Authors: Donna Morrissey
“Ohh, Hannie,” said Missy, as she shoved herself up on her pillow. “You’re such a good girl.”
Hannah stood back, beaming. “Now, I’m going to get mine. You can rest some more, if you wants,” and swooshing once more down the bannister, this time landing on her feet. She hacked off another slice of bread and poured another cup of tea. It was going to be a grand day, after all, especially with the uncle gone and no one to watch and grumble as she took care of Missy. And after breakfast, perhaps they’d wander about the thicket, scrape some fairy butter and find a good spiderweb to lay their handkerchiefs on come evening. And perhaps tomorrow she could stay again, seeing’s how she was being more help than hindrance. Frankie was right; Aunt Missy really did need more fresh air and walking, and in no time at all, she mused, wolfing down the last of her burnt toast, the dark would leave her aunt’s eyes, and her cheeks would be pink again from the sun.
It was close to mid-afternoon when Missy came down over the stairs. Her cheeks weren’t so pale, but the pained look still pinched her mouth, and her hair looked so much darker, tied back as it was in its tight ponytail.
“You want more tea?” asked Hannah, watching her anxiously.
She nodded, then took the uncle’s seat at the table, looking out the window. “It’s a nice day,” she said simply.
“You want to go for a walk?”
She shook her head and, rising, began pacing the kitchen and looking as if she didn’t know what to be doing with herself.
“It’ll be good to go for a walk,” coaxed Hannah.
Missy sighed, walking briskly to the door, opening it.
“If it wouldn’t for their tutting tongues, I might,” she said, peering out through. Then, pressing the door shut, she marched over to where Hannah stood pouring her tea. “But the last thing I needs to hear on this day is their tutting. Lord, they thinks I can’t hear them, but I hears them—even when I’m not listening, I hears them.”
“Let’s go down in the thicket then. No one can see us there.”
“You’re forgetting something,” said Missy, sitting on the uncle’s chair. “You got to go home today.”
Hannah stepped away from the stove as if she’d been burnt. “But—Uncle Sim said—”
“I knows what Uncle Sim said,” exclaimed Missy. She laid her cup on the table, beckoning Hannah towards her. “It’s—just that I’m sick, and there are—things I have to do.”
“I’ll help you,” cried Hannah, “I been helping all morning, haven’t I? You said I was a good girl. I’ve not been a bad girl, have I?”
“Come here, Hannie,” said Missy, holding out her arms, and when Hannah shuffled hesitantly towards her, she leaned forward, pulling her close.
“You couldn’t ever be bad,” she whispered, “not ever. Not even if it’s a bad thing you’ve done, that’s all it is—a bad thing. That don’t make you bad. You listening, Hannie? You’re a good girl, the best.” And pulling away, she peered into Hannah’s eyes. “Tell you what,” she exclaimed, the pallor of her face belying her sudden enthusiasm, “I’m going to take you to a secret place—a real secret place. You thought I was making it up yesterday, didn’t you? Well, I wasn’t, and this evening, if you promise never, never, ever to tell—not ever—I’ll take you there.”
Hannah nodded. “I won’t tell.”
“But you must promise not to be afraid,” said Missy. “Do you promise—even though it’ll be dark? It won’t be like last night,” she warned as Hannah shook her head. “We’ll be walking a lot farther—and it’ll get a lot darker. You sure you won’t get scared?”
Hannah shook her head vigorously, basking in the sun’s brightness against the windows.
“Then we’ll leave soon as it gets dark,” said Missy. “Be sure to dress warm, and Hannie—” she leaned back, staring fixedly into Hannah’s eyes “—you’re never to tell!” she whispered strongly.
“I won’t.”
“Not ever!”
“Not ever!”
Evening came. And after a supper of bread and cheese and cold meat, Missy tied a dark bandanna around her hair and, gathering jackets and boots and bundling some other things together, they dressed and went outside. The bluebells rustled with a sudden breeze. Tightening her bundle more securely beneath her sweater, Missy took Hannah’s hand and, checking the lamplit windows, hurriedly retraced her steps from the night before down over the backyard, through the gate and onto the path leading through the thicket. They spoke little, for there is a silence in the forest at night, no different from that of a darkened bedroom; and unlike the night before when Missy had been full of assurances and content to dawdle along the pathways and visit the little brook, tonight she stole like a thief through the dark-covered path, skirting the brook and keeping out of the way of the full moon as she half-crept, half-slid down the side of the embankment, Hannah tight to her heels. The moon tucked behind cloud and the dark was smouldering as they began their trek alongside the river.
