The Lark's Pearl

I have never seen Erik so joyful. The love is plain in his eyes whenever he looks at Clara. If pixies could be six feet tall, I might say Clara is a pixie pretending to be human. Her golden hair is short and curly around her ears. She walks with delicate steps. Like she has invisible wings to keep her toes from ever touching the floor.

“Tomorrow is Ariabella’s birthday,” says Erik, smiling with pride. “And she happens to love berry pie.”

Clara beams, “Oh, you will have to let me bake you one!”

“Clara makes the best berry pies,” my brother clarifies.

I smile, “Only if you really want to,” I say as Clara takes my hands in hers.

“I’m an only child,” she says, lowering her voice. “You have to let me spoil you. Though, Erik tells me it would be difficult to do so.”

“Did he?”

“Indeed, such high praise.”

I smile, glancing at my father. He returns the smile as if to say “I told you so.”

Clara is staying the night and I’ve offered my bed to accommodate. She insists on being the one who sleeps on the floor.

“It is not how things are done,” I say, laughing as I return the spare pillow to the bed. “You are a guest.”

“I’m practically family,” she protests, but her smile gives her away. “Really, Ariabella. There is no need to go through the trouble.”

“My mother would have a fit if she checked on us and found you on the floor.”

I pause, waiting for her to ask the question.

“A mother will never stop worrying for the wellbeing of her children,” Clara says with a shrug. “Goodness knows my own mother still worries for me… Let us compromise. We share the bed tonight and in the event I stay again… We have an extra bed at home. Perhaps I could have it brought here?”

I tilt my head, unsure of how to answer. I am not opposed to sharing the bed. The night can become quite chilly. We can keep each other warm.

“Too soon to suggest such familial things?” Clara asks with a wince.

“No,” I reply, “to be genuine, I think it is smart. But wouldn’t it be better to save the bed for when you have a home of your own?”

“There’s a thought I did not have… Do you mean to say you approve of me?”

The sincerity in her blue eyes reminds me of all the worries I had before she arrived. I grin; I worried over nothing.

“Oh, we are going to be as close as real sisters,” I tell her, grabbing the blankets from the floor and piling them on the bed. “I thought you might not like me, to be fair.”

She laughs, “Really, not like you? Erik speaks nothing but highly of your family. I hadn’t met you and I knew I would like you. Though I do admit, I am envious of your hair.”

“I happen to love your hair.”

We share a giggle or many, and then Clara asks if I mind her brushing my hair. I happily accept and turn for better access.

“Have you had any suitors come calling?” she asks, carefully upbraiding my hair ribbon.

“No,” I reply, trying to keep my back straight. “At least, I have not been introduced to any. I do not think my father is quite ready to see me as a grown woman yet.”

“Neither is mine, but imagine if our fathers didn’t think of us at all. Or if we didn’t have a father…”

The room is filled with silence as the thought settles in. I couldn’t imagine being without my father.

“Deep conversation for a first meeting, isn’t it?”

I laugh, glancing over my shoulder. Clara’s smile is bright and reaches her eyes. I have to ask it.

“Do you come from a pixie bloodline?”

The following morning, Clara is already in the kitchen. Laughing with my mother. Covered in flour as she mixes something in a large bowl.

“There she is!” Mother exclaims, hurrying toward me with her arms outstretched. “Happy birthday, my darling girl!”

Her tight embrace feels crushing against my ribs. But I say nothing, laughing in relief as she pulls away.

“Berry pie,” says Clara as I approach the flour-covered counter. “Your brother picked a large basket before the sunrise.”

“You weren’t too uncomfortable, were you?” I ask, grimacing.

“You are a kicker,” she teases, nodding. “No, I slept quite peacefully. At home, my father has three dogs and a cat. Of course, they all insist upon sharing my bed over any other.”

Mother gasps, “Three dogs and a cat? I could never!”

I sigh, “I am quite fond of birds, myself… Mother, I know it is tradition to celebrate our birthdays in the morning, but would it be much trouble if we waited until later? I hoped to go to the stream.”

I look at my mother, her back is to me as she is cleaning something in the wash-pan.

“Ariabella,” she says, turning around, drying her hands on a towel. “I don’t think I want you going today. You spend enough time there already. Today is your birthday. You should spend it with your family.”

I open my mouth to retort, but Clara speaks up.

“Oh, it's her birthday,” she says, fixing me with a look that tells me I should let her speak. “What if I go with her? We can be back in time for lunch.”

Mother sighs, still watching me with disapproving eyes.

“I suppose it would not hurt,” she says, sighing. “If you go together, it will give you a chance to bond and grow closer. I do prefer this over you going alone, Ariabella.”

I nod, “Then we will wait for Clara to put the pie in the oven and we will leave after.”

Clara agrees and returns to the pie crust.

“Is there anything I can help with?” I ask, hoping to change the atmosphere.

“In a moment,” Clara says, motioning to the stove and the large pot over the fire. “Would you mix the berries and sugar?”

I nod and move around to the stove. The warmth touches my skin, chasing away the chill of the night. Yet, why do my bones still feel cold?

“Why does your mother not like you coming to this wonderful place?” Clara asks, removing her shoes and socks. “And you’re not far from the house.”

“It is because of why I come here,” I reply, sighing as I spread the blanket on the warm grass. “This might seem a little silly, but I come here because I befriended a bird.”

I drop onto the blanket, watching for Clara’s reaction.

“I have never seen a lark before,” she says with a smile. “Are they as fleeting as they say?”

“Do you tease me?” I ask, hesitant.

“On the contrary, I believe you. And my question is genuine.”

I tilt my head to the side.

“He comes and stays as he pleases,” I say, nodding. “Quite fleeting, but playful and sweet.”

“Ah, now I see why your mother questions you,” Clara says with a sigh as she joins me on the blanket. “It is because you call this bird he. Has she ever come along?”

“She hardly leaves the house, let alone join me on my fanciful whims… I do not understand why she think I come here for any other reason. I have been honest with her about it from the start…”

I glance away as the memory of yesterday comes back to me.

“Ariabella, what else troubles you?” she asks, lowering her voice.

I sigh, turning back to her. Surprised when I see the concern in her eyes.

“What do you know of Larks?” I ask, tucking my knees to my chest.

“Apart from the commonly known?” Clara hums, pursing her lips as she glances up at the trees. “I believe they are a gift to those they choose to grace their presence with. Why do you ask?”

“I ask because when the Lark comes… he always brings a gift. I continue to question why he brings me anything, but he does. And I do not come here to receive the gift. I come here because the Lark is my friend.”

My happiness bubbles out as I tell Clara how I can talk to the Lark, tell him my silly secrets. She listens with attentive interest. I leave out what kind of gift the Lark brings, and she does not ask. If she ever does, I believe I can trust her to keep the knowledge to herself.

“That is beautiful, Ariabella,” Clara whispers in awe. “If you hope for your mother to understand, perhaps you should tell her all that you have just shared with me. Show her and I am certain her questions will cease.”

She raises her hand, touching my shoulder as her smile softens. I mirror the smile, grateful for her words.

My little friend never comes. I worry he saw Clara and was afraid to approach. It is the first time in a full year that I return home empty-handed.