Confessions of A Faerie Princess: The Order of The Golden Tyde: Maddie McT: Mysteries of The Fae

By Sue Buttermark

Four bored Florida 7th graders, alone on a rainy afternoon, discover a mysterious trunk and an invitation to join The Order of The Golden Tyde...A summons from Merlyn of Camelot plunges the tweens into a 25-year-old mystery in the magyckal Realm of Cairn Na Fae!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Buttermark
• Release date: Feb 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201532505

Sue Buttermark

Author, Sue Buttermark is a married, semi-retired mom and grandmom.  She resides in Cape Coral, FL with husband Bill and their 2 dogs, Buford & Belle, and 2 cats, Chloe & Gibbs. She's Mom to daughters Heather & Courtney and Grandma to grandsons Adam & Christopher. She has over 25 years of experience as an amateur actor and costume designer for live theater. Sue has co-authored an in-house adaptation of Jack & The Beanstalk for Theatre of Northeastern CT at The Bradley Playhouse in Putnam CT. She is an avid reader of English period fiction and mysteries. Arthur Conan Doyle, Mary Stewart, Madeleine Brent, and of course, J.K. Rowling are among her favorites. Sue loves a great cup of coffee in the morning and a glass of red at night. But don't worry, Princess Madeleine's next adventure in Cairn Na Fae is percolating even now!

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Copyright ©2021 by Sue Buttermark

Confessions of A Faerie Princess: The Orde of The Golden Tyde

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise— without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

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Author’s photo – Miranda Koontz

Fonts used: Emily’s Candy Harrington, Cherry Swash, Karla, & Times New Roman & Bookman Old Style

Cover images: Bookbrush.com, dreamstime.com, designed by Susan Buttermark

FIRST EDITION-REVISED

Maddie McT: Mysteries of The Fae

Book One

Confessions of A Faerie Princess:

The Order of The Golden Tyde

by

Sue Buttermark

This Faerie’s Tale is dedicated to my mom Joanne, my sister Cathy, my daughters Heather and Courtney, and all of the other smart, strong, funny, and creative ladies in our families. My undying thanks and love to my husband Bill for his patience and support

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Strange Magyck

March 2019

Chapter 2

The Order of The Golden Tyde

Friday, May 3, 2019

Chapter 3

Art Class

Friday, May 10, 2019

Chapter 4

Unexpected Gifts

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Monday, May 13, 2019

Chapter 5

Faerie Grandmothers

Wednesday, May 15, 2019 (The Ides)

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Chapter 6

Drumelzyr Dryft

Friday, May 17, 2019

Chapter 7

A Triple Feature

Friday, May 17, 2019

.Friday, May 17, 2019

Friday, May 17, 2019, are we ever gonna get out of CNF

Chapter 8

The Ambyr Wyshe

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Chapter 9

Family Reunion

Saturday, May 18, 2020

Chapter 10

Magyck In The Air

Sunday, May 19, 2019

Chapter 11

Prelude To A Quest

Sunday, May 19, 2019

Monday, May 20, 2019

Chapter 12

Tìr N’an Draidmage

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Chapter 13

Spirits of Innish Fae

Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Thursday, May 23, 2019

Friday, May 24, 201

Chapter 14

The Dragon’s Curse

Friday, May 24, 2019

Chapter 15

The Set-Up

Friday, May 24, 2019

Chapter 16

The Sting

Friday, May 24, 2019-keeps going and going and going

Chapter 17

Girl Talk

It’s still Friday, May 24, 2019

Saturday, May 25, 2019

Chapter 18

The Mydnyght Grymoire

Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Chapter 19

The Game’s Afoot

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Chapter 20

Turning Cate

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Chapter 21

The Shattering Truth

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Friday, May 31, 2019

Chapter 22

Waiting In The Wings

Friday, May 31, 2019

Chapter 23

A Wyzard’s Trial

Saturday, June 1, 2019

Chapter 24

A Fashion Emergency

Saturday, June 1, 2019

Chapter 25

Dungeon DIY

Saturday, June 1, 2019

Chapter 26

Before The Ball

Sunday, June 2 – Thursday, June 6, 2019

Chapter 27

Masquerade

Friday, June 7, 2019-B, Day!

