THE KEY

A collaborative fairy tale by Sharon Lynn Fisher

“Elspeth!”

Elspeth, Elspeth, Elspeth. The late summer apples were in. Her father was waiting. Time had come to crush and press the fruit and turn it into autumn gold. Cider for slaking the thirst of workers in the wheat fields. For warming the stomach on chill winter evenings, whether dotted with bright and brittle stars or moonless and cloaked in fog.

Elspeth tripped over a root that groped the path. “How I hate the smell of apples,” she muttered.

She didn’t really. She only came to hate it in pressing season. Especially on fine days like this when the woods were alive again. Crisper, brighter air waking tiny creatures from their late summer doze, as they made their own preparations for the approaching winter and its deeper slumber.

She should go back, she knew. It would only be worse the longer she delayed. She fumed; she was old enough to do as she pleased. But she was still her father's daughter and a member of his household. Would be until she married.

Then there’ll be a different man on a different stoop shouting after me into the woods.

“Fie,” she muttered, lifting the hem of her dress as she stepped over a larger root. For at least the hundredth time she wondered about her mother. Had she been content to mend shirts by the fire, cook the hares her husband snared in the orchard, pick apples and press cider until her back broke from the strain? Foolish to wonder, because Elspeth’s mother had died the day she was born and her father would never say more than a few words about her. All Elspeth knew was she favored her, because others were always saying so.

Others like Luka, her father’s apprentice, who was six years her senior—the man her father, and seemingly everyone, expected her to marry.

It was in fact Luka who was calling her from the cider works this time. Because both he and her father well knew she was more likely to heed Luka’s call. The two of them got on—Luka and her father, but also Luka and Elspeth. They’d argued some as children, as Luka’s mother, Widow Wright, had often cared for Elspeth when her father was working. Four-year-old Elspeth had thought Luka a great bully—though she’d been full of mischief as a child and had started her share of the fights. She wasn’t sure she’d changed all that much, but Luka had grown up. Tall and strong, to be sure, but also thoughtful and gentle. He liked books, and he had a way with animals, especially horses, dogs, and cows. Elspeth liked books too—Widow Wright was the schoolmistress and Elspeth had read her entire library. She also liked green growing things and forest creatures.

Luka and Elspeth might as well have been brother and sister. It was one of many reasons she was never going to marry him.

Elspeth scrambled over a fallen log, freeing her skirts from broken branches. Just beyond was the great old oak stump. In the autumn it was often enclosed in a fairy ring, and folk said great revels were held at Hallowe’en. In all her seventeen years Elspeth had never seen it. As Goodman Brewer’s daughter, she was expected to work at both the harvest festival and the feast that followed. Every year she plotted to slip away. Every year she worked until she was near fainting from exhaustion.

Drawing closer to the stump, she caught a glimpse of reddish-gold—like a large orange rose sprouting from its base. Hen-of-the-wood. She stooped to gather the mushroom. Not everything has to be apples.

As she took her knife from her basket and gently wrapped her fingers around one ruffle of the bright beauty, something else caught her eye. On the ground beneath the mushroom, a key lay atop the rich, dark soil.

“What are you doing here?” she murmured.

She reached down and touched it lightly—the iron felt strangely warm. Withdrawing her hand, she looked at the stump. The tree had been a giant in its day, the base easily six feet across at the widest point. Its bright green moss would make an excellent carpet for tiny dancers. Might the key belong to them?

The hen-of-the-wood all but forgotten, Elspeth sank back on her heels. She studied the loop at the end of the key, and the rough, ridged metal it was made from. Iron. Certainly it was old, and looked to have lain here for quite some time.

She felt a strong urge to take it. What if it did belong to the gentlefolk? Ill luck might follow it into her pocket. Yet how many times had she wished for a different life to find her? Mightn’t this be her chance? Her one chance?

Probably it’s just a regular old key.

“Elspeth!”

She sighed. Deciding she’d sooner risk fairy wrath than an existence that slowly drained the life out of her, she picked up the key and slipped it into her apron pocket. Even if it was only a lost or discarded thing, it was a secret, and heaven knew she had precious few of those. No one could stop her thinking of it as her own little bit of magic. In time, maybe wishing would make it so.

Elspeth moved to cut the mushroom, but when she’d freed one ruffle, she stopped, studying the ochre and light-caramel swirls. Fairy stump, fairy key…fairy mushroom? She slipped the bit she’d cut into her pocket with the key, leaving the rest.

“Coming!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The path carried her back to her father’s cottage and beyond, to the barn and ciderworks. She didn’t see her father, but Luka was there in front of a haycart, feeding an apple to Tilde, the mud-colored ewe that followed him everywhere.

He looked up with a smile. There was laughter in his brown eyes—always.

Luka could choose any girl in the village, but he’s not good enough for you? She could still hear the disbelief in her father’s voice. He didn’t understand at all. And no matter how many time she tried to explain it, he never would. It almost seemed willful.

He doesn’t really see me.

“There you are,” said Luka. The sheep finished the apple, chomping down core and all. Luka gave her a rub behind the horns.

“Here I am,” she replied.

“Where were you?” he asked in nosy, older-brother fashion. Or husband fashion.

Elspeth shrugged. “Looking for mushrooms.”

He nodded. He wasn’t offended by things she did that didn’t somehow have to do with farm work, she had to give him that. “Find any?”

Tilde let out a baaah as she joined them, like she wanted to know too. “Not really.”

A corner of his lips lifted. His eyes sparkled. “What does that mean?”

Elspeth always felt like he was about to laugh at her, but she recognized that feeling as a holdover from their childhood. The grown-up Luka had a light and easy nature. He never seemed perturbed, and she resented him for it—just a little bit. How was he so content with his lot in life? To do exactly what everyone expected?

But another thing she had to give Luka: he actually asked her questions about things that mattered to her. And he listened to the answers.

Should she tell him about the key? Maybe he would laugh at that. Worse, he might tell her father.

Instead she offered him one of his own carefree smiles. “Nothing. Better get to work.”

His smile drooped, but he nodded and followed her into the ciderworks. What happened next was the same thing that happened every single year at this time. Milling the pink and green fruit into soggy-sweet and richly fragrant pomace—they used a mule for that. Forming up the “cheese” in straw, which was then pressed for days under a great stone to collect the golden juice. Each pressing required more and more force to extract the last remaining drops; her father had worked up all kinds of levers to make that part easier.

The fresh-pressed juice was drunk by the harvest workers. The rest was left to ferment for the colder months. The juiced pomace they fed to the cattle—theirs and the neighbors’. They made most of their living off apples in their various forms, supplementing with goat milk and cheese in late winter and spring.

By the time the pomace from today’s load of fruit was in the press, Elspeth smelled like apple sugar and salty sweat.

“Good work today, lass,” said her father as she was leaving. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Yes, sir,” she said softly. He hadn’t scolded her for coming back late, and she supposed that was something. He’s trying.

She returned to the cottage and started supper. Mutton stew with bread—simple, hearty food that both her father and Luka preferred. Better with mushrooms and garden herbs. Elspeth reached into her apron pocket and touched first the hen-of-the-wood ruffle, then the key. When the great stew pot was on the fire, she carried both items to her bed in the loft, tucking them under her pillow.

