Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast Read Online Free Page B

between the hills and hit her full in the face, burning her as red as earth. She smiled at me and then there were only dust motes in the air, dancing. When I looked down at my feet, the grave dirt was hardly disturbed but Mama’s gold wedding band gleamed atop it.
    I knelt down and picked it up, and unhooked the chain holding my cross. I slid the ring onto the chain, and the two nestled together right in the hollow of my throat. I sang:
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Blacks and
bays,
Dapples and grays...
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    and from the earth itself, the final words sang out,
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All the pretty little horses.
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    That was when I cried, long and loud, a sound I hope never to make again as long as I live.
    Then I went back down the hill and home, where Papa still waited by the open door.

Harlyn's Fairy
    HARLYN HAD NOT EXPECTED to see a fairy that day in the garden. Buttercups, yes. And the occasional early rose. And varieties of plants with odd names like snow-in-summer and bachelor’s button. Aunt Marilyn loved to plant and grow flowers, almost as much as she liked to watch birds. But if she had ever seen a fairy in her garden, she had neglected to tell Harlyn about it.
    Yet there it was, flittering about on two fast-beating wings as veined and as transparent as stained glass. It sounded like a slightly dotty insect and was pulling the petals off the only red rose in bloom.
    Harlyn drew in a sharp, surprised breath. When she exhaled, the wind nearly blew the fairy halfway across the arbor.
    â€œWhooosh!” the fairy cried out. When it had gotten its tiny wings untangled at last, it flew back toward her, shaking its fist and scolding in a voice that sounded as if it were being run backward at the wrong speed. Harlyn didn’t understand a word.
    After a half-minute harangue, the fairy flew down to the ground and picked up the dropped petals, stuffing them into a silvery sack. Then it zipped off in the direction of the trees, canting to one side because of the sack’s weight.
    But how much can rose petals possibly weigh? Harlyn mused.
    When the fairy disappeared into the copse of trees, Harlyn turned.
    â€œOh, Aunt Marilyn,” she said aloud, “boy, do you have some explaining to do.”
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    â€œA fairy?” said Aunt Marilyn, shaking her head. “Don’t be silly, child. It must have been a ruby-throated hummingbird. They move that way.” Her hand described a sort of twittery up-and-down zigzag motion not unlike the fairy’s flight pattern.
    â€œA fairy,” Harlyn said. “It spoke to me. Well, yelled, actually.”
    â€œAnd what did this fairy say?” Clearly Aunt Marilyn did not believe her.
    â€œHow should I know?” Harlyn answered. “I don’t speak Fairy. But it wasn’t happy, that’s for sure.”
    â€œIt was pretty hot out there, dear...” Aunt Marilyn began in her understanding voice, the one she’d used since Harlyn’s mother’s latest breakdown brought Harlyn once again to her house.
    Harlyn nodded, though they both knew the day was really on the cool side.
    â€œHow about a peanut-butter sandwich?” That was all Aunt Marilyn was going to say about the fairy; of this Harlyn was sure.
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    Harlyn ate the sandwich and drank a glass of milk while Aunt Marilyn hovered over her, carefully watching for signs of something like the delusions Harlyn’s mother had entertained on and off ever since she had been a teenager. Harlyn was well aware of this scrutiny; she even welcomed it, usually.
    â€œIt was hot out, Aunt Marilyn, hotter than at home. And there were lots of birds,” Harlyn said at last.
    â€œNothing else?” This was Aunt Marilyn’s way of offering a truce without actually saying the dreaded f-word, fairy.
    â€œNothing else,” Harlyn answered.
    â€œI have to go shopping, and you can come with me if you want to...” Aunt Marilyn clearly wanted to shop alone, and Harlyn was really too old to need a