Saturday, June 8, 2019

About The Author

Coming Winter 2022!

Confessions of A Faerie Princess:

Sorcery School Summer

Chapter 1

Strange Magyck

March 2019

Magic, or magyck, as I’d come to call it, is one of those words casually tossed around to describe anything from concoctions for removing stains from laundry or special effects in your favorite movie.

It’s how Alice wandered through the Looking Glass to find

Wonderland, or how Dorothy traveled by twister to the Land of Oz, and how Harry Potter found the train to Hogwarts in a busy railway station. Everyone knows what magic is supposed to be; it happens to other people in books, movies, and TV. But, most of the time, it sneaks up on you with no warning, and you can’t see it for what it really is until there’s a wand pointed at you.

Magyck follows its own ancient calendar and, in my case, crept into my life the spring before my thirteenth birthday in 2019. The first few incidents were minor, like the night of March 15th, called the Ides, I found out later, when the strange shooting star, or asteroid or whatever it was, hovered over our house on Hibiscus Drive, in Sabal Palms, Florida. I snapped a pic of the celestial phenomenon with my phone. But, of course, I didn’t know then how the stellar event triggered a chain reaction in a land far away. I just thought it was weird how my parents’ Scots brogues got thicker while the glowing orb hung over our pool.

Four days later, on March 19th, I had the nightmare. They, oops, I mean Mom and Dad, found me sitting bolt upright in bed, screaming at a vision only I could see.

Maddie, wake up! my mother whispered. Keith, get the light.

I blinked and shielded my eyes from the sudden electrical glare,

What are you guys doing in here? It’s the middle of the night.

You screamed; did you have a nightmare? Dad asked, concerned.

I scrunched my eyes closed and tried to remember, Yeah, I guess. I had the weirdest dream, there was this beautiful mermaid with long blue hair swirling around her, but she had the evilest eyes I’ve ever seen!

A mermaid? Dad tried unsuccessfully not to laugh, With evil eyes.

It’s not funny, Dad; she stared right at me like she hated me or something.

I’m sorry, darlin, I shouldn’t laugh. Can you get back to sleep? Do you want the light on? he worried.

No, I’m fine, I yawned and scooched back under the warmth of the covers.

Okay, it’s almost morning; we’ll leave the light on in the living room; yell if you need us. Mom gave me a quick hug and turned out the light.

Evil mermaids? I heard her say doubtfully outside my door. I’m not sure why, but I think this was more than just a bad dream, Keith.

Maddie’s never suffered from nightmares, Ree, he replied, all Dad-like, the expert on me, but he was right. I wasn’t a kid who suffered from bad dreams.

Let’s go back to bed.

No, I’m awake; I’ll put on a pot of coffee. Back then, Mom and Dad pretty much believed the world’s problems could be solved with tea and/or coffee and conversation.

Anyway, the night terror, as Mom persisted in calling it, never came back, and eventually, I lived down my dorkiest hour. But I started keeping an online journal, sporadically adding entries whenever some new mystery or strange event reared its ugly head.

Life went back to normal for a while after that. I went to school at Sabal Palms Middle School and helped out at my Dad’s music shop on the weekends. Scoop, Xander, Div, and I even tried out for the spring play. This year’s production was the junior version of Spamalot. There were rehearsals after school in the gym, and Xander’s mom, Cassie Dalrymple, the school secretary, was in charge of costumes. Mrs. Dalrymple, aka Mrs. D, usually dropped Scoop, Div, and me at home since we lived on the way.

The week before Mother’s Day, things began to happen again; first, the school play got canceled because the gym at our School flooded…again. Not strange for Florida.

Chapter 2

The Order of The Golden Tyde

Friday, May 3, 2019

So, there we were, four bored 7th graders that rainy Friday afternoon at Xander’s Great Grannie Hettie’s house. School was still closed from the storm, so we hung out playing video games in the upstairs TV room, feeling sorry for ourselves instead of rehearsing. Paper plates with the remains of pizza and cans of Coke littered the room while we strategized, our game controllers gripped tightly in our fists.

Why don’t you guys unpack the costumes and hang 'em up, Mrs. D yelled up the stairs, to be heard over the onscreen explosions.

