Forest Fairies, Mikal's Web Trilogy: Book #1

Forest Fairies,

Mikal’s Web Trilogy, Book #1

By Mary Lou Danielson

Published by Mary Lou Danielson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Mary Lou Danielson

Cover Artist: Mary Lou Danielson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This publication is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author. The author acknowledges that any reference to a trademarked name, has been used fictionally, and are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition license Statement

This eBooks is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBooks may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please download an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not download it, or it was not downloaded for your use only, then you should return to the eBook retailer from whom it was acquired and download your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Parental rating:

This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

It may contain mildly explicit sexual scenes or mild swearing

Mikal’s Web Trilogy:

Forest Fairies, Book #1

Up The Ivory Staircase, Book #2

Broken by an Angel, Book #3

Forest Fairies

By Mary Lou Danielson

Chapter 1

I should have run as fast as I could, on my short, stubby legs. He seized my attention and senses, as his brown eyes and southern charm drew me into a web I didn’t see, and could not escape. In the following weeks, his web threatened my resolve to be true to my fiancé, who was away at college. It swathed me in a lifetime of precarious relationships. I made choices which bound or thwarted those I love. If I was alert, I should have felt its sticky strands encasing every shred of my being. I was a moth being drawn to a candle, Mikal’s candle.

Ouch, I said as someone bumped me and I fell into a table in the church meeting room.

Sorry, Ma’am, I didn’t notice you. Are you hurt? The southern drawl accentuated a sweet, deep voice.

No, I replied, watching his dreamy brown eyes search my face. As the light hit them, they reflected red highlights, the color of a chestnut red horse in the sunlight. But I’m too young to be a Ma’am, I said.

A crooked, boyish grin curved the edges of his mouth. Where I come from there’s a fine line between Miss and Ma’am and you kind ‘a fall in the middle.

You must be new here, I haven’t met you before. My name is Suzy Robins.

His hand swallowed mine as he shook it and introduced himself. I’m Mikal Bowers, spelled M-I-K-A-L. My Mama couldn’t spell, but she wanted to name me after an angel.

Are you? I asked.

What, an angel? He laughed. Not often.

Your accent indicates you aren’t from around here, I said.

No, but where I’m from, is as bad as my name, he said.

And where’s that, Mikal?

Ok, but don’t laugh--the town is Possum Lick, in western Kentucky, where the Ohio and Mississippi rivers join. Scanning the room, he said, I see a coupl’a chairs by the wall. I’ll get some drinks and tell you about my home.

I sat, nervously aware of the most captivating man I had met in my young life. His casual gait made me understand the term mosey. My eyes followed his every move. He was a tad less than six feet tall. The broad shoulders, strong forearms and tanned hands beneath rolled sleeves, suggested he performed physical work, or worked out. A ring dented his hair where he probably wore a hat. A cowboy hat, I surmised. The cowboy boots at the bottom of his long, lean legs verified my initial impression.

Innocently unaware of the danger this man was about to introduce to my life, I smiled as he brought the drinks. He tipped his head in a polite nod and sat next to me, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He rocked forward and back, gazing at the floor as he talked, but periodically glancing at me from the corner of his eye, so he knew, I was listening.

Was he a shy, or sly, country boy?

Were the soft brown, doe eyes compassionate or crafty as a fox?

He lifted his glass to eye level. Hey, this isn’t sweet tea, but it’ll do.

Sweet tea? I asked.

Mikal laughed softly. At home, and all over the south, they make the tea so strong they add half a pound of sugar to the pitcher. It’s cloudy like a muddy river and nearly the same color. Here in California the tea’s so weak you can read a book through the glass.

What else do you drink at home? asked Suzy.

The kids and women drink lemonade, the men chug moonshine. I’ve never seen a lemon tree in Kentucky, but we always had ice-cold lemonade. Didn’t know where the lemons came from, but the moonshine came from Uncle Ed’s still, out back of his barn. Every Sunday, Papa Joe, my granddaddy, and his pals, disappeared as soon as dinner was over. Papa says I’m not old enough for ‘shine, even though I’m 23.

I’ve never been to Kentucky. What’s your home like?

Reflecting on his past, he said, Here in California, everything turns brown by the end of May unless you drench the ground with water. Back home the fields stay green from spring to fall, because rain is abundant most years. In the spring, just before the leaves come out on the tall trees, the dogwoods bloom. They are small trees dwarfed by the big leafless trees. Most have flat, white flowers that seem to float in midair like little fairies flitting in the forest. As the dogwood leaves sprout; the little white forest fairies, float to the ground, and disappear until next spring. Mikal cocked his head and grinned. As he talked, or reminisced, he turned the southern charm, and accent, on and off at will.

While he extoled the romance of his southern roots

I should have heard the sucking sound,

as I was drawn into the deep hole of his sweet personality.