Then she went down to tidy the cottage and see to her other chores until Luka and her father returned.

“Rosemary?”

She looked at Luka, who had just sopped up the last of his stew with a thick slice of bread. He’d even tried a piece of it with the lilac-infused honey she’d set on the table.

“I’m sorry?” she replied.

“You put rosemary in the stew.”

“Oh.” She frowned, surprised he knew about rosemary. “I did, yes.”

He gave a satisfied nod. “I like it.”

Elspeth’s father, spooning up his second bowlful, side-eyed them each in turn. His expression was complicated, but she understood it perfectly. He didn’t know what they were talking about, or why, but he was pleased they were talking.

After supper, Luka bid them goodnight and went home to his mother. Her father went out to settle the animals for the night, and she climbed up to the loft. When she’d taken down her hair and changed into her nightdress, she got into bed. Reaching under her pillow for the key, she closed her hand around it—feeling its warmth and weight, running callused fingers over the rough iron. She held it before her face and studied it. Or tried to. The windowless loft was dark—only weak light from the fire and the single candle she’d left lit made its way up.

She was about to replace the key under her pillow, when suddenly a shaft of moonlight pierced through the thatch above her, landing in the palm of her hand. Her breath caught, and she turned the key in the blue-white light, studying its contours. She noticed something—a wink of brighter light—on the shaft of the key, and she moved her face closer, careful not to block the moonbeam. A word had been carved there.

Agatha.

Her mother’s name was Agatha.

Heart racing, she continued turning the key, looking for more writing. But it was only the one word.

Her mother’s key. It must have been. There were no other Agathas in the village. What might it unlock?

A wildly hopeful, possibly foolish, thought entered her head. Might her mother be with them—with the fairies? They took people, she knew. Widow Wright had explained that Elspeth’s mother had died giving birth. But from the stories, Elspeth knew that fairies used glamour. They could make a person look dead.

This was something she desperately wanted to be true, and therefore she must be careful not to get her hopes up. Yet even if her mother had truly died, the key might unlock some door, some box, some something, that would help Elspeth learn more about her. And that would be worth any kind of risk.

Of one thing she was certain. This was the year she would make it to the fairy revel.

But how?

Luka.

The thought came into her head unbidden. Would he help? Could he? How much would she have to reveal to convince him?

CHAPTER TWO

The day dawned bright and golden—autumn was coming, you could feel its sweet snap, like biting into an apple. Elspeth rose early as always, feeding her father before he went out to the wheat fields. She was expected there too, but not until late morning, when she’d help to serve the workers their midday meal. Her father didn’t know she’d made her bread the day before. The cheese and cured pork were ready and waiting in the cellar. She had the luxury of a couple of hours with no one telling her what to do.

Hands on hips, she spun around slowly, eyes searching every inch of the cottage. How many times had she looked for any kind of remnant of her mother? Whatever things Agatha had left behind had vanished by the time Elspeth was old enough to look for them. She’d asked her father once and once only. Wordlessly, he had produced a sewing basket stuffed with thread, ribbons, buttons, and scraps from old shirts and dresses. Who knew such ordinary things could feel like treasure to a motherless girl? How many times had she pressed the bits of fabric to her nose? Rolled the thimble between her fingers? Once she’d accidentally jabbed herself with a needle, and for a fleeting moment had seen a vision of a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl with a secretive smile. Forever after she had wondered whether the girl had been an invention of her wishful imagination. Once she’d pricked her finger intentionally just to see if it would happened again. It didn’t.

Now the basket, like everything else in her life, had become utilitarian. She hadn’t been allowed to preserve the relic as it was, because as soon as she was old enough, she too became responsible for mending. She’d known better than to ask her father to buy her a new basket when the old one was still serviceable. As she used it, the thing lost the magic it has seemed to possess in the beginning. She’d saved one scrap of fabric, though—a  linen handkerchief embroidered with three roses. There was a tea stain on one corner, and even after so many years, it still carried the smell of flowers. It was finer than anything Elspeth ever wore or carried, and she’d often wondered about it.

No use, she thought. No use searching the cottage again—she’d scoured every inch of it over the years.

Instead she went out to the barn, where she’d spent less time searching. The house was her own domain, but her father and Luka were often working in or near the farm buildings.

Luka. Suddenly she remembered what had come to her just before sleep the night before. By the light of day, confiding in him seemed riskier.

Undecided, she commenced searching the barn—the hayloft, the stalls, various boxes and crates of farm implements and other tools. Among the latter, she found a few boxes with locks, but none of them actually locked—or containing any items of interest.

Needle in a haystack.

And it’s getting late.

She returned to the house to pack up her baskets with food and bottles of cider. She worked in the sunlight that streamed through the cottage window, forming golden squares on the table and floor beside it. When she finished, Elspeth reached into her pocket for the key, holding it in the light. Sunlight revealed nothing new, nor could she see the inscription any longer. On a whim, she held up the key’s bow—round with a hole in the middle, like most keys—and glanced through it.

There in the middle of the floor was a glowing spot that she’d never noticed before. The light, rising about a foot from the surface, was different from what the windows let in—more of a rose-pink color, with golden dust motes winking inside it like tiny fireflies.

Using the key to guide her, she hurried to the spot and ran her hands over the floorboards, smooth to the touch from age and wear. She knocked at the wood with her fist—was it hollow? She tried knocking on the floorboards outside the pink light—there was a difference.

If she didn’t leave for the fields now she’d be late. But how long before she got another chance to investigate? She knew it was selfish of her to make them all wait.

I must be quick, that’s all.

Jumping to her feet, Elspeth ran back out to the barn for an ax. Its edge was just thin enough to work between the floorboards. Once it was wedged in, she pressed her weight against the ax’s blunt end. With a pop and a squeak, the board sprang loose, and she fell to her backside. She moved to kneel beside the board and carefully peeled it back.

Beneath it she glimpsed a fine, ruby-red fabric.

Heart racing, she pried another board loose. She let the ax fall and took hold of the rich cloth, gently tugging it out of the hole—for a hole it was, just large enough to contain the pile of fabric.

Picking up the key and tucking it back into her pocket, she rose to her feet. As she fluffed out the fabric, a cloud of dust floated away toward her father’s bed.

It was a dress, the finest Elspeth had ever seen. The velvet bodice was covered in delicate gold and dark green needlework—a pattern of flowers and vines. The skirt was overlayed with layers of a sheer muslin fabric in the same color, and the sleeves were made of that same fabric.

The perfect thing for a fairy revel.

In real haste now, Elspeth rolled up the dress as carefully as she could, and she carried it up to the loft, tucking it in a dresser drawer. Then she hurried back down and replaced the board, using the blunt end of the ax to tap the nails back into place—mashing her finger once and letting out a cry of pain.

She loaded up her baskets into the wagon and hitched up Bess. By the sun’s position she knew she was late, but everyone was used to that by now, weren’t they?

The dress had decided it. While everyone was eating the midday meal, she’d find a way to speak to Luka in private. She needed his help with her father—she’d never accomplish this without him.

Accomplish what, though? 

