Rainbow Day, Feast Day
Rainbow Day, Feast Day
Hikaru Sakurai
There was a rainbow.
As she stepped out of the forest and onto the grass, a multicolored arc stretched across the evening sky.
Chise looked up at it as she walked.
Come to think of it, there’d been a rainbow when she left the house at noon, as well.
The wind played with her red hair. She wanted to reach up and hold her hair back, but both her hands were full.
The rainbow hung over Chise’s destination, so it felt like she was walking towards it. She left the forest and strolled across the grass towards the house at the rainbow’s end. It was like something out of a picture book or fairy tale. If she told Elias that, how would he react? Perhaps he would agree with her. Perhaps he would just tilt his head in confusion.
Or perhaps there would be a faint shift in the eyes that lurked within the depths of his sockets.
Are those eyes?
Chise wasn’t entirely sure.
Still staring up at the rainbow, she hefted the burden in her hands.
Nettle, wormwood, and tetterwort constituted today’s gatherings.
To gather herbs like these she had only to leave the house, cross the meadow, and enter the nearby forest. All sorts of plants grew just within its boundaries. She’d been running low on supplies for her magical studies, so she’d come to collect more.
Naturally, she had not come alone. Ruth was by her side.
A Church Grim, he was a four-legged beast, like a large dog with beautiful black fur. Also known simply as a Black Dog, Ruth was a type of neighbor that lay outside the realm of what most humans could perceive. He had made a contract with Chise to serve as her familiar. Saying she had a familiar made it sound like she was a full-fledged mage now, but in actual practice, it was more like having a slightly older brother.
“Chise, it’s dangerous to stare at the sky while you walk,” scolded Ruth. Being a dog, his voice came from the level of her waist.
Chise nodded. “Mmm.”
Ruth might look like a dog, but he had the ability to speak with human words.
“I just thought it was pretty.”
“The rainbow?” Ruth lifted his elegantly elongated nose towards the sky. “If you wish to look at the rainbow, by all means look. But stones in the meadow can trip you, though perhaps not as many as in the woods. Should I carry those for you?”
“Thank you, but I can handle this much. I won’t stare at the sky while I walk.”
“Very well,” he said, his words mingled with very dog-like breathing.
Thanks for worrying about me.
Chise glanced down at Ruth in gratitude.
Then she looked back the way they’d come, not even conscious of why.
There was something in the forest.
A neighbor. A faerie. A spirit. Something unlike any human or animal. But it was not a bad thing. If she’d felt that certain shiver run down her spine, she’d have stopped herself before she looked. She’d felt this specific presence before.
She glimpsed two gleaming eyes, their sharp gaze directed at her.
“The flesh-clad one’s fledgling?”
A deep voice echoed.
A shadow stood at the edge of the forest, bathed in the red glow of evening.
While small, the shadow radiated strength. This was a figure of great endurance, giving the impression of a large boulder rooted deep into the earth. His shape was humanoid—well, perhaps he would take offense at that description. He was no great fan of humankind. But Chise did not believe him to be aggressive.
The boulder-like creature staring at her from the forest’s edge was a Spriggan.
A Spriggan was a guardian faerie, protector of the other neighbors. Elias had explained this once at her bedside.
“Er…”
How should she greet him?
She felt he must have some reason to show himself but did not recall speaking to him much before. Elias had been with her on their previous meeting, and the situation had been far less relaxed than today.
“The hawthorns are blooming. The wind spirits dance, riding the winds from the west. And a rainbow grants us its presence.”
The deep voice came again, sounding nothing like any voice generated by human lips and throat. A unique echo, the wind carried it to her ear.
It felt like a song or a poem read aloud. Chise hesitated, unsure how to respond.
“May flowers and rainbows are both common enough,” Ruth said.
“They are.”
“Hmph.”
Ruth had taken the lead and successfully received a response.
Her new black-furred brother was better at this than she was. Chise felt a pang of envy.
