A DEAL MADE

My Granny was a bit soft in the head, but she always told us kids great stories. I didn’t particularly think of her as crazy, like my Da or Ma did. I just thought she was different, but fun.

One of her favorite subjects was fairies. Fairies under hill, fairies in the trees (I knew they were actually nymphs), fairies living in the barn (brownies, more likely), fairies all around. I never got tired of hearing her stories about them, even if they were lies.

Besides stories, she was full of warnings. Don’t walk through Moonbeams, Nita. Don’t drink from the well on a moonless night.

Of course, I wanted to know why not.

“Moonbeams are essential to fairies. They are building blocks of their world.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I protested.

“Not everything in the world will make sense,” she said. “Some things just are the way they are, defying reason and any explanation.”

I didn’t believe her. Da always had answers to my questions. He could explain everything. I bet he could explain fairies too, if they were real.

It was a dreary day when Granny died. The rain poured, like the world was crying with me. Our well turned sour and we had to get water from the neighbors. Bessie refused to give milk, and the chickens did not lay any eggs. I was hungry.

Ma and Da were worried. I could tell. Ma tried to hide her tears when she baked bread. I wasn’t sure if she was crying because Granny died (she always made better bread than Ma), or because that was the last of our flour.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Granny always kept me company, showed me how to knit or needle point. Now the threads knotted up by themselves and I couldn’t unravel them. I missed her already.

Da walked in, dirty from digging. They would put Granny in a grave, like the old Kitty cat. I hoped Kitty would keep Granny company.

“We’ll have to continue tomorrow,” Da said to Ma, when she asked if they were finished. Ma nodded, but I frowned, trying to look past the clouds. The moon had been waning and Granny would not like to go in to the ground on a moonless night.

“But the moon,” I said, tugging Da’s muddy sleeve.

“Leave off it, Nita,” he snapped and headed to the corner to wash himself.

“Ma,” I wailed at her. “Granny wouldn’t want to—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, ruffling my hair. “There’s nothing special about a New Moon. One comes every month.”

I knew there was nothing special about it. But Granny didn’t and if these were to be her last moments on earth, I wanted her to be happy.

As soon as Ma and Da fell asleep, I put my clothes back on and snuck out. There was a pile of dirt just outside of our yard next to the same spruce Kitty was buried under. At least Granny would be happy about that.

It took some maneuvering to get down in the hole. Da had said it had to go deeper, so I took my little shovel and started to dig. It was hard. I couldn’t lift the dirt properly out of the hole, most of it just slid back down. Frustrated, I stomped my foot. I needed to come up with another way.

The rain turned into drizzle and then was no more. Doggedly, I kept digging. The wind blew all the fallen leaves around and glanced up just as the clouds sifted. All around me, moonbeams shimmered. Usually they were hard to see, but tonight they were thick and bright.

I scrambled out of the hole and looked around, suddenly wary of the fairies. If the moonbeams really were that important to them, then they would be here soon. Granny always left them milk and honey or eggs by the door, even if it made Da angry. She said it was to keep them from coming inside. Offerings to keep a little girl like me safe.

The clouds kept shifting, but the moonbeams stayed put and I shivered. We didn’t have any milk or honey or eggs. Chills began creeping down my spine, maybe Granny was right. When a branch snapped somewhere behind me, I dropped my shovel and ran. Bursting through the door, I dove straight under Granny’s bed and squeezed my eyes shut.

Every creak of the house sounded menacing and I was sure I heard steps outside.

When nothing followed me through the door for a while, I began to relax. Ma always said I had too lively an imagination, one that would get me in trouble someday. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling completely. Very slowly, as quietly as I could, I crawled out from under the bed and snuck to the window.

The moonbeams were gone.

I glanced back at the bed where Granny was laying under the sheet. She would tell me to be brave (fairies despised cowards and so did she). A few deep breaths steadied me further and I tiptoed out of the house again. Being scared was no reason to let Granny be buried on a moonless night. Besides, it was safe now. The sliver left of the moon illuminated the yard evenly.

The hole seemed deeper than before. I stared at its dark depths, wondering how much more I had to dig, and then turned to look for my shovel. That’s when I saw them.

Fairies were everywhere, they surrounded me. One peeked out the spruce, others sat on its branches. They had elongated features, weird eyes, skin shaded green and brown. Some leaned against the barn, where Bessie mooed and even more of them stood, sat or laid around the yard. I couldn’t even come up with words to describe them all.

Granny was right.

I swallowed my fear. Be brave, be brave, be brave, I told myself. Bravery wasn’t an absence of fear, it was overcoming what you were afraid of. Da’s words wrapped around me comfortingly. I used to be afraid of the dark, I no longer was. I would overcome this too and be brave for Granny.

“Will you help me dig a grave for Granny,” I asked. My voice wavered, but I held my ground when they all shifted closer.

“She always left you milk and honey or eggs. I promise to leave them for you too, if you help me.”

None of them said a word, but they tilted their heads weirdly. One stuck its tongue out at me, the other one sniffed the air loudly.

“Please,” I said and pointed at the shovels mounted on the dirt. “It’s a moonless night tomorrow.” At that, I choked a bit and angrily wiped the tears away from my cheeks. This was important and nobody wanted to listen to a cry baby.

The green-skinned fairie stepped out of the spruce and pointed at the hole.

“Yes, she’ll be buried there. Next to Kitty cat.”

She nodded, like she understood. In the better light, her features kind of reminded me of Kitty cat, without the long whiskers.

“Will you help me?” I asked again and picked up my shovel. Even if they didn’t, I still needed to do this.

Most of them shrugged or just disappeared, but some of them took up the shovels and hopped down. One of them lifted me, his spindly fingers reaching all the way around my waist, and lowered me in to the hole.

The fairies were fast and strong. I was just in the way, but none of them said anything or pushed me aside. I lifted dirt up with my hands and together we kept going. When we were done, another fairie lifted me out of the hole and they all gathered around me.

I looked up to the sky, at the thin sliver of the moon. The grave was deep enough, two of me could stand there now. It was time to get Granny. The Kitty-looking one was already waiting for me by the door. They all seemed to be in a hurry.

I held Granny’s hand when she carried her outside. Ma and Da never even stirred, and Bessie had quieted down. Granny’s face seemed peaceful in the moonlight, the sheet flapped in the wind.

The fairies lowered her to the ground and I threw flowers on her chest. Last flowers of the season we had gathered together just yesterday. After they helped me to fill the grave, the fairies all kissed my forehead before departing. Too late, I remembered one more of Granny’s warnings.

Never make a deal with fairies.