The Steward

I felt better because Sherman was the expert. “How long do you think it will take?” My mind shot forward to the third of November, and probate.

  She smiled and took my hand. “I cannot say, but I will do my best.”

  We walked slowly though the gate and to the front door. The Fae in the garden didn’t move, but half of them were in physical form—they would be listening in, undoubtedly.

  Inside, I saw Sherman sitting with Mom in the living room. When she saw us she came to the little foyer.

  “Oh, this must be her,” Mom said. “Sara Ann?”

  “Yes Mrs. O’Shea, I am, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sara said in a perfect Irish accent.

  “You do remind me of your aunt—you have her eyes.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about that, Mrs. O’Shea. I’m not particularly proud of that fact as I know what she’s done.”

  Mom smiled and led us into the living room. She took my hand, and with a single look, she told me she loved me and was glad to have me back. I returned the same look and her smile grew just a little bigger. Dad came in from the dining room. He looked at Sara and his expression changed just a little—her appearance seemed to puzzle him. I let go of Mom’s hand and hugged him.

  “Daddy!”

  “It’s okay, Maggie.”

  From his rigid body, I knew that it wasn’t okay, but at least now, thanks to Sara, I also knew that the problem wasn’t me. Still, I didn’t let go until he squeezed me back. Sara began generating emotion, a sense of peace, and I invited it in. She introduced herself to Dad. He greeted her, but was visibly shaken, concentrating on her eyes.

  “She’ll be starting school on Monday—a junior—they grow up so fast,” Sherman said, acting as if he were actually her proud uncle. I found it odd how easily the Fae played their parts, and just as odd how easily people believed them.

  After dinner I drove to swim practice—I didn’t have a good one. Coach Rollins was patient, and kept encouraging me to focus on my form, but it was impossible. I knew that Sara had only pretended to leave with Sherman. She stayed behind to read my father, to determine whether I was correct about him being compelled. It was all I could think about.

  I sensed her presence when I got home—she stayed close to Dad all night. I sat up with Mom and Dad for a while, but that was difficult to do because I wanted to go to my room and get Sara’s report. When ten o’clock finally arrived I said good night.

  I closed my door, expecting Sara to pop in immediately. She didn’t, though. She was still downstairs with Dad. I got ready for bed—the entire time wondering what she would find. After an hour passed, I started pacing across the room. A floorboard creaked under my weight, startling me. I climbed back on my bed.

  “Come on Sara…” I whispered impatiently.

  My phone buzzed with a text—Candace. “Sorry, girl, gonna have to wait,” I whispered as I turned the ringer down and dropped the phone on my nightstand. At some point I dozed off and was sound asleep when I felt a gentle nudge. It was Sara, finally. I glanced at my clock—it was fourteen minutes before four in the morning.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, still hazy. “Um, did you learn anything?” I yawned, trying to wake up.

  She sat next to me on the bed and hugged a pillow. Some things never change. That’s a good thing. I instantly relaxed. Having her back and holding one of my pillows acted like a tranquilizer.

  “This is complicated,” she said without an accent. “He has been compelled.”

  I felt anger and relief at the same time. I was angry that a Fae had violated his mind, but somehow relieved that it had. It meant that Dad hadn’t turned into a heartless monster and, more importantly, Sara could do what Sherman had done with Candace—fix it.

  “It’s more complicated than that, Maggie. He has experienced so many negative things here, real things, that compelling him has inflamed his real emotions.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I cannot simply correct the problem and make him forget everything that’s contributing to the way he now feels. A person’s emotions are complex. They are tied to memories. Erasing too many would change your father—it would change who he is. All that has happened shapes the love he has for your mother, your brother and you. Those memories mold the way he perceives the world—good and bad.”

  Her news deflated me, dashing my sense of hope. “Are you saying that you can’t help him without making him a different person?”