“Sorry, Chise. Did I interrupt you?”
“No, it’s fine. Um, did you want something from us?” she asked the Spriggan.
Or from Elias?
She’d addressed the Spriggan with this thought in mind.
The wind blew harder, mussing her red hair.
One second. Two seconds. When no answer came, Ruth snorted and looked towards home. Chise stroked his head, waiting patiently. A full ten seconds later, the stony figure at last spoke again.
The voice echoed but not in conversation. Once again, it seemed to chant a sort of song.
“Those who give off light. You will see the flowers’ smiles. If you have bonds and blessings enough.”
What does that mean?
Smiling flowers? Blessings? Bonds?
Chise couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words.
***
The rainbow soon faded from view.
By the time the setting sun turned the whole sky red, Chise and Ruth had returned home.
Home was an old two-story building. Each time she returned to it after venturing forth, Chise felt a sense of relief. She was reluctant to admit it, but the word “home” fit—at least, better than any of the places she’d lived in Japan.
“I’m home.”
As she opened the door, a faint ringing sounded in her ears.
The ringing came from a bell she had placed there. A pleasant sound, one that suited her quiet demeanor and presence.
Ruth entered the house as well, slipping past Chise’s feet.
“Will the herbs be fine in the shed?” he asked.
“It’s already dark. It’s still rather chilly, so I don’t think they’ll be harmed.”
“Okay.”
“Mmm.”
Removing her heavy coat, Chise inhaled the scent of home. Refreshing, but with a tang: the smell of a field. The whiff of spice mingled with what must be tonight’s supper. Chise had only gone as far as the nearby forest, but even so, she felt like she’d returned home from a long journey.
Whether she stayed nearby like today, or went all the way to London, or crossed the sea to the Dragons’ Aerie, this house always quietly welcomed her back. You could use words like “warm” or “gentle,” and those would work as well, but what Chise felt most keenly was a kind of quiet, one containing both those other words.
Quiet.
That word described her at all times.
“………”
There was a faint rustle of clothing, and she came out to welcome Chise and Ruth home.
A neighbor in lavender clothes, she took the form of a woman with beautiful pink eyes. She was Silky. Elias called her the Silver Lady. Silver. She had nothing of that color about her person, yet somehow the word seemed to fit. If one were to describe her to a stranger, it would seem only natural to compare her to a silver flower.
Silky had left the kitchen to come greet them. She must have been at her busiest considering how close it was to dinnertime, but she always came to meet everyone. No matter how long they were away, she would greet them when they returned.
It was good to be welcomed by the scent of fields, and by Silky.
“Mmm.” Silky released a breath, like a bird.
She spoke no words. She communicated with gestures, expressions, and, like now, with a variety of breaths. This one meant, “Welcome home.”
“We’re back, Silky.”
Answering with a nod as she always did, Silky gestured to take Chise’s coat. Chise shook her head. Intending to take it to her room, she set off down the hall and past the door to the kitchen, where the dinner table stood.
“Oh?”
Chise stopped in surprise. Her eyes widened.
She’d noted the scent of spices already. Silky could cook everything from English classics like pudding, roast beef, and pie, to dishes from across Europe. Today Chise had assumed they would be eating some international cuisine and had looked forward to it, certain it would be delicious.
But this was way beyond that.
The kitchen was in quite a state. There were far more pots, pans, and dishes than usual. Beside her, Ruth sniffed the air with his head held high. Surprise had stopped him in his tracks, too.
“A party?” he asked.
“I didn’t hear about any guests.”
As they stood in shock, Silky moved past them.
She bustled around the kitchen, never once hesitating or pausing to consider things. She simply did what needed to be done. She peered into one pot and nodded, added a dash of paprika to a second, checked on the oven before removing a rising pudding from the fridge. There was a flow to it, Silky’s every movement as graceful as a dancer’s. She used the kitchen as her stage.
