Sylva and the Fairy Ball

  Dedication

  for Betsy Morrell

  Map

  Contents

  Dedication

  Map

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Fairy Secrets

  Squeak’s Words

  Sylva’s Blueberry Birthday Cake

  The Bell Sisters’ Wing Charm Song

  Excerpt from Rosy and the Secret Friend

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Back Ad

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  one

  Everybody has heard of the Fairy Ball on Sheepskerry Island, for it’s the only ball where fairies put on their diamond wings and walk on satin ribbons under the stars. But only a few of us will ever see those diamonds or find those ribbons. This is what they look like, just so you’ll know when you do see them.

  And though this is quite a secret, I’ll tell you something as long as you promise not to tell anyone else: This year’s ball was nearly ruined. And it would have been, except for one of Tinker Bell’s little sisters.

  Oh yes, of course Tinker Bell has little sisters. Tink is a grown-up fairy, so she lives on the island of Neverland with her friend Peter Pan. Some people think Tink’s entire family lives in Kensington Gardens in London, as that’s where Tink was born, but that’s not true at all. Her little sisters aren’t grown up yet, so their home is with the younger fairies on Sheepskerry Island, which I believe is not far from where you are right now. You may have been there without even knowing it, as on maps used by grown-up people it goes by another name. But perhaps you’ll recognize it if I describe it to you. It’s a jewel of a place, bright green in spring, silent white in winter, filled with sturdy yellow roses in summer and flaming leaves in autumn. And it holds all manner of secret things that you will know about very soon. If you read the next chapter, that is.

  two

  But I am forgetting my manners. Have you met Tinker Bell’s little sisters? Please allow me to introduce them. May I present:

  Clara Bell

  Rosy Bell

  Golden Bell

  Sylva Bell

  and baby Squeak

  Clara Bell, Rosy Bell, Golden Bell, Sylva Bell, and baby Squeak live with the other young fairies on Sheepskerry Island. There are no sheep on Sheepskerry anymore, which is a good thing, as sheep are enormous monsters of preposterous size, as everyone knows. (Actually, Tinker Bell’s little sisters only know about sheep from the stories they’ve heard from their fairy godmother, Queen Mab, the most powerful fairy of all.)

  Tinker Bell’s little sisters go to fairy school,

  and eat fairy food,

  and play fairy games,

  and stay away from trolls,

  and once a year,

  they go to a Fairy Ball,

  if they are old enough.

  Which, this year, Sylva Bell was not.

  Do you suppose Sylva Bell wanted to go with her sisters to the ball? Oh yes, she did. She wanted to go so much that she did something very, very naughty. Something you would never do, I feel quite sure, even if you meant well, as Sylva did. Sylva made such a mess of things the day before the Fairy Ball that I’m not even sure I should tell you about it.

  I’ll leave the choice to you. If you would like to hear about perfect little fairies and the perfect things they do, please go find another book.

  If you would like to hear about a brave little fairy who can also be rather naughty and get in very big trouble with her sisters, just turn the page.

  three

  Oh, thank goodness you turned the page!

  four

  That summer, Sylva Bell was seven fairy years old. Fairy years are different from our years, so it is a long, long time between birthdays. That is why fairies look forward to their birthdays so very much.

  “What sort of cake would you like this year, Sylva?” asked Rosy. The sisters were in the garden behind their fairy house, fetching water from Deepwater Spring.

  “I think Sylva should have a carrot cake,” said Clara. “Carrot cakes can be quite healthful for a fairy.”

  “Better for a rabbit,” said Goldie. “Right, Squeakie?”

  Squeak squeaked.

  Sylva flew over to the handle and started pumping.

  “Hold on, Sylva!” said Clara. “You need to prime it first.”

  If you haven’t pumped springwater recently, you might have forgotten, as Sylva had, that the pump must be primed to get the water flowing. The sisters always left a small jug of water near the pump for that very purpose. “This will start things up,” said Clara.

  Sylva pumped the creaky handle up and down, up and down. The water gurgled, sputtered, and then came out in a gush.

  “It’s freezing!” Sylva laughed.

  “Mind my shoes!” said Goldie. She had painted them herself, and she was very fond of them.

  “If I were Sylva,” said Rosy, carefully filling their water jugs, one at a time, “I think I would like to make my own choice of birthday cake.”

  “I would like to make my own choice,” Sylva said. Cakes, of course, were the Bakewell sisters’ specialty. Sylva remembered the splendid cake she had had at their fairy house last summer. “Could we have a blueberry cake?” she asked.

  “Coomada, coomada!” said Squeak.

  “Yes, you love berries, don’t you?” said Rosy, sweeping up baby Squeak in her arms. Squeak had a language all her own, which her sisters understood.

  Clara, Rosy, Goldie, and Sylva headed back to the house with their jugs of water. It was hard work.

  “I won’t mind being grown up so we can just magic water whenever we want,” said Goldie. “How heavy these are!”

  Sylva was still thinking about her birthday cake. “Could we make a practice cake today, do you think?” she asked, and Rosy smiled. “There are one or two bushes where the blueberries are already ripe.”

