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Cynthia nearly smiled, and quickly shook my hand. I pretended not to notice her surreptitiously wiping her hand on her dress after letting go.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said. It was the first thing she had said to me that could have been considered approachable.

“Well, tell me, Miss Cynthia. What hobbies do you enjoy?”

“I like cooking,” she said shortly, but then seemed to make a great effort toward being friendly. “My father and I cook all our meals together. We try recipes from all around the world. Each summer, we vacation in a new country and try to learn how to make traditional dishes from the locals.”

“That sounds fascinating. Which ones are your favorites?”

As she listed off several, I took inventory on Cynthia. She had long, wavy blonde hair, enormous blue eyes, and a very pretty face. Just the sort of girl that every boy liked to look at. Just the opposite of me. With my short, straight brown hair and hazel eyes, I wasn’t anything special. Naturally she would have been shocked to come face to face with me, dripping in poorly applied makeup with no wig when she was used to looking at herself in the mirror.

I realized she was waiting for me to answer a question I hadn’t heard. “I am so sorry, what was that?”

Cynthia repeated, “What is your favorite food?”

“Honey cakes,” I answered honestly. Curtis and I had snuck into the kitchen often to steal them. Any time I ate them now, it reminded me of simpler, happier times.

Comfort was waiting for us around the next bend. “Hey, sis!” she elbowed me in the ribs and completely ignored Cynthia. “Did you see that tree up there?”

I looked past Mother and Algernon. An immense tree guarded the path that led to the woods. It must be very old; it had massively thick branches that spiraled up to the sky, and the trunk seemed to be mostly hollow. A gaping hole loomed out of its center.

“The townsfolk say that this tree is enchanted, and that fairies live in it and will sometimes grant wishes to people who come and wish at the tree and reach inside. The Fairy Godmother Tree, they call it.”

I laughed. “No one really believes that, do they?”

Cynthia cut in. “Anything can happen.”

Still trying to be the peacemaker, I didn’t reply. But really—fairies giving people gifts from inside an old tree? What lunacy!

“So, what is the story behind the tree?” I asked.

Comfort glanced once at Cynthia, who was still keeping pace with us, and began the tale.

CHAPTER 28

“A long time ago, before this town was here, a huge forest stood in its place. In that forest, there was a poor woodcutter who lived next to a rich woodcutter,” began Comfort. “The rich woodcutter could afford anything he wanted, but he never shared with the poor woodcutter. The rich woodcutter was a selfish, proud, and vain man. In contrast, the poor woodcutter was humble and honest, and had to work hard all day just to provide enough for his family to eat.

“One day, the poor woodcutter was out chopping wood and heard a tiny cry for help. He searched all around until he found a small fairy, trapped beneath a stone. “Help me, good man!” pleaded the fairy, “And I will grant you any wish you want!”

“And so, the poor, honest woodcutter freed the fairy. When the fairy asked what he would wish for, he said he had everything he wanted. Enough food to eat and a wife who loved him. The fairy saw that he had a good heart, and put a spell on a nearby tree. The fairy told the poor woodcutter that the tree would always grant any person who was honest and good the righteous desires of their hearts, if they would but put forth their hand to ask.

“The fairy disappeared, and the poor woodcutter wondered if what the fairy said was true. He wished for a new ax, as his own was old and dull. He reached into the tree, and pulled out an axe made of solid gold.

“He rushed into town and sold the axe for a great deal of money. He bought new clothes for himself and his wife, plenty of good food, and a new shiny steel axe. Then he brought the rest of the money home to his wife, and the celebrated their good fortune. From then on, any time that he or his wife, who was just as good as he was, wanted for anything, they would visit the tree and pull out whatever it was that they wanted.

“Now, the rich, greedy woodcutter could hardly fail to notice his neighbor’s good fortune. And instead of being glad for the honest old man and his wife, this wicked woodcutter wanted only to have their riches for himself. So, he went to his neighbor and pretended to be glad for their newfound wealth, and asked how it was that their luck had turned at last.

“The honest woodcutter, suspecting nothing, told his neighbor all about the tree and how to get whatever he wanted by simply reaching his hand into the trunk to retrieve it. The rich woodcutter set off immediately, determined to procure riches even greater than his honest neighbor. He found the tree exactly where the old man had described, and reached out his hand, wishing to have more money than his neighbor.

“Unbeknownst to the woodcutter, the fairy had also put another spell on the tree. That whoever would stretch forth their hand but was wicked at heart and undeserving, would be cursed or killed. And so instead of the fabulous treasures he was expecting, the selfish woodcutter found only a deadly snake, which struck immediately and then slithered away as the man slowly died.”

Comfort ended the story.

“That sounds like a fairy tale Father would have enjoyed telling,” I said. I could imagine Father in my mind’s eye, acting out the story, imitating the facial expressions for the honest and hardworking woodcutter, and the greedy, self-centered woodcutter.

“I thought so too.”

“I think it a good story,” said Cynthia. I jumped. I had forgotten she was there. It had seemed like Comfort and I were gathered around with our parents for an evening of music and stories again. Cynthia’s presence was a sharp reminder of how much things had changed. “People should be rewarded for good deeds and punished for bad.”