April Sullivan's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

The garden was enormous. At least, it was enormous to April and Cadence. The flowers rose above their heads like trees, their stems thick enough to climb. Blades of grass stretched toward the sky like green towers, and the stepping stones that led through Grandma’s garden had become great gray islands floating in an endless meadow. April crouched behind a cluster of lavender, peering carefully between the blossoms. “Do you see them?” Cadence shook her head. She was five years old and wearing a yellow dress with grass stains on the knees. Her brown hair was pulled into two uneven pigtails, one already coming loose. “No.” “They’re hiding.” “Where?” April pointed toward the rose bushes. “Over there.” Cadence gasped. The two girls crept forward. Their wings were invisible, of course. Real fairies could hide their wings whenever they wanted. April had explained that yesterday. They were looking for a fairy village. According to April, it had to be somewhere in Grandma’s garden. There were too many flowers for there not to be one. Cadence reached toward a butterfly resting on a daisy. “Don’t touch it,” April whispered. “Why?” “You’ll scare it.” The butterfly opened its wings. For one glorious second, it was enormous. Then it fluttered away. Cadence giggled. April smiled. And then a familiar screen door opened. The enormous garden suddenly became a garden again. The flowers shrank. The grass became grass. And Grandma Heidi stood on the porch with a basket tucked against her hip. “Don’t mind me, I’m just fetching the laundry!” April then decided she would help. She scrambled to her feet. Cadence remained exactly where she was. “Cadence.” “I’m busy.” “With what?” “Fairies.” Grandma smiled. “Well, tell them they can help with the laundry.” Cadence considered this. “They’re too little.” “Of course they are.” April ran toward the clothesline. Sheets billowed overhead, glowing white in the afternoon sun. Grandma had already hung most of the laundry, and the breeze sent the fabric sailing back and forth. April reached up to pull a clothespin from the line. Cadence disappeared beneath one of the sheets. “Cadence!” A small shape moved behind the fabric. “I’m a fairy!” “You’re supposed to be helping!” “I am helping!” “How?” “I’m keeping the sheets from flying away.” Grandma laughed. “Very important work.” April shook her head, though she was smiling. Then she heard the familiar rumble of tires coming up the driveway. “Grandpa!” She dropped the clothespin and ran. Grandpa had barely stepped out of his truck before April threw her arms around him. “Well, hello there.” “Where were you?” “Working.” “Did you bring anything?” Grandpa raised an eyebrow. “Is that the first thing you ask?” April grinned. “No.” “Yes, it is.” He reached into the truck and pulled out a paper bag. Cadence came running from the garden. “What’s that?” “Nothing.” Grandpa held the bag behind his back. “Nothing?” “Absolutely nothing.” Cadence narrowed her eyes. Grandpa laughed and handed them each a small cookie. The afternoon passed slowly, the way summer afternoons seemed to when they were children. After the laundry was finished, Grandpa called the girls over to the garden. “Who’s ready to plant something?” “Me!” April ran to him. Cadence followed. Grandpa knelt in the dirt and showed them where to dig. “Not too deep.” April carefully scooped the soil away with her hands. Cadence used both hands and immediately got dirt underneath her fingernails. “Is this good?” “Perfect.” Grandpa placed the little plant into the hole. The three of them worked together, pressing the soil gently around it. April patted the earth. “There.” Grandpa looked at the three of them. “There we go.” Cadence leaned against his shoulder. “Will it grow really big?” “If we take care of it.” “How big?” “Bigger than you.” Cadence’s eyes widened. “Bigger than April?” Grandpa laughed. “Maybe.” April frowned. “Hey!” Cadence giggled. For a little while, everything was peaceful. Then April remembered. “Come on!” She grabbed Cadence’s hand. “We have to find the fairies.” “Again?” “They could be anywhere.” Grandpa watched them disappear toward the trees. “Don’t go too far!” he called. “We won’t!” They went too far. At first, the forest was familiar. The girls followed a narrow trail between the trees, stepping over roots and fallen branches. April searched beneath mushrooms. Cadence looked inside hollow logs. Nothing. “No fairies,” Cadence whispered. “They’re probably hiding.” “Maybe they don’t like us.” “They do.” “How do you