“So what are you going to do about Chase?” Thistle asked again when they staggered with dizziness.
“I thought you wanted me to be with Joe.”
“At first I did. Joe needs a mate. But he’s acting out of desperation, not love.”
“He’s still in love with Monica.”
“Maybe so. The girls are excited about seeing their mom again-outside the courtroom.”
“You’ve been babysitting them a lot lately.”
“Some. Does Chase frighten you?”
“Not Chase. But his job…”
“Chase isn’t his job.”
“But.… but… you’re right.” Dusty hung her head and moved on to another drooping rhododendron. “I have to do something, don’t I? I can’t hide, waiting for someone else to solve this problem.”
“Nope.”
Dusty took a deep breath. “I’ll think of something.” She looked around at the grounds. “It’s getting too dark to see what we’re doing. Let’s go find some dinner.”
“Pizza?”
“If you want. We’ll order in.”
“Chase will be down at the Old Mill.”
“I’m not ready. I have to think through what I need to say to him so that I don’t run away again and ruin everything.”
Thistle blew the new whistle Dick had given her to go along with the bright yellow hard hat with the big F on the front. “Snug those floor panels up tight,” she called to the three burly men who carried a four-foot-square section of dance floor from a flatbed truck across the grass. Mabel had brought them to the museum grounds among the first volunteers for the setup for the Ball tomorrow night. The three all wore jeans and plaid shirts and looked amazingly similar with the same straight brown hair, tanned skin, and broad, broad shoulders.
She almost drooled over them but caught sight of Dick working his way among the dozen or so men and women unloading the flatbed truck so it could return to the mini storage for more supplies. His lithe body and self-assurance quelled all of Thistle’s interest in other men.
“We don’t want any dancers tripping on the seams tomorrow night,” Thistle said to the burly workers.
“Why not?” the tallest of the three asked with a wide grin that didn’t show any teeth. A Pixie grin. For a Pixie to show teeth was an act of serious aggression.
“Because that will be bad for the fund-raiser,” Thistle explained patiently, though she also wanted to grin at the idea of tripping up some of the extravagantly costumed guests tomorrow night. She could almost imagine ladies’ hoop skirts flying overhead revealing bloomers and gentlemen losing their top hats only to recover them later decorated by Pixies in bright feathers and flowers.
“If it helps Dusty, then we’ll do as you say,” a second man said on a shrug. He almost dropped his corner of the heavy floor section. His foot had already trampled a rhododendron she and Dusty had healed last night. She didn’t want to think about what he might have done to the silver herbs at the edge of the knot garden.
She didn’t know the name of the low plant; it wasn’t native.
The yellow monster machine still sat at the edge of the tree line. Its treads had carved long tracks in the lawn.
“Mabel said we have to obey you because it helps Dusty,” the second man said.
“Nice hat,” Dick whispered in her ear as he wandered past with a loop of Pixie lights strung over his shoulder. “I’m going to string these around the covered wagon, and maybe that CAT-decorate it if I can’t move it. Then I’ve got to go back to work. Will you keep an eye on Dusty? She didn’t look well this morning.”
“I noticed the circles under her eyes were as heavy and leaden as the air. I’ve seen storm-drenched rose blossoms stand taller,” Thistle replied. She worried about her friend. They’d laughed and played last night. But in the dark hours before dawn, Thistle had heard her crying.
“Maybe it’s just the weather. There’s a thunderhead growing in the southeast.” She paused to sniff the air. “I don’t think it will reach the valley anytime soon. The mountains will get rain tonight, though.”
“What’s wrong with Dusty?” Mabel’s three laborers asked in unison. They dropped the floor section, further damaging the gouged grass beside the broken rhodie.
“Mabel told us to help Dusty,” the leader said.
Something about his belligerent posture triggered a memory in Thistle. The directionless light cast no shadows or highlights to give her clues.
But…
“Chicory? Is that you?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Why are you and your brothers here?” Now that she put an identity to Chicory, she recognized Delph and Aster quite clearly. Their human disguises were good but, to Pixie senses, only a thin gloss of magic.
“We told you, Mabel said we had to help Dusty.”
“Why is Mabel suddenly so concerned about Dusty?”
Chicory shrugged. “Don’t know, but that’s the only reason we’re taking orders from the likes of you.”
“I don’t think Mabel is as healthy as she pretends,” Aster whispered shyly.
“She doesn’t have any children to help her with the garden,” Chicory remarked. “That’s why she gave our tribe safe haven there.”
“Her nephew wants her to sell the house and grounds to a developer who will break it up into smaller lots,” Delph added.
“We think Mabel’s decided to cultivate Dusty ’cause she knows Dusty won’t let anything bad happen to us and the garden.”
“Not like what’s happening to your tribe, Thistle,” Chicory snickered. “Falling apart because Alder got selfish about the Patriarch Oak.”
“Alder’s got a lot to answer for, I admit,” Thistle agreed. “Maybe not as much as you think.”
“Might as well cut it down, since he won’t let anyone use it but himself. And rumor has it he’s using it a lot, with every female except his chosen queen,” Delph added with a knowing glance at Thistle.
“Hmmm…” New thoughts circled around Thistle’s mind. They made her eyes ache in the glare of light in the thick air. Pixies weren’t supposed to think about the future, make plans, or see anything beyond the next trick. “How can rumors have any basis in truth when no Pixie can get in or out to verify them?”
“Ever since the night the policeman came over and asked our help in repairing an old music box, Mabel has been keen on Dusty,” Chicory changed the subject. His eyes crossed as if he had a headache from too much thinking.
“Music box! That’s it.”
Reluctantly, she pulled off the beloved hard hat and lifted the whistle lanyard over her head. “I think that since the Patriarch Oak belongs to all Pixies, not just Alder, we need to make sure no one tribe is responsible for the tree. No one king should have the right to close off the entire Ten Acre Wood to all Pixies.”
“Huh?” Chicory looked dumbfounded.
Good. Make him think. Pixies needed to think more in order to protect themselves and their territories from greedy and mind-blind humans.
And greedy, uppity, cowardly Faeries.
“What if my tribe moved to a smaller section of The Ten Acre Wood, leaving the Patriarch Oak open to all, and the responsibility of all? It needs to go back to being neutral territory.” She looked around at the men.
“I don’t know. We’ve never done things like that before…” Aster mused.
Thistle turned to talk to him directly. He seemed more capable of working his mind around new ideas than his brothers.
“Think about it! Think about ending the territory wars among Pixies. Think about kingship being more than privilege. We should all work together for the benefit of all. Build up our strength so that Faeries can’t exploit us any more than humans can. And our best bet for preserving the Patriarch Oak is to keep Dusty working at the museum and overseeing the welfare of The Ten Acre Wood.”
“Maybe that’s why Mabel is suddenly so fond of Dusty!” Delph added. “Mabel’s not sick at all, she’s just looking out for us.”