**
Starting Anew
Memories live forever.
–Harry Finkle
Sunshine danced through the trees, warming the old woman and her granddaughter sitting on an old log overlooking the valley below. Birds chirped and leaves rustled in the breeze, but no other sound could be heard. The old woman folded her wrinkled hands and rested them on her lap. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for just a moment. A low sigh whistled through her lips as she released the air from her lungs.
“Grandmother, what's wrong?” the little girl asked. She twirled a strand of her curly blonde hair between her fingers and waited patiently for her grandmother to respond.
The old woman didn't answer right away. She was tired from the long walk, although she had insisted she was strong enough to travel to the top of the valley. She had wanted to look upon the once-famous English village one last time. After 64 years, she wasn’t sure her aging body would be able to make the long journey again.
The old woman opened her eyes and gazed at the valley below, relaxed by the soft warmth of sunshine on her cheeks. “I was enjoying some of my wonderful memories, my dear.”
“What sort of memories?”
“Memories of Finkleton,” the old woman whispered, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
The little girl scrunched her nose. “Finkleton? Why would anyone want to remember Finkleton?” She frowned at the valley below. “It’s dried up and deserted. Why would anyone want to live there, anyway?”
The village of Finkleton no longer existed. The land could no longer grow anything. The stream had stopped flowing, and the farmers and their families had moved away.
Seeing the now-desolate village through her granddaughter’s view made the old woman’s eyes water. She took another deep breath and blinked several times. Her children and grandchildren never knew the Finkleton she loved. The Finkleton she remembered would never be again.
“I just wish you could have seen Finkleton in its glorious days, my dear,” the old woman finally replied. “Finkleton used to be a beautiful and thriving village. The weather was always perfect, and not one family wanted to sell its land and move away. Most folks say, Mother Nature controls the weather—”
“Everyone knows Mother Nature controls the weather,” the little girl interrupted, then rolled her eyes. “What happened to Finkleton, anyway?”
“It was a long time ago, on a beautiful day.” The old woman grinned, then placed an arm around her granddaughter. “I wasn’t much older than you are now.”
The old woman suddenly stopped and raised a finger for silence. There was a noise behind them in the trees.
“It's probably just a rabbit or something,” the little girl said. “Please keep telling me the story.”
Just then a young man stepped out into the small clearing directly behind them.
The old woman gasped. She stood and gazed at the young man. She felt a bit more at ease when she saw he was alone, clean, decently dressed…and strangely familiar.
“Hello,” the young man said politely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“Are you lost?” the little girl asked, standing up to be next to her grandmother.
“No,” he replied. “I overheard you talking.”
“You were eavesdropping!” the little girl accused.
“Emma!” the old woman said, embarrassed by her granddaughter’s poor manners.
The young man grinned. “No, I was listening, and you just didn’t happen to notice. I wasn’t being secretive about it. Huge difference, if you ask me.”
“Well, I'm not asking.” The little girl huffed, folding her arms and scrunching her nose.
The young man looked towards the valley, then placed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. His smile slowly turned to a frown. His eyes widened with disbelief as he scanned the valley looking for something. His expression showed that he didn’t find it.
Silence filled the air once again.
“What happened to it? Finkleton, that is,” he finally said, turning to face the old woman. His eyes pleaded for an answer.
“It was destroyed many years ago,” the old woman said, accidentally squeaking. She cleared her throat.
“What do you mean, it was destroyed? How and when?” the young man demanded.
“Yes, please continue with the story, grandmother,” Emma said. She looked at the young man and raised an eyebrow, daring him to interrupt again.
The old woman and her granddaughter sat back on the log. The young man reluctantly sat at the far end of the log.
“It was about 50 years ago,” the old woman said. “It was a beautiful sunny day; the weather in Finkleton was almost always perfect. The light breeze carried the scent of flowers throughout the village. I'll never forget that wonderful smell.” She hung her head and sniffed. Emma placed a hand on her grandmother's arm.
“Please, go on,” the young man said.
“All at once, the darkest clouds I have ever seen filled the sky,” the old woman blurted out. “They came out of nowhere. Thunder roared everywhere, and then lightning began to strike furiously throughout the village. People were screaming and running for shelter!”
The old woman squeezed her hands together before continuing. “Houses caught fire, and thick smoke filled the village. The rain came next. Huge drops poured from the sky. The lightning and rain didn't stop. Water filled the village so fast people barely had time to take their families to higher ground.” The old woman gazed at the valley below, lost in thought.
“We watched from this very spot,” she continued. “The weather destroyed Finkleton, and there was nothing anyone could do. We lost everything. It was a terrible day, and I've never forgotten. That day changed our lives forever. Nothing has been able to grow in Finkleton since then. Water no longer flows through the village, and the land has dried up.”
“How sad,” Emma said softly.
“Thank you for sharing your story,” the young man said. “It was nice meeting both of you, but I must be getting back.” He quickly stood and turned to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Emma asked. “Do you live around here? What's your name?”
The old woman stood and yelled, “Jack! Please wait!”
The young man stopped. He stood still for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he slowly turned to face the old woman, his eyes narrowed with curiosity. “How do you know my name?”
“You can fix this! All of this!” the old woman said with renewed energy, pointing to the valley below. “Find out what happened and make things right. You’re here for a reason. You must go back! You must save Finkleton!”
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“Listen to me, Jack!” She pointed an outraged finger at his chest, forcing him to take a step back. “You can bring the magic back to Finkleton!”
“Who are you?” he demanded, cocking an eyebrow.
Emma placed her hands on her hips and interrupted, “Everyone knows my grandmother! Her name is Elizabeth Finkle, but she prefers to be called—”
“Lizzy?” Jack whispered, looking into her eyes.
Lizzy grinned and nodded. She placed a shaky hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You can make things right where they once went wrong. Please, Jack,” Lizzy pleaded. “It's not too late. You must save Finkleton.”
“Tell me everything,” Jack said, gesturing for them to sit down. “Start from the beginning.”
“It all started with a book,” Lizzy said.
“A book?” Jack and Emma asked in unison.
“What sort of book?” Jack asked.
“It was a book about fairies,” Lizzy whispered.