbye, Faro,” I whisper to myself. I’m asleep as soon as I put my arms around Kong.

  It seems like a minute when a knock on the door brings me swimming up from a foggy dream. I check the clock. It’s already ten o’clock.

  “I bring food,” says Dad, knocking on the door.

  I put on my robe. “Come in.”

  My stomach growls when I smell breakfast.

  “Good morning!” Dad sets the tray on my bed.

  “Umm, smells yummy.” Maple syrup runs off golden brown waffles surrounded by fried eggs and bacon.

  “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “Starving.”

  “Thank goodness, you have a little more color in your face today. You really had me worried.”

  Dad sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of what went on around here while I was gone. How will you ever be able to forgive me for leaving you here to cope with everything by yourself? For doubting you? I have no excuse for the way I treated you. That female scrambled my brain.”

  “Which one? I ask.

  “Mrs. Dudley.”

  I lick the sweet, sticky syrup dripping off my fork. “Let’s call her Weasel.”

  The corners of Dad’s mouth twitch.

  I stare into his face. He laughs. Like a big bass drum. I sigh. It’s nice to have Dad back.

  “I have never met such an annoying, exasperating, infuriating woman. Your mother was never like that. Will you forgive me?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  He winces and then I remember and ask, “How is the colt?”