Spindle(42)

Briar glowed with the praise for Pansy, but wouldn’t be put off. “About that fairy wood,” she said, bringing the conversation back to where it had veered.

“More tea?” Fanny asked. She bustled over to the stove and moved the kettle back to the burner.

“No, thank you. I want to know about fairy wood.” If only to find out why Fanny was dodging the question.

Fanny wrung her hands as her eyes darted about the kitchen. “Biscuit? You must be hungry from your long day.” She opened the little cupboard the children called the magic cupboard and pulled out a shortbread, one of Briar’s favorites.

“Yes, please.” No wonder the children called it a magic cupboard. Fanny had a way of keeping everyone’s favorite foods in stock. Then she raised her eyebrows questioningly. Fanny was a master at changing the subject, but Briar wasn’t going to let her get away with it tonight.

Fanny rifled through the pile of vegetables from the garden. “Where did you hear of fairy wood? Cucumbers for supper?”

“Cucumbers are fine; I’ll cut them.” Briar joined Fanny in the kitchen. “Fairy wood?”

Fanny stepped aside to let Briar have room at the small counter. “It’s rare. Yet not rare. It can be made out of any kind of wood. The secret is how a fairy fashions it to her liking.”

“What do you mean to her liking?” Briar’s tingling skin gave way to a worrisome churning deep inside. She expected to get a fanciful answer from Fanny, but this conversation felt different. This felt…electric, like an invisible veil was about to be lifted. Like her whole day was leading to this moment.

“Posh, the fairies aren’t going to tell their secrets, now are they?” Fanny crossed her arms and stood closer to Briar. “Now, what can a girl in far-off Sunrise Valley know about fairy wood?” She stared straight into Briar’s eyes as if trying to read her mind. “Have you seen something made of fairy wood? Touched something made of fairy wood?”

Briar shrugged, forcing herself to look calm, but inside she was taut as the roving line on her machine. She held her breath, waiting for a reaction from Fanny to know how to proceed.

It was odd how protective she felt about the spindle. As if she sensed people would take it away from her if they knew about it. As if someone like her shouldn’t own anything so beautiful. Or they would want her to sell it to help pay for the children’s care. Thoughts she’d already wrestled with herself, and she couldn’t bear to think of others judging her the same way.

Fanny stood and began pacing around the room. She walked to the window, looked out. Walked back, muttering. “I want you to know that you can come to me for anything. Anything at all. At home. At work. Anything odd going on?”

Briar studied Fanny. There was a tension between them, and Briar was sure Fanny felt it, too. What did she suspect? “Henry is gone. That’s pretty odd. Nanny hasn’t been in touch. That’s odd. You…being here is odd.”

They shared a smile.

“Suppose you’re right. From your perspective there are several odd things going on.”

“You know more than you’re telling me. Why not share with me? The children are my responsibility.” Briar leaned forward. “How can I plan for them when I feel like plans are being made in secret?”

Fanny shook her head and took a deep breath. “Prudence will have a fit.”

“I need to know,” Briar said, her pulse quickening.

Fanny let out her breath. “I shouldn’t do this. One more mark against me.”

“How bad can it be? Just tell me.”

Fanny closed her eyes tight and said, “I’m a fairy.” She opened her eyes. “There it is. You know my secret. A true-to-life real fairy.”





Chapter Twenty-Two



Briar gaped at Fanny. This was not the revelation she was expecting. Is she daft? Sure, Fanny was diminutive, and had a cute pixie face. But a fairy? Fanny was nothing like the fairies Mam talked about. The fairy gardens they made in the woods were for tiny little creatures. Miniature doorways. Bitty pathways. Small tree-bark tables. Now if she could produce wings, Briar might consider believing her. Speechless, Briar continued gaping at Fanny for several uncomfortable seconds.

“You’re not a fairy. Not a real one.” The fear swirling in her gut took hold and began to spread. Fanny couldn’t be a real fairy, because if she was, that meant that the spindle could, in fact, be magical. And everything Briar had heard in the stories about fairies said that some were good and some were wicked. The question would then be, which fairy made her spindle?

Fanny tossed her hands in the air. “You want to see proof, don’t you?” She shook her head. “They all do.” She turned. “Follow me outside. My abilities are still somewhat, er, hindered at the moment.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Long story. But I can show you this.”

After they went outside, Fanny picked up one of the dried rose petals strewn about the ground and breathed on it. The petal filled with a soft pink color and became silky smooth again.

Briar took a step back. How was this possible? She didn’t know if she should be impressed or scared. Her hand shook when she held it out, wanting to touch the petal to see if it was real.

“See?” Fanny held out the lush petal, inviting Briar to touch it.