Fairy Godmother
“Tag, you’re it,” said Saffron, the Princess of Dandelions.
“Nah uh, you missed me,” said Aubrey Cartwright, her new human friend.
“Look,” Saffron said, “I got powdered sugar on your dress. Sorry.”
“Did not,” Aubrey persisted. “That’s ashes. A wicked witch made me scrub the fireplace in my ball gown. She wanted to get me in trouble, but I was really careful and didn’t get any on my dress. Um, except this little bit.”
Saffron took a moment to understand. Aubrey was telling her a ‘story’. Saffron clapped her hands and laughed, spinning in circles. Humans were so much fun with their wild imaginations.
Voices out in the hall.
“Hide,” Aubrey said. “We aren’t supposed to be in this part of the palace. We’ll get in trouble.” Saffron was fascinated by the idea of making people believe things that weren’t so, and thought hiding was one of the silliest, zaniest, most fun games she’d ever played.
They hid behind the curtains and Aubrey’s mother and Saffron’s uncle didn’t see them when they came in giggling and touching on their way to a spare bedroom.
The girls snuck out and then Aubrey poked Saffron, crying, “You’re it,” and they were off and running.
They ran straight into Aubrey’s father, still laughing and squealing. Aubrey ran around her father, keeping away from Saffron’s sticky hands.
“Where did you two run off to,” he glowered down at them.
“Nowhere,” Aubrey declared, and Saffron giggled.
“Hmph,” her father dismissed that. “Have you seen your mother? She seems to have wandered off to nowhere as well.”
“No, Father,” Aubrey said with an innocent voice, making Saffron giggle again.
Mr. Cartwright frowned and asked Saffron directly.
“Have you seen her?”
“Yes, Sir,” Saffron said. “In the Forsythia Suite with my uncle.” She lost interest in conversation and went looking for more powdered sugar cookies.
Mr. Cartwright found Mrs. Cartwright shortly thereafter, playing games with Saffron’s uncle that he preferred she play with him. For some reason this made him angry. He shouted, she screamed, and together they made quite a scene. Later that evening, Mrs. Cartwright threw herself from a balcony and died.
Perhaps this made sense to the human guests. The Faerie Court was completely mystified, especially Saffron.
“I hate you,” Aubrey said.
“Why?” Saffron asked.
“You killed my Mom.”
A lifetime of only hearing the truth spoken aloud had ill prepared Saffron for this moment.
“Oh, Aubrey,” she said, blinking back tears. “I’m so sorry. What did I do? What can I do? I’ll make it better somehow, you’ll see, I promise.”
Shocked silence filled the ballroom. The Dowager Duchess of Daffodils with centuries of dignity and preternatural grace dropped her champagne glass to the granite floor.
The next day, Saffron’s great Aunt Polly met with Aubrey’s uncle. Saffron tried not to fidget while they spoke as if she weren’t there and decided her fate. What was she going to do?
A fairy cannot tell a lie // She must fulfill her oath or die.“Take Saffron into the Cartwright house,” Aunt Polly said. “Give her the chance to help heal the rift in young Aubrey’s heart, and perhaps the rift between our peoples will follow.”
“So be it,” Sir Robert said. “I will speak to my brother.”
“Girl,” Aubrey called. “The hearth is filthy. Scrub it out.” In a fortnight, they had gone from “Saffron, could you brush my hair?” to this.
Saffron sighed. Her dress was ruined anyway. She fetched a bucket and brush, trying to recall the delight she had felt at Aubrey’s story the night of the ball. She removed all the ironwork and set to scrubbing the stones. The stone was hard on her knees and physical labor was unfamiliar.
“Girl?”
“Yes, Aubrey?”
“Ma’am. Servants call me ‘Ma’am’.”
“I’m not a servant, Aubrey. I’m your friend.”
“Oh, then what are you doing in my fireplace.”
Saffron stopped scrubbing.
“I’m helping a grieving friend. If scrubbing out your fireplace can make things better for you, even a little, I’ll do it.”
“I had a friend once. She betrayed me and killed my mother. How could anything ever make that better, even a little?”
