Leprechaun in Late Winter (5 page)

Mary’s question doesn’t make sense
, Jack thought.

“I don’t know. Do you know where summer is, Mary?” asked Annie.

“Summer is hiding with the Shee!” said Mary, laughing.

“The Shee? What’s that?” said Annie.

“Surely, you must know the Shee,” said Mary.
“That’s what we Irish call our fairies. In the winter, the Shee steal all the warmth and sunshine, leaving us to suffer with the cold and rain!”

Annie laughed, too.

“So you’ve played the parts of fairies in a play by Shakespeare?” said Mary. “They’re just like our Shee. Have you seen the Shee here in Ireland?”

“Mary!” Augusta said impatiently.

“Not yet,” said Annie.

“That’s a shame,” said Mary. “I have seen them. This is a true story”—she looked at Jack and smiled—“with facts. You might want to write them down.”

“Oh. Sure,” said Jack. He pulled his notebook and pencil out of his pocket. Augusta looked surprised.

Mary leaned close to Jack and Annie again. Her eyes were shining and her voice was hushed. “One day long ago, a lonely young girl took a walk in an old forest,” said Mary. “All was still, until
joyful music began coming from a hidden world.…”

Jack loved Mary’s way of telling a story. He wrote down:

Augusta frowned. “So, I guess you
can
write,” she muttered.

“Suddenly there came a spinning wind,” said Mary, “and a cloud so bright, and a beam of light poured over a river!”

Jack quickly wrote:

“Then they came, rumbling and thundering!” exclaimed Mary.

“Mary,” said Augusta. She sounded impatient.

But Mary kept talking. “Some with wings, some on horses of white! Queens and kings! In
robes and gowns the colors of summer, fall, winter, and spring!” Jack wrote:

“They galloped in a circle, a blinding swirl!” said Mary. “They swept up that lonely girl and carried her across the river to their secret hollow hill! Had she gone inside, she would have become very small and seen many wondrous sights!”

Jack wrote:

Jack looked up from his notebook, waiting for Mary to go on. When she spoke again, her voice was very soft. “But the girl grew afraid and ran home instead.”

Mary sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.
The only sound in the cottage was the crackling of the fire and the
pinging
of rain into the tin buckets.

“Mary?” Annie said softly. “Are you the girl in the story?”

Mary opened her eyes. “I will never tell,” she said.

“Oh, Mary,” said Augusta, “such tales!” She turned to Jack and Annie. “Mary still believes in the impossible.”

“Aye, I do, I surely do,” said Mary. “Every night I leave a bit of milk on my windowsill for the Shee. I leave crumbs at my door. They eat them, too.”

“Mary, the
birds
eat the crumbs!” said Augusta.

“Yes, the birds are hungry also,” said Mary. “But the Shee pick over the crumbs first! At twilight, they steal across the river from their hidden hollow hills. Just ask the old fishermen of County Galway. Ask the farmers and nursemaids.”

Augusta shook her head sadly. “Mary, only
simple-minded folk still believe in such things,” she said. “Educated people know what is true and what is not true.”

“No, child,” said Mary. “They only know what they
think
is true.…”

Augusta straightened her shoulders. “Well. We should be going now, Mary,” she said. “So could you please tell these children the truth about me now?”

“Yes,” said Mary. She turned to Jack and Annie. “Do you children have names?”

Jack smiled. This was the first time today anyone had asked them their names.

“Yes. Our names are Jack and Annie,” said Annie.

“Well, Jack and Annie, thank you for coming to visit me today. I can tell that you are very special,” said Mary.

“What about
me
, Mary?” Augusta asked. “Am I special?”

“Yes, child, you are,” said Mary. She turned to
Jack and Annie. “Augusta is special, too, but in a different way.”

“How am I different, Mary?” asked Augusta.

“You try very, very hard to be good, and you are very smart. But you—” Mary stopped.

“What, Mary? I—what?” said Augusta.

“You are not happy,” said Mary. “And that breaks my heart.”

Augusta’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Augusta, don’t cry,” said Annie. She reached out to take Augusta’s hand, but the girl stepped back.

Augusta wiped her eyes. “That’s silly. I’m happy enough. I know I’ve never seen the Shee and I never will. But I don’t care anymore. And if you like these miserable children more than me, Mary—well, that’s fine!”

Augusta ran to the door and opened it. The damp air swept inside as she rushed out of the cottage. Through the open doorway, Jack and Annie could see Augusta’s red cape flying behind her.

J
ack sighed. Their mission really seemed hopeless now.

“We’d better go find her,” said Annie.

“She won’t go far,” said Mary. “My poor Augusta … she has a fine mind and a brave heart. But she is so unhappy.”

“Why is she so unhappy, Mary?” asked Annie.

“Yeah, what is her problem?” said Jack.

“More than any of her brothers and sisters, Miss Augusta loved my stories,” said Mary. “Remembered every one of them, she did.”

“Really?” said Jack.

“Yes, she would repeat them back to me, word for word,” said Mary.

“That’s amazing,” said Annie.

“She loved the stories so much that she grew desperate to see the Shee for herself,” said Mary. “At night she would carry a lantern across the fields, calling for them. By day, she poked and prodded every part of the farm. Why, she even used a magnifying glass, scouring the earth for tiny footprints! But I’m afraid she never found them.”

“Why?” said Annie.