No, she wouldn’t let herself think beyond escaping the harvest feast, not yet. If she found a way into Fairy…well, likely then she’d know what to do next. She also didn’t let herself think about the possibility of getting stuck there—she had certainly read plenty of tales about that. Her mother had obviously gone back and forth, or the dress wouldn’t be here. If she could do it, then so could Elspeth.

She might be there now, she reminded herself. It might be worth looking through Widow Wright’s old book of fairy tales.

She clucked to the mare. “Get on, Bess.”

* * *

The fine weather held, and the cut wheat shocks shone like spun gold in the autumn sunshine. I saw my father first—he’d been watching out for me, but lowered his head to the shock he was gathering as Bess and I joined them in the field.

I did feel sorry for making him wait, but told myself that if he’d been willing to talk to me about my mother, things could have been very different. My mind might not always be wandering away from the things that were most important to him. The two of us might even have been closer.

As it was, I was coming to believe he hid things from me because he was afraid I’d turn out like her.

The workers began setting aside their tools and drifting over to the cart. My father joined me, pouring cups of cider while I laid out the food on a cloth on the ground.

When everyone had found a place to settle, I looked around for Luka. He’d moved away from the group to stand near the hedgerow that bordered the field on one side.

Perfect. I walked over to join him.

“Luka—”

He held up a hand, and I broke off. Then he pointed.

As I moved to stand beside him, I looked at the spot he’d indicated—the hedgerow was thick with thorn branches twining with bramble. The fruit was black as marshwater, but shiny, plump, and juicy at this time of year. I couldn’t understand what he was pointing at—Luka sometimes saw things other folk didn’t—but as he sank down near the hedgerow, I heard the high-pitched squeal of a hare.

As I watched, he worked his hand and arm among the wicked thorns.

“Leave it, Luka,” I said. “You’ll cut yourself, and you’ll only frighten the creature.”

But I should have known better—creatures weren’t frightened of Luka. Slowly he withdrew his hand and opened it. A small brown kit rested on his palm—not fresh from its mother, but maybe a couple of weeks old. There was blood matted in the fur around its neck.

“Poor thing,” I murmured. “Fox startled and dropped it, maybe.”

Luka nodded, and gently rubbed the fur between the kit’s ears with the tip of his finger. “She’ll be all right.”

I eyed him skeptically. “Doesn’t seem likely, does it? Best to let her go.” I didn’t bother to question how he could know the little thing was female.

He looked at me—even in the light of day I could see the sparks that were always floating in his dark eyes. You had to have stood close to him to know they were there—once you had, you always saw them.

“You know healing herbs, El.”

I lifted my eyebrows and straightened. “Luka…” I shook my head. It was all I could do not to remind him that even if we did manage to save her, it would likely only be for the stewpot come the end of autumn.

He’d probably do just about anything for you.

I sighed and held out my hand. He stood up and set the kit down on my palm—she was silky and warm. I carefully tucked her into my empty apron pocket. She never made a sound. Likely she would die before I even got back to the cottage.

“If Pa gives me a tongue-lashing, I’m blaming you,” I said.  

“Thank you, El.” He did something then that he’d never done before—he reached up and smoothed a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. I’m pretty sure my heart made a sound just like that kit.

“Luka! Elspeth!”

“Pa wants us back,” I said, glad to have a distraction from whatever had just happened to me.

Luka nodded. “See you at supper?”

“See you at supper.”

I thought about that gesture long and hard as I packed up the luncheon things and climbed up into the cart. Luka was like a brother to me, but it hadn’t felt brotherly. I’d felt both cold and hot, shivering as my face flushed.

Don’t be ridiculous.

As the cart bumped along the road, I made myself focus on how to help his foundling. When I reached the cottage, I took the luncheon things inside but left the cleanup for later. I could feel the kit against my leg—she was still warm. I resolved to leave her where she was while I made my preparations. When I had everything I needed, I reached in carefully and drew her out, setting her on the table. She was weak but still warm, and her brown eyes watched me.

I’d never doctored a kit, but I knew yarrow stanched blood and plantain healed wounds. How I knew it was a mystery—I’d always known. A week ago I’d harvested the last blooms of the herbs lining the road, and hung them to dry in the loft. I went up for a handful, and I placed them in the kitchen mortar, using the pestle to crush them into a spoonful of lard. When I’d finished, I scooped some out and looked the kit in the eye.

“Now you listen well,” I said, “Luka wants you to live. I know it’s foolish, likely you do too, but here we are. I’m going to do my best, and you have to try.”

I moved my finger slowly toward the area where the blood was dried and gently worked the salve into the fur. I had to hold the kit with one hand to keep her steady—she never squirmed or complained. To my thinking that meant she was bad off, but she was still breathing, and I could feel her heartbeat in the pads of my fingers. 

“There,” I said as I finished. I left her and fetched a small bowl of water and a few sage leaves from the garden. I knew they were favorites of the hares, and they too were healing. I placed both beside her, and I went about my chores—cleaning up the luncheon things and getting supper on the fire.

When I’d finished I checked the kit again—sleeping now. I couldn’t tell if she’d drunk, but it looked like the sage had been nibbled.

I hated to disturb her, but I could only imagine what my father would say if he walked in and found a bloodied hare kit on the table. So I collected my sewing basket from the chair by the fire, made a little well in the odds and ends of fabric, and carefully transferred the kit into it. I replaced the basket near the fire to keep her warm. Pa had never sewed a stitch in his life and would never notice her there.

“I suppose you need a name then,” I said. I tapped a finger against my chin. A smile spread over my face. “Elka.”

As I returned to supper preparations, I finally recalled what my errand had been at the wheat field. I hadn’t thought of the dress even once since Luka found the kit. I wondered what that signified.

Not everything signifies something, Elspeth.

There were weeks until the harvest festival. I’d tell him when the time was right.

* * *

The sun sank in the sky, tinging the golden light orange and lengthening the shadows. I heard the high and lonely call of a raven. It was soon followed by a more distant, answering cry.

Supper was ready. I checked the sewing basket and found the kit was awake again, and more alert. I thought there was a chance that she might survive, and I found myself looking out for Luka and my father—for very different reasons. I was anxious for Luka to see how his foundling fared, yet it wouldn’t do for her to go bounding across the room during supper.

“We can’t take the risk, Elka,” I said, picking up the sewing basket to carry it to the loft.

In my room, I gently lifted her from the basket with one hand and used the other to take the odds and ends of cloth and arrange them in the drawer next to the fairy gown. Then I placed her inside.

“Don’t fret,” I said. “You’ll be safe and warm in here, and it’s only until you’re better.”

As I carefully slid the drawer closed, I heard the front door open. I went down to meet Luka and my father.

Sometimes at supper Luka and I would be left alone for a time—father would go out to see to the animals, or finish up some chore in the barn. But not tonight. I had to content myself with waiting until Luka’s eyes met mine, at which time I gave him a short, quick nod. He smiled, and I believed he understood me. Your foundling survived.

When supper was over, Luka and Pa went out together. I was disappointed to have no chance to speak to him. I might have asked him for his help at the harvest feast and felt more sure of a positive outcome, having helped him with the kit. I wanted to tell him the name I’d given her and listen to him laugh over it. With some surprise, I realized it was more than that—I missed him. Since I had come of age, we were rarely left alone together. Everyone expected me to marry him, yet suddenly now there must be a boundary between us that had never before existed. Of course I had no intention of marrying him, but no one else knew that.

