Jennifer Jones

Water Fairy

Chapter 1

            Morgen Shanley didn’t think she was ever going to fit in.  She had been in Ireland for three weeks, and she still couldn’t figure out how to plug her hair dryer into the crazy outlet.  She could ignore that she wasn’t exactly gorgeous with her freckles and waif-like figure, and that she had absolutely no friends, but yesterday at school when she found out her name is actually a boy’s name, it was all too much for her. 

Not only isn’t Morgen a girl’s name, but it also isn’t Irish.  Apparently, it’s a big deal if you’re Irish and you don’t have an Irish name.  As soon as she was introduced to the class, the kids all snickered.  Morgen had no idea what was so funny until later that day as she attempted to enter the girls’ restroom.  A girl, later revealed to be Selia Banning, shoved her way in front of Morgen, blocking the path into the restroom.

“Just where do you think you’re going? This is the girl’s lavatory, and it’s only for Irish girls,” Selia said crossly.

Morgen was taken aback.  She didn’t know how to respond.  Surely Selia knew Morgen was a girl.  What was her deal? 

“Did you hear what I said?” Selia boomed as she took a small step toward Morgen.

“Yes,” Morgen answered timidly.  She could smell Selia’s rancid breath and was dimly aware of a crowd of girls collecting behind her.

            Selia put her hands on her hips to appear larger than Morgen, and to fill more of the doorway. 

            “You can use that lavatory.” Selia motioned with her head to the door on her left. 

            Morgan responded with, “But that’s the boy’s bathroom.  There’s boys in there.”

            “Well, with a name like yours, you should feel right at home then shouldn’t you?”

            Morgen couldn’t believe her ears. 

            “What do you mean? What’s wrong with my name?” Morgen questioned.

            “It’s a boy’s name.” Selia sneered.

            “So?”

            “So, you must be a boy if your name’s Morgen, and if you’re a boy, then you can’t enter the girl’s lavatory.  We don’t want any Peeping Toms in here.  Now, get away from here or I’ll report you for peeping!” Selia advanced even closer to Morgen.  Morgen slinked away nervously.  Selia was big and scary and Morgen wanted no part of her.

It was never like this in the Miami.  No one cared if your name was actually a boy’s name, and they definitely didn’t care if your name wasn’t Irish.  In fact, there were several girls in Miami with the same name.  Their names were spelled M-O-R-G-A-N, so Morgen didn’t fit in there either, but she was thankful she had the presence of mind to tell her new teacher that she went by Morgen, her middle name rather than her first name.  It was best that the Irish teenagers didn’t find out her first name was Gwenhwyfar.  If they ever did, she could put any plans of friendship out of her mind forever.  Gwenhwyfar was a Welsh name, not Irish, and it was too weird for Morgen to ever mention it to anyone. 

            Morgen hated Ireland.  She loved Florida.  It was sunny and warm in Miami, and the beach was always so inviting and full of life.  She had always felt a strong pull toward the water.  The only water around here was a small lake about a mile down the dirt road.  Morgen thought about trekking down there just to pretend she was in Miami, but imagining a warm, sunlit beach with white sands was going to be difficult when the sky was overcast and the shore was filled with tall green weeds.  

            “Gwenhwyfar! Ya’ll be late!”

            Morgen snapped back to reality.  In no hurry to get to school, she was sitting at her desk in front of her small mirror, brushing her hair. 

It was Finola, her grandmother, calling.  She insisted on addressing her by that name!  Morgen told her not to call her that, but Finola refused to listen.  She said that her son, Morgen’s father, had given her that name and that she should be proud of it.  It didn’t matter that no one, including her father, ever called her that. 

Morgen got up from her desk and crossed the room to her closet to get her shoes.  Finola was so strange, Morgen thought, as she laced up her tennis shoes.  She was never going to understand this peculiar woman.  It was difficult to picture them being related at all.  Morgen was small with delicate features, while Finola was tall and statuesque. 

