Rainbow Soup

By Laura Hanks Stevens, Haley Grunloh and Jon Graney

Rainbow Soup takes place in a richly detailed world of wonder, imagination, and fantasy. It manifests the power of love, friendship, and positive thinking through Chantelle – caring and devoted granddaughter of Popper – who treks through the Rainbow to find the legendary pot of gold to bring home to her grandfather. During h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Von Hatten Publications
• Release date: Jun 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734538618

Laura Hanks Stevens

Laura Hanks Stevens is an award-winning marketing communications professional with more than 40 years of commercial brand management, marketing communications, and public relations writing experience. She earned her first byline during her senior year in college when an article she authored was published in Bluegrass Unlimited magazine. Since then, she has pursued her love of creative writing as time allowed. Rainbow Soup is her first foray into the world of fiction and fantasy. Ms. Stevens is married and lives in New England.

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Copyright © 2020 Laura Hanks Stevens

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, or recording or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available Library of Congress Control Number: 2020901377

Stevens, Laura Hanks

Rainbow Soup by Laura Hanks Stevens

Summary: Chantelle unexpectedly finds herself not only in the Rainbow, but surrounded by Rainbow fairies and many magical beings who help her complete a very special quest.

ISBN 978-1-7345386-0-1

ISBN 978-1-7345386-1-8 (e-book)

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Book design by Jon Graney

FIRST EDITION

Von Hatten Publications

Printed in the U.S.A.

Dedicated to my wonderful parents with love and heart-felt appreciation for believing in my dream.

And to Christina – who, as a child, provided the title and inspiration for this book.

CONTENTS

ONE

A Summer Storm

TWO

In the Rainbow

THREE

Fairies Galore

FOUR

Night Fall

FIVE

Emergency!

SIX

Jack Frost

SEVEN

Saying Good-Bye

EIGHT

The Rainbow Creed

NINE

Bad News

TEN

The Journey Begins

ELEVEN

Mother Rain

TWELVE

A Carriage Ride

THIRTEEN

The North Wind

FOURTEEN

The South Wind

FIFTEEN

The Storm Warrior

SIXTEEN

The East Wind

SEVENTEEN

The Funnel Piece

EIGHTEEN

The West Wind

NINETEEN

The Tempest Grows

TWENTY

Left Behind

TWENTY-ONE

Passing the Time

TWENTY-TWO

Rich and Famous

TWENTY-THREE

Flying Formation

TWENTY-FOUR

Logic Prevails

TWENTY-FIVE

The Battle Unfolds

TWENTY-SIX

Magical Kisses

TWENTY-SEVEN

A Happy Reunion

GLOSSARY

CHARACTER NAME PRONUNCIATIONS

CHAPTER ONE

A SUMMER STORM

Once upon a time in the Rainbow …

The gavel banged down, its solid thump echoing throughout the hushed chamber.

Cobalt Fairy, by decree of this Circle, you have been found guilty of unforgivable greed, and are hereby banished from the Rainbow. You must descend to The Land Under the Sky, where you will live among mortals until your sentence for this terrible crime has been fulfilled according to the rules of the Rainbow Creed. Go now, and repent. And may you reflect for long years on the happy existence you have so carelessly tossed aside.

One morning many, many years later in a far-away land …

The rosy glow of dawn’s first light dancing across her pillow woke Chantelle from a restful sleep. With a mighty yawn, she threw back the patched cotton quilt covering her and jumped to the rough wood floor. As always, she was eager to run outside and see what new wonders the Starfish Sea had deposited on the shore during the night.

Popper, she called from the small back bedroom as she hurriedly washed and dressed. Have the waves left any treasures for me today?

She hoped so. Every morning after breakfast – as the sleepy sky greeted the sun’s approach with delicate streaks of coral and gold – she would wander along the rocky beach that sloped downward from the quaint whitewashed cottage she shared with her grandfather. There, she would look for whatever special delights the Tide Fairies had carried up for her while she slept. At least she liked to pretend it was the Tide Fairies. After all, fairies were supposed to bring gifts; and weren’t her discoveries gifts from the Sea?

Sometimes on these walks she found an unusual piece of driftwood; sometimes a sand‑polished shell or tiny glass bottle. One time, she even found a sea bird with a broken wing that she patiently nursed back to health, then released to freedom. And while she loved the solitude of her searches and the joy of her discoveries, more than anything else, Chantelle loved stretching the limits of her colorful imagination.

In her mind’s eye, the driftwood would suddenly become the final chunk of a ship’s hull, ripped apart by cruel, unforgiving rocks in the middle of a raging storm … the crew struggling heroically against monstrous waves and vicious winds to save the captain’s raven‑haired daughter from certain death. The seashell would provide secret shelter for a lovely young mermaid hiding from the unwanted, amorous pursuits of a wicked sea urchin. The glass bottle would contain a magical potion lost by Merlin en route to Camelot, now desperately needed to restore Arthur’s memory and his claim to the throne.