Mary sighed. “Because she looked for them with her head and not her heart,” she said. “Eventually she gave up and stopped searching. She didn’t even want to hear the stories anymore. She’s been a dutiful—but sorrowful—child ever since.”

“That’s terrible,” said Annie. “What can we do to help her?”

“There is only one thing you can do,” said Mary.

“What?” breathed Jack.

Mary leaned forward in her chair. Her blue eyes seemed to stare right through Jack and Annie. “You must show her the magic,” she said.

What?
thought Jack.
Does Mary know about the magic tree house?
“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I know that you children are like me—you see things that others don’t,” said Mary. “Help Augusta see them, too. Help her find the magic in the fields and in the forest.”

For a moment, Jack and Annie didn’t say anything. The wind blew through the open door. The fire crackled.

Then Annie took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “We know exactly what to do.”

“We do?” said Jack.

“Yep, we’ll talk about it outside,” said Annie. “Thanks, Mary. We’ll find Augusta and take care of everything.”

Jack and Annie stood up to go.

“One and twenty fare-thee-wells on this wonderful winter day,” said Mary.

“One and twenty to you, too,” said Jack. Then he and Annie left the cozy cottage, scattering the winter birds by the front door.

It had warmed up a little outside. The rain had stopped, but fog hung heavily over the sheep fields. The ground was soggy with mud.

Jack could barely make out Augusta’s red cape through the fog. She was across the lane, sitting on a stone wall at the edge of the sheep meadow. “Mary was right, she didn’t go far,” Jack said. “So how do we show her the magic, Annie?”

“Easy,” said Annie. “We play our magic whistle.”

“No, we can’t do that,” said Jack. “We’re supposed to save the whistle for a moment of great danger.”

“That moment is
now
!” said Annie. “Come on.”

“Hold on,” said Jack. “What great danger are we facing right now?”

“Not us.
Augusta
,” said Annie. “She faces the great danger of losing all hope and happiness and
being bored and sad for the rest of her life—and never being inspired and never sharing her gifts with the world! It’s almost too late already!”

“Okay, okay,” said Jack. “But are we just going to go up to her and start blowing the whistle and singing? That seems pretty weird.”

“Hmm … yeah, it does,” said Annie.

“How about this?” said Jack. “We’ll tell Augusta that we want to put on a play for her.”

“A play?” said Annie.

“Yep,” said Jack. “We can tell her we want to prove that we weren’t lying, that we really were in a play by Shakespeare.”

“Oh, cool,” said Annie. “Then what?”

“We play the magic whistle,” said Jack. “We sing about the Shee. We make them appear—like in Mary’s story—galloping and thundering! Augusta sees them. She gets inspired. Our mission’s done.”

“Perfect!” said Annie. “Let’s go!”

Jack and Annie hurried across the lane to the
stone wall. “Excuse us, Miss Augusta,” said Annie. “We just had a really great idea! Want to hear it?”

Augusta didn’t answer. She kept staring at the ground.

“How would you like to see a play?” said Jack.

Augusta looked up. “A play?” she said.

“We want to put on our own play for you,” said Annie.

“Why?” said Augusta.

“Because it’s really good,” said Jack. “And maybe it will prove to you that we really
were
in a play by Shakespeare.”

Augusta looked doubtful.

“Come on, you’ll love it,” said Annie. “Do you know a quiet spot where no one can bother us?”

Augusta bit her lip and looked around. Then she stood up. “All right,” she said. “The river near the old forest. I used to go there with my brothers.”

“Great!” said Annie.

Annie and Jack followed Augusta through the rain-soaked, misty meadow. They walked past
grazing sheep, then down a slope toward a wide, rushing river. The river separated the sheep’s meadow from an old forest. Jack could barely see the trees through the ghostly fog.

Augusta stopped on a low ridge above the riverbank, near some large rocks. “Here,” she said.

“Good, those rocks can be our stage,” said Jack.

Jack and Annie climbed the pile of small boulders and stood on a large, flat rock.

“Okay,” said Annie. “The name of this play is
A Late-Winter’s Daydream
.”

Not bad
, thought Jack.

“And this is what’s going to happen,” said Annie. “Jack will be the narrator. I’ll play the Irish whistle. And Jack will sing a song that tells the story.”

“What?” said Jack. “Excuse us a minute, Augusta.” Jack turned to Annie. “Why
me
sing?” he whispered. “Why not
I
play and
you
sing?”

“No, I want to play,” said Annie. “You took notes at Mary’s, right? So just say a few words to describe the scene. Then use your notes about the Shee to make up a song. You can do that, can’t you?”

“I guess …,” said Jack.

“Cool,” said Annie. “Give me the whistle.”

Jack reached into his pockets and pulled out his notebook and the Irish whistle. He gave the whistle to Annie.

“Sorry, Miss Augusta,” said Annie. “We’re almost ready.” She whispered directions to Jack. “Okay. Say your introduction. I’ll start to play. Then you’ll start to sing. Then—”

“I’ve got it,” said Jack. “Let’s just start.”

Jack and Annie turned to face Augusta. Jack cleared his throat. Then he spoke in a loud voice:

Jack nodded to Annie.

Annie raised the magic Irish whistle to her lips and began to play.

Strange, sweet music came from the whistle. The music was both sad
and
happy. It was full of beauty and hope, pain and sorrow. Like the fog over the river, the music seemed to blend everything together.