Selfish Elf Wish (30 page)

Willow shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. They played you, Zeph. “

“But I, well, Briar and I, fell for it.”

Willow shrugs. “They sucked Aunt Iris in, too.”

“Can you imagine?” I say. “Tricking your own grandmother!”

“I know. Evil, right?” she says. We’re both quiet for a while, then Willow sighs. “I guess I have to go through with it. It’s the only way to keep things safe.”

I reach out and wrap my arms around her neck. “It’ll be okay,” I tell her.

 

Later that morning, Mama Ivy calls me into her bedroom. “I need your help,” she says from her rocking chair. “Be a dear and open up that cedar chest over there beside the cupboard.” She points a gnarled finger across the room.

The chest smells like the fresh spring forest when I lift the lid.

“You’ll find some old tunics in there. Just put them on the bed,” she instructs.

I lay them carefully across the bedspread. Each one is more beautiful than the next. One is deep blue like a midnight sky with red embroidery around the cuffs and collar. The next is rose colored with green stitching. Another is mossy green with burnt-orange cuffs and collar. The final one is off-white, the color of trillium flowers, with tiny gold stitches swirling down the bodice and around the hem.

“I inherited these from Aster,” Ivy explains.

“The first mother?” I ask.

Ivy nods. “She brought them from the old country. You see all that fine embroidery? No one does it like that anymore. We’re all in such a hurry nowadays.”

This almost makes me laugh, the thought of elves in a hurry. Obviously Ivy’s never been to Manhattan!

“Now, take this blanket and put it over the tunics and then go get your sister Willow.”

I do as she says even though I have no idea why we’re playing hide-and-seek with tunics.

When I bring Willow back to the room, Mama Ivy has her eyes closed. The skin on her face and hands resembles bark with all its intricate lines and gullies. “Mama Ivy?” Willow whispers, touching her hand. I’m relieved when Ivy’s eyes flutter open.

“Now then,” she says, as if we’re in the middle of a conversation already. “Since the clearing out back is now yours, you’ll preside over the solstice celebration tonight,” Mama Ivy tells my sister.

“No,” says Willow, shaking her head. “I couldn’t, I—”

“Hush, now,” Ivy says with a laugh. “Of course you can. I wouldn’t ask you if you couldn’t. But you can’t wear that old tunic. We have to find the right garments for you.”

Willow looks around the room, confused.

“Close your eyes,” Mama Ivy tells her. “That’s the best way for you to see.”

Willow closes her eyes.

“Let the tunic choose you.”

Willow stands quietly for a moment and then she moves across the floor, as if drawn to the bed. She hesitates, then reaches out her hand to hover over the blanket. Her arm moves back and forth, left and right, then suddenly stops. She reaches down and places her palm firmly on top of the blanket.

“Ah!” says Ivy. “I love that one, too. Pull the blanket back,” she tells me.

When Willow sees what she’s chosen, she presses her palm against her cheek. “I don’t think I could wear this,” she says, lifting the gorgeous off-white tunic. “It’s far too beautiful. What if something happened to it?”

“Oh drivel dravel,” says Ivy. “This is meant to be worn. By you.”

Willow picks it up very carefully and holds it against her body.

“But you’ll need a cloak, too,” Mama Ivy says. She points to the trunk again. “See what’s down there at the bottom, Zephyr.”

I reach deep into the trunk and sure enough, at the very bottom, wrapped in a layer of linen cloth, is a heavy deep-red cloak with white fur trim around the hood and cuffs. Gold braid, small gold coins, and intricate blue, yellow, and green embroidery form a crest across the back. Willow gasps when I pull it out.

“This was Aster’s cloak that she wore when she made the long walk from the old country. Some believe that just by being worn by the first mother it is imbued with magic.” Ivy’s eyes twinkle.

“Oh Grandma Ivy!” Willow drops down and lays her head in Ivy’s lap. “Thank you.”

“No, my dear,” Ivy says, stroking Willow’s long, golden hair. “Thank you for doing your duty and taking on this huge responsibility when you’re so young.” Ivy pats her back. “We’re all in good hands with you, Willow,” she says. “That I know for certain.”

