“Grandpa! You promised us a story.”

Patrick McGillicuddy grinned wryly at his twelve-year-old grandson, Michael. Putting an empty tankard down on the table, he said, “That I did, but have you come prepared to listen?”

It warmed Patrick’s old heart to see the boy nodding, even if it was only once. Patrick turned to his nine-year-old granddaughter Mary and raised an eyebrow. “And have you got time for your grandpa’s tales?”

“Yes,” Mary gleefully sat in a chair, her eyes shining in her excitement. “Grandmum Sheila told us you had seen the fairies long ago. Can you tell us that one?”

“Sheila told you about the fairies, eh?” Patrick chuckled. “I suppose I can tell you about that. Though I have a question for you two. Do you believe in the good folk?”

Mary nodded but Michael only shrugged, and Patrick wondered briefly if his grandson would have reacted differently if the story were about trains or wars. The old man raised a kind eyebrow. “You doubt, Michael?”

The boy shrugged again as he slumped into another chair. “Well, I haven’t seen them.”

Turning to the small table beside him, Patrick filled his tankard with his famous home-brewed moonshine. Taking a sip, he relished in the taste. It was almost the same as his father used to brew but somehow a touch better than his old man’s. Throughout his long life he had never tasted anything quite like his own recipe for moonshine.

Patrick sat once more in his large armchair and ran a thumb over the worn cap of his cane. “You might see the good folk if you walked through the crossroads on the full moon.”

Leaping up from her chair, Mary ran to the small window. “Really? It’s the full moon tonight! Can we go?”

Laughing, Patrick placed his tankard back on the table. “Sheila would box our ears if we did something so foolish. But I can do something better.”

“What’s that?” Mary asked, turning away from the window.

The old man lowered his voice into a theatrical whisper. “I can tell you about the time I talked with the queen of fairies.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Fairies are only stories you old folk come up with to keep us from having fun outside.”

“And if I told you that I saw them with my own eyes?” Patrick asked, taking another swig.

Michael hesitated. “You swear?”

Nodding solemnly, he replied, “By the saints above us, I swear I saw the good folk.”

“Oh enough of this,” Mary said, walking back to her chair and settled into it. “Tell us the story!”

Thumping his cane lightly against the floor, Patrick launched into his tale.

“When I was a young man, nearing the end of my apprenticeship years, my mum, that would be your great grandma, bid me go to my friend Ryan’s house.”

“Was Ryan a fairy?” Mary whispered.

Patrick grinned. “Far from it. A more solid lad you’ve never met. He didn’t believe in the fairies either. Rather like Michael here.”

His grandson looked ready to protest this notion but Patrick tapped his cane on the floor again. Seeing his grandson start down the path of discarding the world of wonder and beauty for the more mechanized world of logic and purpose broke Patrick’s heart. Holding his grandson’s eyes in his gaze, his inner resolve settled. “All I ask is that you listen.”

After a moment of consideration, Michael gave a slow nod.

Smiling, Patrick continued. “My mum had entrusted me with the task of giving a fresh cheese to Ryan’s mum. That would be Mrs. Callahan, it would. As Mum handed me the bundle, she reminded me that while the road was fair in the day, it was perilous after dusk. But I barely heard her warning for in my youthful enthusiasm, I estimated that I could get to Mrs. Callahan’s and return well before the shades of dusk fell.”

“But did you?” Mary asked.

“I’m getting there, young Mary. I started off bright and early. My mother had given me my old father’s hawthorn walking stick. Even though he had passed on, God bless him, we thought a little bit of his protective spirit resided in that old hawthorn stick.”

Michael snorted. “Really?”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Yes, we did. Whenever my mum or I had that stick, no harm befell us. Even if we fell from a cliff or slipped near a bog, we came to no harm.”

“Do you still have it?” Mary whispered in awe.

Patrick grinned. “Of course I do.”

“Can you show us?” she asked.

“It’s right there,” he pointed to a rather worn but trusty-looking walking stick leaning against the corner of the house. Mary’s eyes widened and even Michael looked at it curiously.

“Now, if you keep interrupting me, I’ll never finish. So hush with your questions until I’m done, eh?” Patrick grinned to lessen the sting of his words.

Mary settled in her chair again and Michael’s eyes wandered to the window. Patrick sighed a little as he watched his grandson.