Geez, Mom, do we have to?

Come on, she said, appearing in the doorway, a mug of steaming coffee in hand, I know you’re all upset; I am too. Spamalot was our shot at this year’s Manatee for Best Middle School Musical.

The Manatees, Southwest Florida’s answer to Broadway’s Tony Awards, was a regional competition for Middle and High Schools. Sabal Palms hadn’t won the coveted Manatee in five years. We’d come n second every year.

We’ll help, Mrs. D, Scoop, aka Schuyler (pronounced sky-lar), replied and grabbed Xander by the arm, it won’t kill you, Sir Xander.

If you don’t mind, it’s Galahad, he griped. His audition landed him the featured role. He was mad and taking it out on anyone who mentioned it. Basically…us.

We trooped down the stairs to the family room. Mrs. D had a sewing room in her house next door, but when things started getting damp at the school, Grannie Hettie volunteered to store some costumes until the new gymnatorium got built.

Just put the stuff in the closets anywhere you find room. Box cutters and scissors are on the table, and hangers are in the boxes marked hangers, she snickered. I’ll be across the way if you need me, and Grannie’s in the greenhouse out back, okay?

Yeah, Mom, we’re fine.

Mrs. D, Div (short for Divya) called after her, my Mom is working on a new project, and she asked if you’d text her.

Ali’s cooking something up, and she wants my help?

I guess, Div smiled. You know, Mom. Everything’s hush-hush until she springs it on the world.

Thanks, Divya, I’ll give her a shout, she said and ran out the door into the pouring rain.

Scoop bent over a cardboard box labeled hats, looking up just in time to see a streak of black fly down the hall, I didn’t know Grannie Hettie had a cat.

Some friend of hers left it. She thought Grannie could use the company, Xander answered with an eyeroll, her name’s Desdemona.

How very Shakespearian, Div teased.

I’m pretty sure, down to the second, that’s when things started getting weird-….that day, anyway.

Scoop stood, one hand on her hip, staring into the closet, Hey Xander, can we put the little stuff in this trunk?

When did I get put in charge? he grumbled.

Yes, or no? It’s not a hard question, dude.

Alright, yeah, but we gotta drag it out of the closet to open it, he said, grabbing one of the handles on the side. He tugged a few times but couldn’t get it over the lip of the sliding door.

Scoop scrambled around him and took hold of the other handle, Lift on three. One, two, now! she cried, and between them, they lugged the old chest out on the floor.

Panting, they got up off the floor where they landed on their butts and looked it over. The old leather trunk was hand-painted all the way around with a seascape in golds and ivories.

Look at this, I whispered, it’s stamped 1696.

It’s a replica, Div stated authoritatively, look at the condition.

Open it, Xander, Scoop demanded.

Geez, stop being so bossy!

It’s in your Grannie’s house, dude.

Xander, intent on undoing the stiff leather buckles, glowered, Stop calling me, dude. He found a pair of scissors and worked them, blades closed, behind the strap. Got it, he said and opened the lid.

Scoop started pulling out the contents, Look at all this old stuff. The clothes looked medieval, not colonial, much older than the date on the trunk. There were gowns, a man’s robe, a shirt, capes, hats, crowns, leather boots, ladies' slippers, and a purple silk bag containing four carved wooden boxes at the very bottom of the chest.

Div emptied the pouch and laid them on the table. The lights in the room flickered; no surprise there, a thunderstorm raged outside. But then the four rectangular containers started vibrating, clacking up and down, and shifting positions on the folding table.

OMG! Div shouted.

Frozen in place, I’d lost control of the power of speech. I would have yelled something similar if I could. While we watched, the etching on the cases floated in the air, then settled back on the boxes with our names, now carved into the wood. It still bugs me a little; I never made out the original names in the elaborate design.

That was magic! Scoop accused no one in particular.

Xander tossed a heavily embroidered cape at me, This belongs to you, McT.

My focus still on the boxes; I didn’t see Xander wing the copper satin cape at me until it landed on my head. I stifled the urge to call him a jerk.

What do you mean it belongs to me?

Your name’s on the collar.

