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Diana of the Dunesby Summer Fey FoovayThis story was inspired by a real life mystery/legend/story as reported in Haunted Heartland by Beth Scott and Michael Norman However, any resemblance to actual people, places or events is unintentional. This is a work of fiction. Copyright 2007 Summer Fey Foovay Alice was not like other girls. She was a wild, fey little thing, even as a small child, and the bane of her parents. Born to a well off and dignified family, she seemed a sport, a throwback to some strange ancestor no one would acknowledge. There is a streak of fairy that runs through certain human families. Some of them accept it, embrace it, and wear it with pride. Others deny it, turn their backs on it, and when a child like Alice is born do everything in their power to stomp that wildness out and force the child into a conventional role. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Her father was a hard, cold, and very conventional man. He would never believe that the “hunches” that made him such a savvy and successful man of business might be from that fey streak in him, that bit of magic that could foresee the future or nudge him in the right direction when a decision was to be made. Maybe that secret knowledge of himself, that very tiny self-doubt, is what made him try so hard to eradicate it in his daughter, Alice. Her mother was simply shocked. From one of the best New England families, properly and primly raised, married to a “good catch” and dedicated to a life of proper parties, charity work, and fine needlepoint, her little brown child quite caught her off guard. She had no idea how to control her, or what to do with this little wild thing. In desperation, she fobbed Alice off on a succession of nursemaids and governesses, and as soon as it was possibly appropriate, to various finishing and boarding schools. Alice grew where she was planted. She found love in the servants, who admired her spirit and spoiled her when they were quite sure no one was watching. Nursemaids told her stories of fairies and giants and knights that she adored. The grooms in her father’s stables showed her bird nests in the rafters of the barns and newborn foals by their dams in cool misty mornings. No living thing had any fear of Alice. Birds would allow her almost near enough to touch before fluttering away. Butterflies would land on her shoulder for a visit. She spoke to all things as if they understood her, and indeed, they seemed to do so. Many a time the old head groom laughed as she had a “conversation” with an old gelding or mare. She would turn to him and report, all seriousness, “He really likes you, but that new young man you hired hits him when you aren’t watching.” And later, the old head groom would find out it was true. It was things like that which caused Alice to get a reputation for being “spooky” and many who did not know her well were quite turned off by it. It wasn’t quite proper anyway. But Alice kept her open heart, treating everyone as her trusted friend, no matter how they treated her. She danced through life with a smile on her lips and a song in her heart that no one could quell. Although both her parents were tall, she remained petite and slender. Even after she matured, she was boyish looking – which certainly did not attract the “right sort” of man who was looking for the currently trendy hourglass figure. The slightest touch of sun turned her nut brown, and that, too, was considered unattractive in those days. A “real lady” should be as white as fine porcelain, it was said – a sign she spent her days inside while her servants attended to any work that had to be done. Alice couldn’t have cared less about any of this. She sailed through life as a dove sails on the breeze, landing here and there and cooing a gentle song of love. When she graduated from the penultimate finishing school, she was in France. And there she stayed, a generous stipend from her parents to support her. It was both acknowledgment that however odd she was, she was their own and they loved her in a distant sort of way, but also a payment to please, please stay away. They had other children, of more proper sort, and it wouldn’t do to have the wayward sister there to spoil their prospects. They put it about that she was in Paris, studying art, which was marginally acceptable and not exactly untrue. Alice’s bright spirit drew her to those artistic sorts of people. They worshipped at her sun; lapping up the joy she cast around her as chickens snatch up the grain their keeper tosses to the ground. Elusive as she was happy, Alice seemed to simply have no interest in romance, or at least none in a lasting relationship. Her love was available to all and exclusive to none. For every night she spent in smoky coffee houses listening to poetry or some actor’s latest woes she spent days in the sunshine, walking the countryside and making friends with the sheep and Shepard’s, country