I heard Pa bid him good night, and sighing heavily, I climbed up to the loft and got ready for bed. I’d left the water dish and herbs in the dresser drawer, and I probably ought to have let the kit rest, but I thought I’d just peek and make sure she was still alive. Carrying the candle from the nightstand, I slowly slid the drawer open—and gasped.

Elka was gone, and so was the fairy gown.

Such a little thing could never have opened a drawer, and certainly not have absconded with a lady’s ball gown!

I was careless and left the drawer open. Yet I was sure I hadn’t, and what about the gown?

I looked around the room frantically, knocking my hairbrush and a candle stub onto the floor.

“Elspeth?” called my father, “is everything all right?”

“Yes,” I called down. “I’ve only lost my brush.”

“I’m going to bed, child.”

“Good night, Pa.”

While he stoked the fire below, I knelt down and looked under the bed. Opened all the dresser drawers. Looked under my sewing chair. No kit, no gown. Hares were expert hiders, so could be that Elka was still in the house somewhere. But again, the gown.

I could think of only one explanation, and it gave me a sick feeling. There is no gown. I’ve imagined the whole thing.

I went to the sewing chair and snatched up my apron, fumbling the fabric between my hands as I searched the pockets in the dim light. Something hard struck the arm of the chair and bounced to the floor. I dropped down, sliding my hands along the boards—my pinky knocked against the warm iron. The key, at least, had been real! Pressing it to my chest, I went to the bed and reached under my pillow—the ruffle of mushroom was there too, though it had gone dark and stiff now.

I took a deep breath, relieved. Could I have dreamed finding the gown? Now that I thought about it, I had so badly wanted to find something of my mother’s. Badly enough to make it up? The idea of it frightened me. How could I expect Luka to help me if I couldn’t even tell the difference between real and imagined?

I can’t expect Luka to help me.

I suddenly felt heavy and sad, and I crawled under the covers. The weight of my confusion and worry pressed down on my heart.

CHAPTER THREE

Fairy glamour, was the thought that woke me. Fairy glamour made things seem other than they were. The gray light of dawn seeped through the thatch overhead, and I bounded from bed and yanked open the drawer, feeling around from front to back and into every corner. I raised the key and peered through its bow.

To no avail. But I didn’t lose heart. Fairy reality was hardly the same as person reality. Perhaps the dress had gone back to fairy and taken the kit with it.

If only there was someone I could talk to. I was even less inclined to go to Luka now. This needs a mother. I felt sure I could talk to her—about this and so many other things. The closest thing I had was…Widow Wright.

If anyone could help, she could. She was the schoolmistress, and she had so many books! There were fairy tales among them, and I had meant to consult them—the time had now come. I wasn’t sure I could trust her with my story, but there were things I could ask her without giving myself away. Today was market day, too, so I had an excuse to be away from home. Then I remembered something I hadn’t in years. Something she’d said to me when I was no longer a child, but not yet a woman.

“If ever you need to talk to a woman, Elspeth, you come to me, all right? No need for your Pa or Luka to know. Some things stay between women, and there’s no evil in that.”

I got dressed then, plaited my hair, and tied on my cap. I put the key back in my apron pocket. I made one last search for Elka, and then I went down to make breakfast for Pa—and a seedcake for Widow Wright.

Pa had hitched up Bess for me, and as soon as we’d eaten, I wrapped the seedcake in a clean towel and started for the village market. Most things we grew or made for ourselves, but sometimes a bowl or plate would break, or a pot would need mending. Things like sugar and salt, as well, had to be bought. There was money enough from the cider for us not to go without. I bought cloth sometimes too, and buttons or ribbon when Pa would allow it.

Normally I lingered at the market—it was the only color in my drab existence. Sometimes there were performers—jugglers, musicians, or players who entertained for coins in a copper pot. Today there was a man who ate fire. He had the children screaming with fear and delight, and I would have liked to stay long enough to learn the trick of it. But I kept my head down and took care of my business as quickly as I could. Then Bess and I drove on to Luka’s mother’s cottage.

“Elspeth!” Widow Wright beamed at me, clearly surprised to see me. “Is everyone well?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I’ve been at the market, and I thought I might stop by and see you, maybe take a look through your books, if it’s no bother.” I held up my offering. “I remember you like seedcake.”

She smiled, and I noticed a small wrinkle of wonder in her forehead. But she swung the door open. “I certainly do. Please come in.”

I loved our cottage—it was snug and dry and just right for Pa and me—but the widow’s house near the village was magical. There were bedrooms with doors, and up a spiral staircase was a room that served no purpose beyond housing her books and giving visitors tea. This was where she led me now.

Though it was still early in the day, she lit all the candles. Then, taking the seedcake from me, she said, “Make yourself at home. I’ll come back with tea.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble, ma’am,” I replied.

“Nonsense, child, I’m glad to see you.”

Truth be told, it was shameful how long it had been since I’d visited her. When folk started wondering out loud how long it would be before Luka and I married, I stopped coming. But it wasn’t the widow’s fault. She’d never once mentioned it. Nor had she ever been anything but kind to me.

I stood in front of the wall of books, studying the spines. Pa said the widow had money for a place like this not from teaching, but because her husband had built and repaired boats in Whitecliff, the only village between ours and the sea. They lived here in Appleton because of the school. Luka’s pa could ride to work every day, but he didn’t want his wife to have to. Luka said they could afford a finer house here, too, and William Wright had wanted his wife to have the best of everything.

This room was my favorite in the house—dark wainscoting, the big window that looked out onto the garden, and the tea table right in front of it. There were the books of course, and the many curious little items among them on the shelves—every shape and color of seashell, balls of colored glass that Luka said were fishing floats, and even the small skulls of birds and other creatures that Luka had brought home from the forest.

I went to inspect a skull that still housed two long, sharp teeth and noticed the volume I’d wanted to look at on the shelf below—Folk and Fairy Tales of Cairnweel. I pulled the book down and carried it to the table, opening it to the middle. An illustration of a fairy revel spread before me. How many times had I studied it as a girl? I ran a finger over the whirling figures in their finery, over the mushrooms they used as tables and dancing platforms, over the birds, hares, and insects that joined in their revels.

“That was always a favorite of yours.” Widow Wright had come in with the tea tray and I made room for her to set it down. Her tea service had a sweet pattern of violets and leaves—as children we were never allowed to use it. “Do you remember how the two of you would argue over who got to hold it?” she said.

I smiled. “Yes, ma’am. We were beastly, weren’t we?”

She laughed. “Sometimes. I knew you’d both smooth over in time.”

She poured the tea and served us seedcake on plates that matched the pot and cups. I put sugar and milk in my tea, like I’d drunk it as a child, and nibbled a corner of bread.

“Have you really come to look at books, or is there something else, child?”

I’d never been able to hide anything from the widow. Her schoolmistress eyes saw it all. I’d lied once about who’d broken a bud vase. One look of disappointment from her and I’d confessed—and I’d never lied to her again.

Playing with a bit of cake, I said, “I have, but I suppose that’s not all. I did wonder whether…”

I stopped, swallowing, and she ducked her head, trying to catch my eye. “You wondered whether…?”

