THE WISHING of BIDDY MALONE
To be sure, Biddy Malone loved to sing and dance. But her singing was like a rusty gate in a wild west wind, and when she dance, her great dundering feet fell over each other, which was terrible considering Biddy Malone always wanted the best for herself. So whenever she made a mistake, she kicked and screamed something awful, her temper being a fine fierce thing.
Her brothers teased her. They rattled their spoons on the table and chanted, "Shuffle and moan, Shuffle and moan. That's the dancing of Biddy Malone."
One fine afternoon, she got fired up like a baker's oven. She threw a while pan full of milk at those brothers and stamped out, slamming the door near off it's hinges, Along the street she ran, out of the village and down to the river.
Oh, but there was no slowing those angry legs. Strong they were, making their own path to a place far beyond gardends and the quiet breath of cattle, When they stopped at last, Biddy was looking all about her at a stangeness.
Now, it was the soft hour between day and night, when shadows played games with the eyes. But what Biddy saw down by the river was no shadow. Settled between the trees were little houses. There were sparking lights at windows and a music so lovely, it fair melted her bones.
To be sure, it was a faerie village, the kind that children were warned about. Never, never go near the little people, parents said. But all that went clean out of the head of Biddy Malone. The music had hold of her and her feet danced across the grass, not once arguing with each other.
Now, Biddy was mortal high and houses faerie small, but by the time she got there, she was exactly the right size for the doorway that led to the music. In she went to a sight that filled her with happiness and just a pinch of fear. The place was crowded with little folk, singing and dancing in fine style. The women wore dresses of poppy petals and corn silk. The men had eyes the color of the river and sky, and hair that fell in their faces they kicked up their heels.
Now, when the little folk saw Biddy Malone, the music stopped, the dancing stilled, and the whole room went quiet as sleep. One by one, the faerie people moved back against the wall and Biddy saw, at the far end of the hall, a most beautiful boy with skin like an acorn and hair as soft as midnight. A loveling he was, with a band of meadow flowers about his head, a cloak of grouse feathers at his shoulders, and silver rings on all his fingers. "I've been waiting for you, Biddy Malone," he said.
He walked toward her and his fine smile wrapped itself around her. "It is three wishes you are wanting," he said.
Three wishes? Biddy stared at him.
His dark eyes seemed to go on forever. "Are you able to name them, Biddy Malone?"
Biddy swallowed. "I... I didn't come here for wishes. But to be sure, now that you mention it, there are two great yearnings. I would like to sing as sweetly as a thrush and dance as lightly as a deer."
"You will do both those things," the boy said. A sweet tinkling laughter broke out in the room and the little folk whispered to each other. He clapped for silence. "Wishes always come in threes," he said.
She took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "I'm minded there is something else. I've got a temper like a steaming kettle and does nobody any good. I am wishing for a loving heart."
He smiled, his eyes full of light. "It boy took Biddy's hands in his and twirled her across the floor. Her feet were so light, she felt she was flying. Her heart beat a single note of pure happiness. All around the room, the faerie folk swayed as flowers in a summer breeze and sang in tiny voices.
Biddy sang, too. Her voice came back to float around her ears like strands of a beautiful silver thread as she dance and dance.
To be sure, Biddy did not want it to end at all. But end it did, and suddenly. The boy stopped the dancing. The music died.
"Time to go now, Biddy Malone," he said, kissing her on the forehead. Her heart fluttered. "No!" she cried. "I've only just arrived."
He shook his head slowly and led her to the door. In a moment, she was outside on the darkened riverbank, the wind blowing her hair. She turned to say good-bye, but the loveling was not behind her.
Neither was the doorway, nor the house. Indeed, the whole faerie village was gone, and there were only the dark shapes of willow trees amongest the reeds.
to be continue
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