She placed one dish after another on the crowded tabletop. Oh, it smelled amazing. Roast beef, roast chicken, kidney pie, Turkish scrambled eggs with loads of vegetables, borscht that didn’t skimp on ingredients, paprika-laden goulash, spicy Indian-style lamb kebabs, and far more. Two pots were still lidded, and was Silky plating fried mackerel?
Silky’s cooking was always delicious, and the portions generous, but today’s offerings were on an entirely new level. Never before had she prepared multiple kinds of stew for the same meal. Between the chicken, beef, and pie, the oven must have had a constant rotation of dishes, but she’d still found time to bake a gratin. Since there was only one oven in the house, how could there be two ovens’ worth of food so hot that steam was rising off of it? It seemed like magic to Chise, but she couldn’t imagine Silky ever using magic in the kitchen. She always handled all the housework flawlessly, so even this magical feast was the product of pure skill.
“That’s quite a spread,” Ruth said, tail happily wagging.
“Amazing,” Chise said, her jaw nearly dropping.
It was clearly a special feast.
One look at the table, laid with a cloth Chise had never seen, told her that. No one could eat this much in one sitting. But no such feast had ever appeared on the winter solstice or Christmas, so why today? Was today special and she didn’t know it?
They could share this food with everyone in town and still have leftovers.
Chise had never seen some of these dishes before.
“Welcome back. Is something wrong?”
A voice echoed above her head. Chise turned around, looking up.
She paused in surprise but lingered in amazement. She knew this feeling wasn’t magic, but it somehow seemed magical. Two small eyes looked back at her, shadowed in the darkness of his eye sockets.
It was Elias Ainsworth, a very tall mage whose head was concealed by some sort of animal skull. He was the person who had shown up at exactly the right day to purchase Chise at a magical auction and take her away to live with him. “Person,” yes, but technically he wasn’t human at all. Neither was he a neighbor, like Ruth or Silky. Chise knew he was a rare creature indeed but understood little more than that. She knew him as a mage and mentor, who had taught her many things. She knew him as part of her new family.
That, and…
While they’d never discussed it in depth, one day he might be…
“I gathered the herbs. They’re in the storehouse. I’ll process them tomorrow,” Chise said.
“Well done,” he replied.
The bone face appeared to shift.
The bulk of his features were bone, incapable of showing any expression. It was difficult to read emotions on his face but not completely impossible. Presently, Elias displayed no specific emotion. This was his default expression, as if he were observing her.
“Your coat.”
“Right, I was taking it upstairs,” she said.
“You were standing still, holding it. Why?”
“Oh.” Chise glanced back at the kitchen. “Is today a special occasion?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s about that time,” Elias said, turning towards the kitchen. He watched Silky for a moment. “There was a rainbow out?”
“Yes.” Chise remembered the seven-colored arc over the meadow.
“When rainbows appear and the wind spirits play, the Silver Lady always makes a great deal of food. I don’t know the exact reasons,” Elias said.
“Interesting.”
“I simply allow her to do what she wishes and pay no further attention.”
“I wonder if she’s celebrating something today?”
It seemed unlikely that a rainbow would appear on a specific day, but perhaps there were festivals or celebrations of which Chise was unaware.
“Hmm.” Elias looked up, thinking.
From a historical perspective, there were several possibilities. However, one rarely celebrated ancient Roman festivals or medieval wars with a feast. The greater Elias’s knowledge, the less he could explain.
“If you’re curious, perhaps you should help. When you encounter things you do not understand, close observation can offer clarity.”
Chise nodded and stepped forward.
“I’ll take the coat,” Ruth said. Chise gave it to him and volunteered to help Silky set out the dishes. Clearly, Chise had decided watching wasn’t enough and wanted to actively help.
Silky carried a plate laden with food to the table.
Next to it stood a vase of flowers she must have gathered earlier that day.
“………”
Following Silky’s instructions, Chise turned off the flame under the pot and took the pudding out of the fridge.