folk and tradesmen. Everyone was her friend. And if they thought her a little odd, at least they wished her no harm. In this aimless way, Alice passed into middle age with never a thought or worry that she wasn’t married with children about her feet. Oh, she loved children. Other people’s children were drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. What games they played! The children adored her. It seemed her gift, however, would be to pass through life shedding joy on all she knew without ever feeling the need or desire to “settle down” any more than a butterfly feels she must “settle down” on a particular flower forever. It was bound to happen. Some deliciously handsome Romeo of the stage met our fey Alice and was charmed by her grace and exotic beauty. He asked after her among his friends and learned that she was odd, but joyful and beloved of many, though she had never settled on a one. Sadly, I have to tell you, he also learned of the generous stipend. The stage had not been as kind to our Romeo as he thought it ought to be. He was always striving, always grasping, always sure that if only he had this or that or these lessons or the right voice coach, or just the proper attire, that the casting directors and multitudes of theatre goers would fall at his feet. He thought, perhaps if he had a rich patron – or patroness – who would pay for all of his needs success would finally be his. And even if not – well, a rich wife would do him just fine. There was the challenge, too. Though she had shared her favors with this beau or that, before and again, never had she settled on one. Perhaps only because no one man had ever thought he could tame her, or that it might be worth the effort if he did. She was, after all, a bit odd. Who knew what sort of wife she would make? A rich one, our Romeo thought. And so he set his cap for her. She led him a merry dance, all unaware, our Alice, that someone was actually in serious pursuit. He persisted. She granted him favor, drank at his fountain for a day, flitted away. He pursued. “Oh ho! A game!” thought our Alice. She ran, she flirted, she stopped and let him get close, then dashed to the arms of another, just to toss her heels at him and move on again. The more she resisted, the more he desired and soon he nearly forgot he was only after her for her – no, that wasn’t it – he loved her. He was sure. This elfin creature had captured his heart by the simple act of refusing it. At last, tired and curious, Alice stopped and let him catch her. Oh, he was proud of himself then, cock of the walk, the winner at the game, and he gloated and preened and amused, as she watched and laughed. The more she laughed, the more he pranced and so somehow it came that he was living in her house and taking up all her days and nights with his antics. First he wanted this or that and Alice saw no reason not to indulge him. Money was of no matter to her, when she had it she shared and if she didn’t, well, she waited for more. But the more she bought for him, the more she spent, the more he seemed to want. She’d forgotten quite how it came about that now she should have him to provide for. Like a baby bird, he sat in her nest, mouth gaping wide in plaint and she couldn’t bear not to feed him. More, more, more he claimed, he begged, he wheedled and if there was no more he pouted and shouted and turned his back against her with harmful words. She was sucked into his whirlpool of want without ever quite knowing how it happened. The stipend was not endless. When at last Alice called her parents and requested more they asked her why. The whole sordid tale (to them) poured from her as she begged their understanding. They understood all right. The parents cut off the funds until such time as Alice should “come to her senses” – that is, inform them that Romeo was gone. Alice was lost and torn and confused in a way that had never happened before. Her parents remained adamant. Romeo ranted and raved and threw things and stomped and even raised his hand to our little fey – leaving a red imprint of his hand stamped on her cheek and carved much deeper into her soft heart. Oh, that I can only take a few words to tell you what took so long to happen. And longer, it seemed, at the time – as only torment can make time stretch and twist until it seems it must have stopped, or you wish it would stop so that the pain and anger and ugly words would stop as well. When he finally saw that no amount of ire or begging would squeeze from Alice money her parents would not send, Romeo went away. He simply slipped away one night as she lay sleeping, exhausted from their fighting. She had not been in the sun and wind, or even to a smoky café in weeks. Weak from emotional storm, and fading from lack of the joy and freedom she needed to survive (for that is more necessary to fey than even food or water), Alice woke to an echoing emptiness. Alone. She had not the heart or energy to dash about desperately seeking