“Let me know if you find out anything. I don’t like strangers in my town associating with a woman of questionable morals and business ethics.” And that went for Thistle Down, too.
He bounced back to his pickup whistling a catchy tune. What was the name of the music? He couldn’t remember it. Great. Now it was stuck in his head until he figured it out. Something to do with May flowers and honey wine.
Nine
DUSTY DRIFTED ON THE LIGHT BREEZE wafting along the river. She looked about with lazy curiosity, not at all concerned with the distance between herself and the water that would cradle her. For now she was content to allow air to lift her wings and take her wherever she needed to go.
A slow smile spread from her mouth to her eyes to her fingertips as the huge white swallowtail wings carried her along. Freedom. No duties or responsibilities or fears chained her to the earth.
No one judged her. No one threatened her. She didn’t fear saying the wrong thing or laughing at the wrong moment. She was who she was and the wind did not care.
She laughed. What were the worries of the world when she could talk to the wind and listen to the river from stupendous heights while her wings took her to new places and marvelous sights?
Slowly, lazily, and carefree, Dusty awoke. She stretched in the small white-painted bed of her childhood and relished the lightness left behind by her dream. And confidence. If she could fly with the wind…
Next time she felt the need to hide in the basement, she should remember that dream and face whatever troubled her.
A shaft of sunlight showed her dust motes that could easily be Pixies dancing.
She rolled over just as the alarm clock clicked over to six o’clock and an obnoxious beep reminded her that freedom and self-confidence were only a dream. She had a museum to run and the grant committee to impress. And then a parade to manage and a Ball to organize.
She just had to remember the dream. Remember it and float forward.
Yeah. Right.
Dick backed up his dad’s half-ton truck into the loading bay of the nursery while dawn was just a promise on the horizon. He yawned hugely as he set the brake. Just two minutes. All he needed was two minutes with his head on the steering wheel and his eyes closed.
“Hey, Carrick, get the lead out!” Tom Ledbetter, otherwise known as Digger, yelled from right beside him.
Dick jerked awake, swearing.
“We’ve got a pumper wagon to decorate and horses to hitch before we can march in the parade.”
A flash nearly blinded Dick. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids to calm the dazzle. “Did you have to take a picture of me asleep?”
“Candid shots are the best for the social pages.” Digger shrugged and let the camera rest on its vividly striped neck strap.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get those flats of flowers loaded while they’re still fresh. Did anyone bring coffee?” Dick yawned again. A bug fluttered against his lips.
A big bug.
He spat it out.
“Hey, watch it, buddy.” A blue splotch twisted away from the inside windshield. “Phew, you musta had garlic for breakfast.”
The blue splotch took on definition. Dick saw large green wings and a blue body. And… and…
He froze in place, moving only his eyes. Digger had retreated to the rear of the truck to release the tailgate.
“Who… who are you?” Dick whispered. Maybe he was only dreaming. He’d had a short night’s sleep on top of too many beers and too much salty pizza. With garlic.
“It’s about time you noticed I hitched a ride with you,” the blue Pixie stood on the dashboard while he waved his arms about like a semaphore. He stretched and flapped his leafy wings slowly, as if he needed to work the kinks out of them.
“Do I know you?” It was one thing to tell himself that Thistle was a Pixie grown to human form, quite another to confront a real-life Pixie.
“Nah, I don’t hang out in The Ten Acre Wood much. But I know you, and you really-really-need to brush your teeth.”
“Um, thanks, buddy. What’s your name?” Though Dick could guess, with the multiple thin blue-purple petals that made up his jaunty hat. “You must be Chicory.”
“You guessed it. Now, quick, tell me what’s up with Thistle, so I can report back to my boss.”
Dum dum do do dee dee dum. A bright tune surrounded Dick with a sense of well-being and cooperation.
“Who’s your boss?”
“Can’t tell. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Nope. We trade information.”
“It’s just gossip, Dick. Gossip is my job. I’ve got obligations,” the Pixie whined.
“So do I. I need to load those flats of flowers.”
“Better water them first. The pansies are looking a little limp. Kinda late in the year for them.”
“That’s why the nursery donated them.” Dick unfastened his seat belt.
“Hey, you can’t leave me in the lurch!”
“Wanna make a bet?”
“What are you betting on this time?” Digger asked as he shifted a cardboard flat filled with four-inch flowerpots topped with a rainbow of blossoms.
“I bet a buck the parade finishes eighteen minutes late.”
“Sucker bet. The parade always takes longer than planned.” Digger dropped the flat and pushed it into the far corner of the truck bed.
“Dick, grab those snapdragons. They’ll make a nice contrast in height and color to the pansies,” Chicory whispered from the region of Dick’s left ear.
Why not? He selected a flat from the array on the loading dock.
“Not that one. They’re full of bugs. Get the one to your right,” Chicory advised.
“Have you noticed how many bugs are around this morning?” Digger waved his hand in front of his face, chasing off some yellow flying things that might be Pixies, or dandelion blossoms floating through the air. “Loud buggers.” Digger’s gesticulations increased as the swarm of yellow grew to ten and then fifteen.
“Dandelions,” Chicory whispered. “Always a dozen or more in the tribe. We call them by number; they’re too dumb to have names. Too many of them to bother naming.”
“Just like weeds,” Dick mumbled. Then he spotted a flat filled with waving blue flowers. “I thought chicory was a ditch weed.”
“That’s a low blow,” Chicory replied. “See if I help you again.” He lifted off Dick’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of Dick’s hair. The swarm of yellow followed him.
“It’s going to be a long day,” Dick sighed, slapping the stinging place on his scalp.
“You got that right,” Digger replied. “Let’s grab some coffee at Norton’s on the way to the station.”
“Dick, where’s Thistle?” Dusty asked as she wolfed down peanut butter toast and a cup of strong tea.
“How should I know?” he replied on a yawn, running his hands through his rumpled hair. He’d shaved and pulled on his buff knickers with bright red suspenders, but not his blue fireman’s shirt for the parade. “Coffee. Don’t suppose you made coffee?” He looked at her hopefully. “I didn’t take the time to meet the other volunteers at Norton’s before they start decorating the wagon. Too noisy and bright for my hangover.”
“In the pot.” She pointed to the coffeemaker full of his favorite exotic blend-organic and free trade, of course. She couldn’t stand the taste of the stuff even diluted with cream and sugar.
Dick poured a big mug full and swilled half of it down, hot and so strong it almost had a life of its own. He kept looking at his left shoulder as if missing something.
“You should have noticed if Thistle left before my alarm went off. The guest room is right across the hall from yours,” she reprimanded him. “The bathroom is between her room and mine, so I wouldn’t hear her even if she made a racket.”