However, this wasn’t what was so odd.  What was strange about Finola was that she was so superstitious and acted extremely bizarre most of the time.  Morgen sat against her closet door and thought about the first day she arrived.  She wanted to go for a walk and look around her new home, and Finola said she could as long as she didn’t eat any berries that she found.  Morgen asked why and Finola answered matter-of-factly, “Well, because it’s after Halloween, of course!”  Morgen must have looked confused because Finola huffed and said, “For cryin’ out loud girl!  Don’t tell me yer father didn’t explain about the fairies!”  She went on to add, “Gwenhwyfar, yer never to eat any berries after Halloween.  It doesn’t matter if they’re blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, boysenberries or any other kind of berries ya might stumble across around here.  Do ya understand that?”

            “Why not?” Morgen had inquired, thinking a couple of berries just might hit the spot right about now.

            “Because of the fairies, of course!! Are ya daft girl, or don’t ya listen?”

            Morgen had stared at Finola, baffled.  This was the first occasion when Morgen thought maybe she had stumbled into an alternate reality.  What was Finola talking about?  Finola went on to explain that the fairies piss on the berries after Halloween and she had personally made it a firm rule never to so much as step on a berry, lest she track the contaminated juices into her house. 

            In addition to this weirdness, Finola hung bells on every entrance to the small cottage, including the windows.  In Miami, Morgen had only seen bells hung on convenience store entrances.  The bells are used to alert the clerk that a customer is entering the store.  Morgen has always found those bells to be annoying, and Finola’s bells were worse.  Not only did the bells ring when the door opened and closed, they rang with the wind.  From all the racket those bells made, Morgen felt like she was in a bell factory. 

On Morgen’s third day with Finola, the ringing bells were driving her insane.  She was sporting the headache from Hell and decided to take care of those bells, once and for all.  She found out very quickly, however, the real reason for the bells when she decided to remove their ringers.  Huge mistake.  The second Finola realized the bells were not ringing, she completely freaked out.  It seems that fairies fear the ringing bells.  If one is trying to enter the house, the bell will scare it away.  Morgen simply rolled her eyes, went to her room, and spent the rest of the day with her head buried under her pillow. 

“Gwenhwyfar! Don’t ya come when yer called?”

Morgen shook out of her daydream, stood up and grabbed her books, then walked into the tiny kitchen to see her grandmother leaning her face into a pot of oatmeal, or porridge to the Irish.  It didn’t matter what the stuff was called; Morgen wasn’t going to eat it. 

            “You’re going to burn your face,” Morgen said unconcernedly.

            “Damned Pot Pixies are determined to ruin me stovetop.  Can’t take any chances.”  Finola never removed her eyes from the pot. 

            Morgen rolled her eyes and walked to the door.

            “Where do ya think yer going?  Ya haven’t eaten.” Finola turned toward Morgen, forgetting about the oatmeal.  She hadn’t eaten a thing since she arrived, unless you count those airplane sunflower seeds that she hoarded and had been nibbling on everyday. 

            “To school,” Morgen responded.  She chose to ignore the subject of eating.

            “Gwenhwyfar, I haven’t see ya eat a thing in three weeks.  Sit down at the table and eat, lass,” Finola ordered, pointing her slender finger at the small wooden table that looked at least a hundred years old. 

            Morgen looked around Finola to the stove, “Your pot’s boiling over.”

            Finola turned abruptly and found that her shiny white stovetop was covered in bubbling oatmeal that was beginning to crust and burn around the edges.  She began shrieking in Gaelic frantically trying to keep the mushy brown cereal from overflowing even more. 

Morgen took this chance to try running out the door, but the jingling bells gave her away. 

            “WAIT!” Finola bellowed.  “SIT!”

            Morgen turned, sighed and slumped down into a chair.   

            “Yer going to eat, lass.  Yer father may have let ya go for weeks without eating, but that’s not going to happen here.  Yer thin as a rail.”  Finola placed a hot, steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Morgen.  “Now then, go on and eat your porridge.”

            Morgen did her best to keep from gagging at the site of the brown mush.  “Don’t you have any granola?” Morgen asked. 

            Finola gave her a look of confusion. “What do ya mean?”

            “You know, granola.  It’s rectangular and comes in a package. It’s held together with honey,” Morgen hoped.  She dared not ask about strawberries.

