Once (Gypsy Fairy Tale) Read online

  Alec O’Connor had been the most popular boy in our graduating class and well on his way with a scholarship to IU. With his light brown hair and bright blue eyes, more than one girl lost her heart to him whether he knew it or not. Everyone expected him to go far until the car accident that summer killed his father and Alec’s dreams of college.

  Suddenly he wasn’t Mr. Touchdown anymore and everyone outside of Corydon forgot he existed all together. He suffered through surgery after surgery in hopes that his mangled leg would improve, but it never did.

  I looked up at this hometown hero with his bum leg, who was reduced to working in the feed store, and realized that I wasn’t the only one beaten up by life.

  “Thank you,” I said. “But I’m fine. Why don’t you go out to the barn and bring in some more rabbit feed?”

  “Sure,” he said with another understanding smile that annoyed me to no end. He set the broom back in the corner and hobbled out through the backroom.

  I clutched my own broom and squeezed my eyes shut, commanding myself not to cry.

  Don’t cry... Not here... Not now... You can cry tonight when you’re alone...

  I didn’t really have time to cry. The bell over the door rattled as the first customer of the day entered. I took a deep breath and forced some version of a smile on my face.

  “Good morning,” I said as I turned to greet my patron.

  I could’ve saved my energy and my enthusiasm since it was just Mrs. Allen, the middle-aged lady that owned the scrapbook store next door. She walked directly over to the fresh coffee.

  “It’s good to see you back my dear,” she said as if I’d been on a vacation instead arranging a funeral.

  For some reason, I found her attitude even more annoying than the sympathy of everyone else. If it wasn’t for Alec coming out of the back and drawing her attention, I might’ve physically thrown her out. Since Grandma was dead and gone, I didn’t see the point in pretending to like her more.

  Alec, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the way she fawned over him while he went over the different bird seeds for her backyard feeders.

  Seriously? Well, better him than me.

  One by one more customers came in with their orders for livestock feed. A few mentioned the service or gave me their awkward condolences, but they mostly talked about the circus.

  “Did you see the likes of that parade?” One farmer asked another while they waited for their orders to be filled; obviously not in too much of a hurry by the way he leaned against the counter.

  The other laughed a good ol’ boy type of chuckle, “I did. What did you think about that little firecracker?”

  “As an old man, I wouldn’t even know what to do with that.”

  I pretended not to hear them. If I was lucky, they would forget that I was right there. If not, it would just be embarrassing for all of us.

  Thankfully, they didn’t notice me and the men went on with their conversation.

  “They may all be useless tinkers,” one of them surmised. “But they sure have some beautiful women.”

  Alec stepped up to the counter with Mrs. Allen’s seed under one arm; she followed behind him like a middle-aged love-struck puppy.

  “Tinkers?” He asked as he began writing out her receipt.

  The farmer nodded, “You know gypsies and travellers.”

  “Well I know one thing,” Mrs. Allen said as she handed me her money. “You best lock things up tight as a drum.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Well because everyone knows that they steal everything that isn’t chained down,” she said in a huff of arrogant righteousness. “You just mark my words and do as I say.”

  Alec gave me a conspiratorial wink before he gave her one of his all American smiles, “Now you don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I most certainly do,” she said as she followed him out the door. “You know they’re all thieves and beggars.”

  As soon as the door closed behind her, the other customers began laughing and the entire mood of the shop shifted. Obviously I was not the only one that pretended to like Mrs. Allen.

  By afternoon, fewer and fewer people were offering condolences and it was easier to slip into my old routine. The conversation instead turned again to the carnival setting up camp across the street at the fairgrounds.

  It would seem that one of them, I picture the man that led the parade, was spotted downtown at the courthouse trying to get a permit of some sort.

  When the door opened again and another customer walked in, the feed store fell silent. I stood on my tiptoes to see who was causing such a reaction.

  In walked a group of skimpily clad girls speaking words I didn’t understand. I came around from behind the counter, feeling like I had to get to them first for some reason.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  A thin, black haired girl with brilliant green eyes stepped forward. She looked around the room slowly before settling those eyes on me.

  “Sorry to be bothering you Miss,” she said with the beautiful lilt in her voice. “May I please place one of these in your window?”

  I looked down at the sheet of paper that she handed me. It was a vaudeville type poster advertising their “Carnival of Wonders” that would be performing in just over a week.

  “Are you sure about the dates?” I asked, not wanting to admit that all of us knew that they had just applied for their permits.

  The other girls in the group snickered and talked again with words I didn’t understand, but the black haired girl just looked at me and smiled as if she didn’t hear them.

  “I am very sure of the date,” she explained in that beautiful accent. “I am never wrong about these things.”

  I didn’t ask any more questions. I was too self-conscious with the flashy girls and my regular customers all watching me.

  “Sure, that would be fine,” I said.

  She took the poster back from me and gave me one more infectious smile before turning so that she could tape the poster to my door.

