The Girl who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of her own Making

CHAPTER XXII
RAVISHED MEANS YOU CANNOT STAY

In Which September Returns Home

Evening was just beginning to peep through the windows of September’s little house, glowing blue and rose. September found herself at the kitchen sink, with her hands deep in soapy water that had long gone cold, a pink-and-yellow teacup still clutched in her hand. Behind her, a small, amiable dog yapped away at nothing. September looked down-her lonely mary jane, which had missed all the adventures, lay cast off and forgotten on the parquet floor. Her feet were bare.

“Mama won’t be home yet!” she said suddenly. “Oh, how glad I shall be to see her!”

September put on a kettle of tea for her mother and set out a clean little plate with an orange on it. She opened all the windows to let fresh air in. She even let the small dog kiss her nose. September got a blanket out of the closet and curled up in her father’s big, threadbare armchair just by the door, so the first thing her mother saw when she came home would be her girl, safe and sound. Besides, September felt as though she could sleep for a century. She pulled the woolen blanket up around her chin as the dog chewed its own tail at the foot of the chair.

“I wonder what did happen to the Fairies after all?” she said to the dog, who wagged his tail, pleased to be paid attention to. “When I get back, that will be the first thing I shall ask Ell about! After all, Fairy begins with F! And when spring comes again, I shall be sure to leave Mother a note and a nice glass of milk.”

September drifted off to sleep in her armchair, her long hair wrapped around her. When her mother came home from a long shift at the factory, she smiled and bundled her girl off to bed, snug and whole and warm.

She didn’t notice. Of course, she didn’t. Who would, after a long graveyard shift and with her back so sore? A mother cannot see every little thing-and glad we may be that she could not-as it would have caused a great deal of trouble September would never have been able to explain. All stories must end so, with the next tale winking out of the corners of the last pages, promising more, promising moonlight and dancing and revels, if only you will come back when spring comes again.

For when she lifted her daughter up out of the threadbare couch, September cast no shadow at all.