            “What are ya talking about?” Finola stood with her hands on her hips.  It was clear to Morgen that Finola did not have granola.  In fact, Finola had no clue what Morgen was talking about at all.

            “Nevermind,” Morgen answered, looking down at the bowl of hot pulpy mush.  It looked like something a cat would hack up.  It smelled even worse.  She picked up her spoon, took a deep breath and dug in.  Finola stood and watched to make sure she took a bite. Morgen held her overflowing spoon in front of her face.  Her hand began to shake.  The oatmeal was beginning to ooze over one side of the spoon.  Morgen felt a lump rising in her throat and tried to suppress it, but as the spoon got closer to her mouth, the lump seemed to climb higher until finally there was no way Morgen could even place the spoon in her mouth without getting sick all over the table.  She quickly put the loaded spoon back into the bowl.

            “What’s the matter?  Why won’t ya eat?” Finola questioned with concern in her voice. 

            “I’m just not hungry,” Morgan answered, pushing the bowl away from her.  “Can I please go?” 

            “Wait, I have a gift for ya,” Finola turned to a little wooden box on a shelf above the stove.  She opened it and brought out what looked like a brown, beaded necklace.  She turned smiling and offered the necklace to her.

            “I made this for ya last night.  I thought ya might like it.” Finola said gently.  She held a look of anticipation in her eyes.

            Morgen rose from the chair and approached Finola to accept the gift.  The necklace was not exactly Morgen’s style, in fact it was hideous, but she felt she had no other choice but to accept the gift. 

            “Oh,” Morgen smiled forcefully, “thank you so much Finola.”

            “I’ve told you to call me Grandmother. You’re too young to call me Finola, and I’m too old to be anything but Grandmother.” Finola helped Morgen put the necklace on. 

            Once that necklace was on, Morgen noticed an unpleasant aroma floating up from the necklace.  Her nose tingled, and she sneezed.  Morgen tried desperately not to breathe. 

            “What’s the matter?” Finola inquired, no longer smiling.

            “Ub, dothing,” Morgen answered. 

            “Why aren’t ya breathing?” Finola’s eyebrows came together.

            “I yab.” Morgen breathed through her mouth, closing her nose off.  “See?”

            Finola crossed her arms.  “What is it?” She pushed.

            “What is dis decklace bade frob?” Morgen asked, her eyes began to water.

            “Peony seeds on a linen string that I made meself from flax,” Finola answered, she was beginning to appear irritated. 

            “Why does it sbell?” Morgen had noticed the flax all over the floor of the cottage, and had no clue about its purpose, she had not gotten a whiff of any kind of stench rising up from the floor so it couldn’t possibly be the flax linen string. 

            “It doesn’t!” Finola straightened.  She was clearly offended by Morgen’s lack of appreciation for the necklace.  “I made that for ya out of love! I wanted to give ya something to welcome ya to my home, and yer going to wear it!  Peony seeds will protect ya from the fairies.  I’ll not have ya kidnapped! I’ll never get my son back, but I got ya and I’ll not have ya walking around this countryside unprotected!”

            This got Morgen’s attention.  Her jaw dropped, and she forgot about holding her nose. “Kidnapped? Unprotected? You’ve never been to Miami have you?”

            “No, I haven’t.  Ya never should have been either!  As long as yer wearing that when ya leave the house, ya won’t be disappearing again.” 

            “What do you mean again?  I was born in Miami.  I have never been to Ireland before, in fact, I never even knew you existed before Dad died.”  Morgen was completely puzzled over this announcement.

            “I don’t know what yer dad told ya, but ya ought to know ya have been to Ireland.  In fact, ya were born here.  And ya don’t have to throw in my face that me own son didn’t tell his daughter I existed.  Believe me, if I knew then, what I know now, ya never would have even been born.”  Finola turned around and began feverishly working on her mucky stovetop.

            Morgen felt as though she had been hit.  There was a tightening in her chest as she turned toward the door.  Grabbing the handle, she ripped the jingling door open and darted from the cottage. 