  “No, I have already begun the healing process, but it will take time. I believe the Fae who did this has been doing it since your dad was a small boy. I’m not sure how deeply he’s been affected—what’s compelled and what’s real are completely intertwined in your father’s mind. It is one of the cruelest things I have ever encountered. This confirms our suspicion—whatever plan this is was set in motion before your dad was born.”

  A bitter chill coursed through my veins and I fought to keep the tears out of my eyes. I also fought darker thoughts as ugly images and desires, some that I didn’t think myself capable of having, poked and prodded my consciousness as I considered what I wanted to do to the one responsible. If it’s the last thing I do, Chalen will pay for this—pay dearly.

  “But you can help him? Please tell me you can help him.” I choked on the words.

  “Yes, I can and I will. I apologize, Maggie, this is partially my fault.” She exhaled and looked out the window. “I was May’s Treoraí. It was my duty to protect her, Kyle, and David. I would have known what they were doing to David had I only looked deeply enough—I was here while much of this happened.”

  She looked back at me, staring at me directly in the eyes.

  “I didn’t look. They knew I wouldn’t. Many Seelie, those like me who respect people, believe that digging too deeply into a person’s mind is as distasteful and wrong as causing physical harm. Under most circumstances, I would never consider doing it. That, unfortunately, leaves the door open for those Fae who have no such reservations. They can attack without worry of being caught—until the damage is done.”

  “How long?”

  Her eyes turned down briefly before meeting mine again. “It may take weeks, months, or longer, to correct most of it, but I am afraid it may not be possible to completely undo the damage. Even Ozara’s powers are limited.”

  “Not that she’d want to help,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  With a furrow in her otherwise perfect brow, she shook her head. “Maggie, given the nature of what has been done to your father, I cannot believe that any Fae on the Council are complicit—at least with this part of the plot. That doesn’t mean I trust them, but this is the work of the Unseelie. The savage cruelty of it bears the signature of…”

  “Chalen.” I said in a growl.

  “Yes, but do not be foolish, Maggie. I will not permit your father to be harmed again. Even if that means I watch over him every moment he is away from the Cottage. But know this: you may have fooled Chalen at the Water trial, but you are no match for him, yet.”

  “You mean until I’m a Maebown.”

  She nodded, “But even then, Maggie, you cannot risk harming a Fae. Even a Maebown as clever as you is no match for Ozara, and if you harm Chalen…” she looked down.

  She didn’t need to say it. I knew what she meant.

  “And my dad—is he safe here?”

  “Yes, Sherman told me after your Fire trial—after what happened at the Seoladán—the Council directed that the Cottage be guarded by loyal Seelie—some in physical form, some in Naeshura, to prevent any breach of the boundary. The Fae who were here when May was murdered have been banished.”

  “Well, one of them got to him”

  “Not here. No Fae would risk Ozara’s wrath—regardless of clan. What happened to your father happened elsewhere, I’m sure of it.”

  I knew she was right as I remembered Dad getting worse each time he left the Weald. Chalen was getting to him elsewhere. I
sensed all eight Seelie around the garden. Despite the feelings I had about them in the past, I admitted that I felt safer having them here.

  * * *

  November third finally arrived. Two nights ago, I told Mom about my plans while Dad and Mitch watched the Razorbacks play Vanderbilt on the wide screen. She gave me her blessing, but cried. She knew what was coming, but she insisted on coming with me to the Courtroom. I needed her support, so I was happy to have her by me during the hearing.

  The wait was painfully long, and knowing that the result of the hearing could sever my relationship with Dad only made it worse. Mom held my hand, trying to comfort me. She was telling me I needed to do what I felt was right, and how she would support me no matter what, when Dad arrived. He looked completely shocked when he saw us there—the expression on his face made me feel guilty and … self-centered.

  The judge began with some formalities. My stomach knotted and heat spread across my face—sweat beaded up on my forehead. He asked if all of Aunt May’s debts had been settled. She had none. He asked Mr. Fontaine if the personal property had been distributed. Mr. Fontaine told the judge that the items of personal property that had been bequeathed to individuals were in their possession, or their guardian’s possession per Aunt May’s directions.