  “Not down near Troll Hollow, I hope,” said Clara gravely.

  “Not too close by,” said Rosy. She shivered. “I stay very clear of Troll Hollow and the awful trolls who live there.”

  They all thought about the trolls and their terrible mischief for a moment. “No, the berries are on the east side of Sunrise Hill. We’ll be fine there.”

  “I’d go with you,” said Goldie. “But I might catch my wings on the bushes.”

  “My wings are not as delicate as yours,” said Rosy. “So I don’t mind going.”

  “Carrot cake would be more practical,” Clara said.

  But Rosy was already off, with Squeak in one arm and an empty acorn cap in the other, to pick berries for her sister.

  five

  Once the water jugs were in the pantry and covered with tea towels, Clara put some wood in the oven to get it hot.

  “Normally I’d let Goldie mix the batter,” said Clara, “as she’s the third oldest. But she must be out looking for sea glass again.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Sylva.

  “All right,” said Clara, “you can do it. If you pay attention and follow the recipe.”

  “I’m not looking for sea glass,” called Goldie from upstairs. “I’m trying on my gown for the Fairy Ball.”

  “The Fairy Ball?” cried Sylva. “Why didn’
t you tell me?”

  “Queen Mab hasn’t even set a date for the ball yet, Sylva.” Clara shook her head. “Goldie just likes any excuse to try on her ball gowns.”

  “I heard that!” said Goldie. She came to the top of the stairs in a tiered chiffon skirt and a blouse with matching ruffles. She’d topped the whole outfit with a flowing tartan coat.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Goldie,” said Clara. “On anyone else that would look ridiculous.”

  “Rosy says you have flair,” said Sylva.

  “I know! I do!” said Goldie.

  Clara heaved a long sigh. “It gets so chilly at night, Goldie. You won’t be wearing that flimsy gown if the ball is held in late summer.”

  “I’ve heard it won’t be,” sang Goldie, and she flew off to put together another creation.

  “I’m definitely going this year,” said Sylva. “I’ll be eight years old in one little week! Queen Mab will have to let me in.”

  “If you are eight years old at the time of the ball, then of course you will go,” said Clara. “But not a moment before.”

  Sylva sifted the flour into a fragile pile.

  “I love this part,” she said.

  “Look—you’ve gotten it all over the table,” said Clara, as she creamed the butter and sugar. “Sweep that up, please.”

  Sylva swept it up, though most of it got on the floor.

  “Now for the eggs, Sylva,” she said. “Just give me a minute to butter the pan. I really should have done that before we started.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Then I’ll watch as you crack.”

  If Clara had thought about it, she would have known that it’s pretty hard to ask someone to wait to crack an egg, especially if that someone is Sylva. Clara might have mentioned, too, that Sylva should have checked the recipe before she took the next step. Or asked someone to help.

  But Goldie was busy upstairs.

  And Rosy was still out with Squeak.

  And Clara didn’t remind Sylva to follow the directions.

  And Sylva didn’t follow the directions.

  Crack.

  Crack.

  If you think Sylva smashed the eggs against the bowl and filled the batter with shells . . . you are only partially right. What she also didn’t remember was—

  “Not like that!” cried Clara.

  six

  The cake turned out fine.

  “I think it’s better blueberry cake than the Bakewell sisters make,” said Rosy. “Even if you didn’t separate the eggs.”

  “Or whip the whites and fold them in,” said Clara, “the way the recipe says to.”

  “I’m not sure I like the crunchiness,” said Goldie.

  “Eggshells are full of goodness,” said Rosy, though she did not sound too convincing.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Snail mail!” cried Goldie. The Mail Snail carried a creamy white envelope in its pouch. “Ooh! It’s from Queen Mab, just as I told you. Read it, Clara!”

  The envelope was addressed to the Fairy Bell sisters. They opened it together. Inside was an invitation.

  Sylva was so excited! Her first ball! She’d finally hear Queen Mab’s insect orchestra. She’d walk on satin ribbons to get to the fairy palace. She’d pet the queen’s own little pony and cradle her magic white mice. She’d eat as many cupcakes as she wanted. And open presents. And stay up late, dancing till dawn.

  There was just one thing that puzzled her.

  “What does ‘eligible’ mean?” she asked her sister Clara. Clara was bouncing Squeak on her knee, to Squeak’s utter delight.

  “Apa!” said Squeak.

  “Oh, you want more, do you?” said Clara.

  But before Clara could answer Sylva’s question, Goldie cut in.

  “Eligible means you have to be eight fairy years old to go to the ball,” said Goldie. “And you are not eight.”

  “I am eight,” said Sylva. “Or I will be eight very soon. On Saturday.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” said Rosy gently. “But the ball is on Friday, and your birthday is the next day, Sylva. You’ll still be seven on Friday night when the ball is held. So you’ll have to wait till next year to go to your first ball.”

  “No!” cried Sylva. “That’s not fair!”

  “Better luck next year!” said Goldie.

  “Squeak!” cried Squeak.

