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By Christine Stoddard
Literary Fiction
stoddard.christine@gmail.com
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looking more pensive than a five-year old should. She had perched
herself in such a way that her velvet skirt nearly covered the entire
width of the steps. Anyone would have described the sight as strangely
regal for the height of the Great Depression. Fern might have assumed
the same thoughtful air were she posing for a royal portrait under
Queen Victoria. But the image soon dissipated. The girl’s large, dark
eyes flickered when her teacher, Mrs. Tunis, called her name.
“Fern! Time for the class tea party! Remember, you’re the
hostess, dear!”
The little girl popped up and whipped around, careful not to trip
Fern nodded and took her place at the head of the miniature
table. Eleven other boys and girls surrounded the table, with their
Without saying a word, Fern lifted her teacup to her dollish lips
and sipped. Her classmates followed her lead and started to eat and
drink, too. Two boys began bickering over a cinnamon croissant and
one of the girls spilled honey all over her silk blouse. Fern ignored the
solemnly. When she finished her tea, she abruptly placed the cup on
the table, stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and ran toward the open
accordingly. Mrs. Tunis was so busy scolding Linus about putting his
elbows on the table that she almost didn’t notice Fern scurrying out of
“Fern! Come back here! FERN!” Mrs. Tunis had nearly darted out
the door when she skidded and faced the tea party. “Alright children,
I’ll be right back! Please don’t move.” They were too consumed with
their sweets that none of them thought anything of eleven five and six-
She pushed through knots of thorns, reeds, and honeysuckle. She left
no plant within her path untrampled. Pushing deeper and deeper into
the brambles tore up her beautiful dress and scraped at her face but
She was too slow and too big to move through the brambles as swiftly
as Fern had. The woman could only guess where the child was so
desperately heading based upon which plants laid flat on the ground.
to the previous night’s rains. Fern paused, breathing heavily, and then
ran some more until she reached the cemetery at the center of the
hand. The girl tumbled toward a new tombstone and flung herself
before it, onto the freshly turned soil. Then Fern curled up as coolly as
a millipede and started to drift off as her mother’s ghost watched over
her.
By the time Mrs. Tunis found Fern, the child was asleep. Her back
gently rose up and down as her minor lungs filled and emptied. The
teacher caught her breath and admired the girl, then slumped down to
the silt and clay. She stroked Fern’s soft head. The child was hot with a
of the hole dug up for the woman’s coffin was still visible; the earth
Mrs. Tunis sighed and picked up the child from her somber nap.
The girl felt very light in the woman’s thick arms, as if a small part of
her had evaporated. Then Mrs. Tunis headed toward the school,
praying that her class had not entangled themselves in any mischief
during her absence. She had to get back before they smeared cupcake
The next day, Fern was sitting in the school’s courtyard, parked
on a bench sized for children. The bench was nestled in the beginnings
of a garden. Marigolds
tickled the girl’s ankles. Fern’s only company at the bench was a yarn
and cotton rag doll. The rest of the girls played jump rope but they
knew better than to invite Fern. She was too melancholy for their taste.
“Miss Mary Mac, Mac, Mac! All dressed in black, black, black!
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons! All down her back, back, back!”
the girls sang in unison. The lyrics echoed into the sky.
But their songs did not tempt Fern. She remained on her bench,
clutching her teacup from the previous day’s party. While the other
girls hopped and skipped, she kicked her little legs back and forth but
her pretty mouth did not smile. Her face sagged into a frown.
Just as Fern finished her final drop of tea, a tiny ray of light, like
opposite end of the courtyard where Mrs. Tunis oversaw her students.
presumably drawing closer to her. The girl perked up but her face
remained serious. Something, the five-year old realized, was amiss and
it made her nervous. The light came closer and closer to Fern until it
reached her.
accompanying voice.
“No need to worry,” the voice continued, “You can trust me,
Fern.”
The girl stayed silent. She was at the very least curious about
“I won’t hurt you. In fact, I want to help you. I know your mother
died an awful death. I know what you saw---I know that your father
murdered her. He was so embarrassed about losing his job, the house.
All he had left was his family name. You remember how angry he was,
right? How frustrated he was for weeks and weeks? And then, one day,
So he chose your mother. Because she wouldn’t sell her mink stole!
You know what stole I’m talking about---the one with the eyes you
the night and scared you? It had those funny ears you hated? Your
mother wouldn’t sell that stole or her locket or her pearls or any of her
pretty things, even though your father begged and pleaded that you
family needed the money. And then that day, three days before Easter,
he shot her, then tried to make it look like an accident. So you had to
go to her funeral on Easter instead of going on the egg hunt with Linus.
The whole funeral, you didn’t say anything because you were afraid to
blurt out what you saw. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore, Fern.
I saw what Daddy did. I saw. See? You’re not alone, Fern. You’re not
alone.”