Years passed, as they are wont to do. Aubrey grew older while Saffron didn’t, or perhaps Saffron grew up while Aubrey didn’t. Either way, young men began to come courting. Aubrey married one, and Saffron tossed white rose petals in the procession.
Married life and motherhood agreed with Aubrey. Aubrey Talbot was a happier woman than Aubrey Cartwright had been. But it still hurt Aubrey to see her, so Saffron kept her distance, even though it gave her little hope of ever redeeming her vow.
“Auntie Saffron,” Petunia called. Saffron was not her aunt, but she’d been around humans for so long she found the lie endearing.
“Yes, child?”
“How do I look?” Petunia was nearly the same age her mother had been years ago at that fateful ball.
“That’s a lovely gown, but riding boots are an unconventional choice and your hair is a mess,” Saffron said.
Petunia pouted. “Mamma says if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t oughtta say anything at all.”
“Hmm.” Saffron took Petunia by the shoulders and guided her over to the standing mirror. “What do you see?”
Petunia tried to keep pouting, but broke down and giggled.
“Now tell me, if I could make this a magic mirror that would always show you flawless and perfect, would you want me to? What if you had chocolate smeared on your face or spinach between your teeth? Would you want the mirror to lie to you and let you go out in public that way?”
“But I like to look pretty. Can you really make a magic mirror?”
“Oh, child, I wouldn’t even if I could. It is our flaws make us beautiful. Today you are lovely in the innocence of youth. Magnificent in the guileless freedom of your riding boots and gown. And thanks to the honesty of your mirror, we can fix the hair.”
Petunia giggled and let Auntie Saffron brush her hair.
At Petunia’s wedding, Saffron looked barely fifteen, too young to be a maid of honor. But Petunia insisted, and it was her day.
“How do I look, Auntie Saffron,” Petunia asked in her wedding gown, striking a pose just like when she was a little girl.
“You are lovely, dear Petunia. You are radiant with joy, the dress is quite stylish and suits your shape well, and your hair is magnificent.”
And Petunia knew every word was true, because her Auntie Saffron never lied.
Years passed. Aubrey grew older still. Her ankles swelled, and the doctor wanted her to get a cane. Instead, she leaned on Saffron. They went walking every afternoon in a courtyard filled with yellow dandelions.
“I’m old,” Aubrey said. “I feel old, but I look at you and I’m a little girl again, hiding behind that curtain. We shouldn’t have been in that part of the palace. We killed her. I will carry the burden of that always.”
Once, Saffron had had no answer for this, but she was no longer a child, and she had lived a lifetime among humans.
“We were just children, Aubrey. You didn’t kill your mother. She chose to sneak away with my uncle, and she chose to jump from a balcony rather than beg your father’s forgiveness. Her choices, not yours.”
They sat together on a bench in the garden. Aubrey cried and Saffron patted her back.
“It’s not enough,” she said.
“I know,” Saffron said. “If you don’t forgive me, I will die when you do.”
“I know,” Aubrey said. “Do you want me to lie?”
“I don’t know,” Saffron said, shocking herself.
Within the year, Aubrey took to her sickbed. Petunia came to be with her at the end.
Saffron paused in the hallway, not wanting to intrude.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Aubrey said.
“I will soon, mother. I’m about to lose you. Don’t take my Auntie Saffron from me too.”
Petunia and Saffron took turns sitting by her bedside.
“Saffron,” Aubrey said. It was the first time she’d called her by name in many years. “I see it now. You have made it better, just a little.”
“A kind lie, Aubrey.” She gently held her friend’s hand. It was kind, but a lie wasn’t enough.
“No, Saffron. Not better for me, perhaps, but for Petunia. She lost her grandmother even before she was born, but you’ve been like a godmother to her, a substitute. You’ve helped to make her the strong, beautiful woman she is today. I love her every bit as much as I loved my mother, and she is better because of you. I see that now, just like you promised I would.”
Petunia never stopped calling her Auntie Saffron, but her children and her children’s children called her their Fairy Godmother. And she did her very best to be just that.