I looked up. “Do you remember my mother?”

The widow took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “I remember her well.”

My heart jumped. “Can you tell me about her?”

She gave me a sad smile. “Long ago, your father asked me not to speak of her.” I opened my mouth to protest the unfairness of it, but she held up her hand. “I made him no promise,” she continued. “I knew one day you’d ask, and it seemed cruel to both you and her to deny you.”

“Why?” My voice came out sharper than I meant it to, but the wall I’d built around my frustration had sprung a leak. “Why would he do something so awful?”

Her gaze came to rest on the teapot, and she seemed to be thinking. Slowly she nodded. “It’s time.”

My heart raced now, and I pressed my sweating palms against my apron.

She raised her dark eyes to my face. “Your mother was a cunning woman, Elspeth. A blesser.”

I frowned. “A cunning woman?”

“She was good with cures. Made them from herbs, and plants she found in the forest. She had a special gift for healing small, helpless creatures. And charms too—girls from villages all around believed she could make a boy fall in love with them.”

“She was a witch!” I said, eyes wide as saucers. I knew it!

“Some called her that, yes. But to some folk that’s a slur, and she never hurt anyone.” The widow sipped from her cup, and I saw her hand was trembling. “Your mother saved my boy’s life.”

I stared at her. “Luka? How?”

She folded her hands on the table. “When he was still a babe in the cradle, he contracted a terrible fever. He was listless and wouldn’t nurse. Agatha tried everything to save him—the herbs that had served her for so many years had no effect, and I was losing hope.” She looked up, and I saw her eyes shone with tears. “I’d lost his father only a few months before, you see.”

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“It was the night of the harvest feast. She slipped away from her duties as soon as she could. She came to me and asked if she could take my boy away for the night.” The widow shook her head. “It was the hardest thing I ever did. I thought it might be his last night on this earth. But I would have done anything to save him.”

I held my breath while she ate a small bite of seedcake, collecting herself. “Agatha took him into the forest,” she continued, “and that’s all I know. In the morning she returned, and when I opened my door, I heard my boy laughing for the very first time.”

She was smiling to herself, staring down at her slender hands, tears gleaming in her eyes. I waited, letting her be alone with her memory. When finally she looked up, I said, “How did she save him, ma’am?”

“I never asked her, child. And I didn’t care. But after that, some folk began to be afraid of her. It looked like too much power.”

Though I knew the answer, I asked, “Did Pa find out about it?”

She nodded. “He began to be afraid too. Worried that folk’s fear of her would hurt his business.”

I could feel the heat of my anger, and the widow must have too because she said, “Don’t be angry with him for it. How would he have fed his family if folk stopped buying cider?”

I couldn’t help it—it was just like Pa, always working, and worrying about everything, draining all the joy out of life.  I sipped my tea, trying to calm myself. I didn’t want her to stop talking. “What did Pa do?”

“He begged her to stop,” she said sadly. “She understood why, and she agreed. But in the years that came after, I think it drained some of the life out of her. By the time you were born, she wasn’t the woman I knew anymore.”

No wonder Pa didn’t like me slipping off to the woods. No wonder he frowned on time I spent doing anything other than farm work. No wonder he never talked about her.

And here I was plotting , just like her, to slip away from the harvest feast for reasons he’d never approve of.

“He loved her, you know,” said the widow. “Just like he loves you. He does the best he can.”

My throat felt raw and hot. I pinched at the tablecloth with my fingers, afraid to look up at her.

“For years I’ve known that you would come,” she said gently. “There’s a reason you’re here now, I’m sure, and I don’t expect you to tell it to me. But know that your mother once cast a spell on this room, and no secret spoken within may be revealed without.”

Finally I glanced up. I could see the love in her eyes and it broke my heart. Indeed, she had been good to me, and I’d never been properly grateful. She was the only mother I had.

“I have always been willing to do anything for you,” she continued, “as long as it wouldn’t bring you to harm. So tell me how I can help you, child.”

Did I dare tell her I wanted to go looking for my mother in Fairy? Not yet, my heart told me. Like everyone else, the widow believed that Agatha had died, and she might try to talk me out of it, thinking it a kindness.

Instead, I said, “Folk say there’s a fairy revel in the woods on the last day of October. I’m going, and I want to prepare. Will you help me find all the books you have on fairies and magic?”

Was that a glint of worry in her eyes? For just a moment, I thought she was going to refuse, but then a smile spread over her face. “Certainly, I’m glad you’ve come to me, Elspeth.”

I watched Widow Wright move about the room collecting books, sometimes dragging over a stepstool so she could reach one close to the ceiling. I followed and helped her take them down. Soon we had a pile of half a dozen volumes.

“I’ll fetch more tea,” she said, and I offered again to help her. She declined, saying, “It keeps me fit, dear,” and made her way back down with the tray.

I studied the spine of each volume, and besides the book of fairy tales I’d taken down earlier, we now had “Magical Correspondences of Flora and Fauna in Two Volumes”; “Fairies of Forest, Field, and Stream”; “Fungi of Cairnweel”; and “Willow-o’-the’Wisp: Fact or Fancy?” The latter sat atop the pile and I flipped it open to an illustration of a frightened-looking man sunk up to his knees in a bog. An impish face peeked out from behind a tree, holding up a lantern that looked to be filled with fireflies.

The widow returned with the tray, and also a small chest under one arm. I hurried over and took the tray from her, carrying it back to the table. She came and set the chest in one of the chairs. It was made of plain wood, and had rusted metal parts—hinges, clasp, and a lock.

A wave of anticipation washed over me. I looked at Widow Wright. “What is this, ma’am?”

“Belonged to your mother. She brought it here when Samuel made her give up her craft. No idea what’s inside.” She smiled. “The time seemed right.”

Trembling, I reached in my pocket for the key and showed it to her.

She clapped her hands, delighted, and suddenly looked like a girl. “Wonderful!” she said. “I thought we’d have to take the hammer to it. Did Samuel give that to you?”

I shook my head. “I found it in the woods a few days ago, by the big stump. I searched and searched our place for something it might unlock.”

“Well I call that fate.” She still had laughter in her eyes, but her expression sobered. “Would you like to be alone when you open it?”

I thought. Maybe this should be a moment just for Ma and me.

Yet the widow was a kind of Ma too, and today she’d told me the things I’d been wondering about my whole life—and brought me so much happiness in the bargain. She and Ma had been friends.

“No, stay,” I said. I took the key and bent to fit it into the lock. At first it seemed to stick—I could neither turn nor remove it. But I jiggled it a little and heard a click. Then I turned it, and the lock popped open. Both of us jumped.

I slipped the lock free and opened the lid.

There were several items, and I took them out one by one, setting them on top of the pile of books—a bottle, a knitted hat, and a book that looked like it had been made by hand, as the pages didn’t meet up and it was held together by yarn. On the cover of the book someone had penned “Cures for Creatures, by Agatha Brewer.”

I opened the book to the first page…there was a recipe for a poultice that would treat pain and prevent infection. And there were words to be spoken over the wound:

Birch, elm, yarrow, plantain
Make this creature whole again

Tears filled my eyes, and I hugged the book to my chest. “It’s a book of healing!”

