three

I may as well tell you what the Fairy Bell sisters were fighting about before we go much further. Fall on Sheepskerry Island is a time of bonfires and long walks in the rustling leaves. It’s a time of change, and a time to prepare for winter. One of the Fairy Bell sisters’ big chores is to gather firewood from the twigs and branches on the floor of the Sheepskerry forests. It’s hard work, even with wings. Clara had started the woodpile back in the late spring; Rosy added to it, little by little, as the summer days went by; as fall approached, Sylva and her friend Poppy made a contest of it—who could gather the most, the quickest. (Sylva, by three twigs.) And Squeakie was too young, of course, to do more than laugh as the woodpile grew.

And Goldie? Well, so far Goldie Bell had not done too much stick gathering, it must be said. Goldie was good at avoiding work she did not like to do. What she most liked to do was to spend time experimenting with how she looked, which was what she was doing this crisp October morning.

“Honestly, Goldie, you could help with this firewood at some point,” said Sylva from the mudroom of the Fairy Bell house. “I’ve done most of this week’s gathering already.” She stomped her feet on the doormat. “The rest is for you.”

“That’s nice,” said Goldie absently. She was braiding her hair with ribbons she had kept from the last time Tink had sent them a package, long ago. She loved the look of the scarlet ribbons in her hair. She imagined they might have come from Peter Pan himself. “I’ll do it later.”

“That’s what you said last week, Golden,” said Sylva. Her cheeks were red. “And you never got around to doing it.”

“Well, it got done, didn’t it?” asked Goldie. She was trying to concentrate on her braids. It was tricky to get them all even.

“That’s because Rosy did it instead!” said Sylva.

“I can’t help it if Rosy wants to do my chores,” said Goldie.

“That’s not the point!” said Sylva.

“I didn’t mind doing it,” said Rosy.

“You see, she didn’t mind,” said Goldie.

“You always get away with everything!” cried Sylva. “You can’t just sit there admiring yourself. You’d better help me right now.”

“I’m not just admiring myself,” said Goldie. “I’m working on these ribbons!” The scarlet ribbon was far too long. She had to concentrate to cut it in just the right place. “I’ll do it, but not right now.”

“Clara!” cried Sylva. “Make her do her chores!”

“Golden . . . ,” said Clara.

“Will you please stop telling me what to do!” cried Goldie, and she snipped the ribbon exactly where she did not want to. “Oh no no no! That ribbon was from Tink! You made me ruin it!”

Squeak squeaked.

“You ruined it, not me!” cried Sylva.

Goldie’s eyes filled with tears. Her lovely moment thinking about Tink and Peter Pan had been spoiled. She turned to face her sisters. “All we do on this island is work, work, work. It’s not enough that we have to make our own beds and wash our own clothes and fetch the water from the pump. And go to school. And put up with all the boring Sheepskerry fairies.” Even as Goldie said all this, she knew she was going too far. But once she got started, she couldn’t stop. “But now it’s getting to be winter, and the work will triple and it will be freezing cold and dark and miserable.”

“Oh, Goldie,” said Rosy.

Goldie brushed Rosy and her sympathy away. She threw the scarlet ribbon into the fire.

“Goldie! Don’t!” cried Clara.

“Sometimes I just want to leave you all and never come back,” said Goldie. Her voice was hoarse.

She flew to the mudroom and put on her boots in a fury.

“Goldie, please—”

But Goldie paid Rosy no attention.

“I hope you’re happy now, Sylva,” she said. Then she flew out into the cold, slamming the door behind her.