Grinning, he said, As kids, we spent hot, summer afternoons at the swimmin’ hole. Yea, it’s like the pictures of a kid swingin’ on a rope and jumpin’ into the water. He peaked at me from the corner of his eye and laughed softly at the memories.

Do you have family in Kentucky? I asked.

Yea, most of my kin are there, he said. Gran and Papa Joe have the farm where I grew up. Daddy died working at the dam when I was eight. Ma and I went to live on the farm, but Ma lives in Nashville, now. The farm’s too much work for Papa, so they lease most of the land to the neighbors. Their grandson couldn’t see a future in farming, so he joined the Navy after high school.

You? I asked.

Yep, Mikal nodded. Sometimes I feel guilty, but the world is changing. Computers fascinated me and the Navy offered to send me to computer school. A friend in high school taught me basic programming, so I jumped at the chance. I left the Navy last year and now I’m working with new recruits, at the Marine and Navy Centers.

Noticing we were the last ones in the room, I said, My life story can wait. We should go to church.

After church, we walked outside together, visited with friends, and slowly migrated to my car where we stood in quiet contemplation.

I should have stayed in church and prayed

for my deliverance from his tightening web.

I should have sped home, alone,

to elude his grasp.

Mikal observed the emptying parking lot, and said, I didn’t notice any guys around you tonight. Do you have a boyfriend?

I’m sort of engaged, I said. Jessie and I have gone together since the 10th grade. He’s at the university in Berkeley studying music; he’s a wonderful pianist. I don’t have an official ring, but we plan to be married when he graduates. He’s finishing his junior year.

I sensed a distinct change in Mikal’s demeanor when he made a slight movement from me. He hesitated; then said, That’s a long time to wait for someone who’s so far away, especially if you’re ‘sort of’ engaged. Does he come home often?

Not often, I said. Some school breaks and an occasional weekend. Phone calls are expensive, so we only talk twice a month. I write letters, but he seldom does.

Huh, he said. Sounds like a one sided affair. It’s not my business, but you’re a fine person and deserve a good man. You should have someone who will put you first and treasure you. Grinning he said, I’m stepping in where I don’t belong. We just met and I’m playing big brother.

He was delivering clues of impending entrapment:

sympathy, valor, and modesty.

Smiling, I put my arm through his. Mikal, something clicked between us tonight. I hope we are beginning a wonderful friendship, but you must understand where my heart is. Letting you expect more would be wrong. Extending my hand, I said, Friends?

Mikal took my hand, but instead of shaking, he bowed, kissed the back, and said, Ma’am, I’m at your disposal forever. I’ll slay any dragons threatening you, and applaud your successes, but hear me, if the door opens; I intend to jump through before it closes.

The icing on the cake: chivalry and compassion.

Steadying myself on the car, with my mouth agape, my heart pounded, and I managed to say, I believed people only spoke that way in books.

He chuckled softly and said, I anticipated buying you a soda, but we’ll call it a night, this time. After a slight bow, Mikal opened my car door, assisted me inside, grinned, and sauntered to his red truck. Half way, he paused, turned slightly, and smiling, he looked at me and nodded.

Inside his truck, he leaned to the side, righted himself, and put on a cowboy hat. He grasped the hat by the crease of the crown, set it low on his forehead, slid it back, and wiggled it snuggly into place. Putting on a cowboy hat, must be the sexiest act a man can perform. The truck fired with a roar, and when he passed my car he nodded, which also dipped the brim of the hat.

My gut flip-flopped. How could one trivial gesture make such an impact?

I should have run a hundred miles an hour

to escape his grasp

before it tightened on my heart.

I composed myself sufficiently to drive home, but sleep eluded me. Mikal haunted my dreams. Even though I love Jesse, Mikal and I can be friends.

Don’t bet on it Suzy.

After only two hours with a soft-talking stranger,

unknowingly, I was trapped in Mikal’s web.

Chapter 2

The following Wednesday night was choir practice before the midweek church service. When I arrived, Mikal was sitting in the corner playing a guitar and singing to a small audience. Leaning on the wall, I was amazed how well he played and sang. His voice was a strong, rich baritone, which melted my insides. He fingered the strings of the guitar as if he was in love with them. Did he touch a woman with such tenderness? My skin tingled and I said aloud, Stop it, Suzy!

Mikal sang a recent country song from the radio. His love for rural life was evident, and his southern drawl re-surfaced when he was homesick. I heard a slight hesitation in the song, as our eyes met. The next song spoke of the family he missed, the love of country, and the girl, he left behind. The family and country parts were real, but how real was the girl. Could I be jealous of someone who may not exist? I chided myself, because I was promised to Jesse, and I had no business being jealous of Mikal’s girlfriends.