 

That night more clans arrive for the solstice celebration in Mama Ivy’s—no, illow’s—clearing. The moon is large and bright, so even beyond the bonfires into the edges of the forest, the woods feel lit up. As is the custom, Willow, wearing the beautiful tunic and cloak, greets everyone, including Ash’s family (which is a distant part of my father’s clan).

We have a huge bonfire under the bright full moon and a terrific feast of smoked venison and trout, baked potatoes, butternut squash stew, fried rabbit, fresh bread, corn and beans, dried-berry cobblers, and roasted chestnuts. Then, as is our tradition on the solstice, each family takes a turn entertaining everyone else.

My family hasn’t had time to prepare, so it takes us a few minutes to get ourselves together. Willow and I have our lutes, Grove has his mandolin, Dad has his guitar, Mom plays the flute, and the little ones play pennywhistles and hand drums.

“What do you want to sing?” Dad asks, as he plucks his A string and we all twist our tuning pegs to match him.

“How about some of your songs?” Willow asks.

My dad looks surprised. Willow doesn’t usually want to sing my dad’s songs. She’s more of a traditionalist, going for folky elf stuff that’s been sung around these fires for centuries.

“I miss hearing your music,” Willow admits, which makes my dad beam with pride.

“All right then, Miss Willow. What would you like to hear first?” Dad asks.

“Mom’s song,” Willow says.

“‘Aurora Dawn’ it is,” Dad says, then counts us all in.

As we play, everyone else dances or sings along, or at very least sits and taps their toes to the music. Even Iris and Ivy, both bundled up in rocking chairs by the fire, nod to the beat, smiling as if everything in the world is okay. And that’s the way it should be, I think as I strum my lute and harmonize with my dad. Music should make people feel happy and welcome and part of something larger than themselves.

This is what I missed at the BAPAHS musical. It was all about Mr. Padgett and nothing about us or the audience. I think in some ways, it’s the reason Briar and I started doing the elf circles, to connect with our crowd again. Only we didn’t realize just how strong that connection could be.

When we’re done with “Aurora Dawn,” everyone claps, hollers, and whistles. Briar stands in front of the stage with my other cousins and jumps around screaming like a loon. “Addlers rock!” she yells, which makes us all laugh.

“Zephyr,” Dad says. “Why don’t you sing ‘Flying Dancer’?”

“No,” I say. “It’s your song.”

“But you sing it so well,” Dad says.

Briar overhears Dad and she starts to chant, “‘Flying Dancer,’ ‘Flying Dancer,’ ‘Flying Dancer’!”

“Come on.” Dad tugs me by his side. “We’ll sing it together. You take the verses and I’ll come in on the chorus.”

I set down my lute and walk to center stage. I plant my feet like Dad taught me before the
Idle America
audition, then I face the crowd, only this time I’m not nervous. I feel at peace when I see the familiar and loving faces of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents watching me. There’s no teacher I’m trying to impress or mean girl I’m trying to beat out for the lead or people who will make fun of me mercilessly if I mess up. This time I’m singing for people who love me and care about me, and I want to bring them joy.

My family plays the intro. The notes blend together beautifully and swirl gently into the swaying trees. The music mixes with large, soft snowflakes that cascade down on us. No matter what’s gone wrong the past few days or what might happen tomorrow, right now it’s all good. I draw in a deep breath and begin to sing.

As the words leave me, I see Briar absorb them. She throws her head back, bows, and jumps, spreads her long arms and dances in near perfect imitation of a sandhill crane looking for its mate. She even picks up sticks and tosses them in the air like the cranes will do in the frenzy of their mating dance.

I sing for Timber now, wondering if I’ll ever have a chance to sing my passionate dancing duet with him, wondering if he’s my other sandhill crane? My other cousins dance with Briar until they’re all flailing like the giant birds, then we all sing the chorus together,

When the entertainment is done, we all go back to feasting and mingling, getting reacquainted with our long-lost cousins from different clans. Ash’s family is lots of fun. They’ve brought their instruments and games. They have tricksters and contortionists in their clan who entertain everyone with their acrobatics and elfin pyramids. Even Ash’s littlest brothers and cousins join in, standing on top of their fathers’ heads or balancing on one leg in the palm of Ash’s hand.