It was true; my name Madeleine had been hand-stitched in the neckline. Coincidence, I muttered and hung it on the back of a chair. What about these? Should we open them? My fingers lightly traced my name on the wooden container.

A clap of thunder made Div shriek, and Hettie’s feline house guest dashed across the room, taking cover in the closet.

Coincidence, Maddie, uh, that’s a no! Scoop snapped and threw a black leather boot at Xander. Inside the cuff, it says Alexander, she croaked, hoarse with fear.

Xander snatched the boot away; he’d turned pale at the mention of his given first name. Lemme see that! He studied the pirate-style boot, and inside the cuff, his name was embossed in the soft leather.

We all watched Div make piles of clothing until there were four, That’s the rest of yours, Xander, she huffed and dumped the stack on the floor in front of him. Yours is on the table, Scoop, and Maddie’s is on the chair. I guess that makes this mine, she whispered and held out a forest green gown with the name Divya stitched in gold across the inside neck facing. Creepy! Scoop grumbled.

Should we try them on? I asked, hoping one of them would say no.

I’ll change in the bathroom; you girls stay here.

K, I guess we’re doing this, Div said, slipping the gown over her shorts and tee shirt. What’s with the laces? Didn’t these guys have zippers? she complained from underneath voluminous layers of skirt.

Not in 1696, Scoop retorted.

We were ready when Xander knocked a few minutes later, Wow, they all fit. Now what?

Selfie? Div giggled.

We stood together and marveled at our Renaissance Faire costume reflections in the mirrored closet doors. I twirled in my gown of bronzy coppery velvet, then spied the wooden boxes behind us…waiting.

On three? I suggested.

Yeah, McT, on three. One two, Xander started the countdown.

The room exploded in a shower of multi-colored sparks as four wooden lids flew off four boxes, revealing four wands of gold studded with jewels. Xander’s had sapphires, Scoop’s was encrusted with rubies, Div’s in emeralds, and mine in what looked like topaz. I’d find out later; they were amber…but I’m jumping ahead.

No way! Scoop gasped under her breath.

Did we do that? I admit my first instinct was to wave the fancy baton, but I resisted. Looking back, I shouldn’t have been shocked the rain stopped right then, and the sun came out, with a rainbow…of course, but I was all, Hey, guys, what do ya know, the sun’s out! Lame, right?

Desdemona arched her back, sauntered out of the closet, and then meowed to be let out the back door.

Silly cat, Scoop said, closing the door. Hey, what’s that paper on the floor?

I picked the parchment, then noticed the three others, They must have fallen out of the clothes.

Read it, McT, Xander ordered.

Th-th-they’re all the same, I stammered, shuffling through the leathery pages. W-Welcome to The Order of The Golden Tyde.

Scoop immediately reached for her phone.

Whatcha doing? Div asked.

Trying to see if The Order of The Golden Tyde exists, she declared.

Betcha don’t find it, Xander predicted with an eyeroll.

We settled in chairs around the room while Scoop researched; finally, she slammed the phone down in frustration. No such order exists.

Maybe we’re supposed to create it, I suggested. But what are we? Wizards, witches, elves? What?

The Order of The Golden Tyde, Div repeated slowly, doesn’t it remind you of the painting on the chest?

Sort of, Xander agreed, so what do we do?

Keep it a secret! Scoop shouted.

Why don’t we do that Three Musketeers thing, ya know? All for one and one for all, Div interrupted.

So, we four geeky middle schoolers decked out in our medieval duds, raised our wands, and repeated the vintage movie quote. The second shower of sparks reinforced our conclusion; we’d taken the appropriate action. Shocker right? But answers? No.

Xander, get out of here; I’m changing into my old clothes, Scoop insisted.

Yeah, let’s put all this junk back in the trunk and stick it back in the closet, I agreed. Nobody tells, promise?

Pinky swear, Div ordered. It was that kind of day, so we did.

An hour later, we piled into Mrs. D’s van, the last of the Spamalot costumes put away and the trunk buried under a stack of folded stage curtains.

Mrs. Dalrymple, can we stop at my house first? We want to feed my Koi, I asked, looking for something semi-normal to end the day.

Sure, Maddie, she said and made the turn onto Hibiscus Drive a few minutes later. I’ll see if your Mom’s around.