When the song was over, the group disbursed, because it was time for choir practice to start. They told Mikal he sang and played well and they welcomed him to the choir…besides they needed male voices. Thanks, he said, but remained sitting in the corner staring at me. Our eyes locked as he stood; then slowly, his boots carried his feet toward me. Leaning on the wall next to me, he said, You should’a come earlier, we had a dandy little session. Billy played a harmonica, Joe beat sticks on a chair, and I strummed the ol’ strings. Nothing better than happy, or sad, country love songs. Do you like country music?

Most country songs are too twangy for me, I said, wrinkling my nose.

Kenny Rogers, Glenn Campbell, Willie Nelson, and Johnny Cash? he asked.

Waiving my hands, I said, All right, I give up. Those people are on the pop charts; I don’t think of them as country. After a moment, I added, Your soul showed when you sang those songs. You miss home, don’t you?

Gazing at another world, Mikal said, Yea, I do, but I could never go back to my old life.

Was the life hard? I asked.

Farm work’s physically hard, he said, but it wasn’t the work, it was the hopelessness. Guys my age can’t find jobs off the farm, in Kentucky. Southern boys join the Army because they’ll work hard for nothing and most can shoot the whiskers off a skunk. City people think of us as poor, white trash, inbreeds, or illiterate, but the poor economy makes it tough to feed or clothe your kids. The barefoot boy, carrying his fishin’ pole to the river, doesn’t wear shoes in the summer because his younger brother or sister will need them next winter in the snow…..Huh! I’m lucky I got out before I was stuck in a dead end, nothing job. Eyeing me, he added, Enough of my past. Let’s go sing some happy songs about how much God loves us.

We went to our respective sections of the choir. Mikal’s distinctive voice floated to my ears, and I wondered how different our lives had been. He grew up as a poor, country farm boy. I was a city girl, not rich, but I never went hungry, always had decent clothes, the roof never leaked, and I had several pair of shoes, which all belonged only to me.

After choir practice, Mikal left with his guitar, so I went to the church with friends. During the service, I could hear Mikal’s rich voice singing behind me. I forced myself to focus forward.

After the service, we milled around the lobby before we went outside. Most of us had known each other for years and Wednesday night was the time to say our hellos. I noticed Mikal across the way, with the pastor, who was introducing him to new people. He glanced my way and winked, I grinned to acknowledge the gesture. Eventually we connected and I invited him to join me, and my friends, for coffee or soda.

Thanks, he said, but I was hoping we could go someplace alone. You’ve heard my life story; I’d like to hear yours.

I’d like to share my story with you, I said, but I’ll need to tell my grandmother I’ll be late, so she doesn’t worry. Come meet her. Gram was visiting with her friends. Mikal, this is my grandmother, Hanna Robins. Gram, this is Mikal Bowers. Mikal is new to the church.

I’m pleased to meet you Ma’am. You have a wonderful granddaughter. Sheepishly he asked me, am I allowed to call your grandma Ma’am’? He winked at Gram. It’s a little joke between us. I called her a Ma’am and she thought she should be a Miss. Slapping his forehead, he said to Gram, Man, I messed up again. I meant to say ‘Pleased to meet you Miss Robins’. Someone as young as you, Miss Robins, is not a Ma’am, either. Leaning close to Gram he said, I know where Suzy gets her good looks.

Gram asked me, Did you find him in the cabbage patch? We all laughed. I may fight you for this one. Now go along and remember you’ll turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

Yes, Gram, but I’m not a little girl anymore. We hugged and Mikal and I went to the parking lot to get our cars. We met at Binnie’s Burger House, three blocks from the church.

Two for a booth in the back! Binnie hollered as we entered. Mikal sat across from me, and Binnie teasingly said, You can’t sit there.

Why not? Mikal asked.

You better move to the other side and sit next to this lovely lady, Binnie said.

This is okay, for the first date, Mikal said. Besides, I can concentrate on her pretty blue eyes from here.

It’s not a date Mikal, we’re just friends, I said.

Mikal seemed surprised at my reaction and corrected himself. We can’t sit too close, because we’re not dating…yet.

Binnie was unusually silent, as he inspected us. So what’ll you have? he asked. Binnie’s Mile High Burger’s on special. It comes with a mountain of Skinny Fries and a drink.

Ugh, I said. It’s too late for so much food. Mikal, are you hungry or do you only want dessert?

Dessert is fine. What’s good?

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. The Chewy Chocolate Cherry Cake is to die for. Everything here is a mile high, so with chocolate chip ice cream it would be enough to split.

Sounds good, and a soda please. A drink for the lady, too, Mikal said in his slow drawl.

Pointing his thumb toward Mikal, Binnie asked me, He related to Red Butler?

Something like that, Binnie, I said, giggling. Yes, I’ll have a soda too, please.

Binnie walked away shaking his head and muttering about not getting another one like Mikal in here until bulls had calves.