  Then it began. The knot grew in my stomach when Danny spoke. He asked the judge to name a court-appointed guardian to look after my interests in the estate until I reached the age of eighteen. Dad turned to me, his face bright red. The vein in his neck bulged, and then he turned his stare to Mom. I felt sick to my stomach when I caught a glimpse of her face.

  Despite Mr. Fontaine’s objections and arguments to the contrary, he couldn’t match Danny, who compelled the Judge during the entire hearing. I could feel it working. As the judge granted Danny’s request, effectively blocking the sale, I didn’t celebrate. Though I had prevailed, and the Weald was saved, I didn’t feel like I had won anything. In fact, I felt like I may have lost even more.

  A part of my mind told me that the decision to do this was stupid. With the Unseelie threatening my family and me, with Dad miserable and Mom worried about what would happen, and without knowing whether I could trust the Council, I had decided to take the selfish route. I wondered if there was anyone I would not be willing to put in danger or make miserable for the sake of the Weald. But it’s my only choice, and I promised Aunt May, and if Gavin…

  * * *

  A week had passed, and I sat in my bedroom staring out the window—winter had returned to the Weald. It wasn’t bitter cold yet, like it had been in January, but the leaves were gone and I thought the gray sky looked somber. Then again, maybe it was just me. It had taken three days for Dad to finally talk to me. His silence hurt worse than his yelling had, but Sara told me the worst of it was over—that he was beginning to make progress. I knew she was right—last night Dad met me at swim practice for the first time in months. He was mostly sullen and moody, but I caught him smiling once in the stands.

  I wrestled with my hair this morning and felt Sara downstairs in the keeping room with Dad, undoubtedly still working to untangle the mess Chalen created. Sara had been my anchor through all of this. I started laughing when I thought about her at school. The first day she had met me at the front doors. She didn’t drive, like Gavin had. She was content to just ... show up.

  Every guy stared at her as she walked through the hall. She was gorgeous, of course, but her black eyes seemed to put every boy in a trance—as did her Irish accent. Candace and Rachel liked her immediately, but Rhonda responded to her much the same way she had to me. It was hard for me to keep from laughing each time I caught Rhonda looking at her. She only breathed a sigh of relief, when, at lunch, Candace asked Sara if she was going to try out for cheerleading. With an incredulous expression, Sara laughed and politely said no.

  When I came downstairs, Dad looked up from his laptop and smiled at me. It gave me a glimmer of hope—a genuine and honest smile hadn’t crossed his face in months. That brief feeling of euphoria was reduced to ashes when I noticed that he had begun searching real estate websites for houses in Boca. He was still determined to move. I simply have to give Sara more time.

  Then I had an epiphany. A few months ago, scholarship offers began pouring in. I raced back upstairs and grabbed all the letters of intent I received from different universities. I placed the one from Arkansas on top. Dad hadn’t seen them—he hadn’t seen anything lately. Quickly, I changed my shirt and took a deep breath. Before I headed back down, I just caught a sense of happiness in my bedroom. The presense was back. I wasn’t sure if I believed in ghosts or not, but before I closed the door behind me I said, “Aunt May, I will make this right, I promise.” Nothing in my room changed, but I smiled at the possibility that she heard me. I imagined her saying, “Give’em hell, Girlie Girl.”

  Dad looked up from his laptop, wary at first when he saw the papers. I’m sure he remembered the stunned look on the developers’ faces when I handed them back the purchase offer for the Weald with “Go to Hell!” written in large print in my favorite pink lipstick. The message was more profane than I was typically comfortable with, but it seemed appropriate at the time. I did put a ‘smiley face’ at the end, though. They got the message and left, stunned.

  Dad slowly read the first letter of intent. “Greetings from Razorback Country,” he read aloud. The words caught in his throat, forcing him to continue in silence. He flipped through the others, quickly, smiling. My heart was racing. He was genuinely happy.