As she helped, Chise watched Silky closely.
Her expression was the same as ever. Quiet, lovely, gentle.
Nothing in Silky’s face betrayed her feelings, but Chise definitely felt today was special. Was Silky happy? In a good mood? Those words floated in and out of Chise’s mind. Both were close to the truth but far enough removed that they didn’t quite fit.
Meanwhile, the food prep progressed smoothly.
It seemed they’d get through supper without answering her questions.
Chise wasn’t exactly disappointed, but it was a shame.
Then…
“♪”
A melody reached her ears.
Like a bird singing. No, not quite that.
Like a cricket chirping. No, not quite that.
Like winter mist sparkling in the sunlight, if that were a sound.
Silky hummed quietly under her breath. As she placed the plates on the table, her expression was the same as any other day.
But the color of her eyes looked different than usual.
That pale pink seemed to sparkle, as if she was enjoying herself.
***
A long time ago.
Before Elias came here.
Long before Chise began living in the corner room on the second floor.
A widow owned this house.
A lively, cheerful woman, she was always telling jokes and creating excitement.
Supposedly she was well into her forties, but she looked far younger. Often, the postman genuinely mistook her for someone in her twenties. Her smile lit up the empty rooms.
Her husband had been the heir to a family that had lived here for generations, but she had been born quite far away. Well, as far away as one can get without leaving England. She spoke with no trace of any regional accent. Like the house’s previous owners, she and her husband had lived here together.
She had one son, a teenage boy whose strong features resembled her husband’s. Once he had been prone to crying in her arms, but now he had become broad-shouldered and sturdy. Last year he had gone off to boarding school in London and rarely came home.
She must have missed him. She must have been lonely. But she never uttered a downbeat word. On chilly days she might wonder aloud if her boy was taking care not to catch a cold, but she never let her love for him cast a shadow on her face.
“Ah, it’s a cold one! Yes, let’s make some borscht today,” she’d say.
Some nice warm food.
No sooner said than done.
The house was a little too large to live in alone, but she kept the lights shining bright. She always radiated warmth and cheer.
Did she live alone?
No, she did not.
Not many humans could see the one other person living there.
The woman, her dead husband, and her son had never noticed her, but there she was.
A neighbor who lived right next to humans. A faerie.
Yes. Silky.
“What a beautiful day! I’d better get some laundry on the line!”
On sunny days the woman’s grin would broaden, and her voice would echo through the house.
With a resident like Elias, who was fully aware of her presence, Silky was free to handle all the housework. But when the cheerful woman had lived there, Silky had contented herself with helping in ways that would not be noticed. She would carry the basket of freshly washed clothes closer to the laundry lines. She’d find handkerchiefs that had fallen through the gaps in the closet shelves and wash them, or keep the clothes from flying away when the wind tried to sweep them off the line. When the widow got so caught up in laundry she forgot to do the dishes, Silky would wash a few for her.
Bit by bit. Here and there.
At first, Silky lived with the woman just as housekeeping faeries have always done, just as she had done when the woman’s dead husband had been a child. She helped with the housework in ways that might surprise the owner and seem a little strange, but would never raise suspicion.
Silky believed she would do the same for the next generation.
“My! When on earth did I wash the dishes?!” the widow would cry out.
Then one beautiful, calm day when the wind spirits weren’t fussing, the woman found some work Silky had done. She blinked at it a moment.
“I declare, it must be the faeries’ doing. Ah ha! I’ll have to thank them.” The woman laughed out loud. “It would never do to admit I completely forgot it now, would it? Yes, much better to believe the faeries helped. They do good work, these faeries. So thank you very much, good faeries!”
Words of gratitude, given with a smile. A booming voice that echoed through the house like she was speaking to someone on the second floor.
Perhaps because the widow did not see anyone nearby, she assumed they must be upstairs.
