by A. L. Knorr
“Aye, maybe it was stupid. I just wanted you to take more memories home with you than gardening,” he gave a dry laugh.
“Oh, don’t worry. I will,” I said, shivering and remembering the sound of his voice, murmuring in Gaelic to beings I couldn’t see.
“Usually, there’s only one or two out around Eithne.” He shuddered. “I wonder why there were so many out tonight?”
“The pounding music and the crowd might have had something to do with it,” I muttered, still steaming. “What did they want?”
“What they always want,” Jasher said as we approached Sarasborne and turned into the dark yard. “To be heard. Favors.”
“Favors?” I asked as we walked up the path toward the dark house.
“Aye, strange things. They want you to get a message to their relatives, who are in fact dead themselves, or to dig something up they buried, or do things that make no sense at all, like attend a concert on their behalf.”
“What?” I stopped halfway up the walk. “Why?”
“Who knows, Georjie?” He sighed, and I saw the exhaustion hanging on him like a heavy coat. His handsome face looked drawn and off-color. “Let’s focus on life instead,” he said, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers. “We’ve got a greenhouse with life in it, and we’re going to be there when it hatches. Now shush,” he said as we entered the mudroom. “Faith is a light sleeper.” He stopped and looked at me in the gloom. “Maybe, don’t tell her what happened tonight,” he whispered.
“Why not?” Going to the party was Faith’s idea.
“She’ll feel terrible. She doesn’t know the… extent of it. I never talk about them with her anymore, so it’s my fault for lulling her into a sense of security.”
I agreed to his request and didn’t probe him for more about the ghosts, but I also did a lot of tossing and turning that night.
Chapter 14
As the days passed and the horrible night of the party fell into the past, Jasher and I became more excited for the big moment when the fae would hatch. The house found its rhythm and I began to feel like I belonged. Most mornings, I was up early and out for a run before seven and back for my shower by eight and then breakfast. I have never been a fan of breakfast. I rarely wake up hungry and I prefer dinner type foods, but Faith changed all that. Her piping hot scones fresh from the oven were to die for. She made delicious pancakes, the perfect soft-boiled egg, and beautiful fruit salads that included edible flowers. She single-handedly vaporized the stereotype of boring Irish cooking.
I had more strange dreams, all feeling like episodes from the same show, and each time it happened I would wake fuzzy and grasping to remember. By the time lunch rolled around, I’d forget them almost completely.
I almost never saw Jasher at breakfast. He's an early riser, and by early I mean disgustingly early. He was up and out of the house by five thirty a.m. He went to work in the morning and was back by three. He sometimes napped in the afternoon, always outside in a hammock, unless it was raining. I was intimidated at how much he could accomplish in one day and it pushed me to do more with my time. I worked on my photo composition course at The Criterion. I'd update my social platforms, check email, and indulge in my guiltiest pleasure - shopping online.
In the afternoons, I would help Jasher with one of his projects or take Faith's townie out to run an errand for her. Sometimes Jasher and I would go into Ana together. He'd go to the lumber yard and hardware store while I browsed antique shops. We always had to agree on a time to meet up because Jasher didn't carry a phone. I teased him about living in the dark ages, but inside, I appreciated his commitment to living a tech-free life. It was something I knew I could never do. My tech meant I could touch base with my friends whenever I missed them.
I'd help Faith in the garden, pulling weeds, deadheading, and pruning. It was while helping Faith weed one day, that the signs of a transformation began to whisper at the edges of my consciousness. It wasn't jarring, but it was also impossible to ignore.
I put my fingers on a plant, feeling the soft hairs on the leaves with the pads of my fingers. "Comfrey," I said. "Good for bone repair."
Faith, weeding nearby, looked up. "How did you know that?"
I frowned. "You must have told me." But, I couldn't actually recall her telling me about this particular species. I chalked it up to a mystery of the mind. Sometimes you just know things but don't know how you learned them. Faith shook her head like she couldn't recall telling me either, and went back to her work.