We gathered at the edge of the Koi pond I built with Dad the summer before.

Here, Xander, I said, passing a clear container of Koi flakes.

Ooh! Watch 'em go for that food! cried Div.

Hey, Div! I want a turn, too, Scoop whined.

Come on, Div, let Scoop try.

Okay, Maddie, she said and handed over the flakes.

Scoop leaned over as far as she could to get fish food to the middle of the pond, then shrieked. There’s a face under the water, Maddie! OMG! I see it too! Div shivered.

I put my face down to the water and saw the vision for a split second; then, it was gone. What did you guys see?

I saw a woman’s face with violet eyes and dark hair swirling around her, Div reported.

It was probably a fish, Xander said with an eyeroll.

I dunno; this was not the same face I saw in my nightmare.

Chapter 3

Art Class

Friday, May 10, 2019

In front of Mrs. Perez’s Art room stood a long table with art supplies piled haphazardly, not our teacher’s style at all. Mrs. Perez’s projects were always neatly laid out and organized.

What’s going on? What’s all that stuff? Scoop whispered as she stared at pots of paints, unpainted picket gates, artificial flowers, fake jewels, screwdrivers, and bags of hinges.

No clue, Xander said with his expert pre-teen eyeroll.

Sshh, she’ll hear you, I whispered.

Divya rushed in, Am I late? Where’s Mrs. Perez?

The other kids in our art class stood around in groups, wondering pretty much the same thing. Abruptly, the lights flickered, and from the supply closet, we heard a noise like a hundred wind chimes tinkling at once. A voice from the closet exclaimed, That was close!

A moment later, she emerged, glasses askew and covered in glitter that seemed to hang in the air around her. The woman walked to the front and faced the class. She was not Mrs. Perez. She had gray-streaked auburn curls to her waist, huge square tortoiseshell glasses, a gauze blouse with lantern sleeves (thanks, Div, for the fashion vocab lesson), and a crocheted vest, brown broom skirt, suede boots, and over it all, a denim art smock.

Which one of you wee bairns left the sparkly bits open on the top shelf? she laughed, put one hand casually behind her back, and snapped her fingers.

I guessed we weren’t supposed to notice how the glitter never hit the floor but eventually faded away.

Div stage-whispered, She’s trying to do that 70’s boho-chic thing, but she’s totally getting it wrong; seriously, boots in Florida?

Glitter shaken from her hair and glasses straightened, Now class, let’s stop the chatter! she began in a broad Scots accent. My name is Miss Harteshorne, and I’m substituting for Mrs. Perez today. She’s a wee bit under the weather, now, isn’t she. As she pulled on large pink rubber gloves, she explained, Mrs. Perez left instructions that you’re to make a garden project for Mother’s Day, so I came up with the bonniest idea! We’ll be making Faerie Doors! she prattled. You ken, of course, when I say we, it means you.

Xander raised his hand, Yes, young man?

Were making what?

Faerie Doors, of course.

What’s a Faerie Door?

Where I come from, a Faerie Door is a garden ornament which invites peace and tranquility to yonder garden, and on occasion the odd sprite or garden gnome, but enough about that, your mothers will love them on their day. So let’s get to work, times a ‘wasting, and under her breath, You have no idea!

Another arm shot up across the room.

Yes, young lady? You have a question?

"What does you ken mean?"

I dinna ken…. Miss Harteshorne hesitated, then grinned. In Pleicaster, Scotland, my home, most folk in the village still use phrases from the old language. Ken means to think or know, and you probably figured out that dinna is used for did not or didn’t…and before I blurt it out, canna means cannot or can’t."

Her answer seemed to satisfy Tiffany, and we clustered around the supply table to look at the Faerie Door model, grabbed our paints and stuff...then set up in groups of 4 or 5 at tables scattered around the room.

Now, dinna forget to wear smocks and gloves when you paint or use the hot glue machine, Miss Harteshorne advised loudly.