But at that moment, Silky was standing next to the couch, not five feet from the woman. Silky’s eyes widened. The woman couldn’t see her or any neighbors, and the way she spoke made it clear she had no strong belief in faeries. Yet it was so rare to be addressed directly that it caught Silky by surprise.
She’d been told the people who lived here kept faithfully to the old ways. But with the husband dead, and the son away at boarding school, the wife from distant lands wouldn’t know their ways.
“…………”
Silky knew.
She knew the woman could not hear.
But for the first time, Silky spoke to the woman. You’re welcome, she said.
The next morning, she found a cup filled with cream above the fireplace. She had not been given a gift like that since the late husband’s mother passed. Silky was so surprised that she made quite a spectacle of herself, but we won’t discuss that here.
The best thank you for a faerie that helps with the housework was a bowl of milk or cream. Silky was no exception to this rule.
“Now, what shall we make today?”
The woman always laughed off the small things, setting her eyes on the big picture. She became a great cook, with surprising finesse and a diligence matched only by her curiosity. She soon mastered local specialties like roast beef, pies, and pudding; German methods to make her own sausage; French cooking, including making her own bouillon; Hungarian cooking with its surprisingly versatile use of paprika; even Chinese and Indian dishes that used spices like magic. She prepared dishes from distant and little-known countries, and on more than one occasion Silky found the kitchen in complete disarray.
The widow made all kinds of dishes every day, thoroughly enjoying herself in the process.
The woman’s late husband had probably left her a sizable sum of money. She’d never had a job, and Silky had heard nothing about the woman’s own family being well-off. Now, it seemed the woman had decided to pour all her time and money into cooking.
Silky, too, knew how to make many local dishes, but foreign food was different. Every day, she stood at the woman’s side while she cooked unfamiliar food and listened to her share a wealth of information about it.
For example, curry.
Strictly speaking, curry and rice.
“Everyone thinks curry is Indian food, but curry and rice actually isn’t! Making a curry from leftover roast beef and serving it on a plate of rice is apparently an English innovation.”
The woman talked to herself a lot.
Standing in the kitchen, surrounded by spices, an incredible smell rising from the simmering pot, Silky listened and nodded.
“These days people have stopped making it at home, which seems like such a shame! I suppose you can get proper Indian curry at restaurants run by real Indians, so why bother making it yourself? But there’s no faster way to kill a culture than to give up on it, I always say.”
When she was talking about food, her monologues got even longer.
“Right, right! I heard real curries come in endless varieties. I’ll have to try some of them next time! I read real Indians make several different curries for a single meal, and each person mixes and matches to their own tastes, I think. If you mix in some chutney, it’s even better. Where did I hear that? Or did I read it somewhere?”
There was no one to hear but a faerie and no one around to stop her, so she just kept on talking.
“Well, next time is next time. Today we’re doing curry and rice! If there are leftovers, we’ll eat those tomorrow!”
No one person could eat that pot of curry alone, so there were always leftovers. Was it just the woman’s habit to think out loud? Or was she, on some instinctive level, aware that Silky stood beside her? Most likely the former. Perhaps some humans believed so strongly in faeries that, when faced with strange or inexplicable things, they would simply address those faeries. Yet even if this widow believed, the unshakable fact that she could not see was a huge obstacle. Even if one could overcome it, the sight would make it that much harder for someone to function in human society.
So Silky never made a sound. Just stood by quietly.
She continued to help with the housework and took pains not to be noticed. She always did things that could be easily dismissed as the imagination, or absentmindedness, just as she had ever since taking up residence in this home. At the moment, she quietly added a few items to the table setting the woman had forgotten.
“Mmm, smells lovely. Must be almost ready!” the woman said, looking satisfied.
Silky nodded in agreement.
There was so much time.
As if to prove it, the woman began leaving the house for days or weeks at a stretch.
Perhaps she had found herself a job of some kind or was taking some sort of business trip. At first, Silky assumed as much, but this was not the case at all.