Such imaginings came easily to Chantelle. With no parents or brothers and sisters to share her life, she often had only her thoughts for company. And while thinking could fill many moments with wistful longing, it also fed her fertile imagination, leading her to places and characters rarely explored by less inventive minds.

Whatever her daydreams, Chantelle always carried her sea‑delivered findings back to the cottage to share with Popper. Most of the time he indulged her fancies, admiring this and that, and listening with amusement to her tales of heroes, dastardly deeds and happily‑ever‑afters. But on occasion, he would grow sharp and impatient, exclaiming, Heavens child, I’ve more to worry about than a few worthless trinkets. Who do you think puts food on the table and shoes on your feet? Can’t you understand we need more than daydreams to survive in this world? We need money, and lots of it!

Then he would leave abruptly and retreat to his workshop, refusing to pause for meals, until his anger subsided and he was once again the dear Popper that Chantelle adored.

Try though she might, Chantelle could not understand Popper’s unhappy outbursts. She loved her simple life by the Starfish Sea and wished desperately Popper could love it just as much. She longed for him to be happy. If only she could somehow find a way to become rich and famous and surprise him with more money than even she could imagine!

As she sat eating the breakfast of buttered malt bread Popper had left for her, wondering where one went to find fame and fortune, her grandfather ducked through the low kitchen doorway.

Good morning! he said cheerily, making his way to the kitchen sink with a bushel basket of freshly picked blueberries.

Plenty of fruit this year, he called to Chantelle over his shoulder, his words keeping time with the vigorous thump‑thump of the old iron pump as it gushed forth clear, cold water from the well. He filled one half of the stained double sink, then dumped the basket’s entire contents into it for washing.

Chantelle carried her plate and cup to the polished stone counter where Popper stood and peered around his strong back, watching the berries bob up and down in the sloshing water. Her thoughts turned to the blueberry pies, jams, and muffins she would soon be creating from these tiny fruit floaters and how well all would sell at the village market on Saturday. Mentally rehearsing the routine she already knew by heart, she pictured her practiced hands mashing, straining, kneading, patting and rolling …

Popper interrupted her thoughts long enough to say, Last night’s storm washed up a few interesting items on the beach. I think you’ll have lots of fun exploring today.

Then he was gone, his happy, twittering whistle fading slowly in the air as he ambled across the yard toward the workshop out back.

Spurred to action by her grandfather’s remark, Chantelle washed the blueberries, scooping them into a colander to drain and dry. Placing this into the sink’s second, empty cavity, she then filled the heavy cast iron kettle with water and placed it on the stove to boil. She used the hot water to scrub the breakfast dishes clean, dried them thoroughly, and placed them back in the cupboard where they would sit until dinner.

Now she could spend some time combing the shore to see what surprises awaited her!

Chantelle ran to the ramshackle outbuilding where Popper stood studying a partially complete human figure that seemed to be emerging from a large marble block in the center of the stone‑walled room. He spent hours every day in this room, carving costly granite and marble into statues and other things of beauty that filled Chantelle with awe.

She paused at the door, hesitating to break his intense concentration but knowing she must tell him of her plan to walk along the beach. This had been part of her daily ritual throughout the warm summer months every year for as long as she could remember. She knew Popper expected to be told whenever she left the safety of their isolated country property. Being an intelligent, well‑mannered child, she tried very hard to do as her grandfather asked; it grieved her greatly to displease him. He was, after all, the kindest, dearest Popper any little girl could want. Sometimes, though, he appeared terribly and unhappily preoccupied with their rather poor means of living.

Popper, she began quietly, tiptoeing into the cool interior of his workshop, I was wondering … She hesitated.

I know, I know, he said, a slow smile soothing his careworn brow. Go play in the waves to your heart’s content, my little one. The weather is especially fine today, although I did notice a few clouds puffing about while I was berry picking. Still, it’s plenty warm out there. So, give us a hug and be gone. I think, just this once, the berries can wait until after dinner.

Clapping her hands in delight at this unexpected reprieve from Thursday morning baking duty, Chantelle kissed her grandfather with a noisy smack on his wrinkled cheek and skipped out into the bright morning sunshine. She paused for breath only after reaching the bottom of the long, pebbled pathway that led downward from their cottage to the water. There, she sank with a satisfied sigh onto the toast-colored sand, her bare toes resting at the edge of the sparkling Starfish Sea.

How long she sat, admiring the cresting tide and inhaling the salty sea air, she couldn’t say. But while her mind wandered and her imagination soared, the white cotton-ball clouds skirting the horizon had banded together in the turquoise sky, turning it a dirty grey. Noting the gradual darkening above her, Chantelle hopped to her feet. She began to stroll – now and then prancing gaily among the frothy waves curling over her toes – and kept a watchful eye for the wonders Popper had said were waiting for her today.