“Careful,” Missy cautioned as Hannah tripped on something, nearly slipping into the river, “and, Hannie, we can’t talk now, not till we’re out on the beach on the other side of the wharf, because there’s always people out and about— that’s why we’re going down the gorge to the shore; nobody walks down here much at night. Careful,” she urged as Hannah tripped again in the tangled grass hedging the path, and then again and again as she hurried to keep step with her aunt. Twice they crouched amongst the bushes as voices no more than twenty feet away rang through the night, and once they shrieked with fright as a weasel or a lynx darted across their path, slipping into the river. When finally they came onto the beach, their step brightened once more by the glorious full moon and the sea lapping softly upon shore, Hannah almost sobbed with relief. But holding tight to her pounding heart and her earlier pledge not to be scared, she kept her quiet and watched as her aunt checked carefully up over the road, then beckoned her to follow as she darted across the wharf, ducking down its other side. Crouching for a moment in its shadow, and neither seeing nor hearing anything, she rose, gathering her bundle more securely to her side and started down the shore. The lights from the houses quickly receded behind the growing hills, making brighter the moon lighting the beach and turning greyish white the pieces of driftwood vomited up by the sea, reminding Hannah of the ribs of her father’s ancient boats.
“Would that I was a fish,” Missy sighed once they were clear of the houses, and a school of mackerel fluttered to the top of the water, the tips of their fins and tails flicking silver in the moonlight.
“That’s what Daddy says.”
“That he was a fish?”
“Yup—a caplin. Moseying by hisself and not running aground like when they swims in schools.”
“Sounds like I’d like your daddy,” said Missy, checking over her shoulder.
“How come you never comes visit, then?”
“Ohh, I don’t know.”
“Because you’re mad at Mommy?”
“Is that what she says?”
“No.”
“Who says, then?”
Hannah shrugged. “I says.”
Missy laughed her old fun laugh, wrapping an arm around Hannah’s shoulder, hugging her as they walked. “It’s the little marm, you are,” she said, “and I’m glad Clair sent you, no matter what; it’s been lonely all by myself, and I haven’t been much fun, have I?”
“Yes you have.”
“No I haven’t. But tomorrow I’ll be really good fun, and perhaps tomorrow evening we can scout through the thicket, hunting fairy butter; you want to do that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s good, then,” said Missy. “Not scared, are you?”
“Nope.”
“It’s nice here on the beach, don’t you think?”
“Not too dark.”
“I’ll warn you now—it’s dark in the cavern,” said Missy.
“The cavern?”
“Not a real cavern. It’s just a rock wall, shaped like a horseshoe, but it sinks in a bit like a cave, and the walls are smooth right down into the water, so it feels like a cave—and it’s called Copy-Cat Cove. It’s—it’s spooky in there, but only till you comes around the other side, and then we’re right at my secret spot. It’s just a little shack that must’ve belonged to an old fisher or somebody once, but nobody goes there no more. It’s out of sight behind a bunch of trees—nobody in the world knows it’s there.” Her voice trailed off.
“How come you found it?”
“I remembered it from when I was young—I found it with a bunch of others. It’s a good place to go sometimes. I stays inside so much during the day that I’d die if I didn’t get out at night, Hannie. And I likes it, really, being by myself, walking on the beach. And I can sleep there.”
“You sleeps there?”
“Sometimes. That’s what makes the uncle so worried. But I always wakes up and gets home before the fishers go out—so’s they won’t see me and have more to talk about.”
“Are we going to sleep there tonight?”
“Sure. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so the fishers won’t be up as early. Nobody’ll see us, and if they do—” she paused “—I won’t care any more.”
Hannah looked about. The water was ink black despite the moon, and she felt that same unease she felt in thicket, as if she were venturing somewhere that she ought not to be. And things sounded louder at night, more pressing with its need to be immediately understood.
“There’s the cove—just up ahead,” said Missy. “Mind, there’s nothing in there—just water and rocks and kelp—lots of it. And I brought a flashlight so’s we can see where we’re going. First, let’s get inside the cove before I lights it; that way nobody can see the light and come snooping. Here, take my hand.”
