“Listen,” Dad said.
We rolled down our windows and whimsical sounds spilled in: musical notes, voices and laughter, clapping to a festive tune. Hearing those happy sounds calmed me a little. Cassidy’s fingers wiggled in mine. Our palms were damp, but neither of us let go. Mom turned to me.
“Are you ready, love?”
“No.” I laughed shakily. It took every ounce of my will power to say, “But I’ll be okay. Let’s go.”
Dad shifted back into drive and coasted down the hill. He parked on the closest side of the village, rather than pulling around and driving up to their party, which I was glad about. I’d hate to scare them to death if they’d never seen a crazy vehicular contraption. Surely they’d seen cars with previous visitors, right? After setting sight on this village I had to wonder.
“You’re looking kinda rough,” Cassidy told me. “Do you want to brush your hair or something?”
I patted my crazy waves and shook my head. What was the point? Cass shrugged and applied some shimmery lip gloss. At the last second I snatched the lip gloss from her and swiped some on with a trembling hand.
We climbed out and moaned, stretching and cracking. I attempted to smooth my hands over the wrinkles in my white linen blouse, but there was no use. At least my khaki skirt survived the car trip well. I sighed and tried to relax as Cassidy combed her fingers through my hair, scrunching it a little. Then my parents came forward and simultaneously kissed me—Dad on my temple and Mom on my cheek. They led the way around the village, holding hands, while Cass and I followed close behind, linked arm in arm.
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me.
My body took on a mind of its own as I walked: clumsy feet, fluttery heart rate, jittery knees. I probably would have wobbled to the ground like some fainthearted actress if I didn’t have such a tight hold on Cassidy’s arm. I couldn’t wait to meet McKale and get it over with so my body could go back to normal. Weak did not suit me.
As we rounded the corner, the four of us stopped. The sky had darkened, illuminating four giant bonfires at each corner of the expansive clearing. The back of the flat field was lined with forest, and on the other two sides were tall rows of flowering grasses. At least a hundred little people were gathered, both men and women. There were long rows of wooden tables with benches along the edges of the fields of grasses where people ate, drank, and conversed. In the center was music and dancing.
My first thought was that I’d been wrong. The Leprechauns definitely knew how to throw a party. The atmosphere was festive and lively. I bit my lip against a smile at their outfits. They weren’t wearing green top hats and buckled shoes, but some of the older-looking men did have on little gray suits with waistcoats, the kind with tails that hung lower in the back. Others wore tunic shirts with plain pants, like woodsy hospital scrubs, only in natural colors like tan, brown, and forest green. Nearly everyone was barefoot. Some of the males wore little caps that resembled berets. The women wore simple peasant dresses with their hair pinned up.
Everyone looked so happy. I wanted to feel happy, too. Not this sense of despair.
Two bearded men in suits sitting at the end of a table noticed us and jumped up, hurrying over. They went straight to my father, looking way up and shaking his hand with exuberance.
“You must be Mister Mason, then!” said the older little gentleman with a long, white beard. He wore a matching charcoal cap, which he took off to reveal a shiny bald top with tufts of fluffy gray hair around the sides.
“Yes, sir,” Dad said. “That’s me. Call me Leon, please. This is my wife, Cecelia.”
“So nice to have you! I’m Brogan, the father of McKale, I am.” He bowed toward my mother and she inclined her head to him in return. Then he looked toward Cassidy and me.
“This is Cassidy, our youngest,” Mom introduced. “And this… is Robyn.”
Brogan nodded at Cassidy and then came forward to stand in front of me. He bowed low and I let go of Cass’s arm to do a curtsy/bow combo, which felt absurd. He straightened and smiled big, wrinkling his whole face and eliciting a smile back from me. I felt like I should squat to talk to him because of the height difference, but stood straight for fear of appearing condescending.
“Ye’ve a pretty face, Robyn, that’s fer certain,” he said.
“Thank you, Mister Brogan.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Just Brogan is fine by me. I suppose ye’ll be wanting to meet my McKale, then, eh?”
No! Not yet.
The moment I’d waited for all these years was here, and now all I wanted was more time.
Brogan winked up at me. Why did he seem so happy? Couldn’t he see this was a bad fit? Didn’t it bother him that his poor son was being forced to marry a behemoth female? I bit my lip as he peered around at the crowd. He pointed to the middle.
“There he is, back there fiddlin’. Soon as this song ends I’ll call to ‘im. He’s our best fiddler, he is.” Brogan grinned up at me with pride and I followed his gaze toward his son. My face wore a neutral expression that I’d practiced to perfection. I didn’t want to give away the fact that my heart was going ballistic or that my insides had all but liquefied.
I’d spent my life dreaming of him. And then I’d spent every moment of the last day undreaming him. As much as I prided myself on emotional control, it all fell to the wayside as I weaved my sights through the sea of dancing little people, seeking out the sound of the fiddle, and finding the source sitting on a tree stump.