The grounds of Sarasborne were huge and there was always work to do, although I think Jasher thought of it as his playtime. He'd long since finished the renovation on the greenhouse roof and had started building the addition - a lab of sorts for Aunt Faith.
Faith usually joined me for breakfast and then left for the morning to visit clients. Sometimes she'd be gone all day but she'd spend a couple of hours every day out in the gardens and in her workshop.
On one of my morning runs, my eye caught on several tall plants with short stalked flowers clustered on the branches. Again, I knew the plant. Why did I know this plant? I stopped jogging and stepped into the ditch to examine it. I touched a leaf and bent to smell it when information zinged through my fingertips and into my mind. Burdock - a blood cleanser, a powerful detoxifier. The medicinal properties and chemical makeup of the plant filled my mind. I let go of the leaf, but the knowledge stayed. I shook my head. Aunt Faith must have told me about this plant while we were gardening, I just couldn't remember it. I backed away and continued my run. It seems daft that I rationalized it away like that, now that I look back. But that's what we do when something makes us uncomfortable - we rationalize.
But as I jogged down the driveway back to the house, it happened again. I passed a cluster of long stemmed plants with small yellow flowers. I stopped and looked at the tiny, daisy-like blossoms. The side door to the house opened and Faith came out carrying a bucket of compost.
"Morning Georjie. How was your run?"
"You've got Jacobaea Vulgarus growing there," I said, pointing. "It's deadly." I didn't even need to touch it to know.
Faith gave a surprised laugh. "Yes, but most people call it ragwort. Or even better," she cocked an eyebrow, "mare's fart." She threw fruit and veggie cuttings into the composter behind the garage. "I keep it for the pollinators."
I nodded. Thirty-two species of endangered insects feed on ragwort nectar. It's their only food source. I blinked, trying to remember how I knew that. I must have learned about it in school at some point.
"Come on in for breakfast,” Faith said. She went back inside with her empty compost bucket.
I followed her inside. ”Are you all packed for Aberdeen?"
"Aye." Faith picked up a pair of potholders and opened the oven. The smell of fresh scones wafted out. "You going to miss me?"
I took a big whiff and groaned with pleasure. "Nah. Just your baking."
She laughed and flicked me with the tea towel.
"Are you excited for your course?" I asked.
"Very." She scooped a scone up with a spatula and put it on a plate, then handed it to me. "When I left nursing to work on my own, I promised myself I'd do a course every year. It's a present to me."
"Now look who's the keener," I said, buttering the scone and watching it melt.
A look of guilt crossed Faith's face. "You guys will be okay?"
"Ha! If you'd asked me that when I first arrived, I would have clung to your leg and begged you not to leave." I shrugged. "Jasher and I made peace. You don't need to worry."
Her face relaxed. "Thank God."
I smiled. "Just enjoy your course. You're going to miss the fae hatching, though."
She shrugged and looked wistful. "I can't see them anyway. You can tell me all about it when I get back."
Every day after breakfast I went to look at the cocoon. I examined it carefully for hairline cracks and color changes. I was drawn to it as though there was an invisible elastic between us.
>
I had been wrestling with myself about telling my friends about all of this – the fae, the ghosts that Jasher could see. How do you explain supernatural things like that to someone who can't and probably never will see such a thing? They'd all think I was a nut. Maybe not Targa, she was pretty open minded. But I broke into a clammy sweat when I thought about telling even her.
I wanted to take a photo of the cocoon, but there was no way I would ever take my phone into the greenhouse. I had a new respect for the tiny super-computer that I was so addicted to. I still took it with me on my runs because I loved snapping photos of the Irish countryside. But I never left it sitting out, and I never took it into the greenhouse or garden.