Covering his face with both hands, Mikal stifled some of his laughter, and then gained control. Are you going to be awake all night eating so much sugar?

No, I said. I haven’t slept well the last few nights, so I should crash tonight.

Why not?

Just stuff. I couldn’t say, You!

Just stuff? What kind of stuff can bother a young lady like you? he asked.

Your eyes, your voice, your southern accent, and now your guitar and singing voice, I was thinking. Now was the time for a little white lie. Nothing serious, it’ll pass. Thank goodness, Binnie came with the cake and drinks.

Whoa! Mikal said, A bull moose couldn’t eat all this. Binnie was shaking his head, as he walked away.

Laughing, I picked up my fork, and took a bite. Mm, I don’t believe anything is better in the whole world than chocolate. You can’t have too much. I told Gram, if I get sick and I’m about to die, ask the nurses to hook the feeding tube to a bucket of chocolate… plus chocolate chip ice cream. Oh, but then, the chips might plug the tube. I shrugged and said, In the summer, when Grandpa was alive, we walked to the corner drug store to buy a half-gallon of chocolate chip ice cream. It froze so hard we dug it out with a big scoop. We could polish off the whole carton in one night, minus a little for Gram. Ha! I said, Funny how silly memories are triggered when you least expect them.

So, do you live with your grandmother? Mikal asked.

Yes, the two of us. Grandpa died when I was 15.

Where are your parents, Suzy? Do you mind if I ask personal questions?

No, Mikal, you’ve shared your past. I barely remember my mother; I was young when she died. I’ve never understood her illness, but she was either in bed or in a wheel chair. My father was in the Army. He retired a few years ago, in France, with his current wife and family. I rarely saw him as a kid; I still don’t.

You seem to get on well with your grandmother.

Oh yea, we’re pals, I said. We seldom have conflicts. I’m lucky to be part of the church, because they have plenty for the kids to do. In high school, Gram rarely questioned what I was doing, because she knew my friends and their parents. Sundays, after church, I go with Gram and her friends to lunch. We have a little house near here; we share the housework and cooking. She and Gramps bought the house years ago, so it’s old, but they maintained it well, when he was alive. We do the little repairs, but for something big we call someone.

I’m handy with tools, he said, pretending to work a hammer and screwdriver. Why don’t I come over and help? On the farm we fixed everything ourselves; I'm great with tractors. The price would be right; I could do with some home cooking.

Ha, ha, I said, We don’t have a tractor, but we must have things needing to be fixed, or you could show us how. Don’t expect gourmet, our diet is meat, potatoes, a veggie, and a salad. We have lots of cold milk, tea, and coffee.

How about Saturday? Mikal asked. I don’t work, do you?

Saturday is great; I’ll let Gram know, I said. What would you like for your first paycheck?

How’s your fried chicken? Mikal asked. I haven’t found good southern fried since I’ve been here.

Well, our chicken won’t be your grandmothers’ in Kentucky. Nothing’s as good as home, but we can try, I said.

Mikal hesitated a moment. Tell you what. I’ll fry the chicken. You do the rest. Should I bring my guitar?

Oh no! I said. This may get expensive if we pay the handyman, pay overtime to cook, and pay for a concert, too.

The cooking and concert are on the house…or in the house, Mikal said laughing.

Binnie returned, putting his hands on his hips, scowling at the plate of cake and ice cream. What’s the matter with my cake? Didn’t you like it? The ice cream melted, too. This here southern boy don’t know good California cookin’? Or have you two been busy with somethin' else? We’re closed in 10 minutes.

Oh, Binnie, I said, taking another bite of cake. We were engrossed in our conversation.

Yea, yea, yea, I saw you two, Binnie said, to Mikal. Her eyes blue enough, after inspecting them a thousand times?

Only 999, Mikal said, but I’m not sure yet. Next time we’ll sit in better light.

Next time don’t take up a seat of one of my big spenders, Binnie growled. Since you didn’t eat anything, this one’s on me. You take care of this lady, because she’s a sweetheart. Hope you’re better than the other one. Now get out’a here so I can go home.

Mikal left a healthy tip. Stopping at the register where Binnie was standing, Mikal said, Make sure to give that nice waiter the tip. You know, I’m still searching for good southern fried chicken. My Granny makes the best. We have piles of mashed potatoes smothered in real chicken gravy, not brown stuff from a can. She fixes green beans, cooked with red onion and bacon, and makes piles of fluffy homemade biscuits with real butter. Got anything here that’s worth coming back for?

You rebs think this’s a cook to order joint? Eyeing Mikal for a minute, Binnie muttered, Try next Wednesday before church.

Mikal extended his hand. Name’s Mikal, have a good one.

Binnie shook Mikal’s hand. Out’a here. Now!

Outside, Mikal said, "I think we should come next Wednesday, or we’ll get poison the