Mary Jane clad feet and plucking imaginary lint off of her skirt. When
the voice stopped, Fern stared directly at the ray of light, speechless.
She squinted her eyes and, upon closer inspection, realized that the
Dragonfly-esque wings sprouted out from its body. A plain white tunic
covered its bony frame, down to its toeless feet. Perhaps other people
would have gaped in disbelief but the sight somehow did not surprise
“See, Fern,” the fairy’s high-pitched voice began again, “We can
become great friends, you and I. I can help you with your problem---the
guilt you feel for not telling anyone about how your mother really died.
Just then, as the fairy uttered the word “melt,” the being pointed
at a spider web stretched out on the brick wall behind Fern. Fern
turned around to look. The web shriveled into a single drop of dew and
disappeared into a glitter cloud. Still Fern did not gasp. She turned
The fairy said, “You’re quite jaded for a little girl. Other children
“Let’s just get on with it,” the fairy sighed and fluttered onto
Fern’s round shoulder. The being overwhelmed Fern’s nose with its
mixed rose and orchid scent. “I have a deal for you, something that will
Again, Fern fidgeted, this time with her curly hair. She slid her
you graduate from high school. And, in allowing me to help you with
your schoolwork, you will never feel guilty about holding the secret to
“But,” the fairy said, “You must never thank me. If you ever
thank me for helping you with your schoolwork, your guilt will haunt
You will never forget how your mother real died and you will especially
never forget that you were too cowardly to tell a soul the truth. Do you
understand, Fern?”
“As soon as you return to class, our agreement shall take into
effect. I hear you have to read a story today---and we both know how
For the first time since the fairy’s arrival, Fern expressed a shade
Not a minute passed before Mrs. Tunis rang her bell, signaling
the end of recess. The girls dropped their jump rope and the boys
abandoned their kickball. All the children filed in front of Mrs. Tunis and
trailed behind her as she led the class to the library. It, like all the
“Alright, boys and girls, if you all recall, it’s Fern’s turn to read the
story of her choice. So why don’t we all sit down while Fern takes a few
The children, tired from playing outside, gladly fell to the floor. A
few of them broke into chatter but most of them were fairly quiet. Mrs.
escorted her to the storybook shelf. Already the girl felt anxious---heart
galloping, skin sweating. Fern halted before the shelf, closed her eyes,
hands.
The fairy whispered in Fern’s ear, “Good girl, good. Now walk
story indeed. But it has such beautiful illustrations! The other boys and
Fern didn’t reply and ambled toward the rocking chair facing the
pile of kindergartners on the floor. The girl settled into the big chair
after arranging the pillows to her liking. Mrs. Tunis towered over Fern as
Fern.”
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The fairy began reading word for word everything on the front
cover of the book for Fern to repeat. The girl waited a beat. Then she
cleared her pint-sized throat and pronounced the book’s title and
startled more than one of Fern’s classmates but none of them were
genuinely amazed until Fern got into the story. From “Once upon a
time” to “The end,” Fern did not stumble over a single syllable.
breath and then clapped. “Fern! That was excellent!” The rest of the
Fern beamed. She slowly rested the book on her lap and basked
The rest of the afternoon, the fairy helped Fern perform her best.
lines to five different nursery rhymes, and calmed her nerves during
her French lesson. Again and again, Mrs. Tunis praised Fern, astonished
changed into such a sure-tongued sprite. The next day and the day
after that, the fairy kept its promise and Fern kept hers, as well. Not
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As Fern became more popular with Mrs. Tunis and her reputation
improved, Linus began spending more time with Fern. He never played
with her during recess but he sat next to her during story hour and
occasionally offered her one of his crackers at snack time (but only the
For weeks, the fairy and the little girl honored their pact and Fern
no longer felt guilty about keeping the reason for her mother’s death a
secret. Sometimes she even imagined her mother had killed herself,
just as her father told her grandmother and their priest. She
sometimes doubted if she had witnessed her father shoot her mother
One day, about a month after the fairy had first approached Fern,
the girl confessed what now ailed her. She was in the courtyard,
nibbling on the crust of her toasted sandwich, when the fairy appeared
on her knee. Recently, it followed her almost everywhere she went, like
“What’s the matter, child? You look glum,” the fairy said. It
crossed its slender legs, brought its elbows up to its knees, and
Fern swallowed and placed the rest of her sandwich on her lap. A
black fly landed on it but she didn’t care. Usually she would have
swatted it but this time the girl had something to say. “I-I d-don’t like h-
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with all my schoolw-work. It’s like I-I’m tricking everyone into t-thinking
“But don’t you like all the attention you’re receiving? You’re Mrs.
Tunis’ favorite student now. She’s even promoting you to third grade.
You always wanted to grow up faster, didn’t you?”
