Every morning during the sky's final hour of darkness, Annabelle Casey would sit alone in the schoolyard. When this began, the townsfolk thought it to be a rather peculiar event. A young woman sitting unattended near the woods at wartime was cause for worry, after all. And the manner in which sat, perched on the lowest limb of an apple tree with her little buckled shoes swinging midair, was worrisome enough to begin with.
Even after they learned her reason for being there, concerns still arose. Annabelle was the eldest of Solomon Casey's three daughters. He had no sons. So, when he enlisted in the Continental Army, he passed his post as schoolteacher to Annabelle. This was a common thing to do at the time. But Annabelle, as you will soon learn, was anything but common.
To begin, she was never afraid to say what was on her mind. A trait that was often stifled in proper schooling and certainly not admired in a teacher. Annabelle had something to say about everything, it seemed. And when she wasn't attempting to tell the old woman next to her in church, in precise detail, exactly which button had flown from her night gown and popped her poor sister in the eye the night before, Annabelle was humming. Or worse, reciting.
Our story begins on a morning just like any other. Annabelle was curled comfortably on her favorite ledge of the old apple tree with her books and various teaching materials below her (resting dangerously close to a puddle of mud, I might add). In one hand, she extended a clear canning jar into the morning air while the other ushered a handful of fireflies past the jar's lip.
"Splendid! Seven fireflies." Annabelle twisted the lid shut, feeling tremendously pleased with herself. "Now to come up with a poem about them before my pupils arrive!" She directed her gaze upwards, past the rustling leaves towards the gradually extinguishing glow of a cluster of faraway stars and, as was her way, waxed poetical.
"Come, listen to my story
Of how seven tiny stars
Abandoned heaven's glory
To live inside a jar"
"No, that's silly." She muttered, draping her long braid of corn silk-colored hair over her left shoulder. Down the road a ways, Annabelle could see the tiny bobbing black hats and lacey bonnets of her approaching students. "Which is why they will love it, of course! Maybe we could even come up with a poem together! Yes, that will be our lesson for today. Dash arithmetic and dash Latin, too!"
As Annabelle collected her (only somewhat) muddy supplies, the jar slipped from her hand and started to roll towards the mossy undergrowth of the nearby wood. She followed it for two or three feet before she stopped, sensing that something or someone was watching her from behind the trees. There, concealed behind a curtain of low-hanging branches stood a British soldier in a handsome red coat. Annabelle did not know his exact ranking, but she could tell simply by his stance and presentation that he was not someone you wanted to cross.
"I must warn the children." She said, thinking aloud.
"That won't be necessary, Ma'am." Said the soldier, standing perfectly still. His eyes were bright as the clear summer sky, even there in the dim light. "Pick up your jar." When Annabelle didn't move, he spoke again with force. "Pick up your jar!" She knelt and followed his command, shaking only slightly. "Now, finish your poem." He demanded.
Annabelle looked on, both terrified and confused by this confrontation. "You want me to finish my poem?"
"Yes, I'd rather like to know how it ends." His eyes dropped to the jar in her hand. "What are those things, anyway?"
Her face softened. He certainly was a charming man, if not a touch snobbish. "They don't have fireflies in your country?" She asked, sliding the blade of her finger over the top of the jar. The footsteps of the approaching children began to grow in volume. "Go into the schoolhouse, children!" She called to them, "I'll be along shortly!"
"The poem…" he urged from his place behind the trees, "the seven stars have gone to live inside the jar…."
Annabelle felt her heart race, she was usually spectacular at composing poems from the top of her head. She looked down and saw that his hand was resting on a long blade that hung from his belt.
"I'm not going to hurt you," the soldier said, reading her thoughts, "just tell me how it ends, it's been a long while since I've encountered a truly literary mind."
Annabelle flushed, surely, he was being sarcastic. His suppression of any visible emotion made it seem that way, but if felt good to have an eager audience- despite who he was and how anxious he made her feel. She held the jar in front of her, twisting it slightly beneath the newborn light of day. The glow in the fireflies' bellies would last only so much longer. She continued her poem from where she'd left off:
"Which to them was a palace
Made entirely of glass
Free from a world of malice
Until it came to pass"
Her eyes gravitated towards his, he smiled with them just a fraction as if to encourage her to continue. She twisted the lid and removed it, allowing the fireflies to fly into the leafy canopy above their heads. Inspired by their liberation, Annabelle concluded her recitation:
"That the ceiling 'bove the seven
Made way for their ascent
To drift back up to heaven
So… homeward the stars went."
"See? It wasn't that difficult, was it?" He asked. Potentially satisfied, but Annabelle couldn't tell.
In the clearing behind him, Annabelle could see a large chestnut horse pushing its mighty nose through a thicket.
She crossed her arms. She'd given him what he wanted and yet, he hadn't moved an inch. "You're Cavalry, aren't you?" Annabelle gestured to the horse with a grin.
"It's better that you don't know. Miss?"
Annabelle shook her head, still feeling terribly anxious about this entire situation. "I really shouldn't be talking to you."
The man turned, making to climb the height of the horse's back and ride away. "No, perhaps not." He glanced down at her and held the reins steady. "You recite beautifully." His bright eyes narrowed as a thought, a whim more than anything was born behind them. "Fireflies, you say?" With that, he drove his spur into the horse's side and rode away into the forest without so much as a glance back in Annabelle's direction.