            She heard Finola calling her name from the doorway, but she was not going to stop running.  Before she could prevent them, the hot tears began to cloud her vision.  She ran and ran as frenzied thoughts burst through her mind.  Her father never spoke to her like this.  He was always kind, always caring.  Why did he have to leave the house that day?  After her dance recital, he made a special trip for Morgen’s favorite dessert, cool peaches topped with honey and poppy seeds. 

Morgen missed her dancing.  When she danced, she felt free.  She was able to shut the world out, immersing herself in the movements.  It was hypnotizing.  She could close her eyes and imagine herself in a meadow at midnight surrounded by tall grass and flowers.  Firefly flashes competing with the stars while Morgen spun around and around.  She felt as though she were flying.  It was the most glorious feeling. 

Morgen stopped running and bent over with her hands on her knees while she caught her breath.  Subsisting on airplane sunflower seeds for three weeks have drained her energy.  After calming down some, she took a look at her surroundings, and almost lost her breath again.  Without realizing where she was running, she discovered she’d run to the lake and it was stunning.  Not at all like she thought it would be.  There were flowers all around.  Bluebells, clover, elderberry (steer clear of those), foxglove, lilac, poppies, and primroses surrounded the lake.  There was a huge boulder the size of a small car a little ways down the shore on her left.  Morgen approached the rock and noticed it was surrounded by heather and silverweed.

Most girls her age couldn’t tell a snapdragon from a chrysanthemum, but Morgen could.  She had always taken a special interest in nature, especially plants.  Her garden at home was filled with all of the flowers she saw here.  The garden was one area where Morgen and her father always disagreed because he felt she spent way too much time babying her flowers.  She would sit for hours and talk to the flowers, just like they were little people.  If her father had had his way, their yard would have been gravel.  

Lazily, she grabbed a few sprigs of silverweed.

“No peonies here.” Morgen muttered.  She climbed onto the boulder and sat looking at the lake.  She sniffed her small bouquet.

Her stomach growled as she thought about her situation.  Fifteen years old and stuck in Ireland with a crazy woman.  Suddenly she remembered the stinky necklace.  It had gotten lost under her shirt while she was running.  Morgen grabbed the necklace and yanked, spilling peony seeds all over the boulder and tossing the linen string into the lake.  Some of the seeds, however, managed to fall into her bra.

“Great.” Morgen sighed.  She tugged at her shirt and bra trying, fruitlessly, to get the seeds to fall out. 

Morgen began to feel furious, and pounded a fist into the boulder. 

“Ow!” Morgen yelped as she shook the pain from her hand.  First emotional pain, then physical, this is just too much, Morgen thought.

She wondered how Finola could ever say that to her?  At first, Morgen just thought Finola was strange, but it was becoming apparent that she was also cruel.  As soon as she found out she had a living relative, Morgen was so excited she couldn’t contain herself.  She didn’t even know her mother before she died, and her father was not really very good at girl stuff, so, as a result Morgen craved female companionship and guidance.  Morgen wanted someone that could help her understand what it is to become a woman.  Finola seemed like the perfect person.  Well, so much for that fantasy.  

Morgen may have to live with Finola, but she did not have to like her.  Only three years, then she could be on her own.  Actually, Morgen thought, she was already on her own, it just wasn’t legal yet. 

As she was considering her screwed up life while she sat on the boulder, Morgen absently picked at the silverweed, putting the petals and roots into her mouth, chewing and swallowing them. 

After this episode with Finola, Morgen didn’t want to go to school now.  She was not in the mood to deal with Selia.  It would be lovely to stay here forever and never have to leave this rock.  The lake was peaceful, almost hypnotizing.  The water mirrored the clouds in the sky with only soft ripples from the wind disturbing the surface.  Morgen breathed in the fresh fragrant air, and noticed her stomach no longer rumbled.  She looked down to see what was left of the silverweed in bits and pieces on the rock.  Morgen licked her lips. 

“Huh, I ate silverweed,” Morgen said to herself, half-smiling.  “It wasn’t so bad either. I’ll have to remember this next time Finola serves oatmeal.” 

Morgen decided, as much as she hated the idea, she’d better go to school.  There’s no reason to let Finola, or Selia for that matter, ruin her education.  That is, if she ever wanted to leave this island.  She hopped off the rock.