Fern didn’t reply. Both she and the fairy already knew the answer.
Ever since her first day of school, when everyone but Linus taunted her
The fairy scoffed, “Really! If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. You’re
never happy, are you Fern? I rid you of one guilt and now you feel
Fern bolted up and stomped her foot. “I j-just don’t like t-tricking
“You weren’t honest about your mother’s death,” the fairy shot
back. “Look, Fern, I promise you that the guilt you felt about not telling
anyone how your mother died was far greater than what you feel
now---and it would have only grown larger in time. If you know what’s
best for you, you’ll keep up your end of the deal. Don’t risk doing
otherwise.”
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Fern began to sniff. She didn’t want to feel guilty about anything
at all. She started to wail loudly enough that her teacher heard her
from the other side of the courtyard. Mrs. Tunis came racing toward the
girl.
“What’s the matter, Fern? Did a bee sting you? How many times
zigzagged down her Botticelli face, making her cheeks and nose bright
red. The child buried herself into her teacher’s chest. All the while, the
She posed at her desk, the picture of the perfect student, with her
hands daintily folded. Anytime Mrs. Tunis called on her, she delivered
not that it ever was. She could have convincingly fooled even her
“Here,” Mrs. Tunis said as she pulled Fern aside at the end of the
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face. She thanked her teacher and took a greedy bite. But the cookie
ground and handed the rest of the cookie to Linus, who had been
waiting for her. Fern’s guilt had even conquered her tongue.
A week later, Mrs. Tunis officially bade Fern farewell. She walked
the girl down to the third grade classroom and introduced her to her
“Yes, you are, child. Trust me. And don’t worry about leaving
Fern gulped, said good-bye to Mrs. Tunis, and stepped into her
new classroom. None of the students even greeted the new student.
The girl took the desk with a piece of paper bearing her name. Mrs.
chalkboard. Puffs of chalk dust flew into Fern’s face from her place in
the front row. Soon Fern began reciting multiplication tables and
“You are quite a clever girl,” the teacher told Fern at recess. As
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anymore. The fairy warned Fern that doing so would ruin her
‘intellectual image.’
At the end of the day, as Fern gathered her coat and lunch pail,
the fairy grinned and asked, “How did you like your first day of third
grade, Fern?”
The little girl sighed, “I didn’t l-l-like it very much at all. I still feel
like a f-fake.”
Fern nodded a sad nod, the way a drooping daisy might, and
trudged home to her father and grandmother.
lesson. She passed out charcoal and sketching paper for each child.
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charcoal very eagerly, happy that at last she would have the chance to
movement. But her delight vanished when the fairy seized the piece of
“When I told you I’d help you with all of your schoolwork, I meant
Fern’s didn’t answer. Instead, her hand shot up and called to her
Just then the fairy nipped Fern’s thumb. A drop of bright blood
the class. “We’re drawing this still life, boys and girls.” She pointed at
books, and a glass paperweight. “You will have one hour to complete
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wrapped her hand over the piece, as the fairy held onto the very top.
charcoal this way and that. Beautiful forms emerged and shadows in all
the right places soon followed. It was the kind of delicate work only a
“I told you: the deal was that I would help you with ALL of your
schoolwork.”
“But this isn’t math or reading. It’s art. Nobody can help me with
art.”
“Shut up! I’ll be done soon enough and your teacher will love it.”
“But---”
“SHUT UP!”
purplish shade. Then she let go of the charcoal. The fairy kept drawing,
unaware of what Fern had done. The students sitting on either side of
Fern stared at the black chunk swaying to and fro seemingly by itself.
“Hey…” one of the students said and nudged the student beside
him. One by one, each student in the class turned to the floating
charcoal.
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But before any of them thought to ask the obvious question, Fern
now. Suddenly the fairy shrieked and shriveled away, along with the
charcoal. The fairy’s charcoal sketch burst into flame without a sound.
Not even a wisp of smoke ensued. Then Fern ran out of the door,
She thrust herself into the cluster of trees and weeds at the edge
of the school property and tore every plant in her sight. Every part of
Fern went flying as she sprinted. Her hair bounced; her skirt swung
around wildly; she flapped around her arms, aimlessly. Further and
further she went until again she stumbled upon the cemetery.
Fern threw herself on top of her mother’s grave and bawled. She
open the portal to the other side. As she pounded, crimson toadstools
spurted up from the soil and encircled her. The girl cried and cried until
a cold air engulfed her. Something pushed into her skin until it
completely seeped into her small body. It was her mother’s ghost,
brandishing the bullet hole where her own husband had shot her. But
Fern could not see her. She felt her entire being tingle, shiver, and
violently shudder but she never questioned the reason. She kept crying
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For the rest of her days, no matter where Fern went or what she
did, the truth of her mother’s death lived within her. And just as the