  “Florida, Auburn, Texas, Georgia, LSU, Florida State—well, your dream has come...” he began, looking up at me before it registered with him that I wore a cardinal-red Razorback shirt. He studied the shirt and his mouth went slack.

  “Dad, those letters are arranged in the order of my interest. Really, there is only one school I want to swim for.”

  He dropped all of them, except the one in his right hand, and walked out of the room—he almost looked angry. I heard the door to the passage between the library and the bedroom cottage open and close. It wasn’t the reaction I expected, and I turned to Mom. She stared at me.

  “Is he mad? He looked mad. Mom? Should I go after him?”

  “Honey, do you know which letter he took with him?”

  I walked over and looked through the pile.

  “It was the letter from Arkansas.”

  “Honey, your father doesn’t like to show emotion—like someone else I know.”

  “But he was mad.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He was happy ... shocked, actually. I would recognize that look anywhere—he had it when I agreed to marry him—he had it when he found out I was expecting you, and your brother, but I haven’t seen it since Mitch was born.”

  “Happy? Why did he run out of the room.”

  “If I know your dad, he went to be alone.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled and shook her head, looking at me like I should have figured it out already.

  “Oh, Piñata, you aren’t the only one who hates to cry in front of people. Wearing that shirt, picking Arkansas over those other schools—especially Florida State—since the day you were born, it’s been his dream for you or your brother to be a Razorback. He used to talk about it all the time. People from Arkansas are ... well ... a little crazy that way. He’s probably in the bathroom crying.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “But for the love of god, don’t tell him that I told you that.”

  Maggie one—Dad nothing.

  I took the other letters to the trash can and threw them away.

  “Well, it’s settled. Sorry Mom, it looks like I won’t be a Seminole after all.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s okay—nobody’s perfect,” she said doing the FSU hatchet cheer with her hand. She turned back to the sink supressing a smile.

  “Wooo Sooie ... or whatever they say.”

  “Umm, not that I want you to mention this to anyone I know back in Florida,” she said without turning around. “But it’s
Wooo Pig Sooie, honey. You really need to work on that, especially if you want to stay ... alive in this state.”

  * * *

  Dad had regained his composure when he came back out for breakfast that morning. He smiled a little more than he had, but he also continued searching the internet for homes in Boca. I love you, Dad, but I’m seriously thinking about knocking you in the head.

  Sara told me that he began to have second thoughts about moving, at least that’s what she gleaned from the images in his head and the emotions attached to them. But he wasn’t there yet. So I put the second phase of my three phase plan in motion. Yes, I’m scheming. I’m a schemer, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

  The second phase of my plan happened Saturday when I surprised the family with tickets to the Arkansas-South Carolina Football game. Again, thank you Danny Johns. Dad was speechless when, at the game, and after taking Mom’s advice, I stood up and did the Hawg Call with everyone else. With each Wooo Pig Sooie, Dad’s stone facade chipped away a little more. Maggie two—Dad nothing. Time for phase three.

  * * *

  At eight o’clock on Christmas eve, I was in my room attempting to get ready for the family dinner. School ended the previous week, and swim practice had wrapped up for the holidays. I finished the semester with another four-point, and tried to enjoy a break from my hectic routine for a few weeks. Though the time off meant I had less to distract me from thinking, or rather, worrying about telling Chalen my decision.

  It was funny—I knew I had to tell the Council on the first of the year whether I was going to accept stewardship of the Weald. Billy and Sara concluded I should also tell them about my deception at that time, but I wasn’t concerned. The Council was the least of my worries—Chalen alone dominated my thoughts. As Christmas drew closer, he was the evil sugar plum fairy that danced in my head.

  I had focused so much on keeping my family on the Weald, done so much to make sure it would happen, I felt painted into a corner. I hadn’t seen Chalen in the weeks since the Water trial, but I knew he was aware of everything that happened. He probably guessed what my answer would be, even though I waffled on it lately. My imagination ran wild when I considered what he would do, and whether the Unseelie had an Aetherfae. I shuddered.