  Everyone in the store turned to watch her and the other girls. I was embarrassed for them in the way that the men stared at their tanned legs and bare midriffs. Those girls could’ve been twelve or twenty, but it just didn’t seem right to stare at them like that.

  I was thankful when the black haired girl was finished with the poster.

  “Thank you,” she said as she spun around. “I hope all of you will come to the show.”

  She met my eyes one last time before she opened the door and led her group back outside.

  The feed store burst back in the conversation as soon as the door closed behind them. I stepped over to the door and watched them move down the sidewalk in a loud, colorful, boisterous group, and I envied their freedom.

  * * * *

  The afternoon had taken on that hazy almost evening glow when I stepped out of the store under the weight of a fifty pound bag of chicken feed. I really hated my life at that moment and regretted sending Alec home at four. I should’ve known old Mrs. Kennedy would be calling with her usual order and requested delivery.

  If she wasn’t one of my grandmother’s oldest friends, and half senile on top of that, I would’ve told her to come get it herself, instead, there I was, dirty and exhausted, driving to the other end of the county to deliver chicken feed.

  Damn that old woman and her stupid chickens...

  I dropped the feed into the bed of the truck and when I looked up; my eyes immediately fell on the fairgrounds across the street. The gypsies had brought in trailers and campers of every sort, children were playing everywhere and laundry hung on makeshift clothesline. It was like overnight this odd little neighborhood popped up out of the dirt.

  Across the dusty clearing came the man that walked with the horses in the parade. He was carrying a heavy rope of some sort and he was shirtless. The sun glistened on his broad chest and shone through his damp, dark hair.

  He walked over to a group of men and droppe
d the rope from his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Moments later he was hammering a stake into the ground. Even from where I stood, I could see each and every ripple of each and every muscle.

  I couldn’t help but, lick my lips, imagining the salty sweet taste of his skin.

  Now that’s the sort of man you don’t see every day...

  A tingling on the right side of my face told me that I was being watched. I glanced to my right, and sure enough, the tall man that led the parade was staring me.

  Even all the way across the street, he met my eyes. I shrank back, embarrassed as if he could read the lusty thoughts on my mind.

  It was me that looked away first. I lowered my eyes and went around to the other side of the truck and got in. I drove off without even looking back in the mirror once.

  Chapter 3

  It was already dark when I got back to the feed store. Throughout Corydon, the businesses were dark and the sidewalks were empty. Because of that, it made it seem much later than it really was.

  Stupid old woman and her stupid chickens...

  As I parked and got out of the truck, I heard the distant rumble of thunder. Out of the West came a rain scented breeze, warning me of the impending storm.

  I unlocked the door and went inside. I told myself that it was just a quick stop, just long enough to make sure that everything was locked up, and then I could go next door and go to bed.

  The store burst into light when I flipped the switch, seeming so much brighter than it ever did during the day. My footsteps echoed as I walked toward the counter, making the room seemed so much larger than it was in reality.

  I locked the back door and then went to the counter and opened the register. I thumbed through the receipts and placed them under the drawer. It all seemed in order, nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. I grabbed my keys as another rumble of thunder came and shook the very walls.

  A loud bang made me jump and drop everything.

  What the hell was that?

  My heart was pounding as I stood in the center of the room. I waited, listening and trembling, until I heard the sound again.

  This time it was more of a slamming sound. I looked around straining my ears until I heard it again, and looked up where it sounded like it came from to see the upper window had come unlatched.

  Of course...

  I sighed, drop my keys on the counter, and went back into the store room. I was dead tired, tripping over boxes and bumping into barrels as I pulled the ladder out from the back corner.

  Every muscle in my body ached as I dragged it out to the front room and under the window. I climbed up, only to realize that it was too short to reach the latch.

  Why can’t anything ever just be easy?

  I was too tired to go out back into the barn and search in the dark for a taller ladder. Stupidly, I climbed the remaining two rungs and balanced on the very top.

  Stretching up on my toes and wobbling, I reached for the latch and grasped it as the bell on the front door rattled.

  There was no time to think, but yet it all seemed to happen in slow motion. I heard the ladder crash to the floor, I felt my stomach rise up to my throat as I fell, and then I stopped, cradled in a blur of black that smelled of clover.

  There was a low murmur of a voice I did not recognize in my ear, speaking words I did not understand. I wiggled free of the strangers grasp, wobbling on my feet as I tried to stand.

  Looking up, I was staring face-to-face with that younger man from the parade. He was breathtaking to see up close with full lips and overpowering emerald eyes. I swallowed a few times, trying to remember how to even form words.

  “I’m sorry,” I somehow managed to mumble as I backed away.

  He cocked one dark eyebrow and pulled those pouty lips into a smirk.

  “You are apologizing for falling then?”

  His voice was enchanting. There was a beautiful Irish lilt to it, but also something else, something hypnotic and mesmerizing that made it difficult to think clearly.