At our worktable, Scoop boasted, Mine will be architecturally and mathematically perfect. Schuyler Anne Cooper, age 10, tested from 4th grade to 7th at the start of the school year. Miss Lowe, our homeroom teacher, asked me to be her mentor, and I dubbed her Scoop because of her email handle, [e-mail]. Today she wore her toffee brown hair in braids and glasses with blue and green striped frames covered inquisitive brown eyes. Scoop owned quite a collection of exotic eyewear. Jeans, sneakers, and a red Sabal Palms tee shirt completed her ensemble.

Hey Div, you got enough plastic bling there? Xander critiqued with his signature eyeroll. Xander, aka Alexander F. (don’t ask, I’m not telling) Dalrymple, whose family resided in Sabal Palms since 1725, already 13, met me at my dad’s shop, McT’s Music, before Pre-K when he started calling me McT, and it stuck. Our parents had been friends for years. His middle name was a family secret, never to be divulged. We squabbled about toys over the years, what video games were coolest, and whose pet was best. Of course, my Koi won hands down over his hermit crab, Legs. But, when one of us needed help, the other was there (remember those 5th-grade book reports, one report a week for a term in Mrs. Henshaw’s class!). Our moms kept us both going with chocolate chip cookies and trips to the library.

Xander referred to himself as a ginger due to his Irish and Scots ancestry. As he told anyone who would listen, it accounted for his red hair and eyebrows, which framed intense blue eyes. His attire today consisted of an aqua polo shirt with chino shorts and leather flip-flops.

My jewels, snapped Divya, are perfectly placed to complement the persimmon color of my Faerie Door and my rose and hydrangea floral display! Thank you very much!

Divya Anarjeet Mahindra Elaine Sharma, Div to her friends, moved here three years ago and assumed the role of fashion police because... no one else stepped up. Her Mom, Ali (Alison), Host of Fashion Forward on WSBP-TV,  wrote a weekly column with the same name for The Sabal Palms Sentinel. Div’s dad Johdi, a retired football player, anchored the local evening news. Div sported an asymmetrical bob, held in place with plenty of product, sapphire stud earrings, blue and white batik print top, capris, and ...wait for it...matching batik print sandals. One look at Scoop’s mismatched ensemble told Divya her fashion designer dreams had a purpose.

Come on, you guys! Don’t fight; it’s just an art project, I said. Me, Madeleine Maeve McTippet (thank goodness they stopped using the hyphenated last name, Ambyrfield-McTippet). I was 12, going on 13, and lived in Sabal Palms, Florida, my whole life. It always mystified me how my mom, Dr. Rhiona Kathleen Ambyrfield-McTippet, Ree for short, a Professor of lost languages, never quite remembered her childhood, my grandparents, or the derivation of her family name, Ambyrfield. It was her specialty, wasn’t it?

My dad, Keith Bryce McTippet, proprietor of McT’s Music, suffered from the same memory malady. He didn’t remember his childhood or my paternal grandparents either. Behind their backs, I called them the absentminded professors, but they loved me, and I loved them.

My ponytail, dark blonde, and light brunette was the perfect combo of Mom’s and Dad’s hair colors. Dad said I had Mom’s green eyes. She called me her mini-me; how embarrassing is that? Today I wore a blue and white striped top, jeans, brown sandals, and a purple art smock. Huge turquoise rubber gloves completed my chic ensemble.

Miss Harteshorne went around the room from table to table and took attendance while doling out advice on Faerie Door design, and now she approached our table.

You may continue to work while I mark the list, she instructed.Miss Sharma?

Present.

Mr. Dalrymple?

Here, he answered with another eyeroll.

I noticed she gripped the book tighter as she read my name. Miss McTippet?

Here.

Miss Cooper?

Present.

Now then, down to business, Miss Sharma, tis a lovely Faerie Door, a wee bit heavy on the jewelry, for my taste, but I’m sure your mother will love it. Does anyone need a hand? Mr. Dalrymple, your project needs a bit of help; your door is barely on its hinges. Miss McTippet, Miss Cooper, why doesn’t one of you hold the door, and I’ll fasten the hinges properly.

She tore open a cellophane package of hinges and started to pull one out when sparks shot off the metal hardware.

Static, she explained hastily, Miss Cooper, can you hold that door steady so Miss McTippet can fasten the screws? I’ll just fetch some paint-….Delphinium blue, I think.

