Here is Part 4
(and the conclusion!) of my fairy tale, A
Harvest Tale. The story had grown a little too long to be a regular blog
post, so I've posted it in four parts. If you haven't read Part 1 yet, you can
find it here. And Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.
For
those who are all caught up, Part 4 starts now…
A Harvest Tale
By Catherine Mesick
Marta
walked slowly to one end of the chamber and found herself facing a great wall
of dirt that stretched up so high she couldn’t see the end of it. She turned
then and walked the other way through the darkness. Eventually, she came to a
narrow tunnel of earth, and she followed the tunnel upward until it came to
another dead end. Marta held her lantern up. In front of her was a deeply
knotted tangle of tree roots.
She
feared it would take her a very long time to cut through the roots—even if she’d
had a cutting tool, which she did not. Marta wondered then if she might be able
to pull the roots out of the way, though she feared they were too tough and too
thick to be moved.
She
reached out a tentative hand. “I will find my way,” Marta whispered.
To
her surprise, the roots sprang out of the way at her touch. Marta continued up
the tunnel, touching the roots and watching them move swiftly out of her way. Before
long, she felt a cold wind on her face, and soon after she broke out into open
air.
Marta
was free of the lair of the fair folk.
Behind
her was a great dark tree, twisting and spiraling up into the air. In front of
her was a vast forest with smaller but equally twisting trees.
The
Lady was right—Marta didn’t know where she was.
But
following an instinct a sudden impulse, Marta reached out and touched the
nearest tree.
Nothing
happened.
Marta
turned then and walked the opposite way. She reached out to touch another tree.
Once again, nothing happened.
Marta
turned yet another way and extended her hand again toward the nearest tree.
Suddenly,
one of the branches shot out and slapped her across the fingers. Marta drew her
hand back quickly.
“Just
as I thought,” she whispered to herself. “I am human, so this fairy place is
rejecting me. That’s how I got out of the underground chamber—the tree roots
wanted me to leave. Now all I have to do to escape this place is follow the
peaceful trees and avoid the angry ones.”
Marta
moved through the twisting forest trees, following her own advice, and at long
last she made her way out of the forest.
In
front of her was a haze of white fog, and she quickly passed through it. Once
on the other side, Marta found to her great relief that she was back in the
ordinary, everyday woods from which she had been abducted. She glanced behind
her quickly to see that the fog she had walked through had vanished. So, too,
had the fairy woods—by the light of her lantern, all Marta could see were
ordinary trees with ordinary branches. The dark, twisting trees were nowhere to
be seen.
Marta
moved quickly through the trees until she was back on the old, familiar path.
Then she hurried on through the forest holding her lantern high. When she
finally reached home, her mother was waiting for her at the door.
“Where
have you been, Marta?” she cried. “You should have been home hours ago! Peter
and I have been worried nearly to death.”
“I’m
sorry, Mother,” Marta replied. “I’ve had a very strange night in the forest.”
“Why,
what do you mean, my daughter? Come and sit and tell me all about it.”
Marta
and her mother sat down by the kitchen fire, and Peter soon joined them. Marta
told her mother and brother of everything that had transpired. They had lived
for a long time on the far side of the woods, and all three of them had heard
of things that no one in the town would have believed.
Marta
knew her family would believe her. Her story was unusual, but Marta was always
very truthful.
When
Marta had finished her tale, Peter stared at the basket.
“Are
the apples in there now?”
“Yes,”
Marta said.
She
pulled off the cover to reveal three apples—each one half red, half green.
“The
housewife in town said you would know what to do with them,” Marta said to her
mother.
Marta’s
mother looked the apples over. “I know nothing about apples that would tempt
the fair folk. But I know what to do with ordinary apples. I have a little
flour and sugar. I’ll make a little pie like I used to at harvest time when
your father was with us.”
“Are
you sure that is the right thing to do?” asked Peter.
“It
is the best thing I know to do,” his mother replied.
So
Marta’s mother rolled out some dough and sliced up the apples, and she cooked
up a little pie right over the fire.
Marta’s
mother, Marta, and Peter all ate a third of it while it was still hot. And it
was just as good as the pies Marta’s mother used to make a long time ago.
“Now
it’s off to bed for all of us,” Marta’s mother said. “We’ve all stayed up much
later than our usual time. We’ll put the apple cores out in the garden tonight.
Who knows but that maybe we’ll have some apple trees come spring.”
Peter
went off to bed, and as Marta turned toward her bed also, her mother stopped
her.
“You’ve
had a difficult night, my dear,” Marta’s mother said. “But you are safe now.
The fair folk cannot enter a human habitation. You need have no fear tonight. And
I am proud of you. You outwitted them and came home to me.”
Marta’s
mother kissed her on the forehead. “My brave girl.”
Marta
went to her bed and went to sleep.
In
the morning, Marta awoke and went outside to feed the family’s few chickens.
The sight she beheld when she opened the back door startled her.
“Mother,
Peter, come look!” Marta cried.
Her
mother and brother hurried to the door.
In
the little back yard, over by the garden, were three fully gown trees.
The
little family stepped outside and inspected them.
“I
do believe they’re apple trees,” Marta’s mother said.
The
trees had no leaves, and all through the winter they bore no fruit. But they
remained fresh and healthy all through the snows, and the little family
marveled at them every day.
One
morning, shortly after the arrival of spring—when there was still just a bit of
snow on the ground—Marta was again startled when she went out to look after the
chickens.
“Mother,
Peter, come quickly!” she cried.