  “I um... I guess so.” I stammered, almost tripping over myself to get behind the counter and put some distance between us.

  He moved closer, his steps graceful and light as a feather.

  “Are you afraid of me for some reason?”

  “Of course not,” I said with a nervous giggle, hating the sound of my own voice. “But why are you here?”

  “Ah, so it is like that is it?”

  I could feel the heat coming to my face, “No, I just mean, it’s so late in the storm coming in...”

  “Horse and mule feed.”

  “What?”

  He smiled; it was a quick flash of white teeth in his tanned face.

  “I’m here for horse and mule feed,” he repeated. “Preferably with molasses.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You sell feed, do you not?”

  “Of course.”

  He raised his eyebrow again, “Don’t tell me you’re closed.”

  “Yes, but it’s fine.” I said, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “Well, what I mean is that it’s the least I can do.”

  He kept looking at me with those amazing green eyes and amused expression.

  I pointed to the bags stacked in the corner, “Just go ahead and take what you need.”

  “I can’t do that Miss," he said with a shake of his head. “I can’t be taking what I haven’t paid for.”

  I didn’t know how to react to his quick change in mood. It was almost like I had offended him or something, but something about it had me wondering how fast the police could get here.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly and opened up the receipt book. “How many bags do you need?”

  “Just two.”

  “Okay,” I said and went back to writing out his order, anything to give me something to do so that I wouldn’t have to look at him.

  He moved closer, shadowing the counter.

  “My name is Kieran,” he said in his musical voice. “Just in case you were curious.”

  I didn’t look up, I couldn’t, my hands were trembling and I knew my cheeks were flaming. It would only be worse if I looked up.

  Is he actually flirting with me?

  He rested his elbows on the counter, close enough that I could smell the rich clover smell again.

  “And what would your name be?” He asked, almost teasing me.

  “Harmony,” I answered in a shaky voice. “Harmony Jacobson.”

  “Well, don’t we have a pair of unusual names?”

  I didn’t answer him. To save myself the embarrassment, I pretended that writing out his receipt took all of my concentration.

  “I’m just making polite conversation here,” he teased. “You don’t have to be so embarrassed.”

  When I looked up, he was staring at me with those intense green eyes. I couldn’t speak, all that I could do was take his money and hand him his receipt.

  He went over to the corner and picked up the two bags of feed as if they weighed nothing, hoisting both up on one shoulder. Stopping at the door, he looked back and gave me one last dazzling smile.

  “I shall be seeing you, Harmony Jacobson.”

  I remained behind the counter after he left; my heart was beating so fast I was afraid to move from that spot.

  Did that really just happen?

  After what seemed like a long while, my pulse finally stopped thundering in my ears. I was able to let go of the counter edge and walk out to the fallen ladder in the center of the room.

  I dragged it back into the storeroom and leaned it against the wall, knowing that it was not where it originally was, but not really caring. My earlier exhaustion was now completely mind numbing. All that I wanted to do was get to bed.

  I picked up my keys, switched off the lights and stepped outside. As I locked the door, I could hear the music drifting over from across the street. Even though the rest of the town was dark and quiet, the camp at the fairgrounds was alive with lights and activity.

 
; It was like an entirely different world, brought right here to our tiny little town.

  Chapter 4

  That night when I fell asleep, I dreamed about the mysterious strangers that had come to our town.

  In my dream, it was a beautiful spring night. I was sitting out on the front porch, my fingers and toes numb from the chill in the air, but I still wasn’t ready to go inside.

  Sitting next to me, very much alive, was Grandma, rocking back and forth in the old porch swing. Her lips were moving as if she was speaking to me, but it was as though she was muted and I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  Far off, piercing the stillness of the night, came a whining sort of sound that traveled on the breeze. My grandma and I both turned, straining to hear.

  “What is that?” I asked, but my words didn’t make a sound, like the air just swallowed them up.

  When I turned to see if she had heard me, I saw that she wasn’t looking at me. She had risen from the swing and was walking down the steps and off of the porch.

  “Grandma!”

  Again my words died in the air and didn't make a sound. She didn’t even turn to glance back. Where was she going?

  I followed her, pushing through air that suddenly seemed thick as if to hold me back. I felt as though I was swimming, fighting to move at all. It was a struggle to even keep up with her as she moved down the street to the bridge, and down the steep creek bank.

  Where was she going and why couldn’t I move faster?

  I slid down the bank, falling to my knees at the bottom with my hands in the icy water. My grandmother was nowhere to be seen, but the whining sound was clearer to where I could tell now that it was a violin.

  As I moved toward the music, I began to also hear the pulsating beat of a drum. Who was out here playing this strange music?

  Far off, deep in the darkness, was a flickering light and moving towards that light and just up ahead, was my grandmother. She walked along the bank quickly, never pausing to look back.