Catching hold of her hand, Hannah followed her aunt around the outcropping of rock, and into what appeared to be a giant mouth of black against the greater black of the hills. More eerie was a rustling, sludging sound, echoing from within its jowls.
“It’s the kelp,” said Missy as Hannah pulled back timidly. “See?” She flashed on the light, flicking it around the cavern walls open to the sky and its black water glistening as sprigs of kelp slithered above its surface, brushing against large rocks that dotted the narrow, broken beach skirting the base of the cavern walls. “Everything echoes in here—that’s why it sounds so loud,” added Missy, her voice faltering despite the sureness of her step as she inched her way before Hannah deeper into the cavern. “Listen,” she said, hugging the rock wall besides her so’s to keep her feet from slipping into the water, “I’ll make it echo for you—Baa aaaa aaaa!”
“BAA AAAA AAAA!” the walls echoed back, and Hannah clasped her hands to her ears, shutting out the ghastly sounds reverberating madly in return.
“Aunt Missy—”
“Ohh, don’t be scared, silly,” said Missy, laughing. “Go on, you try it.” But there was a timidness to her laugh, and a falsity of tone that sounded to Hannah like her mother’s whenever Brother had gas and she was trying to cajole him into sleep. Yet despite the added fear rising within her, she felt sadness too, that her aunt needed so much to comfort her, and taking a little breath, she bleated “Baaa” into the chamber.
It barely registered back, but Missy oo’d and aahh’d so much, you’d think the cave was singing just for her. “Come on, now; we’re almost halfway,” she coaxed, as they crept deeper and deeper into the dark, “and once we’re in the little shack, everything will be fine, because you know something, Hannie, it’s a good feeling I have about bringing you here, and now that Clair’s letting you come overnight, we can come back agin sometime, perhaps during the day and we can comb the beach and find lots of things. There, now, halfway,” she exclaimed, and Hannah clung more tightly to her aunt’s hand as she walked her around the inside of that cove whose thickened waters hissed like snakes around her feet and whose walls brayed phantom cries all around her. With relief they reached the far side, and Hannah ran out onto the beach with the moon shining bright, and the waves breaking white upon the shores.
“Do we have to go back there?” she cried out, her sense of release painful.
“It’ll be morning when we do, and lots of light,” said Missy, “and you’ll see then that it’s not scary at all. Come now, just up through here.” Leading the way towards the treeline, she shoved aside some brambles and came upon a battered old door, tied shut with a piece of string.
“See—here we are.” As she pulled away the loosely tied knot, the door fell open, letting out a smell of rot. “It’s not very big, but comfy,” she said, stepping inside, her flashlight flitting over a broken window, a pile of boughs made into a bed with blankets and a rusted oil drum, cut in half and serving as a stove. Stepping farther inside, she tossed her bag onto a rickety wooden table standing in the corner, with several candle stubs sitting in clam shells decorating its centre. Hannah spotted the flowers the second Missy did, a bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace, bluebells and daisies—wild flowers that grew everywhere around the Basin. But there were some other things mixed in with it, ferns that grew deep in the woods that she’d seen way inside of Chouse sometimes, walking with her father, and a kind of berry that grew only on the barrens. And more intriguing was the piece of leather that tied them, wide enough for a hairband and hemmed with red and purple stitching.
“It’s beautiful,” whispered Missy, grasping the bouquet to her breasts. Her eyes swung widely around the shack, as did Hannah’s, settling on the open door. Darting back, Hannah pulled it shut, staring half fearful at her aunt and the bunch of flowers.
“He—don’t mean us no harm,” said Missy, sitting on the makeshift bed and making room for Hannah to come sit besides her.
“Who don’t?” whispered Hannah.
“I’ll tell you, but you must keep your promise—you won’t be scared.”
“I—I’m not.”
“Then listen really well,” said Missy, wrapping her arm around Hannah’s shoulders. “It’s—it’s a fairy who leaves me the flowers.”
“A fairy!?”
“I seen him.”
“But—how do you know he won’t hurt us?”
“Because he leaves nice things.”
“But fairies trick you.”
“No, no, not unless you try to hurt them—or lead other people to look for them. And we’ve done neither. He—he’s found us. I was just sitting here, not looking for anyone, and
he found me. And he means no harm, I can tell.”
“But—perhaps this is his house.”