“So it is,” said the widow kindly.

I picked up another item—a small apothecary bottle. It’s label had a single word written on it, and that word had been crossed out. “Glamour.” Inside was a thick fluid. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I set it back down and picked up the hat.

“That I can tell you something about,” said the widow. “She always wore that hat when she went into the forest. She wore it the night she came for my boy.”

“A healer’s cap?” I said. It was made of wool that had been dyed dark green. The top of it came to a point, giving it a shape like a cone, though rather a soft and lumpy one.

“Could be,” said the widow.

I lifted it and set it on my head.

She smiled. “It looks well on you, child. Matches your eyes.”

I felt the tears starting again, and the widow moved to the teapot and poured us each a cup.

Hugging my arms around my chest, I let my gaze wander around the room. I looked down at my books and treasures. I wanted to never leave this cozy world. If I could divide my time between the forest and Widow Wright’s library, I would count myself a lucky girl. I’d even allow Luka to join me sometimes.

As my eyes came to rest on the window, I saw by the light that the afternoon had slipped away—and remembered that I belonged to different world.

“Heavens,” I breathed, “I must go.” I picked up my teacup and drained it. “Thank you,” I said to the widow. “For everything.” It was inadequate—I felt so much more than the hasty words could convey.

“Thank you for coming to me, child. You secrets are safe here.”

“I would like to take my mother’s things, but would you mind keeping the books for me?” The box I could sneak into the house with the market goods. The books Pa would notice. “I could come back again next market day, if it would be no bother.”

She looked delighted. “It will be no bother. I’ll make tea.”

I smiled. “I’ll bring seedcake.”

We stood awkwardly a moment, then finally I leaned and embraced her. She laughed and kissed my forehead.

I grabbed my box, hurrying down the stairs and out to Bess and the cart.

Three market days until the fairy revel. I had my work cut out for me. 

CHAPTER FOUR

It was a busy time of year, between the wheat harvest and the cider-making. There were also beans and onions to pickle, berries and plums to preserve, and herbs to dry to get us through the winter months. Pa was chopping wood, too, and was outside from dawn until the ever-earlier dusk.

I’d stowed my mother’s chest in my loft—at the foot of my bed under the covers this time. I wasn’t about to put anything dear to me in the dresser again. The chest hadn’t vanished, but I’d had hardly a moment to look at it. I was happy just having it there though. It made me feel warm and safe and close to her.

Unfortunately, I had been so overwhelmed by all I learned from the Widow Wright that I’d entirely forgotten Pa and I would be selling cider at the village market for the next two weeks. It was a bitterly disappointing setback, yet all was not lost. One week before the harvest fest, Pa and Luka loaded up both carts with cider for deliveries to inns throughout the county. They would be gone an entire day! And I had worked double-time at all my chores to give myself as much time as possible with Widow Wright.

As soon as Pa and Luka were gone, I set out. I had to go on foot because they’d taken both the horses. Yet I hardly cared—the road was dry for this time of year, and I was in high spirits. 

But the first bend I came around, I overtook a cart on the side of the road.

“Elspeth? What are you doing here?”

Luka! Steady, Elspeth, you haven’t done anything wrong.

“I made a seedcake for your mother,” I said, holding it up for him to see. “I’m going to visit her. Why have you stopped here?”

For a second I thought he was going to question me further, but then he sighed and said, “It’s Nel. She picked up a stone. I got it out, but now she’s limping. We’ve got a lot of road to cover. I don’t want to risk laming her.”

Without thinking about it, my hand moved to the satchel at my side, where I’d tucked my mother’s spellbook. I’d brought it thinking the widow and I could look through it together. But also I’d risked a few minutes looking at it while Pa and Luka were loading the carts early this morning, and one spell came immediately to mind.

Daisy heals a bruise when there’s no time to lose.
You’ll find these flowers plentifully in the meadow and by the roadside, but if it be the wrong season, then simply hold them in your mind. Then call on the faery folk, who hate to see a creature suffering.

Did I dare?

I eyed Luka, who in turn eyed poor Nel like she was at death’s door. He had a gift with creatures. Understood them, and…hated to see them suffer. He looked at me, and I saw the flecks of light in his dark eyes, like tiny fireflies. I remembered the story his mother had told me. Had the fairies healed Luka? I knew the gentlefolk were tricky—they weren’t always friendly toward men. Might they have done it as a favor to my mother?

If the fairies had healed Luka, maybe they had given him his softness toward creatures.

Maybe Luka and I can do it together.

“I might be able to heal her,” I said cautiously. “But I need your help, and you can’t ever tell Pa about this, and I can’t tell you why because I’m sworn to secrecy.” I couldn’t help wincing, hearing myself, but added, “What do you say?”

“Sworn to secrecy?” He eyed me curiously. “Have you been in my mother’s library?”

He knew about the secrecy spell! I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t. Do you want my help or not?”

He nodded briskly. “That I do. I’ll have a time of it finishing my deliveries at this rate.”

The instructions in the book had been brief, and my confidence was not high. I knew I had a healing gift, yet I’d never tried to heal without using actual herbs. It was indeed the wrong season for daisies, and I had no dried ones to hand.

What do I have the book for if not to use it?

I took a deep breath. “Lift her foot.”

Luka bent and picked up Nel’s right front hoof so I could see the bottom. There was no visible injury, but still there could be bruising. I formed a picture of a daisy in my mind—the circle of snowy white petals with a center the color of an egg yolk. Then I pictured a whole field of them, bobbing their heads in the summer breeze. I lifted my hand to cover the bottom of Nel’s foot—but then something came to me.

“Put your hand over her foot,” I said to Luka.

He glanced at me like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right, but then did as I asked. I reached out and put my hand over his. His fingers twitched in his surprise. The daisy faded in my thoughts as I stared at our two hands together. His was bronzed and strong, from working outside. Yet there was gentleness in the lines of it. I felt his gaze on my face, and then the heat in my cheeks.

I called the daisies back into my mind—this time I imagined making a poultice from the flowers and leaves, then imagined we were pressing it against Nel’s foot. Finally I cleared my throat and said, “Folk of the forest, we ask your aid to draw the hurt from this poor creature.”

Mayhap I imagined it, but it seemed that our hands warmed until they were almost hot, not unlike a fresh poultice. Luka’s eyes widened and I thought he felt it too. Strong as the heat was, it wasn’t unpleasant. I thought I could even smell the green earthiness of the crushed flowers.

Gradually the heat seeped away, and I removed my hand.

Luka’s eyes were bright. “Has it worked? I did feel something, El.”

“Let us see.”

He had unhitched Nel from the cart already, and I took hold of her halter and led her up the road a ways and back. “How does she look?”

“Sound!” he said. “Go again.”  

I zigzagged her back and forth across the road. “Now?”

He laughed. “No limp at all!”

My heart was beating, quick and light. I smiled at him.

“You truly have a gift,” he said.

“Maybe so, but we did that together.” It was no more than the truth, and no point in denying it.

“It seemed so,” he agreed. “But I’m no healer.”

“You have your own gifts,” I said, eyeing him appraisingly.

He grinned. “We make a good team.”

There was no denying that either.