This
time, the three of them saw that the trees were covered with apples—each one
half red, half green. All of them were fully ripe.
“Dare
we touch them?” Marta asked.
“You
and Peter stay here,” Marta’s mother said. “I will test them myself.”
Marta’s
mother walked up to the middle tree and plucked an apple from the nearest
branch. She held it in her hand for a moment and then took a bite.
She
walked back to her children.
“The
apple is perfect,” she said. “We can eat these as they are or bake them in a
pie.”
Marta
and Peter quickly fetched baskets and picked all the apples they could reach.
Then they took them into the house.
They
ate several of the apples that day, and Marta was surprised to see the next
morning that all of the apples that had been picked the day before had grown
back.
Marta
called again for her mother and brother to come see the sight.
“It
is miraculous,” Marta’s mother said when she saw the new apples. “But I suppose
we should not be surprised by now—these trees have done so many miraculous
things already.”
“And
the apples taste good,” Peter said. “Better than any apples I have ever tasted.”
“When
the snow clears the road,” Marta’s mother said, “I believe we can sell them in town.”
Before
many days had passed, the spring sun melted the last of the snow, and on a
March morning with a sharp wind, Marta ventured into the village with a basket
full of apples. She sold them all quickly, and she returned to the village the
next day and then every day for the rest of the week. Each day that Marta went
to the village she sold all her apples, and soon Peter began to accompany her
with a wheelbarrow full of them. Eventually, they bought a cart that they could
fill with baskets full of apples, and soon after that they bought a table and
set up at a regular spot in the village market. They sold so many apples that
Marta didn’t have to look for odd jobs, and her mother didn’t have to take in
sewing. Instead, Marta’s mother began baking during the day, so that Marta
could sell her pies, too.
One
very fine morning at the start of May, Marta was standing at her table in the
village when a shadow fell across it. She looked up to see a beautiful woman
with shining dark hair dressed in a rich green gown—it was the housewife Marta
had worked for the year before. Though she could not have said why, Marta was
suddenly glad that Peter had been ill and had stayed home that morning. She had
a vague feeling that he was safer there.
“Good
morning, Marta,” the housewife said.
“Good
morning, ma’am,” Marta replied.
“Do
you remember me, Marta?”
“Of
course, ma’am.”
The
housewife looked around the table. “You seem to be doing quite well now.”
“Thanks
to you, ma’am.”
“And
how have you yourself been?” the housewife asked.
“Very
well, ma’am.”
“And
how was your winter? Any adventures to report?”
Again,
Marta felt uneasy, though she couldn’t have said why.
“It
was a winter like any other.”
“How
about your fall, then? Did you come into the town for the harvest festival?”
“No,
ma’am,” Marta said. “The forest road becomes treacherous when the cold and dark
come to the world. We stay on our own side of the forest then.”
The
housewife glanced at Marta sharply. “You know, Marta, there are stories about
the night I last saw you—stories about strange lights that appeared in the
forest that night. Would you happen to know anything about that?”
Marta
was silent.
“Please
tell me, Marta,” the housewife said. “Please tell me what happened that night.
I need to know.”
“It
will be hard to believe,” Marta said.
“I
need to know,” the housewife said.
And
somehow Marta found herself telling the housewife the tale of that night from
beginning to end—all of it—the three people she passed, her confrontation with
Lady Frost, her escape from the forest.
All
throughout, the housewife made no comment and simply stared at her steadily—not
a flicker of emotion crossed her face as she listened.
When
Marta finished her tale, she found that the housewife was staring at her still.
“It’s
all very fantastic,” Marta said after a moment of silence. “I dare say you don’t
believe me.”
“I
believe you,” the housewife said. “I believe you went through quite a lot that
night. And I believe you taught a great lady a valuable lesson.”
The
housewife stared at Marta for a long moment.
“Have
you nothing further to say?”
“No,”
Marta said, and she began to fear that she had offended the housewife.
“Nothing
at all?”
“No.”
The
housewife smiled ever so slightly. “You don’t blame me?”
“Blame
you, ma’am? For what?”
“Are
you not angry that I put you in danger?”
“I
don’t understand, ma’am.”
“I’m
the one who gave you the apples. And that’s what drew the fair folk to you. It
would be easy for you to blame me for what happened.”
“But
the apples were a gift,” Marta said. “And they helped us a great deal. We have
a little business now, thanks to you.”
“But
my gift put you in danger.”
“Anything
of value will attract those who don’t mean well. That is not your fault.”
“Many
would have blamed me anyway. And I knew the fair folk were likely to be out.”
“But
they were only apples,” Marta said. “What did the fair folk want with them
anyway? Even if they do grow quickly? What need have the fair folk for apples?”
“It
was not the apples,” the housewife said, “but the seeds. It was the seeds that
were important—as with so many things.”
She
was silent for a moment. Then she nodded.
“Yes,
Marta. You taught a great lady a valuable lesson.”
“Perhaps,”
Marta replied. “I think it will take more than one night to teach Lady Frost
what it is to be human.”
“Perhaps
so. I must be going now. Enjoy these lovely warm months, and thank you for telling
me about what happened that night.”
“Thank
you, ma’am, for the apples. They have meant a lot to our small family.”
“Lady
Frost has a spring sister, so I hear,” the housewife said. “I believe she has
often visited my garden. She is the one you should thank.”
The
housewife smiled and turned to go. As she walked away, Marta gazed at the
woman’s green gown and hair like dark, rich soil, and she wondered.
**The
End**
Thanks
very much for reading!
___________________________________________________
You
can check out my books here.
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