Her playful walk was cut short, however, by the sudden cold splatter of raindrops on her tanned arms and legs. As she looked up at the unfriendly sky in disappointment, thunder growled from the clouds swirling overhead and a bolt of lightning slashed the air with jagged brilliance.

Oh! she exclaimed, jumping in fright at the unexpected closeness of the storm. She spun around and began running back up the curving incline toward the cottage, hoping to reach the safety of its latticed porch before the skies opened up and drenched her. She barely made it. Just as she sprinted onto the porch’s broad, weather‑stained planks, the clouds unleashed their heavy burden, letting loose torrents of icy rain that formed a dense curtain between the cottage and the Starfish Sea.

As she stood outside the small parlor window screen catching her breath, Chantelle heard the back door bang shut. She turned just in time to see Popper coming down the hallway toward her, mopping his face with a blue and white striped towel.

Quite a storm, isn’t it? He opened the front door to join her on the porch.

Yes, she agreed, her large brown eyes wide with alarm as the thunder cracked sharply overhead and lightning pierced the rain-induced gloom with bold white streaks.

And I don’t like it at all! Another peal of thunder sent her scrambling for Popper’s reassuring arms.

What if the lightning hits our cottage? Will we be electrocuted?

The old man laughed softly and settled on the tired wicker rocking chair set against the porch wall, placing Chantelle onto his lap, to wait out the storm.

No, love, we won’t be electrocuted, he chuckled. "That’s why we have a lightning rod on the roof. If lightning should ever strike, it will simply follow the rod down into the ground and disappear. You needn’t be afraid.

But haven’t you learned about the elements of weather in school? Well, no matter. I can explain them to you just as easily as any teacher might.

Chantelle relaxed in the warmth of her grandfather’s powerfully muscled arms and listened attentively as his soothing bass launched forth her first lesson in meteorology: the science of weather.

Now, what you first have to understand is that clouds are nothing more than masses of warm and cold air, condensed water, and dust …

So, that’s enough for today, I suppose.

Popper completed Chantelle’s meteorology lesson just as the rain stopped and the sun tried to poke its perky yellow head through the still-swirling sullen clouds. With a mighty heave, he stood up, setting Chantelle down on the wooden floorboards, and stretched.

It’s nearly noon, he advised, squinting at the sun. Time for me to get back to work, and for you to think about getting our dinner together. Why don’t you call me when it’s ready?

He stepped off the porch and headed toward the workshop.

Chantelle nodded absently at her grandfather’s back and, taking a few small steps, sank abruptly down on the top porch step, disregarding the damp left by the rainstorm. She stared out at the Starfish Sea, lost in thought. She had not disregarded Popper’s words about dinner; she would never deliberately disobey him. But she was so totally fascinated with the information he had shared with her about the elements of weather. She simply had to sit – for just a short moment! – and imagine the most wonderful stories of ugly storm goblins, sun‑kissed cloud princesses, and fairy rainbows. Fairy rainbows, indeed!

To her amazement, almost as if her vivid imaginings had brought it to life, a shimmering, shining rainbow now danced on the beach before her, its lovely pastel iridescence hovering along the shore of the Starfish Sea. A rainbow! Chantelle could hardly believe her eyes. She knew well enough of the legendary pot of gold that lay at the end of every rainbow. If she could follow this rainbow to its end and find the fantastic treasure everyone spoke of, she could bring it home to Popper. Then, at last they would be rich, and he would be happy!

Reaching out with both hands, not daring to take her eyes off the mystical sight beckoning her, Chantelle moved cautiously down, down, down the pebbled hill toward the rainbow. As she finally reached the Starfish Sea, she felt the incoming tide around her ankles, then her knees. Without thinking about her thin summer dress, she continued into the Sea until the water reached her waist. Yet the rainbow seemed to remain just beyond her grasp. She hesitated momentarily, wondering if she should turn back, when a movement atop the waves to the right drew her attention. She gasped in delight. Today most certainly was a day for surprises!

Sailing toward her in colors that echoed the shimmering pastels of the rainbow was a strange, but incredibly beautiful, Sea Creature. With its crested purple sail gliding six inches above the waves, it looked like a fantastical miniature ship.

It made no sound, yet continued to advance with each wave, until Chantelle could reach out and touch its iridescent skin. Yet, it had no skin. Instead, it felt like jelly under her curious fingertips. The feeling was unexpected and somewhat slimy. Chantelle snatched her hand back, her fascination replaced for a second with a sharp stab of fear. However, the bubble‑like silent Creature seemed unaware of her presence and continued to move in rhythm with the waves, occasionally bobbing against her torso.

Chantelle found herself rooted to the sea floor, bewitched by the curious sight. She gradually became aware of pain shooting through her, though she felt powerless to move. The pain was not terrible at first. Why, it felt like the bee sting she’d suffered last summer when she accidentally stepped on a clover blossom barefoot. But then the pain increased and it seemed to be spreading throughout her body.

She called out for Popper and tried to step away from the terrible,