Each time the woman returned, her cooking repertoire had increased.
The woman wasn’t a mere cooking enthusiast; she would leave the house to travel and learn new ways to cook. She tried all kinds of new foods on her trips and learned how to make those dishes. Silky enjoyed the lonely days spent watching over an empty house more when she could look forward to the woman’s return.
“……………”
While the woman was out traveling, Silky kept the house clean and tried not to make it seem too strange.
She would have preferred to leave not a speck of dust remaining but controlled herself. She kept things to a level where the woman would not be horrified when she returned. There was dust but not so much that it would coat a person’s finger if they touched it. Achieving the right level of dust required careful rounds of cleaning and neglect.
Days passed like this.
Occasionally, an unusual guest would visit, always at sunset.
He normally sent letters via the centaur post, but when the woman was away on her trips he would show himself. A forbidding, stony presence, but a kind protector, the Spriggan always brought flowers with him. Silky usually found him standing a short distance from the back garden.
He never tried to enter the house.
He would not even set foot on the grounds, avoiding both back and front yards. He would stand at the edge of the meadow, on the border between the wild and civilization, calmly watching. Silky never tried to coax him inside.
He came again that day, moving upwind at the edge of the meadow.
“The lady is out again?” he asked.
“Mmm.” She gave a nod and a short breath.
Silence followed. Only the wind blowing from hill to meadow made any sound.
They did not require words.
Silky did not know how to express in human words what lay between her and this protector, and she did not attempt to figure it out. She had once been a banshee—and this stony fellow had saved her when she had lost her home and was wandering.
Sometimes he sent her letters.
Sometimes he gave her flowers.
And sometimes he came to see her.
“Are you comfortable here?”
She nodded. She was fine. It was a good home.
Naturally, none of the family knew he existed. Like Silky, ordinary humans were unable to see him. They had no way of knowing that invisible faeries were discussing whether or not to live in this house, without ever asking how the humans felt.
“…………”
Silky nodded again. She handed over the basket she’d made for him.
Biscuits. She had felt he would be here soon, so she’d made them that morning. She was reluctant to use the oven while the owner was away, but lately the widow never finished off the milk before going on her trips. Silky took advantage of these mistakes to make pastries.
But making biscuits every time didn’t seem to be enough.
If he would just stay longer, she could make something even better.
“I will not stay long on cultivated ground. Sorry. I am grateful for these. The food you make is always filled with generosity.”
“…………”
She reluctantly nodded.
The protector of the hills was a man of few words, so this was the highest compliment.
A few days later, the woman returned in the afternoon, seemingly flustered. She hurried along, her cheeks flushed, a strong light in her eyes. What had happened? Even if there was no one around, the widow was the sort to talk aloud eventually. At first, Silky watched and waited.
But the woman said nothing.
Ruffled, without even stopping to unpack her heavy travel bag, she headed straight for the kitchen.
She checked the flour and spices in the cupboard, then turned on her heel and went out again without locking the door. She returned laden down with shopping bags.
“Right! Time to cook!” she said, all worked up.
Then she made a huge volume of dishes in massive quantities, one after another without a single break.
Roast beef and roast chicken, kidney pie, so much haggis she stuffed a pie and put the rest on a pizza. Eggs scrambled Turkish style with onions and shishito peppers; borscht simmered and simmered until it was ever so thick; goulash using a blend of different paprikas she’d bought on her travels; Indian lamb skewers marinated in onions, green chilis, bay leaves, cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, turmeric, cumin, and cayenne; and a pudding on top of all that. This was far more than she could ever hope to eat by herself in a single day.
It was too much.
It was clear she didn’t have the energy to make it all, let alone eat it.
Her trip had worn her out. Combined with the rush to the grocery and then a several-hour battle in the kitchen on top of that…
“Whew. This sure is taking it out of me.”
Of course it was.