him. No. She waited a few days and then stepped out into the sun. Wandering aimlessly she found herself visiting the sheep and Shepard’s, the country folk and the tradesmen. All commented on how wan, how quiet, how sad she had become. Their own hearts were a little sadder to see it. They fed her what she would take, which was very little, and saw to it that she was under a roof with one of them as every night fell. She would rise early and wander away again. None knew her full name, or how to contact her people. She was lost and alone and more fey than ever. So it came that in her wanderings she began to see the fairies of the old country. They, too, nursed her and cared for her and protected her as best they could. Fairy can always sense when someone is one of them, however small that bit may be. The least drop of fairy blood carries a scent they cannot miss and one such as Alice, well – we always knew, didn’t’ we? At last a kindly farmer asked Alice what she wanted, and she whispered she only wanted to go home. What she meant and what he thought she meant, may not have been the same, but he did his best to comply. He bought her a ticket, he put her on a boat and in due time, Alice came to her family home. Her mother was shocked, her father nonplussed when this ghost of their girl drifted through their door. She was put to bed, locked in her room, the doctor was called and came to stab her with needles and pour noxious potions down her throat. The house was thrown into a quiet uproar, hidden from the neighbors, of course. The servants, perhaps, were the ones who were most distressed for Alice herself – not just for the problems her presence might create. So, when Alice begged her old maid to set her free – well, that’s just what the old girl did. Hoping she did no wrong. Alice rose early and drifted away like the mist. She walked and walked and came to the edge of a large lake. Around she followed it as it curved and swooped and lapped at sandy shores in the way that lakes do. When it became dark, she curled up at the foot of a great old tree and slept in safety, watched over by the little people of the woods who wondered at seeing her there. In the morning, Alice woke with the sun shining on her face. She felt old, and worn, and filthy. Casting her dress aside, she walked into the lake. The water nixies surrounded her, they tickled as they scrubbed her clean of misery and Alice laughed. Alice laughed. She had forgotten what laughter felt like, how it sounded, what fun it all was. Suddenly, she was swimming, diving, cavorting in the water, as the nixies played around her, splashing and flashing in the sun. The sun! It was as if she had forgotten the sun! She swam and waded to the sandy dunes and ran and ran and ran as the sun poured his golden rays down upon her naked body, his honeyed goodness soaking through her brown skin. Dry and warm, Alice walked into the woods and met the little folk there. They showed her where to find nuts and berries and she feasted, as she had not in months. She walked on in the dunes and woods and beside the lake, sleeping, swimming, and feasting for days unending. She found a little fishing shack, more falling down than up and with her own hands and the help of the little folk, she repaired it. Alice built her a little bed of driftwood and dune grass and slept in perfect comfort. She lived in happy nakedness until the day a fisherman saw her running on the dunes and shouted out to her. At first she shouted and waved back – but then she saw his lust filled face as he quickly brought his boat to the shore and ran and hid in fear. After that, she searched for her old dress and fashioned a few things to cover herself. Walking a long ways to a town, she sold berries and nuts from the woods for a little money and bought loose pants and shirts that were comfortable to her, and some big boots for when she had to walk on the hard road to town. Alice bought a few books, too. Fairy tales. One man told another and another and people came to ask Alice who she was and why she was there and how she lived all alone on the dunes. She was polite but she never forgot that people don’t understand the fey. She was careful what she told them and most of all told them to please leave her alone. At last, people grew tired of “Diana of the Dunes” story and the men realized that her nakedness was no invitation as they might wish and maybe…just maybe they decided she was a little odd and scary, too. Her story became “legend” and no one really believed it anymore. And Alice swam, and ran, and walked in the woods naked, and feasted and read fairy tales to the little folk who found them quite hilarious. When the time came, they took her away to their land where time is different and she was never seen running on the dunes or walking to town for a book and oddly enough, no one ever looked for her either. She simply drifted away like the morning mist…
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