As the cocoon had deepened in color, I had started getting up earlier and earlier to check it. Soon I was checking it a dozen times a day, afraid that I was going to miss it. Jasher laughed at my eagerness but he frequented the greenhouse more often, too. It became our meeting place. When it finally happened, it was the day after Faith had left for Aberdeen and first thing in the morning. Along with all of the other odd bits of knowledge that had somehow found their way into my head, I woke early and knew it was about to happen.
Chapter 15
I sprang out of bed and padded down the stairs in my pajama shorts and tank top. I regretted not getting dressed when I saw Jasher seated on a short stool in front of the cocoon. He turned and smiled. He jerked his head at me, the masculine equivalent of crooking a finger. Apparently I wasn't the only one who woke up knowing the big event was upon us.
Jasher had set up a folding table and had a leather-bound sketchbook open to a blank page, as well as a bunch of oil pastels spread out in a tray beside him. He'd selected a number of pastels from the purple and red spectrum. I had never seen so many variations on a color before. "You're going to draw it?"
Jasher nodded. "Of course. It’s tradition."
Something clicked into place. “You’re the one who drew the little faerie on the envelope,” I said.
Jasher gave me a vacant look, and then clued in. “Oh, the letter Faith wrote to your mom?” He grinned. “Aye, that was me. I’d forgotten about that.”
I crouched near him and examined the cocoon. "There's a crack!"
Jasher clamped his teeth around his pencil and reached for another stool. He put it beside him and I took a seat. "It won't be long now. I was about to come up and get you."
We watched as the miracle unfolded before our eyes. The cocoon was open all the way down the middle now, and tiny movement was detectable. I felt as though frozen in time. The creature that emerged was exquisite. The purple color that had shown through the cocoon had clearly come from her wings and hair. A faint glow surrounded her, and I saw what Jasher meant about them looking almost like ghosts. I could see the outline of leaves behind her. She was delicate, and I shivered at the thought of what a cell phone could do to her. Her eyes were closed, her wings damp and creased. The cocoon was now a transparent shell as it opened away from her. Her limbs were folded in on herself and her head lay on her knees, her face toward us.
Jasher's pencil skimmed over the page, outlining her shape.
"You must have eyes like a hawk," I whispered as I watched her form come to life on the page. He was brilliantly skilled, and it didn't surprise me in the least.
"Better," he whispered back.
"Why are we whispering?"
"You started it."
The faerie unfolded and stretched her limbs and wings. Jasher sketched lightly and quickly, getting down her proportions and her shape. He froze when her eyes fluttered open for the first time. The black lashes were thick both above and below, the ones on the bottom were longer than the ones on the top, giving her face a melancholic quality. She was unafraid, inquisitive, and looked both juvenile and ancient at the same time. Her wings stretched.
Like a whisper in the back of my mind, I heard her name.
"Rasha," I said, softly. The faerie cocked her head toward me, and then nodded, almost deferentially.
Jasher's jaw dropped. "How did you know her name?"
"She said it, didn't you hear her?"
Jasher shook his head. "I didn't hear anything."
"I heard it." I took breath. Had I heard it, or had I thought it?
"Interesting," Jasher murmured. He scrawled her name on the top of the page and continued sketching. Her wings suddenly buzzed so fast that they were nothing but a blur of violet. Jasher's strokes became urgent. Less than a minute later, she flew between us in a blur and was gone - up and out the open dome.
Jasher continued sketching and adding color to his drawing. I watched over his shoulder as he finished it off. "You're really amazing. That was really amazing. I mean, the whole thing was just...amazing!"
Jasher gave me an enigmatic look. "Aye, I still get goosebumps."
"May I see some of your other drawings?"
He handed me his open sketchbook.
I laid it open on my lap, flipping back one page to the faerie before Rasha. He had a crazy shock of green hair that stuck straight up in a point, and black eyes that were smaller than Rasha's.
"Looks like this one happened in June, just before I came."
"Aye."
I wondered if Jasher's plan was to stay at Sarasborne and dedicate himself to landscaping and drawing fae for the rest of life. Did he want a family? Children? I wanted to ask, but didn't have the courage yet.
