Lost times

9

December 23, 1839

The doctor's daughter was in Phillip's room again. He talked to her about the things the doctor himself didn't understand. But Grace listened.

She listened again to him go on and on about the stories he told, about the mumbles that had come out of his wife's mouth. And Grace simply nodded and sometimes made little scetches of the tales.

She didn't shut him down when he talked about the mythical creatures and magical dark things Lauren had seemed to believe him. Not like the doctor, who just mumled something about delirium and scribbled something in his notebook.

Philip thought the girl was just open-minded, the way all children are.

But Lauren wasn't the only one who the faeries had visited.

That day she found the tea caddy.

"Wait, I hear something."

She crept over to the corner of the small cabin and opened the suitcase on the floor and there it was, wrapped in a cloth together with a few forks and a ladle.

Grace held it carefully to her ear. "There are noises in here."

Philip looked over from his seat on the rangly bed.

"What if it's a faery?" the girl giggled.

I now see what Philip was thinking. It could not be true. The winged creature was stowed safely in the wooden box. He glanced over to its location in the clothing drawer, then gave Grace a faint smile.

I now know what the noises were, as well. They were the very last remnants of my spirit, that once belonged to me, but was now meant to stay forever with the people I loved.