Keeping Peace

There was a place in the lowlands where the king and his wife lived. It was a beautiful, white manor, set on the crown of a hill. The place reminded the queen of a picture. It was perfect. There was a long veranda and a garden, and groves of trees that cast shadows over acres of land. "I can't believe it's mine," she'd said. Her husband had always been wealthy. He was born into royalty, with a silver spoon in his mouth. His wife, in opposition, was raised poor. This ivory-tower utopia would taking getting used to.

The couple had everything a person should need. Everything, that is, but a son. They discussed it sometimes. They entertained ideas of starting a family, and raising a child to inherit this dream. The king wanted a son. He would take the boy and shape him into a prince. His wife listened as he told stories of what a fine boy this prince would be. She smiled. If he'd be happy, then she wanted this, too. Their wish was granted one, warm morning, as the sun was coming over a violet horizon. With it came a darling surprise: Queen Olive gave birth to two sons. They were identical brothers, their names Daniel and Luke.

Every family had a story. Daniel was considering this as he climbed through the door. He sought an adventure. The attic, unexplored territory, would be the perfect place to find one. The boy had heard tales that manors in Letterport were haunted. Ghosts harbored in attics, away from the sun, where they'd wander through boxes and mark words in the dust. "This should be fun."

When he stepped into the attic, he was disappointed to find an empty room. Boxes were stacked like building blocks by the walls. Daniel shuttered. The cold air smelled like mothballs. Spider webs and dust laced every inch of the floor. He thought about a book that he read once. The villain was a murderess who buried her victims under the floorboards. Their bones were discovered in an attic, along with her own.

The young prince never found the ghosts he was looking for. He made a very different discovery. There was a keepsake box tucked under some boxes, with a broken lock. Daniel was expecting he'd need a key. He tried the latch and it opened. It was filled with maps and papers. They covered a patterned, red scarf. What was all of this? He spread a couple papers over the floor. One was a map, another written instructions. They explained how to get to his town. Others were inventories and to-do lists, dated and signed by an "Olive Hale".

"Ma," Daniel whispered. He picked up the map. It linked Letterport with a place called Tild. It was a funny name for a town. There were pictures of a girl that he assumed was his mother, with the red scarf wrapped around her head. This reminded Daniel of something. He'd learned in his lessons that these were the scarves that fairies wore. They dwelled in secret, in small societies. "It couldn't be," the prince murmured, but he didn't believe his own words. The queen had kept her past a secret all of this time. Daniel beckoned his brother, Luke. On the morning that followed, they set out. They'd follow the maps to Tild and unfold the truth for themselves.

It happened that Tild was just two miles away. It was gated with trees. Neither of the princes would risk being discovered. They knelt down into the grass and observed. "They look like us," said Luke. It was true that there were similarities. Fairies weren't the tiny, winged creatures that people assumed. They didn't fit the description. They were petite, the boys noticed. The woman and girls wore scarves. Men traveled beside their wives and children, closely but not touching. It was a rule of their society. Public affection was taboo. Daniel thought of his mother, a wealthy and beautiful queen. Her friends from her childhood wouldn't have recognized her without the disguise of her scarf. "Her friends," Daniel mouthed silently. Who had his mother left behind?

The princes came back to visit from time to time. Sometimes, they'd scrounge the courage to walk beyond the trees, careful to fit in to the picture the natives formed. Other times, they'd just watch. Luke started to come on his own. He'd seen a girl there who looked his age. She'd taken her scarf off to wash her hair in the creek, and a quilt of long, white waves broke free. She was poor, the prince guessed. The fairy's cheeks with stained with dirt, and she wore a simple, cotton dress. There was a striking contrast between them, but Luke wasn't bothered. He fell spellbound by this modest stranger, a girl too small for her wide, goldenrod eyes.

Dahlia and Luke fell in love. They fit as easily together as if they were age-old friends. The prince would bring the fairy little gifts from his world. Letterport fascinated her. She listened to him describe the manor, with its maids and groundkeepers and tall, wrought-iron fence. She laid back in the grass with him and spoke of all of her favorite things. Sunshowers, or English daisies. Dahlia would smile and stroke Luke's hair and tell him, "I'd love to live in your shoes."

Luke learned the society's rules. He studied the books Dahlia lent him in the privacy of his room. Girls couldn't speak in public places. It wasn't proper to wander around on one's own. Colors denoted social class. Citizens followed an oath to keep peace.