  Sylva flew to her room and cried and cried. Not go to the ball! Impossible!

  seven

  But it was possible. In fact, it was true. Sylva Bell was not allowed to go to the ball. It was the Fairy Way. Sylva Bell was so sad she cried fairy tears that covered the evening flowers with morning-time dew. Even Squeak tugging at her skirt and saying, “No lolo,” did not make her feel any better.

  “What do you mean, ‘Don’t be sad’?” Sylva replied to Squeak, rather crossly. “You’d be sad, too, if you were one day too young to go to the ball.”

  On Tuesday morning, Sylva did not even have fairy breakfast with her sisters. And this was a particular sacrifice on her part, because Tuesday fairy breakfasts are utterly delicious: lingonberry jam and wheat-berry toast; pomegranate juice poured over fresh-cut peaches; sweet oatmeal with sultanas and apples; blue hen eggs, medium-boiled; and prunes. Plus, that Tuesday, there was leftover blueberry cake.

  “Apa!” said Squeak.

  “Here’s some more,” said Sylva as she popped some cake crumbs into Squeak’s mouth. “But Clara will take care of you today. I’m afraid I need to go out for a while.”

  Sylva flew sadly amid the fairy houses to the tip of Cathedral Pines, right at the top of Sheepskerry Island. She usually felt better there, for the pines were very high, and when the mist was rising, the sunlight streamed through the branches and made the whole thing look just like a dream. But today, even the chittering of the brown squirrels and the sweet, far-off whistles of the ospreys did not cheer her up. She sat down on the moss and sighed.

  Just then Sylva’s best friend, Poppy Flower, flew up and landed lightly next to her. Poppy wrapped an arm around Sylva.

  “I just heard!” said Poppy. “I am so sorry you can’t go to the ball, Sylva. You must feel dreadful!” She gave Sylva a tight hug.

  Sylva just sniffed.

  “It’s so unfair!” said Poppy. “To miss it by one day!”

  “I know!”

  “I’m not going to the ball either. I’m still too young.”

  “Your birthday is ages away,” said Sylva. “Mine’s soon. But not soon enough.”

  “Yes. That’s true. It makes it so much worse for you.” Poppy was a very good friend.

  “It does!” said Sylva. “Maybe I could sneak in—just for a bit! No one would see me. I so long to see those diamond wings.”

  “Sylva! You wouldn’t! Sneaking into the Fairy Ball would be a terrible thing to do. What would Queen Mab say?”

  Sylva didn’t want to think.

  “I won’t do anything like that,” said Sylva. “Not really.”

  “Of course you won’t.” Poppy looked over at Sylva. “Promise?” she said.

  “Promise,” said Sylva.

  If only Sylva had not had to break her promise!

  eight

  That afternoon was spent in lessons (Magic, Flying at Night, Troll Tracks), and so it went by pretty quickly. Sylva was feeling a bit better just before suppertime that evening. Then Clara said, “Supper will be a little late tonight, Sylva, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” said Goldie. “We have an extra lesson.” She sighed. “Poor us.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Sylva. “What is it? Not Fairy Dishwashing, I hope!” Fairy Dishwashing was a subject Sylva always tried to avoid.

  “No,” said Clara. “An extra dancing lesson. The Grace sisters say they’ll tie pebbles on our wings and have us waltz around that way.”

  “Pebbles on your wings?” said Sylva. “Why would they do that?”

  “At the ball, our wings will be heavier,” said Rosy gently
, “so the Graces want us to practice. The lesson is called Dancing with Diamond Wings.”

  Well, if you were Sylva you would have done the same. She spun in the air and flew off without another word.

  “You only have to wait another year!” Goldie called after her.

  “Hush, Golden Bell,” said Rosy. “Don’t make it harder for her.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t mind,” said Goldie.

  But Sylva minded. She minded very much indeed.

  nine

  Wednesday at the Bell fairy house was spent in Fairy Ball preparation, and there was more of the same the day after. Sylva could take no more of choosing between curly hair or straight, coral bangles or shell cuffs, silk wraps or satin. Luckily, Poppy stopped by the morning before the ball and took Sylva by the hand.

  “Come on, Sylva, let’s see what we can find on the beach today,” said Poppy.

  And so the two best friends went for a long walk on the Shoreland Trail. The beach was beautiful that day; cool and empty, it belonged to the sea alone. As they walked and Sylva felt the sand under her feet and looked out at the wild white waves, her troubles began to fall away. The water can do that for a fairy.

  Sylva thought about going to the ball next year. She began to picture herself in a gown of forest green, to match her name. “I’ll put shells in my hair, Poppy, and sea glass on my dancing slippers. I’ll twirl and spin and everyone will say what a lovely young fairy I am. Ooh, and maybe Tink will even come see me at my first ball.”

  “I’m sure she will, Sylva,” said Poppy, though she was fairly sure Tink would do nothing of the kind.

  “And you’ll look nice, too,” said Sylva.

  “Of course I will,” said Poppy. “And we’ll have diamond wings.”

  “Clara says that the diamond wings are made of moonglow, and it’s only the Narwhal’s Tusk that turns the glow into jewels. The Narwhal’s Tusk must be really magical.”