Hey guys, so this is all based off of a book I just read. BTW nobody has magic in this… kinda :D anyways, I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: none of the FT characters are mine and this story follows a book.
"Im not going," I had told my dad back in June. "She's a mean old lady. She disowned Mom and won't speak to you. She never had anything to do with Jet, Droy, or me. Why should I have anything to do with her?" He gave me a pleading look, "For your mother's sake." Several months later I was on a flight from my home town to Magnolia, still resisting my grandmother's royal command to visit. I took out her invitation, the first message I'd received from her in my life, and reread it – two sentences, sounding as stiff as a textbook exercise.
Dear Levy,
This summer I will see you at the Scarborough House.
I have enclosed a check to cover airfare.
Regards,
Porlyusica Scarborough Redfox
Well, I didn't really expect "love and kisses" from a woman who cut off her only daughter when she had decided to marry someone of a different race. My mother, coming from a deep-rooted Eastern Shore family, has more English blood in her than Prince Charles. My father, also from an old Maagnolia family, is Native American. After trying to have children on their own, they adopted me and my two brothers. It would be naïve to expect warmth from a person who refused to consider adopted kids as her grandchildren.
"Levy? You made it!" the woman said, crumpling up the sign with my name on it, then giving me a big hug. "I'm Mirajane, you're mother's old best friend." She laughed. "I guessed you figured that out." When Mirajane heard I was coming, she'd insisted on meeting me at the airport. That October day we loaded my luggage into the back of her ancient green station wagon, pushing aside bags of old sweaters, skirts, shoes and purses. "I hope you don't mind the smell of mothballs," Mirajane said. "No problem," I replied.
"We can open the windows," she told me, "Of course, the muffler's near gone." I laughed. White hair and soft eyes, she had the same slight accent my mother has. I felt comfortable with her right away. "It's about a two hour drive," she said, "I told Mrs. Redfox I'd have you at the Scarborough House well before dark." I nodded in understand. "I'm getting curious," I told her. "When my Mom left Magnolia, she didn't bring any pictures with her. I've seen a few photos that my uncle Metalicana sent, showing him and Mom playing when they were little, but you can't see the house in them. What is it like?"
"What has your mom told you about it?" Mirajane asked. "Not much. There's a main house with a back wing. It's old." "That's about it," Mirajane said. It was a short answer from a person who had spent a lot of time there as a child and teenager – nearly as short as my mother's answer had been. "Oh, and it's haunted," I added. "People say that," Mirajane replied with a shrug. I looked at her, surprised. I had been joking. "Of course, every old house on the Shore has its ghost stories," she added quickly. "Just keep the lights on if it feels spooky." This trip might be more interesting than I thought.
Mirajane turned on the radio, punching in a country station. We crossed two sets of railroad tracks. I watch the scenery change from outlet stores to fields of corn and soy and low horizon of trees. The sky was half the world on the Eastern Shore. "What's my grandmother like?" I asked at last. For a full minute the only response was the roar of the car engine. "She's, uh, different." Mirajane said. "Different how?" I persisted. "She has her own way of seeing things. She can be fierce at times." "Do people like her?" Mirajane hesitated. "Have you spent much time in a small town?" she asked. "No," I replied shaking my head slightly. "Small-town folks are like a big family living in one house. They can be real friendly and helpful, but they can also say nasty things about each other and squabble a lot." She hadn't answered my question about how others say my grandmother, but I could figure it out. She wasn't the town favorite.
We rumbled over the metal grating of the drawbridge. I hung my head out the window for a moment. "We're on Scarborough Street now," Mirajane said. "The streets off to our right lead down to the commercial docks, where the oyster and crab boats are. The streets to the left border the college. In a few blocks we'll be crossing over High Street, which is the main street for us. Want to drive down it?" "Sure." We passed a school, went a block further, and then took a right onto High. The street had a mix of houses, churches, and small shops, all of the buildings made of brick or wood. "There's my shop, Fairy Tail." Mirajane slowed down and pointed to a storefront with a large, paned window that bowed out over the sidewalk. "Next door is Tea Leaves. Jellal, the owner, makes pastries to die for." We drove past her house and she kept talking about the town.
She paused as if she was thinking, "You know," she started, "You're welcome to stay with me if things get difficult." "Difficult how?" I asked. She shrugged. "I find it isolated out there on the other side of the Wist. And Scarborough House seems awfully big without a family to fill it up." "Is that why my grandmother invited me? She can't get anyone else to come?" I asked tilting my head a bit. "I doubt that's the reason. Mrs. Redfox has never liked company – whoa!" Mirajane exclaimed, hitting the brakes hard, sending shoe boxes tumbling over the seat from the back of the station wagon. A guy in an open-topped Jeep, impatient to get around a car making a turn, had suddenly cut in front of us. The backseat passengers of the red Jeep, two girls and a guy, held on to one another and hooted. The girl in the front seat turned briefly to look at us, laughing and tossing her long hair. The driver didn't acknowledge his near miss.
"Jerk," I said outloud. Mirajane looked amused. "That was your cousin." "My cousin?" I twisted in my seat, to look down the side street where the Jeep had made another sudden turn. "Gajeel Redfox," she replied. "He's been living with your grandmother since his parents' divorce. You didn't know that?" I shook my head. "She bought him the Jeep this past summer. Rumor has it he's getting his own boat. Gajeel's usually carting around jocks or girls." Spoiled and wild, I thought. But things were looking up. No matter what he was like, spending two weeks with a guy my own age was better than being alone with a fierce 76 year old. I'd just fasten my seat belt and go along for the ride. "Does my grandmother drive?" I asked. "Pretty much like Gajeel," Mira replied, laughing.
We crossed the Wist, rumbling over an old bridge, drove about a quarter mile more, then turned right between two brick pillars. The private road that led to my grandmother's started out as paved, but crumbled into gravel and dirt. Tall, conical cedar trees lined both sides. The did not bend gracefully over the drive, as trees do in pictures of southern mansions, but stood upright, like giant green game pieces. At the end of the double row of trees I saw a section of the sloping gray roof and brick chimneys, four of them. "We're coming up behind the house." Mira said. "The driveway loops around to the front. You're seeing the back wing. That picket fence runs along the herb garden by the kitchen."
"The house is huge." "Remember that you are welcomed to stay with me," she said. "Thanks, but I'll be fine." Now that I was here, I was looking forward to the next two weeks. I mean, how much terror could one little old woman be? It's be fun to explore the old house and its land, especially with my cousin my age. 4 hundred acres of fields and woods and waterfront – it seemed unbelievable that I didn't have to share them with other hikers in a state park. A wave of excitement and confidence washed over me. Then Mira circled the house and parked in front.
"Levy," she said, after a moment of silence, "Levy, are you alright?" I nodded. "I'll help you with your luggage." "Thanks." I climbed out of the car slowly, staring up at Grandmother's house. 3 stories of pained windows, brick with a shingled roof, a small covered porch with facing benches. I took my luggage from Mira, feeling a little shaky. I walked up the steps and the door opened.
AND THAT'S THE END! Of chapter one of course! So I hope you like the story so far! HAVE A NICE DAY PEOPLES AND PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!