The prince once thought to ask, "What does it mean to keep peace?"

Dahlia eyed him curiously. "We don't fight," she explained. "There are no wars or arguments. No mean words." Her lips curved into a frown. "It means," Dahlia whispered, "You can't always have things the way they should be."

There was something about her words that left Luke thinking. He couldn't make sense of it. It wasn't until the news came that he could finally understand.

Dahlia's sister discovered her journal and threatened to their father about Luke. She knew the danger. She would be apprehended and punished. The girl might never see her love again. Desperate for a solution, she and her sister, Harper, made a deal.

"You say that your prince has a brother. I want you to find him. You will arrange for them to meet us in their city," she ordered. "I'll dress you and I as the human girls do, and we'll hold a private wedding. You may marry Luke. I'll have Daniel."

"It's settled, then," Dahlia replied, but she was secretly sad. Harper's plan had left her very ill at ease.

Luke's initial reaction was to be thrilled. He closed his eyes and imagined the kind of wedding that they'd hold. It had to be small and kept secret. Costs weren't the outlying issue. He'd order flowers and choose a chapel. What could be the problem, after all? The prince was blessed. He was allowed to marry the perfect girl of his dreams.

Days passed slowly, and people took their time. The weather was beautiful in the Spring. Dahlia and Luke never wanted to be apart. They held secret rendezvous. Lying in the grass one day, her face in silhouette, the fairy confessed her thoughts. "Luke?" she whispered.

He turned in and laid a hand near hers. "What's wrong?"

And Dahlia told him. She said that she wasn't ready to marry, that she loved him in a way that she had never known, but that they were young, and that this was not the solution. "It was all a deal," the girl cried. Her words slipped out, all tangled together, and she breathed a sigh as the weight fell from her chest.

Luke nodded with understanding. He drew her into his side and remembered how she and him seemed to fit. "Harper means well," he assured her. "But she doesn't know love like we do." They laid there, perfectly still, warm under the late-morning sun. As for now, the deal was off. They'd face the consequences.

Spring fell off its stage in a whir. Summer hurried by. The brilliant greens turned to whites as snow covered the world in a quilt, and suddenly Letterport and Tild looked alike. Every time that Dahlia and Luke stopped to listen to the birds, the day became a memory that the young couple made. Life was full of memories. It was only natural that there would be the good and the bad. When Dahlia couldn't postpone the wedding any longer, she was cornered into telling her sister the truth. "I'm going to go to Pa," Harper threatened, and she did just that.

"I can't bare being without you," Luke breathed to the air. Dahlia couldn't hear. She was forbidden to see him. Her father held her prisoner in her own, little home. The prince was a stubborn boy, of course, and he wouldn't surrender without a fight. He escaped in the night and through her rocks at her window sill. "We're running away," came his words. Luke wrapped the shivering girl in a blanket, and they walked until their familiar worlds disappeared.

Dahlia was almost sixteen when she received news via a letter from an old friend. This girl was the fairy's confidante, and they'd made a loose attempt to stay in touch over the years. "It's your sister," her words read. "I'm honestly very sorry to have to tell you. Dahlia, Harper is dead."

An accident claimed the life of the only sister she knew. Harper drowned in the creek where they used to bathe. She'd always been a greedy girl, with whom the fairy wasn't especially close. But they were sisters. Dahlia could stay hidden in the privy quarters that she and her prince had chose. They could live in this place and wake up to the scent of apple blossoms each day. But she knew that the right thing was to leave. Luke loved her unconditionally, and he'd understand.

The morning came for the community of fairies to pay the late Harper her last respects. Her mother had fallen ill long ago. Dahlia's father was the image of misery as he sat in the front pew, alone. She walked through the doors slowly and lost her footing as the scene came into view. They were at the little church on a grassy knoll. It was a happy place on any other day.

"You can do it," Luke promised. "I'll do it with you."

He took her by the hand and the couple walked toward the front of the church. Sunlight danced through stained-glass windows. Every color known to the eye painted Dahlia's skin. Her father looked up at her for the first time since she and the prince ran away. He didn't scold her. He didn't so much as disregard this boy whom he'd hated. The graying man's hands fell to his sides, and Dahlia closed the space between them with a hug.

"You can't always have things the way they should be," she'd told Luke, long ago. Life wouldn't always work in their favor. She stood with her arms around her father, and Luke's arms around her, and nobody spoke. Dahlia did what she could. She was just keeping peace.