“El, I haven’t gotten a chance to ask you, but what ever happened to that kit? Did she survive?”

I had all but forgotten the injured hare in the excitement of the revelations about my mother. Now I studied him, unsure how to answer. If I told him the truth—even if I didn’t mention the dress or the key—he’d sense something was afoot.

Seeing my hesitation, he said, “You can tell me things too, El. I’ll keep your secrets without anyone spelling me to silence.”

I stared, my mouth half open in a reply I couldn’t find the words for. How had he known? Not from his mother, if it was true about the secrecy spell. And I knew the widow would never lie to me about that. He just knows me that well. I felt a warmth in my chest, like the water rising when you sank in the bath.

“I think she lived, Luka,” I said at last. “But I can’t be sure, because she vanished.”

He looked a mite disappointed, like he’d expected more. “Well, if she ran off she must have been healed.”

I frowned. What’s it going to be, Elspeth?

Another deep breath. “She didn’t run off. She actually vanished. Some things have happened that it’s hard to explain. Now you need to get on, because Pa will be wondering about you, and your Ma will be wondering about me.”

His face fell further, and I said, “But in a week, come the fall feast, if you still want to hear my secrets…” Am I doing this? I sighed. “Then give me the first dance and I promise that you shall hear all.”

Luka grinned, and he hitched Nell back to the cart and climbed up. “I’ll see you then.”

I nodded, and he clucked to Nell and they were on their way again.

My decision felt right. It was time to trust Luka. He had earned it, and I’d begun to feel there were perhaps mysteries about him that were worth unraveling. We had danced at every harvest since I came of age, but I had always viewed it as a duty, and something to get over with fast, before people’s tongues could start wagging. I found myself looking forward to it this year.

There were no more mishaps on the road, and by midmorning the Widow Wright and I were cozied in the library with our tea, seedcake, and books.

“I used one of Ma’s spells this morning,” I said as we began sorting through the volumes.

The widow brightened. “Did you?”

I told her what had happened on the road, watching for her reaction about the part Luka had played. But she only looked down at her book, a small smile on her lips.

“Luka’s very gentle with creatures,” I prompted. “They trust him.”

She nodded. “He’s a blessing. I’m thankful to your mother every day.”

Her eyes glistened. “I’m sorry you don’t see more of him. He spends so much time with my father.”

“Oh no, child, that’s a blessing too. Luka had no interest in his father’s trade. Said he couldn’t bear to be away so much from the place he grew up.” She eyed me over the rim of her teacup. “Knows every tree, every stone, every flower in Appleton.”

Something in her tone brought heat to my cheeks, and I looked down, opening the book in front of me.

The widow cleared her throat. “While you and your father were busy with the market the past two weeks, I spent some time going through the books on my own.” She opened Folk and Fairy Tales of Cairnweel. “Mayhap you recall from reading the stories that they contain certain cautions. She pointed to an illustration of a woman in a reedy pool. She was covered with water weeds and had long, taloned fingers.”

“Jenny Greenteeth,” I said, recognizing the picture.

“Yes. Now Jenny may be real, and a sort of fairy, or she may have been invented. Either way, I think her story was passed around because it was useful. I think it likely that many such tales have come about for the purpose of frightening children away from potential dangers.” She looked at me. “But still I think it would be a mistake not to consider them.”

I nodded. “I think so too.”

She flipped pages until she came to the illustration of the fairy revel. “Now more to your purpose is this story, and the caution you find here is that mortals who join fairy revels are often never seen again.” She pointed to a figure in the drawing that was different from the others—by her dress and features she could be a maid of our village. “Or if they do return,” continued the widow, “many years have passed and everyone they knew is dead and gone. You’ll need to find a way to protect yourself from that.”  

Again I nodded, and she closed the story book and opened Fairies of Forest, Field, and Stream to a chapter called “Fairy protections.”

“According to this author,” she said, “turning your coat inside out will protect you from being taken to Fairy, but I don’t know that it will help a soul who walks in willingly. Iron is protection from fairies, but then iron might keep you out of Fairy altogether.” She looked at me. “The truth of it is, folk seem not to return from Fairy, and if they do they’re often enchanted and you can get no sense out of them. I’m worried for you child. Are you set on this?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said. But she’d planted a seed of fear.

Sighing, she said, “Well, let us see what else we can find.” She turned a couple more pages. “Now here it says you can toss a copper or other small trinket to distract a fairy—they can’t help themselves but to go chasing after it. There might be something in that. And here it says fairies like gifts—they make them feel kindly toward the giver.”

Reading the opposite page I saw something else, and I read out loud, “‘Fairy doors are masters of disguise. To find your way back to one, leave a trail of biscuits. Be sure to salt the dough heavily, or the fairies will eat them.’” I glanced up.” I wonder whether that would work inside as well as outside Fairy?”

“Perhaps.” She turned another page. “Here you can read all about talismans. Carrying an object that’s important to you in your pocket—especially something given to you by someone else—can prevent the fairies from stealing you. If you do find your way into Fairy on your own, could be that a talisman would help you get out.”

She looked at me. “Have you thought about how you’ll get in?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “But I have the key.” I’d strung it on a leather cord and wore it round my neck so there’d be less chance of me losing it. “I found it near the old stump, and that seems important.”

She frowned, thinking. “I agree. It might also work as a talisman, since it’s precious to you, and belonged to your mother, a witch and friend of Fairy.”

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling hopeful. “And it’s iron, too. If I can get in with it, maybe it will prevent me being held there.” Maybe my mother had even used it this way herself.

The widow sat up and helped herself to another slice of seedcake. “The revel is the same night as the harvest feast, is it not? I’m wondering how you intend to get away?”

Slumping, I let out a sigh. “So am I. I’m thinking of asking Luka for help.”

Her eyes came to my face, brows raised. “You’ve told him your plan, then?”

“Not yet, but I’ve promised to.”

She didn’t even bother to hide her relief. “Well, he’s bound to insist on going with you. That’s going to make trouble with your Pa.”  

“Yes, or he might just tell Pa, and he’ll put a stop to it. It’s why I’ve kept it from Luka. Do you think I can trust him not to ruin my chances?”

She chewed her lip a moment. “Well, I think Luka would do almost anything for you.”

My heart fluttered.

The widow sat thinking a moment. She finished her tea, and I was about to go back to my book when she reached out for Fungi of Cairnweel.

“Something catches at my memory,” she said, turning pages. I watched the beautiful illustrations as they passed, and decided I’d give the book a closer look once I’d seen what she had to show me. She stopped about halfway through the book, smoothing a page with her hand.

It was an entry for hen-of-the-wood.

“‘According to folk tales,’” read the widow, “‘this bright lady can be dried, ground into powder, and used for fairy glamour. Specifically, when prepared according to the recipe below, it can be used to temporarily manifest a person’s double.”

I stared at her. “A person’s double!”

She smiled. “That could come in handy.”

“Indeed! It could allow me to leave the feast.”

“Luka too, if necessary, and no need for your father to know.”

It was exactly the chance I needed. “Thank you, Mrs. Wright!”

She laughed. “It’s time you called me Hannah, child. Now, have you anything to wear to a fairy revel.”

I frowned. “I did—I found a dress under the floorboards at home. But it—well, I can’t wear it now.”