While we helped Xander make his project presentable, we noticed she quickly disposed of the scorched pink gloves in a wastebasket.

Then a delivery truck from Sabal Palms Orchidry backed up to the rear entrance of the Art room.

Hi, Grannie! Xander shouted across the room.

Hettie and a couple of helpers laid out flats of Lady Slypper orchids on the worktable in the front of the room. Desdemona streaked out of the back of Hettie’s van to the supply closet, where Miss Harteshorne began to clear away the unused art supplies.

Hello, Alexander, Hettie huffed, out of breath from her task. Hi, girls! she called from the doorway.

Miss Harteshorne faced our class again, No garden project would be complete without flowers! Sabal Palms Orchidry donated these lovely Lady Slyppers for your mothers, be sure to take some on your way out.

At the end of the double period, we wrapped our presents for Mother’s Day that Sunday.

Did you notice Miss Harteshorne had her rubber gloves on when she got shocked by the hinges? Scoop asked while she wrestled with yellow tissue paper.

I didn’t notice anything, except it’s a weird project; my Mom is gonna think it’s weird, too, Xander whined.

Scoop covered the open paints, Yeah, but...she’s your mom, even if she thinks it’s weird, you made it, so she kinda has to like it, she said, carrying the carton of paints to the supply closet. Hey, you guys, she whispered as we followed her with more boxes for the cabinet, look, it’s that cat with the sub.

Desdemona; what’s she doing here? Div wondered.

Miss Harteshorne was pointing in our direction and talking to the cat.

I honestly didn’t think much of it. The sub seemed a little off to me. Don’t you think it’s weird Hettie left her?

Let’s put this stuff away and get out of here, Xander said and backed away, closing the closet, but not before I noticed the wicker cat basket on the floor.

I carried a tray of coffee cans full of paintbrushes, "Open the door,

Xander, I need to put these away."

Miss Harteshorne said to leave those in the sink, he fibbed.

She did? I argued, But they’re already clean.

That’s what she said, then, nonchalantly tucked his poorly wrapped Mother’s Day present under his arm and stuffed an orchid in his backpack.

Let’s go; we don’t wanna miss the bus.

Okay, I gave in and set the cans of brushes next to the sink. I’ll grab my stuff and meet you guys by the lockers.

Anyway, mine is the prettiest Faerie Door, Div declared.

We know! Scoop and Xander chorused.

I was just about convinced that the cat in the classroom episode was a fluke when I noticed Miss Harteshorne at Mrs. Dalrymple’s van, arranging the cat’s basket on the backseat

Chapter 4

Unexpected Gifts

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Mother’s Day morning in the McTippet household abounded in tradition, starting with breakfast in bed for Mom. Usually, coffee, French toast with cinnamon and sugar, bacon, and fresh fruit, which she never ate in bed. Inevitably, the whole tray with plates for Dad and me ended up on the lanai, where we spent a lazy morning by the pool.

Dad read The Sabal Palms Sentinel and browsed through a bunch of other musical magazines and catalogs. Mom and I swam, dressed, then settled outside in the garden. I read a book for my report, due the following week. But, when Mom pulled out a thick file and a dusty scroll, I frowned.

Hey, you’re not supposed to be working.

Sorry to disappoint, sweetie; this is a rush job for Elliott.

So, Mom worked on a translation for The Obscure Language Exhibit at The Royal Museum of Literature in London. Apparently, her meeting with their curator, Dr. Elliott Thatcher, was scheduled for tomorrow morning.

While I read, a dragonfly flew over the Koi pond, settled on my book for a moment, and then darted off. Hey, Mom, I yelled across the yard, did you see that! I think the dragonfly likes me.

She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I saw her the other day; she landed on this manuscript.

Maybe she can read! I teased.

Maybe she can.

Dad appeared on the lanai carrying a pitcher of iced tea and glasses in time to hear the tail end of our conversation, What are you two talking about?

A bug, we giggled.

Well, okay then, I didn’t know bugs were funny.

This one is, Mom laughed and told Dad our dragonfly stories while he poured.

He chuckled and shook his head, You young ladies have quite the imaginations. I’m going to my workshop. He kissed Mom on top of her head and headed back into the house.