We rolled down our windows and whimsical sounds spilled in: musical notes, voices and laughter, clapping to a festive tune. Hearing those happy sounds calmed me a little. Cassidy’s fingers wiggled in mine. Our palms were damp, but neither of us let go. Mom turned to me.
“Are you ready, love?”
“No.” I laughed shakily. It took every ounce of my will power to say, “But I’ll be okay. Let’s go.”
Dad shifted back into drive and coasted down the hill. He parked on the closest side of the village, rather than pulling around and driving up to their party, which I was glad about. I’d hate to scare them to death if they’d never seen a crazy vehicular contraption. Surely they’d seen cars with previous visitors, right? After setting sight on this village I had to wonder.
“You’re looking kinda rough,” Cassidy told me. “Do you want to brush your hair or something?”
I patted my crazy waves and shook my head. What was the point? Cass shrugged and applied some shimmery lip gloss. At the last second I snatched the lip gloss from her and swiped some on with a trembling hand.
We climbed out and moaned, stretching and cracking. I attempted to smooth my hands over the wrinkles in my white linen blouse, but there was no use. At least my khaki skirt survived the car trip well. I sighed and tried to relax as Cassidy combed her fingers through my hair, scrunching it a little. Then my parents came forward and simultaneously kissed me—Dad on my temple and Mom on my cheek. They led the way around the village, holding hands, while Cass and I followed close behind, linked arm in arm.
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me.
My body took on a mind of its own as I walked: clumsy feet, fluttery heart rate, jittery knees. I probably would have wobbled to the ground like some fainthearted actress if I didn’t have such a tight hold on Cassidy’s arm. I couldn’t wait to meet McKale and get it over with so my body could go back to normal. Weak did not suit me.
As we rounded the corner, the four of us stopped. The sky had darkened, illuminating four giant bonfires at each corner of the expansive clearing. The back of the flat field was lined with forest, and on the other two sides were tall rows of flowering grasses. At least a hundred little people were gathered, both men and women. There were long rows of wooden tables with benches along the edges of the fields of grasses where people ate, drank, and conversed. In the center was music and dancing.
My first thought was that I’d been wrong. The Leprechauns definitely knew how to throw a party. The atmosphere was festive and lively. I bit my lip against a smile at their outfits. They weren’t wearing green top hats and buckled shoes, but some of the older-looking men did have on little gray suits with waistcoats, the kind with tails that hung lower in the back. Others wore tunic shirts with plain pants, like woodsy hospital scrubs, only in natural colors like tan, brown, and forest green. Nearly everyone was barefoot. Some of the males wore little caps that resembled berets. The women wore simple peasant dresses with their hair pinned up.
Everyone looked so happy. I wanted to feel happy, too. Not this sense of despair.
Two bearded men in suits sitting at the end of a table noticed us and jumped up, hurrying over. They went straight to my father, looking way up and shaking his hand with exuberance.
“You must be Mister Mason, then!” said the older little gentleman with a long, white beard. He wore a matching charcoal cap, which he took off to reveal a shiny bald top with tufts of fluffy gray hair around the sides.
“Yes, sir,” Dad said. “That’s me. Call me Leon, please. This is my wife, Cecelia.”
“So nice to have you! I’m Brogan, the father of McKale, I am.” He bowed toward my mother and she inclined her head to him in return. Then he looked toward Cassidy and me.
“This is Cassidy, our youngest,” Mom introduced. “And this… is Robyn.”
Brogan nodded at Cassidy and then came forward to stand in front of me. He bowed low and I let go of Cass’s arm to do a curtsy/bow combo, which felt absurd. He straightened and smiled big, wrinkling his whole face and eliciting a smile back from me. I felt like I should squat to talk to him because of the height difference, but stood straight for fear of appearing condescending.
“Ye’ve a pretty face, Robyn, that’s fer certain,” he said.
“Thank you, Mister Brogan.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Just Brogan is fine by me. I suppose ye’ll be wanting to meet my McKale, then, eh?”
No! Not yet.
The moment I’d waited for all these years was here, and now all I wanted was more time.
Brogan winked up at me. Why did he seem so happy? Couldn’t he see this was a bad fit? Didn’t it bother him that his poor son was being forced to marry a behemoth female? I bit my lip as he peered around at the crowd. He pointed to the middle.
“There he is, back there fiddlin’. Soon as this song ends I’ll call to ‘im. He’s our best fiddler, he is.” Brogan grinned up at me with pride and I followed his gaze toward his son. My face wore a neutral expression that I’d practiced to perfection. I didn’t want to give away the fact that my heart was going ballistic or that my insides had all but liquefied.
I’d spent my life dreaming of him. And then I’d spent every moment of the last day undreaming him. As much as I prided myself on emotional control, it all fell to the wayside as I weaved my sights through the sea of dancing little people, seeking out the sound of the fiddle, and finding the source sitting on a tree stump.