As the sun set, she collapsed onto the table and was snoring in seconds. She would have been mortified to be seen like this. With no idea what was going on, Silky could only watch over her. The woman’s sleep did free Silky up to finish off any bits of leftover work, which was a relief.
Silky watched a pot still on the flame and took the chicken out of the oven before it burned.
She put a shawl over the tired woman’s shoulders.
“…………”
She said nothing.
Just felt a need to pay her back.
The woman had to be exhausted—she would not wake until late that night. Normally, Silky would have stopped anything from burning or catching fire but otherwise left it at that. But clearly the woman had been working this hard for something, and Silky did not want that to go to waste. As exhausted as the woman was, a few strange things might pass without her noticing.
So…this was Silky’s chance.
A faerie’s chance to shine, she thought.
While the owner slept, the kind faerie finished her work.
Rather like the fable about the neighbors who lived with the shoemaker.
The woman awoke to find that while she’d slumbered, someone had finished her feast. Steam rose from the hot dishes, the smells so good they made the stomach growl. The dish she’d left in the oven and the one on the stove hadn’t burned to a crisp. In fact, they were flawlessly completed.
She had no memories of finishing either, but there they were on the table.
“Wow,” she said, amazed.
Silky was secretly relieved that the woman wasn’t shocked or confused.
Even without words she could understand, much like with the stony protector. The woman was astonished, but overjoyed and delighted as well.
“I knew we had a brownie here! Golly. I could never have finished everything this well myself. I knew when I started that I’d mess up at least a few of the dishes!”
Ah ha.
A moment later, the look of surprise vanished. With a big, broad smile, the woman said, “I’ll have to leave an extra-large cup of cream on the fireplace.”
Silky nodded.
“Well, then let’s dig in! This all looks wonderful. If there’s anything left over, we can eat it tomorrow or share with the neighborhood!”
She took two glasses from the back of the china cabinet and set them out.
Two glasses.
Could she see Silky?
Silky frowned. That couldn’t be. The woman could not see neighbors. The only postman she ever saw was the human one; she had never once noticed the centaur post, or the woolybugs flying by in spring, or the ariel dancing in the wind. She’d never once made eye contact with Silky.
Oblivious to Silky’s confusion, the woman filled both glasses with wine.
“One for me, and one for him.”
“…………”
Oh. Okay.
That explained it.
It was as if the strings holding Silky stiff went slack.
The anniversary glasses. One of them had belonged to the woman’s late husband. Silky remembered him as a child. How happy he’d seemed when he married this woman. How sad he’d appeared when sickness took his parents and the look of joy that returned when his son was born.
This mountain of food…the woman hadn’t made it all for herself.
No.
“Look! The feast I promised! It came to me in a flash but I managed to pull it off! Mmm! Thanks to the faeries! I remember you told me, dear. ‘This is an old house. It likely has a faerie or two about it,’ you said.”
A promise. The feast day. Don’t forget. Silky remembered.
Once the woman had promised her husband, “On your next birthday, I’ll make you the most amazing feast you’ve ever seen.”
He’d been gravely ill at the time and had not lived to see his next birthday. But the woman had kept her promise: she always made a grand feast on his birthday, one filled with dishes he had never eaten.
But one thing struck Silky as odd.
It wasn’t the right day. His birthday was still six months away.
“Today isn’t your birthday, I know,” the woman said, as if answering Silky’s question.
Silky leaned in, looking closely at her face.
“But…what does that matter?”
The woman raised the glass and tapped it against the other one.
“This morning, I came home. And the moment I saw the house, I just thought to myself, today’s the day. I mean, there was the most beautiful breeze blowing…”
***
I mean, there was the most beautiful breeze blowing…
And a rainbow stretched over the meadow.
And the hawthorn bloomed all along the road.
You loved all those things. So did I, but you loved those things in particular.
Rainbows. The wind. Hawthorn flowers.
So I made up my mind. I was going all in to make the best meal.
It’s hardly enough doing that only once a year and always on your birthday, isn’t it?