As I turned the pages, my respect for Jasher's talent grew. Page after page of beautifully rendered and exceptionally unique fae of all colors, shapes, sizes passed under my fingers. If I had found this sketchbook and not known who owned it, I would have said it belonged to an accomplished female artist. The delicate nature of the fae and the rainbow of colors seemed intrinsic to a woman's touch. If I hadn't watched Jasher sketch one right in front of me, I wouldn't have believed the images were his.
Who was this person? He was a rugged lover of the outdoors, a handyman with callouses. A work boot and glove wearing carpenter and landscaper. He could see spirits, something I’d never come across before, but he also had remarkable talents, both musical and artistic. Through his drawings shone a love for the little beings that was so poignant they made bare his heart. He was being as vulnerable with me in this moment as anyone could be. We both grew silent as I turned page after page. I was horrified to discover that there were tears behind my eyelids, threatening to fall.
"Georjayna?" Jasher said quietly.
I swallowed. I closed the sketchbook before I had finished looking at all of them because if I kept flipping, I was going to make a fool of myself. "They're incredible," I finally said, and cleared my throat. I handed him his sketchbook. "I could only ever dream of having a talent like yours."
We locked eyes. My cheeks heated but I didn't look away. His expression was unreadable, his gaze unwavering. Finally, I stood up a bit too suddenly. I turned away to give myself a moment to recover and asked the first thing that came to my mind.
"Why do you think the number of cocoons is shrinking?"
He shrugged. "It makes sense. Industry and technology are growing, so I suppose it's harder for them to make it through the chrysalis phase. They're just so fragile when they're young."
There was no stopping progress. At what point did our world become so toxic that fae couldn't make it through the chrysalis stage anymore? What would happen to the natural world then?
The high that I'd had from watching Rasha hatch had vanished. The world had enough environmentalists out there railing against industry, didn't it? I'd become numb to the need. I had been given a violent shove into reality.
Nature was not just a force outside myself that I could admire when the mood struck. Nature now had a face, a form and a heartbeat. It had a people. One that lived in near obscurity; one that was integral to our own survival but was slowly being exterminated.
Chapter 16
The next day, I was eating lunch alone in the gazebo when my phone lit up with a text.
Targa: How’s life with the troll?
Me: We’ve made peace, thank God. And I don’t think he’s crazy anymore.
Targa: No? Did you ask him about it after all?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, thinking. How should I answer this? I typed out: He can see dead people. But I didn’t hit send, and a few seconds later I deleted it and wrote: Just a misunderstanding.
She took a second to write back.
Targa: How evasive. Lucky for you I’m heading out to meet the salvage team at the beach just now or I’d needle you for details.
Me: You sound so professional.
Targa: Don’t change the subject. You’re telling me more later.
Me: Yes ma’am.
I was halfway to the house from the gazebo when Jasher's work truck pulled into the driveway. He hit the brakes, spraying gravel. The engine was off and he was out the door in the same moment.
"Everything okay?" I called across the lawn.
"The greenhouse is open, yeah?" He slammed the truck door and jogged toward Sarasborne.
"Yes. I haven't closed it. Should we?" A few droplets of moisture hit my cheek and forehead.
"No, no," he exclaimed. "There's a storm coming. But not a violent one like the last time.” His shoulders and hair did look damp, his dark curls clinging to his neck and forehead. "I just came from Ana, it's already raining there.” His eyes were bright and hopeful.
"You think this storm might make a cocoon?" I looked up, doubtfully. The sky was a light shade of gunmetal, with a few scuds of cloud. A breeze tugged at my hair.
"We can hope. If we get rain and then the sun comes out...” He shrugged. “Maybe."
I left my cell on the kitchen counter as we dashed through the house and into the greenhouse. The first smattering of rain started to fall. We closed the glass doors that separated Faith's workshop from the plants, and put away a few random tools. The rain became heavier and the sky closed in with clouds. Jasher and I grinned at each other. Comrades.