She looked puzzled and I shook my head. “I’ll have to wear my feast day dress. It’s not fine, but at least it’s not stained. It’s the best I have.”

The widow was shaking her head as she rose to her feet. “Just you wait here a moment.”

She went downstairs, and I sat studying the hen-of-the-wood spell. Yarrow, mugwort, rose petal, violet—all plants I had preserved in my cupboard, and I still had the dried mushroom under my pillow. My heart thumped in anticipation. Could it really work?

The widow was soon back, carrying an armful of what looked like green gossamer. “Luka’s father bought this for me when first we married.” She unfurled the gown with a laugh. “I wore it on feast days a time or two, to please him, but it was far too fine. We were better off than many around here, and I didn’t want folks thinking we were proud.”

It was beautiful—the filmy folds, the delicate needlework. “Ma’am, I couldn’t.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “It’s a young woman’s dress, and I think it may suit you.”

“But if it got damaged—”

“It wouldn’t matter at all, because it’s just sitting in a box. You’re the closest thing I have to a daughter, Elspeth. Now I’ll brew more tea, and you just try it on and see if it needs alteration.”

Tears rose to my eyes as she handed me the gown. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Hannah,” she said firmly and picked up the tea tray.

CHAPTER FIVE

I scarcely had time to breathe over the next week. Every year we sold cider and apple pies at the festival, and also served them at the feast, so several days were filled up with baking alone. This year I also had to create my potion, and get back to the widow’s to pick up the altered gown. Luckily Pa was only too glad to see me taking enough interest in the feast day to wear a new dress, so he didn’t give me any trouble about the trip back to the village.

Yet the preparations weren’t what worried me. I had so many questions! What would Luka do once he knew the truth? What would happen when I cast the spell? If it worked, would it truly allow me to escape? Would the key actually get us into Fairy? Would we be able to get out again?

All of it threatened to overshadow the fairy revel itself, and my excitement about going. 

One thing at a time, Elspeth.

I started with the potion. The bit of hen-of-the-wood mushroom had kept well enough in my room upstairs—it had shriveled and gone golden-brown, but with no signs of mold or spoilage. I ground it up with the herbs and then placed the mixture in a little clay pot for using at the feast, where it would be easy enough to mix with a little cider. I desperately hoped it would work, but if it failed, there was at least nothing baneful about it. Holding the pot in the palm of my hand, I spoke the words of the spell three times over, as the recipe instructed.

Hear me now, kind mother hen,
With this spell I call my twin. 

With that done, I set about packing up everything I would need. The key. The dress. The potion. But what of the spell book, the hat, and the bottle of liquid whose label had said “glamour” until someone crossed it out?

A fairy revel didn’t seem the right place for a healer’s hat, and I didn’t want to risk losing it—I’d leave that behind. As for the other things—I might have need for a healing spell, so that went into my satchel. The bottle was a complete mystery. Was it a potion to create fairy glamour, like the hen-of-the-wood spell? If so, why was it crossed out? Could be that it hadn’t worked—but it that case, why had it been preserved in the box? It wouldn’t take up much space, so I wrapped it in a scrap of fabric and added it to the satchel.

With my preparations made and my dress ready, I could focus on the days of baking ahead. All of it blurred together in floury puff of apple-and-spice-scented cloud. The morning of the festival, my golden beauties rested in neat rows on the kitchen table. I always took the time to cut leaves, acorns, and fruit out of crust for decoration, even painting the apple shapes with cherry juice for a bit of color. Pa was proud of my pies—truth be told, so was I—and they always sold out early in the day.

“Well, child, are you ready?”

Pa came into the house to load the pies into specially made boxes that would protect them on the drive to the village.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“And where’s your fine new gown?” His eyes moved over my brown everyday dress and stained apron.

“I’ll not ruin it before the feast, Pa. But I’ll go up and change into a clean one for the market.”

He loaded up the pies while I went upstairs. I carefully rolled up the green gown and added it to my satchel before going back down.

By midmorning we had arrived at the field outside the village, where the festival and market were held. There was a confusion of happy activity there, and I too was soon busy setting up our stall and arranging our offerings.

Luka came to help Pa, but until the market got officially underway we only had time to exchange a few words. He looked well, bright and happy as always, dark hair shining from a recent wash, and eyes sparkling. His clothes looked clean and new, no old things of his father’s. He was far and away the handsomest young man at the market, or at least it seemed so to me. I discovered I wasn’t the only one when two different groups of girls from the village stopped by to say hello, coyly asking him whether he’d be attending the feast and dance. Obviously they knew that he would, but he answered them cheerfully enough. Yet I could sense their disappointment when they moved away.

“Luka!” I teased. “I had no idea you were so cruel.”

He gave me a puzzled smile. “Cruel? I know there was a time you thought so, but what have I done now?”

“Every one of those girls wanted to dance with you, and you know it. You didn’t ask one of them!”

His smile broadened. “I’m to dance with you.”

The fluttery feeling was back. “True, but I only asked for the first.”

His cheerfulness dampened a smidge. “Seeing as how you had things to tell me, I thought it might take more than one.”

I smiled. “And so it might.”

Now a grin stole over his features, “If it doesn’t, maybe I’ll have time for a dance with Netty Harper.”

Now I felt my cheerfulness dampen. Netty Harper was a pretty, round-cheeked girl with curly red hair. Her family lived in the village, not far from the widow.

“Maybe,” I said more soberly. Mercifully at that moment our first customer arrived.

The market would last until midafternoon, but as usual, my pies sold long before then. But our stall kept busy with people coming to slake their thirst and talk with Pa. When things slowed down, Luka left us, and a while later I saw him near the entertainment ground surrounded by all his pretty admirers.

“What is it, Elspeth?”

I looked at Pa, realizing that I’d let out a frustrated sigh. “Nothing at all, Pa. The games will start soon, I think.”

“So they will. You go on and join Luka. Find a good spot to watch.”

I kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Pa.”

I hurried to the field, which was marked off with cords, and banners flapping in the cool autumn breeze. The weather had smiled on us, and the sun warmed my face and arms.

“Will you try for the pig, Luka?” Netty Harper was asking. Every year Billy Hamlin greased up a pig, and everyone chased it around the gaming ground. Anyone who managed to catch it got to take it home. More years than not, it went back home with Billy. But it was fine, high-spirited entertainment. Luka had caught the pig three times. Every time he’d given it to Pa.

Luka looked at me. “What do you say, El?”

“Oh not me,” I said quickly. I hadn’t tried for it since I was a girl—I got more enjoyment from watching now. I missed it though, and if I hadn’t made special plans for the evening, I might have been tempted.

Luka nodded, but he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Give me something for luck?”

Netty Harper was fair and freckled, and colored easily. She turned a fine shade of purple at Luka’s question, which was directed at me.

I turned out my hands, then patted my pockets. The only thing I had was the key, and I wasn’t about to risk that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Netty fingering a bit of yellow ribbon tied around her wrist.  

“I’m sorry, Luka,” I said, meaning it.

Netty was working at the knot in the ribbon when Luka took hold of my hand and held it to his lips. “There,” he said, “that will do.”

He flashed me another smile and then jumped over the cord and onto the gaming ground.

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