fifteen

The next morning, Sylva didn’t know who to be maddest at: Lady Courtney, for giving them the dollhouse. Poppy, for saying that Lucky was hers. Lucky, for going with Poppy! Or herself, for picking the downstairs instead of the upstairs.

She went outside in the garden and saw the dollhouse sitting there. It didn’t look so pretty anymore. Sylva sniffled.

“No lolo,” said Squeak.

“I can’t help being sad, Squeakie,” said Sylva.

“Why don’t you fly over to Poppy’s and say you’re sorry?” said Rosy. “She’ll forgive you. And it would be hard to share a kitten in two different fairy houses. I’m sure you know that.”

“I would have shared, if we’d found Lucky downstairs in the dollhouse! You know I would have!” Sylva said that extra loud so she would believe it herself. But in her heart of hearts she could imagine that it would have been very hard to share a cat. “I suppose it would have been a little bit difficult,” she added in a small voice.

“You could say that to Poppy,” said Rosy, “just for starters. Then maybe things will sort themselves out.”

Sylva knew that was a good idea. But then she saw the red spotted blouse. Which made her think of Lucky doing those adorable flips. Which made her think of Poppy holding Lucky. Which made her think of how Poppy had a kitten, and she didn’t.

“I’m not going over to say sorry to Poppy. Poppy can come here and say sorry herself!”

Sylva spent a pretty dismal day on her own at the Bell sisters’ fairy house. Rosy was busy helping Squeakie sort her shells. Goldie had been out with Avery all day, trying on their new clothes from the jumble pile. Clara had stayed for a sleepover with the Flower sisters, which made Sylva feel even more alone.

The fairy dollhouse was not much fun to play with by herself. She arranged the corn-husk dolls and tried to make up a story about their fairy-doll family. But every story she made up was sad. Maybe I’ll make a puppy out of corn husks and it will come to life! thought Sylva. That would really show Poppy.

But she didn’t know how to make a puppy out of corn husks. And Poppy wasn’t there to show her.

“Sylva! I’m back! How’s the kitty?”

Clara’s bright voice raised Sylva’s spirits a little. Clara was so wise; Sylva would tell Clara all about what Poppy had done to her, and then Clara would make Poppy share Lucky.

Clara flew into the back garden. Sylva’s courage faltered a little when she saw her big sister. Clara wouldn’t like to hear that Sylva and Poppy were fighting.

“Hi, Sylva. You look so unhappy! Where’s Poppy? And how’s the kitten?”

“Oh, I’m fine. And I guess the kitten is fine. I wouldn’t know,” said Sylva. “She’s over at the Flower fairy house. With Poppy.”

“That’s right,” said Clara. “I saw her there this morning. Why aren’t you over there with Poppy, Sylva? She’s making cat toys for Lucky.”

Sylva could hardly bear to hear that Poppy was making toys for Lucky without her. How could she? She looked up at her big sister. “We had a fight,” said Sylva in a very small voice. “And I told her that if she wouldn’t share Lucky, I wouldn’t be her friend.”

“Oh no, Sylva! You must have been very angry at her.”

Sylva’s eyes filled with tears. “I was! I was so mad that she wouldn’t say Lucky was ours together. I told her she’d be bad at taking care of her own cat! But now I feel terrible that I said that.”

Clara looked at Sylva thoughtfully. “I’m sure you do,” said Clara. “But it can’t be easy for you, thinking that Lucky belongs to Poppy.”

“It’s not. You should go tell Poppy how bad I feel,” said Sylva. “Then she’d be sorry. Maybe she’d listen to you.”

“Maybe she would,” said Clara. “But I think it’s always better for two friends to work things out for themselves, don’t you?”

Sylva didn’t reply. “I’m going out for a fly around the island,” she said, “so I can think about how unfair everything is. Plus, I want to see if that ship is still there.”

“What ship?” asked Clara.

“The big one, way out on the horizon,” said Sylva. “I’m sure it’s gone now.”

“Was it . . . a gnome boat?” asked Clara. She blushed, and Sylva knew why. Clara had a crush on one of the gnomes who’d visited last winter.

“Nope, too big,” said Sylva. “And the sails were really dirty. Not like a gnome boat at all.”

“You go out and clear your head,” said Clara. “And if that ship is still there and if the sailors need help with their spring-cleaning, let me know.”

Clara and Sylva couldn’t possibly know it, but spring-cleaning was the last thing on those sailors’ minds.