Charlie Morrison's Arc

Chapter 7 of 14

Charlie hid the basket in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and latched it. When she came back to the porch, Fern had not left. The fairy sat on the rail with her knees drawn up, watching Charlie's face like she was reading a page. "You're going to fail," Fern said. "Not the gift. The table." Charlie sat down on the swing. "What do I do wrong?" "Everything after the water. You know the greeting. You don't know the sitting, the cup lift, the order of speaking. If you reach before you're named, they'll send you home for good." Fern flew up and hovered at eye level. "Wait here." She was gone before Charlie could answer. Charlie waited. The wolf lay across the doorway. The pines went quiet the way they did when something was moving inside them. Then two lights came through the ferns, one blue, one white, with Fern's green between them. They landed on the porch rail together. The blue one wore a dress of small blue flowers and carried herself like a woman used to a classroom. The white one stood a step ahead, hands folded, spine straight, every petal of her white dress in place. "Bonnie Dewshine," Fern said, pointing to the blue. "She teaches our young. And this is Daisy Springrain. No one at the table sits better than she does." Daisy tipped her chin the exact degree of a greeting. Charlie tried to copy it and knew at once she had gone too far. "Lower," Daisy said. "You are the guest, not the servant. Again." Charlie tried again. Daisy nodded once. "Better." They worked on the porch boards. Daisy set out an acorn cap for a cup and a chip of bark for a plate. She showed Charlie how to lift the cup with two fingers, where to set it down, when to keep her eyes on the table and when to raise them. Charlie stumbled at the third pass and Daisy made her start over. She did not soften her voice. Bonnie waited until Charlie's hands stopped shaking. Then she stepped forward with a list of words. "You'll need these," she said. "Thank you. I accept. I decline with respect. May I speak. Say them after me." Charlie opened her mouth and the sounds came out clean. She said the next word before Bonnie gave it. Then the next. Bonnie tilted her head. "Who taught you?" "No one," Charlie said. Then she remembered. A summer clearing. Fern on a stump, small hands cupped, feeding Charlie words one at a time while Charlie repeated them into the moss. She looked at Fern. Fern looked back and did not smile, but her wings lifted. "You already know it," Fern said. "You only forgot." By dusk Charlie could take a seat, lift a cup, and ask leave to speak without a single wrong move. Daisy stepped back and folded her hands. "She is ready for the table," Daisy said. "If she is not stolen from first."