“So, there I was,” he continued, “walking on the road to Ryan’s house with my trusty walking stick in one hand and the fresh cheese in my satchel. The journey there caused no alarm, though I must say the back of my neck prickled as I passed the old oak trees at the crossroads. You know the ones. That crossroad appeared so peaceful but I didn’t trust it, so I clutched my walking stick and hurried through. It felt as though eyes watched me and I fairly flew the rest of the way.”

“So you didn’t see the fairies then?” Mary asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.

“No, I didn’t,” Patrick replied. He lowered his voice and added, “But I will tell you that I felt mighty queer having those ghostly eyes staring at me. I made it to Ryan’s house and it was a merry meeting. I gave Mrs. Callahan the cheese and while Ryan and I tusseled playfully as we did when we were younger, Mrs. Callahan made a plate of some bread and cheese for a small meal.”

Patrick leaned in closer to Mary and Michael and said in a lower voice, “But when I prepared to leave, Mrs. Callahan looked out the window, and what do you think she chanced to see?”

Mary bounced a little. “The sunset!”

“Exactly. As I put on my coat and grabbed my trusty stick, she pulled me aside. ‘Patrick,’ said she, ‘I don’t like the idea of you going out after dark like this. The perils of the crossroads are dangerous tonight for us mortal folk.’

“‘You mean the fairies are there?’ I asked her.

“‘Tis the full moon. They hold their court there and it isn’t wise for mortals to be caught in their mischief.’

“I stood up straight. ‘I have my walking stick. Pperhaps I can walk around the crossroads and not use the road.’

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“Ryan’s mum shook her head. ‘That is even more dangerous, for the will-o-the-wisps are likely to bring you to your doom. You must stick to the path and run through that crossroads like the hounds of hell are at your heels. Don’t stop until you are far away from that crossroad.’”

Mary interrupted. “But why is it so dangerous?”

Patrick smiled wryly. “It is dangerous to disturb the fairies at their sport, for they don’t like being interrupted. They have the power to change me into anything they want, or to take my cows, or my mum, or make my life miserable in a hundred different ways. I know you wish to see the fairies, Mary. But listen to more of my tale.”

Mary settled once more, listening intently.

“I now had my mum’s warning of walking after dusk, and also Ryan’s mum’s warning about the crossroads. Clutching my father’s walking stick tightly, I hoped his spirit was indeed with me as I walked the path towards the crossroads.

“As dusk fell around me and shadows began to linger, my nerves tightened. I’d walked this path a hundred times in the day, but there’s something about the darkness that gives a familiar landscape new terrors.”

Michael scoffed. “You were scared?” Patrick shifted in his chair. “I was. Only a fool wouldn’t be. As the night creatures started making their noises, I crested the hill and the full moon’s light illuminated the crossroads before me. I watched them for a good while, making note if anything crossed them. I saw two hares dash across, but that was it. Glancing off to the surrounding countryside, I saw the little will-o-the-wisps. I knew not to follow those for they led to the bogs. There wasn’t anything else for it; I had to run through the crossroads. Both Mum’s words and Mrs. Callahan’s words stayed close in my mind as I cautiously stepped towards the place where the two roads crossed. The full moon reigned in the sky as I inched closer. Every sense clamored that I was being watched. My heart began to race and I clutched my walking stick tight as I prepared to run.

“But before I could take a step, a woman’s deep voice rang out through the clearing.

“‘Who dares enter my domain?’”

Mary gasped. “The fairies!”

“Who’s telling the story, eh?”

Patrick tapped the cane against the floor. Mary grinned and settled in to listen some more.

“The fairy that spoke was not just any fairy. As I started to run, I tripped spectacularly and landed at the feet of the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld. I can still remember her red dress, her long, raven-black hair, and her piercing silver eyes. I felt trapped as those eyes examined me from head to toe, her lips tightening into a straight line. I scrambled to my feet and held my trusty stick in front of me, hoping against hope that my father’s spirit could protect me from this strange woman.”

“Was she the queen of fairies?” Mary asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Well, he did say he would tell us the story of meeting the queen of fairies.”

“It could have been one of her ladies in waiting,” Mary shot back.

“It was indeed the queen of fairies. Now hush your noise,” Patrick interrupted. “But there was another fairy with her, a cheerful fellow, though he did rather delight in making sport of me.”

“Who was that?” Mary asked.

