Chapter Fourteen #2
Mel finished another bite before she answered. “All over, really. I was born in Florida, but that was our winter home. Most of the time we were on the road.”
“Circus?” Nick guessed.
Mel shook her head. “Close. Mostly Renaissance fairs.”
Grace frowned, confused. “Renaissance fairs?”
Mel pointed to the Rider-Waite Magician card on her shirt.
“My mother’s a fortune-teller. My father’s a magician.
There is a Ren fair going on somewhere every single weekend except the last couple of weeks of the year.
Even then there are the Dickens Victorian Christmas fairs, which are close enough.
Just requires a slight change of costume. ”
“And you traveled with them?” Grace asked.
Mel nodded, taking a sip of her wine and pointing to her bowl. “This is so good.”
“Thanks,” said Nick. “Were you homeschooled?”
Mel groaned. “Oh yes. My mom and dad were my teachers, and trust me, all that two-on-one attention ensures a good, solid education…and then some.”
Daniel laughed, and Mel was oddly pleased.
“It made for an interesting childhood, all that traveling,” Mel went on.
“You learn a lot about the different areas of the country. I’ve seen almost every major national park and monument and got a history and biology lesson at each one.
My parents were determined to make sure being on the road would be an asset for me, not a liability. ”
“Did you help out? With the acts, I mean?” Daniel asked.
Mel finished her next bite.
“We’re not letting the poor thing eat,” Grace said.
“No, that’s fine,” Mel replied. “If you’re there, you help out. You help unload and set up. You dress in costume and create a character for yourself, then stay in character the entire time. I also performed as my father’s assistant for years.”
“I bet that was interesting. Did he ever saw you in half?” Grace asked.
Mel nodded. “And made me disappear. A lot.” She took a bite of garlic bread. “I’m afraid I’ll need this recipe, G-man. Don’t make me bring in Woodward and Bernstein.”
Nick laughed. “G-man. I haven’t been called that one…actually ever.”
“I love the shirt,” Grace said. “It’s sort of like a family crest.”
Mel was thrilled that someone understood. “Exactly! I was so glad this one was still in my backpack.”
“It must’ve been tough, moving around like that. Sounds even more temporary than being a military brat,” Nick said.
“It is a bit nomadic. People traveling the fair circuit become a kind of extended family, though. You’ll see the same acts and vendors at some of the fairs, but there are so many.
Dad and Mom are both great at what they do, so they have no problem staying with the fairs they like.
When I was young, they worked hard at scheduling gigs just so I could see new places. ”
“Is that why you live…lived in an RV?” Daniel asked.
Grace and Nick stared at him, as if the question were rude, but Mel smiled.
“Because it was what I was used to, yes. It was actually the RV they traveled in before they had me. They rented it out and got a new, larger one, then gave it to me when I graduated.” She looked around their enormous home and out the sunroom doors to the trees beyond.
“But when I see places like this, places where real families have put down roots, I think a lot about having a home that isn’t on wheels. ”
Mel kept her eyes on Daniel as she continued.
“Sometimes it’s a scary thought. When you move around so much, you establish certain ways of looking at things.
A home like this is a commitment—a promise of a certain kind of relationship with the land and with the people.
A lot of people have lost that kind of relationship.
Not just the fair folk or carnies or military brats. ”
“Amen,” Nick said.
“I can see why so many people who stay at your cabins keep coming back. There’s a sense of…” Mel looked around. “It’s like the personification of home.” She shook her head. “I can’t put words around it.”
Grace smiled. “Wait until you go up on the mountain.”
“Maybe tomorrow, after my feet heal.”
“Heal? What happened?” Grace asked, looking under the table.
“I’m breaking in some new shoes. They’re great, but—”
“Daniel, did you drag her all over the farm?”
Daniel threw up his hands. “Hey, she asked me to!”
“Don’t blame Daniel. I didn’t complain until after the damage was done,” Mel interrupted.
“You should let me put some ointment on them if you’re going to hike the mountain,” Grace said.
Mel felt despair from Daniel. He gave no indication of whether he wanted her to stay or go, but she was not going to use her talento to find out.
Daniel sat on the porch swing beside Mel while Grace tended to the reporter’s battered feet.
Mel needs to leave. Now.
He was beginning to wonder if he was losing his mind. He had seen Mel miscarry, and he hadn’t thought she or the child would survive. Then, just an hour ago, he had seen their child, alive and healthy.