Jiminy crickets! Mom exclaimed a little while later. She clutched the scroll and scurried inside.

What’s up, Mom?

I’m not sure, she shouted across the yard, I need to check something online.

Curious, I closed my book and followed her. Mom’s Disney-inspired outbursts only happened once in a while, usually followed by an award of some kind or a hefty bonus from whatever museum or institution had commissioned the current translation.

Keith, did you find it? Mom shouted.

It’s here…somewhere, he muttered.

Passing Dad’s workshop, I noticed he had the drawers from his desk stacked on the worktable. He dumped one out on the table and rummaged through the pile. I snuck back to the kitchen and peeked from around the corner.

It wasn’t long before he yelled, Aha! and sprinted down the hall, waving a sheaf of papers.

Interested, I leaned against Mom’s office door and listened to her explain what she’d discovered. My first experience eavesdropping on purpose, I’m ashamed to admit.

Listen to this, honey! Mom proclaimed, clutching the scroll, At first glance, it seems to be written in Tryptian. The Trypts were an offshoot of the Breton Picts, but there are some anomalies in the character formations. I need to dig a bit more before I can be certain!.

Could you say that again, in English, this time, Ree? Dad asked patiently.

Sorry, honey. The scroll begins, born this day, 5, January in the year of our Lord, 1577, Ragnvaldr Nynniaw Mac Thaephaeth to their Majesties Huldah Olwen Rhys-Mac Thaephaeth and Niven Cadfael Astrophel Mac Thaephaeth of Kaernethburgh. This record writ by Sister Mary Arwynne, Mother Abbess, Blackbriars Abbey, Braederlachlan, Scotia, Witnesseth, Father Pantagathus Decleene, Mom declared triumphantly, rolling up the scroll.

You’re kidding, Dad murmured. I could tell he was as confused as me.

Not so much, she replied, flipping pages of some report, here it is, or the translated equivalent, Prince Reginald Nyniane McTippet, they stopped using the Mac with the space around the 1750s.

Ree, darlin, you thought the space was the weird part?

I figured it was time to interrupt…before I got caught. What are you guys doing?

Hang onto your socks, darlin; you’re a Princess! Dad teased.

Huh, what are you talking about?

Your dad’s kidding; he did a genealogy a while back, and he’s descended from a minor Scottish King in the late 1500s. But, don’t get your hopes up, honey; the Kingdom hasn’t existed for centuries.

You did a genealogy? I asked, plopping in the extra chair next to the desk.

We both did, she replied. Mine came up empty, and Dad’s starts in 1819 and goes backward from there, but nothing from the present until Wilfric McTippet in 1819; apparently, he disappeared without a trace while hunting in the woods near his home, Wyche Hart Hall, in Pleicaster, Scotland, she said, handing me the results.

Why? I quizzed, turning pages of the report without really looking at it.

Because we know you’re curious about the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins that other families have, and you don’t, Dad said quietly.

Wow, you listened; I thought you didn’t want to know.

We didn’t want to disappoint you. If the report generated more current results, we would have reached out to learn more, but it didn’t, so we just filed them away.

Who is this guy? I asked, curious about a portrait pictured in Dad’s report.

He’s that great-grandfather of mine, Wilfric McTippet; he’d have been a Laird if he hadn’t gone missing from Pleicaster exactly 200 years ago.

So, Mom, the guy in your scroll is related to him?

You got it, kiddo. That parchment I’ve been working on is the birth notice of your dad’s ancestor in 1577 from a convent in Scotland. How’s that for a weird coincidence?

Pretty crazy, Mom; I’m going back outside. Send my regrets if I get any invitations to royal balls; my tiara lost a stone, I joked, flounced out of the room, and hid outside the door. Okay, it’s official; I have a habit.

What are you going to tell Elliott? Dad asked.

Nothing; I’ll give him the translation using the obscure spelling and hope he doesn’t put two and two together. But, even if he does, it’s not like you’re a long-lost Prince with an actual Kingdom waiting for you. Anyway, the most interesting thing about this parchment isn’t the message but the tools used to write it.

And what would those be, Sherlock? I’m agog.

I couldn’t help my dorky grin; I loved their Holmes and Watson banter; they’d