know?” “Because we’re fairies too.” Cadence smiled. They continued walking. Then April stopped. Something was wrong. The forest had changed. The trees here were thinner. Some branches were bare even though it was summer. The leaves looked dull, and patches of brown covered the forest floor. Cadence’s smile disappeared. “April?” “I don’t know.” A breeze moved through the trees. There were no birds. No buzzing insects. Nothing. Cadence reached for April’s hand. “Let’s go home.” April nodded. They turned around. But suddenly the path didn’t look familiar anymore. “April?” “I know.” “Do you know where we are?” April swallowed. “Yes.” A pause. “No.” Cadence’s eyes filled with tears. “Grandpa!” Their voices echoed through the trees. “Grandpa!” For a moment, there was nothing. Then they heard barking. A deep, familiar bark. Cadence’s face brightened. “Aspen!” Branches moved. A huge Saint Bernard emerged from the trees, his tail wagging as he hurried toward them. “Aspen!” Cadence threw her arms around his neck. A moment later, Grandpa appeared behind him. “There you are.” April ran to him. “We got lost.” “I know.” “How?” Grandpa glanced toward Aspen. “He has a better nose than you two.” Cadence sniffled. “I wasn’t lost.” “No?” “I was exploring.” Grandpa smiled. “Well, explorers need to know when it’s time to go home.” He held out his hand. April took it. Cadence took his other. Aspen walked beside them. As they left the strange part of the forest, April looked back. For just a moment, she thought she saw something glowing between the trees. She blinked. Nothing. That evening, everyone gathered around the campfire. The flames crackled as sparks drifted upward into the darkening sky. April sat beside Grandpa. Cadence curled against Grandma. The younger children listened as Grandpa leaned forward. “Have I ever told you about the magical tree?” April shook her head. “What magical tree?” “The one that saved Medford.” Cadence sat up. “There’s a magical tree?” Grandpa nodded. “Long ago, before any of you were born, there was a tree unlike any other.” He told them how the tree had grown in the heart of Medford. How its roots reached deep beneath the earth. How its magic spread through the forest, the gardens, the fields, and the little town beyond. “And what happened to it?” April asked. Grandpa looked into the fire. “That,” he said, “is another story.” Cadence frowned. “That’s not fair.” Grandpa smiled. “But the tree taught the people of Medford something important.” “What?” “That nothing stays healthy without someone to care for it.” The girls listened. “Trees need people to protect them. Gardens need people to tend them. And places need people who love them.” He looked toward the dark outline of the forest. “As long as someone is around to take care of Medford, it can survive.” April looked at him. “Would you take care of it?” Grandpa smiled. “I always have.” The next morning, the kitchen table was covered in ribbon, fabric, glue, and scraps of glittering paper. Grandma held up a piece of purple fabric. “For April.” April’s eyes widened. “Purple!” Cadence reached for the pink. “Mine is pink!” “Of course it is,” Grandma said. They spent the morning making fairy wings. The wings weren’t perfect. The ribbon tangled. The glue got everywhere. Cadence accidentally stuck glitter to her nose. But when they were finished, April held hers up proudly. Purple wings. Cadence’s were pink. They strapped them to their backs. Then they stood in the yard. April looked at Cadence. Cadence looked at April. “We need to fly.” Grandpa was waiting beside his old tricycle. “I know just the place.” The girls climbed into the basket. Grandpa climbed onto the seat. And down the hill they went. The wind rushed through April’s hair. Cadence squealed. “Faster!” Grandpa laughed. The tricycle rolled faster. The road stretched beneath them. The trees blurred. The sun hung low over the horizon. And then something happened. The wheels lifted from the ground. April gasped. “We’re flying!” Cadence laughed. They soared above the trees. Their wings fluttered behind them. Grandpa was no longer wearing his ordinary clothes. He had wings too. Great, beautiful wings spread behind him as he flew between the two girls. April reached for his hand. Cadence reached for his other. The three of them flew together through the golden sky. Below them, Medford glowed beneath the setting sun. The forest shimmered. The gardens stretched toward the horizon. And for a little while, there was no sadness, no sickness, no fear. There was only the three of them. Three fairies flying home.