But that was impossible…unless the contagion was no longer a threat somehow. Unless he had inadvertently stopped it or was going to stop it.
He looked at his hands. He’d forgotten his gloves.
If he’d seen her face in his vision before last night, he would never have invited her here. Now her life was getting tangled up in theirs, and she had fallen under the spell of the mountain.
She had wrapped herself around his heart as well. And not just his, if the look on Grace’s face was any indication.
“You have the tiniest feet. What size shoe do you wear?” Grace asked.
“Five. Trust me, the things I miss the most from my RV are my shoes.” Mel leaned over Grace’s bowed head.
“I can see why. You probably have the same problem I do finding the right size.” Grace stuck out her own long, slender feet for inspection.
“Well, there’s always Zappos,” Mel joked. She helped herself to another of Nick’s homemade biscotti. “Ah, espresso and fresh biscotti. I have died and gone to Florence.”
Daniel forgot to laugh. She turned to look at him, her eyes questioning.
Dammit, she needed get off the mountain and out of his life. Keep on living and breathing somewhere without him.
Grace patted Mel’s left foot. “That one’s done. Give me the other.”
“So, recipe?” Mel looked at Nick, who was holding the first aid kit, again.
Daniel feared that before she left, she would be wrapped up like a mummy.
“No threats this time,” said Mel.
Nick laughed. “You are persistent.”
“Makes me a great journalist,” she quipped. “Give.”
“It’s no big secret. Add a couple of tablespoons of orange zest to a basic recipe and dip them in bittersweet chocolate,” Nick replied.
“No. I need the whole deal. I can never get them right. Mine always tear or crumble when I try to slice them up.”
“Crumbling usually means not enough liquid or fat, or too much nut flour,” Nick said. “Soft could be your oven. If they’re too soft to slice after the first bake, put them in at about two-fifty and check again.”
“My oven.” She sighed. “That’s one good thing. I get a new oven!” She leaned in to pretend to whisper to Grace. “If you ever get tired of your chef there, I’ll take him.” She smiled at Daniel, then she pointed behind him into the darkness beyond the porch.
“Fireflies!”
Sure enough, off in the woods that ran along the east side of the house, a few tiny lights were blinking.
“I’m nearly finished. Go ahead and turn off the lights. I can do the rest by touch,” Grace said.
They sat in the dim light from the windows, watching the fireflies dance in the woods as Grace finished her bandaging.
“You should tell Mel your firefly story, Grace,” Nick said.
“Oh yes, please,” Mel said.
“Well, it’s Pops’ story, not mine,” said Grace.
“I think this is one we need to write down so we don’t forget the details.
” She took a deep breath. “Pops’ great-grandmother told him that long ago, when everything was new, the Mother used to sing to her people.
They would bow their heads and listen at her caverns to hear her voice.
“Her song was so beautiful that her people danced across the hills as her magic, the oldest of the old magics, wound its way through the valleys below them. Some of the stars were enchanted by this song and came down from the sky to perch in her hair”—she pointed to the woods around the house—“and listen. As the stars listened, they began to flash in time to the melody, covering the mountains and hills with a brilliant light that pulsed in time to her song.”
Mel leaned forward, entranced. Watching her in the dim light, Daniel felt a pang of longing as he remembered her from his dream, lit by the radiance of pulsing fireflies.
“But gradually her people stopped listening to her music and turned away from her. They tried to make their own music and create their own magic. But their efforts were poor imitations, and the Mother went silent, mourning their desecration of the song. All those stars became trapped here, waiting for the Mother to sing again. Sometimes, now and again, the stars sing for the Mother, flashing in unison, hoping her voice will join them once more.”
All was quiet for a moment, and Mel sighed. “That’s a wonderful story.”
“Daniel’s seen them flashing like that up here on the mountain. They do it over in the Smokies too. It’s breathtaking,” Grace held up Mel’s foot. “There. All bandaged up.”
“Is that why it’s called the Firefly Foundation?”
Too late, Daniel realized Mel had taken his hand. Before he could pull it back, Mel’s bright face flickered away.
There was a childish giggle and silver-green eyes blinked back at him. He twitched, making the porch swing rock wildly, which made the redhaired imp sitting next to him giggle at the erratic motion.
“It’s a boy and his name is Logan, after Great-Grandpops, and Andrew, after Daddy,” Lily said, wrinkling her nose. “But Mommy said they need a photo to put in the ablum.”