The Hidden World

Chapter 8

"Fairy-led?" repeated Maeve.

"Led astray by fairies, into some kind of otherworld or country unlike our own. One old fellow in Duck Cove told me about going out for a walk in the woods when he was a boy and getting lost. He ended up in a place he'd never seen before, a large, cultivated garden full of flowering shrubs and trees. But there was no house, he said, and no one there—just this beautiful garden. He left the place and wandered in the woods for hours, going in circles, before he finally found himself back on the road. And no matter how many times he went back to the forest afterwards, he could never find that garden again. When he told his folks what had happened, they said there wasn't any garden like the one he had described; there never had been anything' there but pine forest. 'You bin in the fairies, boy,' they told him, and wouldn't let him wander any more on his own after that. Interesting, isn't it?"

Maeve felt faint. She gripped the back of the chair. "You don't really believe that story, Uncle Roy?"

He scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully. "The old man himself believed it. That doesn't mean it's literally true, of course. He could have been senile, I suppose. Still, there's something about hearing a tale of that sort from someone who's completely sincere ... I don't know what to make of it, to be perfectly honest. Even some scientists say there may be more to our universe than we can ever know."

It was not what she had hoped to hear. Maeve's hands tightened on the chair-back. "Oh ... I see."

"All right, enough of this beating about the bush," he said suddenly, closing his book and looking her straight in the eye. "You didn't really come in here to talk about folklore, did you? Something's bothering you. Is it what's happening at home?"

Home. Incredibly, she had forgotten. Her parents' quarrels, the threatened break-up—it all seemed so distant, so unreal, when set against this larger fear. Uncle Roy was looking at her in concern. He thought that she'd guessed somehow, that she was miserable about the pending divorce.

"I think perhaps it's time for a family conference," he said quietly. He rose and called out the door, "Ellen? Could you come up here for a moment, please?"

There were voices in the downstairs hall, then footsteps quickly ascending the staircase. Aunt Ellen came in, looking slightly harassed.

"What is it, Roy? We've got company." She turned to her niece. "Maeve, your great-grandmother has come for another visit. Would you mind seeing her again? I think she's confused, poor thing. She must have forgotten that she came by before."

Maeve looked at her blankly. She would have to sit through a visit now, struggling all the while to act normal? A kind of desperation filled her.

Her aunt read her expression. "Don't worry, dear, it'll be all right. I'll be there, and Uncle Roy too, if she has another odd spell."

She thinks I'm afraid of the old woman, thought Maeve. If only it were just that.

She followed her aunt and uncle downstairs and into the parlour, her feet as heavy as stones. There sat Great-aunt Fiona, and with her was Great-grandmother. The old woman was swaying from side to side on the sofa, her right hand clenched on her cane. She looked up, her pale green eyes unusually alert as Maeve entered the room, and the girl immediately saw the anxiety in them. Perhaps her own distressed state of mind helped her to see it. The two of them gazed at each other, linked by their shared agitation, while the other adults exchanged pleasantries.

"Come here," wheezed Great-gran. Her free hand came down on the sofa cushion beside her—once, twice. It was not an invitation, but an urgent command.

"Maeve?" queried Aunt Ellen, concerned.

Maeve drew a long breath, as if preparing for a dive into deep water. "It's all right," she said, and went to sit by the old woman.