5. A Measure of Happiness

Suddenly everyone was talking at once. It was hard to tell if Mr Kadri was serious or not, but people began to imagine what it would be like if he were.

The shop verandas would be decorated with twinkling fairy lights, the way they were at Christmas time. Paper lanterns would float like sailing ships on the moon-spangled sea of night.

Annie and Indigo imagined an art exhibition. Layla imagined a fairy-floss machine, toffee apples and donkeys pulling children in brightly painted carts. Others saw a lucky dip, a merry-go-round, egg-and-spoon races.

Mrs Kadri dreamt of market stalls on the footpath. She saw Grandmother Mosas and aunties Shim and Janda selling pretty baskets they’d woven from grass and reeds, and Uncle Tansil’s carved wooden boats with masts of whittled sticks and torn sheets for sails.

Scarlet could see herself dancing with Anik, in a long, red velvet dress and black satin evening gloves.

When an idea is warmed by the sun of hope and watered by imagination, it can become almost real and true in a person’s mind. Perry’s idea about the dance was so real to him that when he told his family about it, they also believed, and told their friends. Now Saint Benedict’s hall was like a glasshouse — there were many seeds sprouting in the warmth of people’s hearts and blossoming in their thoughts. It was a garden of ideas.

‘I think we should have a short break while the committee discusses these ideas with Perry,’ announced Scarlet. ‘After all, it was his idea about a dance for Nell that started all this.’

So Saffron, Scarlet and Mr Kadri consulted with Perry while everyone else had afternoon tea. Annie brought a tray of refreshments for the committee. Mr Kadri poured tea from one of his tall silver teapots. Annie passed paper napkins to everyone and then scones topped with jam and cream. The committee members tasted the sweet ruby jam, and the vanilla cream coated their throats, and the choice seemed much simpler: how much happiness did they want? A few hours at a dance or a whole festival full?

‘The problem is,’ said Scarlet, ‘it’s hard enough organising a dance without Nell knowing. If we go ahead with the festival, how can we possibly keep everything secret?’

‘We don’t need to,’ said Annie as they licked their sticky fingers. ‘In fact, having a festival might make it easier to keep the dance a secret. If we tell Nell about the festival, she’ll make herself so busy helping, she won’t have time to wonder what the rest of us are doing.’

The planning committee announced their decision to great applause.

‘Before we conclude the meeting, we’d like to think of a name for our festival,’ said Scarlet.

But while there were plenty of suggestions, none of them seemed quite right.

‘Layla’s good at making up names,’ said Griffin. ‘She’s the one who thought of calling Perry’s welcome celebration the Day of Cake and Thankfulness.’

Layla was pleased to be asked, but this time even she couldn’t think of a suitable name.

While the others were trying to decide, Perry was thinking about how happy Nell would be when her birthday arrived — even without the festival. Red galoshes, crunchy footsteps, frosted grass and fence diamonds were just a few of Nell’s favourite things. Her fondness for them came from being a winter baby, she said. She even had a special name for them. Perry smiled when he thought of it. He leant closer to Scarlet, who was writing down the names people were suggesting for the festival — boring things like the Cameron’s Creek Winter Festival. He curled his fingers around his lips like a tiny trumpet and whispered soft as a snowflake into Scarlet’s ear.

‘We could call it the Festival of Crisp Winter Glories.’

Over the years, the people of Cameron’s Creek had grown used to the uncommon ways of the Silk family, but even so there were a few who thought a Festival of Crisp Winter Glories was an odd idea.

A dance for Nell Silk was one thing, but why celebrate a season so long, cold and dark? Crisp winter glories were a mystery to them. These poor folk had never drunk the waters of Tipperary Springs. They had never heard unicorns whispering in the mist, nor discovered that muddy puddles could be transformed overnight into skating rinks for fairies.

They breathed timidly into tightly wrapped scarves instead of blasting dragonly plumes at the wild grey steeds that thundered across blueberry skies. When occasionally they ventured out on frosty mornings they saw only grim, grey drips on barbed-wire fences, where the Silks saw sparkling fence diamonds.

Such sad souls had never known the pleasures of knitting Punch and Judy mittens with button eyes and stitched-on smiles, vests for orphaned lambs, or Fair Isle cosies for the hot-water bottles of elderly dogs. They preferred cooking potatoes in ovens rather than over the coals of backyard bonfires. To them, hopscotch, hula hoops and dancing seemed strange ways to keep warm, when one could stay huddled by a heater.

Despite their differences, even these people had a tender place in their hearts for Nell Silk, spinner of yarn, singer of songs, dancer of jigs, maker of mittens and teller of tales. And besides, they were as keen and curious as anyone else to discover exactly what would happen at the Festival of Crisp Winter Glories.