I’ll be the first to admit that Ash has some superfine cousins, but I don’t feel much like mingling. I don’t know exactly what it is, maybe seeing Willow and Ash so happy together or watching everyone have so much fun, but something makes me miss Timber more than I ever have.

I know he wasn’t supposed to be in Alverland and I know that he won’t remember it, but I wish he could be here with me now. He’d love all this. The music, the games, the people entertaining one another. More than any other erdler I know, Timber would get this. So, rather than join in, I sit on a log with my plate of little maple cakes and watch, feeling melancholy.

“Persimmon! Percy darling!” I hear my mother calling for my little sister. “Have you seen Percy?” she asks me.

I crane my neck to look around, scanning the groups of little kids playing hoops and rings, dancing to the music, and watching Ash’s cousins put on shows. “No,” I tell her. “Want me to help you look?”

“No,” Mom says. “It’s all right. She asked me for some elderberry juice but now I can’t find her.”

I set my cake aside and stand up. “I’ll help you.”

“I’m sure she’s curled up asleep on someone’s lap by now,” Mom says. “I got sidetracked talking to Ash’s mother about the wedding, so it’s been a while since she asked me for the juice.”

Mom doesn’t seem at all worried, but I have an uneasy feeling. “I can get Briar and Grove and we’ll find her.”

Mom smiles at me and pats my shoulder. “No, honey. Enjoy yourself. It’s a glorious night and Percy’s fine. I’ll find her sooner or later.” She walks off calling my sister’s name but is immediately waylaid by another well-wisher, hugging her and exclaiming how amazing Willow is as Mama Ivy’s replacement.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m sad about Timber or if I’m really worried about my sister, but suddenly I don’t want to be in the middle of all this fun. I want some space and room to think and be alone. So I leave my cake on the log and slip off into the woods. I know I shouldn’t be gone long because my family’s going to sing again soon, but if I’m going to be any good in front of everyone, I need to get my head on straight. While I’m walking a big circle around the wooded outskirts of the clearing, I call Percy’s name, just in case she’s wandered too far and can’t find her way back, which is pretty unlikely.

“Percy,” I call quietly. “Where are you, little chipmunk?”

As I crunch over the snow, I wonder what Timber’s doing. He and Kenji should have made it back to Brooklyn by now. I wonder if his mother was furious. If Kenji got in trouble or if his parents didn’t realize he was gone? If Bella roped Timber into more private rehearsals to make up for the time that he was AWOL? The performance is tomorrow night and in true showbiz fashion, it will go on without me. Mostly, I wonder if I still have a boyfriend.

“Looking for something?” a deep voice says. I whip around, expecting one of Ash’s cute cousins to be behind me, but there’s no one there.

“Huh?” I say aloud. “Is someone there?” I peer into the darker spaces between two large pines.

“I said, looking for something?” the voice comes from above me. I feel a deep panic rising inside of my chest. I recognize that voice. It’s coming from a branch of a stately old pin oak tree. I raise my arm, ready to zap Clay if I could see him in the midst of dark branches.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he says, and then I spot him on a large branch low in the tree. He lifts his arm and points to a higher branch above my head. “I’ve got something you want.” I look up and see my little sister suspended from the branch.

“Percy!” I scream. “Get her down now,” I command, and wind up my wrist.

“Not so fast,” he says, and lifts his right arm while still pointing at my sister with his left. “You cast a spell and I drop her.”

I let my arm fall to my side. “What do you want? Let her go!” I yell.

“Hush now, Zephyr,” he says, smooth as snail snot. “You’re just the person I was hoping would come this way. Not some silly cousin of yours skipping off into the forest to kiss new boys from faraway clans. Gads, elves are boring.”

“What do you want?” I demand again.

“Oh, but don’t you know by now?”

“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”

“Come on,” he says. “You expect me to believe that you don’t know what we’re after? If that’s the case, then you’re all boring and stupid.”