I’ve thought that before, and today was just the day to begin.
I overdid it a little bit, so I’ll have to be a bit more careful next time. I promise!
But you don’t mind, do you? When the wind is dancing about, and the rainbow comes from over the hill…that’s a special day, isn’t it? Not a day history decided was special, just a day you feel is special in your heart.
You wonder what the day will be like, what tomorrow will bring.
Tonight’s meal?
I didn’t finish all of that. I’m sure the house faerie helped with it.
I wonder if you’d have liked it.
Or if you’d have said the poached eggs you ate every morning were the best, after all. Oh, I’m sure you’d have done just that.
But that’s just you being you.
I love cooking. Cooking for you. Cooking for myself. Cooking for our growing boy, not that he ever shows his face around here.
Isn’t that what happiness means?
So, cheers!
Oh, this is lovely. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.
This isn’t the last one, you know! I’ve got to keep up my strength!
Build up my repertoire for the next feast!
***
After that, the woman continued making a great number of dishes.
Silky learned the recipes, watching and helping where she could.
For many years, that knowledge did not have its chance to shine.
Until time passed and the home changed hands. Until an owner who could see neighbors, Elias, became master. At long last, Silky began to show what she could do in the kitchen, leading Elias to label her the housekeeper. At first, Silky always prepared English food.
After all, she wasn’t sure what Elias was, much less where he came from.
She had no way of knowing what he liked or disliked, so preparing local food seemed like the safest choice.
Then, one day, she found a book of international recipes sitting quietly in the corner of the kitchen. Elias must have left it there. He could change his appearance to look like a human, but it seemed highly doubtful that he would have gone to a bookstore and purchased it. More likely he’d enlisted the help of Father Simon.
Either way, Silky had elected to take the hint.
Some time after that, Chise had joined the household, a wife who ate Silky’s food with clear reactions and specific feedback…
***
“Well, Chise. Should we eat?” Elias asked.
“Yes.”
Chise and Elias faced the feast.
Elias sat at the head of the table, with Ruth next to him. Silky stood silently by—she never consumed anything beyond a little cream or milk. During meals she would carry dishes to and from the kitchen or stand by if needed.
When Chise looked at her, she gestured for Chise to dig in.
“Thank you.”
First, Chise took a bite of the chicken she’d helped carve.
It was savory, just the right texture.
Really good.
Chise looked up to say as much, but…
She paused, sensing something more. It wasn’t just the taste and flavor. A strange sensation spread through her entire body. Had a spell been cast on the food? She didn’t think so. This wasn’t anything supernatural but something much deeper. She felt she could best describe it in images, but nothing concrete came to mind.
It was something warm. Comfortable.
Something instilled in every dish on the table.
She felt it was true but that there was still more to it.
Oh, I knew it.
This was special.
Maybe it was the food, or maybe it was a day with a rainbow and dancing spirits. Maybe it was both. Either way, this was special to Silky.
Two bites. Three. Chise could taste it in the food. She wasn’t sure if she should ask Elias about it or if she only noticed because she was a sleigh beggy.
But she knew.
Faintly. Gently.
Something was in this.
A strange feeling of acceptance. Part of her still wanted to know more, to know the reason, but no…she didn’t need to dig that up.
After all, she was here with Elias, with Ruth, and with Silky. They were with her. They were eating good food together.
That was enough.
There was no need to put it into words.
No need to ask Silky. Some things didn’t need to be asked.
Oh. But she had to say one thing, to make one thing clear.
“Silky. It’s really good. Thank you.”
She needed to put her emotions into words.
A moment later.
“……………”
The silver lady nodded like a tiny flower, bashfully blooming, bowing its head in the morning mist.
Chise rubbed her eyes, sure she’d seen a trace of a smile on Silky’s lips.
A moment later Elias asked for more water, and Silky’s face was as it had always been: quiet, calm, and kind.
The End