Patrick hesitated, wanting to reprimand Mary for interrupting once more, but then his eyes settled on Michael. Maybe, just maybe, he could bring back the childlike wonder to his grandson’s eyes. Michael had always loved stories involving one particular character when he was younger. Patrick whispered the name, as if a magic spell. “Robin Goodfellow.”

“Robin was there?” Michael gasped. The boy straightened in his chair, eyes widening.

Seeing his grandson suddenly gain interest in the story gladdened Patrick’s old heart. “Aye, that he was. He was the one that tripped me and laughed as I tried to regain my composure. I didn’t like being laughed at, so I bristled a little as the queen and Robin conversed.”

“First the queen asked how any mortal could be so foolish as to cross her, and Robin replied, ‘Ah, but this young man appears to have been wanting only to pass through before I tripped him up.’

“Before I could say anything in my defense, my trusty stick began to feel a bit warmer in my hands and I had a small voice in my head tell me to stay silent. I stared at the stick in wonder. I felt as if my father stood with me as dozens more fairies stood at each of the paths leading from the crossroads. I tried to keep my wits, but with being surrounded by the good folk, listening to the taunts of Robin Goodfellow and trembling at the feet of their queen, I didn’t know if I would survive that night! The full moon indeed found me at a perilous place. Now, if you ever find yourself in a similar predicament, always remember this: speak as few words as possible. The good folk will take whatever you say and twist it.”

Both children nodded. Patrick smiled to see that Michael began to listen more thoughtfully. “So, I don’t remember all the words that the fairies said, but I do remember Robin saying, ‘And the foolish mortals always wish for things that lead to their ruin.’

“‘A wish, a wish!’ the other fairies began chanting, and the queen’s eyes sparkled as she turned towards me. ‘Young mortal, do you wish something from us?’ They chanted and sang, and suggested the most outlandish wishes for me to choose from. They offered me the moon, the stars, riches beyond understanding and more. They began to dance around me, and while I do like a good dance, this was the most wild dervish I had ever seen. Their howls and laughter mocked me from all sides as they whirled around me.

“I clutched the walking stick and thought of my father. My old man had always been a sturdy presence in the home. When he was alive, we always had plenty of visitors coming over for my father’s moonshine and good stories. Ever since he died, Mum and I could never find the recipe and so the visitors had come less and less. I could tell Mum was getting quite lonely, and I even missed those days. The stick warmed in my hands once more and suddenly I felt a warm hand on my right shoulder. Hesitating, I reached for that warmth with my left hand. Once my hand touched the ghostly one, my father’s words spilled out of my mouth.

“‘I want the best recipe for moonshine!’”

Michael’s eyes bugged. “Your famous moonshine!”

Patrick nodded. “Aye, the very same. As I stated my wish for moonshine, the fairies stopped their frantic whirl and froze. A hundred pairs of eyes stared at me, though the most intense belonged to the silver eyes of the queen. After some silence, Robin Goodfellow started laughing and I turned bright red.”

“The queen looked rather strange as she said, ‘You wish for the best recipe for moonshine?’

“I had regained control of my tongue, at least and answered her aye.

“‘Very well, mortal,’ the queen replied. ‘You shall receive the best recipe for moonshine. But be warned, you shall never profit a penny from it.’”

“What?” Michael cried out.

Patrick shrugged. “Every wish has a cost. This was mine. That I could make the best moonshine, but I have never tried selling it. I am sure the fairies would laugh if I tried.” He glanced at the tankard he drank from and took another swig.

“Once the cost had been named, the fairies laughed and danced once more, and I took a cautious step. When no one stopped me, I bravely trotted along the path and, once reassured that none of the good folk would chase me, I began running. The laughter and their singing lingered in my ears as I ran the rest of the way home. My mum looked caught between reprimanding me for staying out so late and gratitude that I made it home safe. I meekly took the cuff to the ears and we both reverently put the walking stick in the corner. Without it, I’m sure that I would have fared much worse at the hands of the fairy queen.”

Mary and Michael turned to look at the walking stick in wonder. As they stared, Patrick’s wife, Sheila, walked in.

“Telling your stories again, Patrick?”

“Aye, macushla,” Patrick said. “Though this one has come to its close.”

Mary turned to her grandmum. “And it was the most marvelous story!”

“I am glad you liked it, young Mary,” Patrick said. He stood and filled another tankard with the moonshine. Placing it on the windowsill, he said, “I leave this as an offering to them, and in proper thanks for letting me get home that night.”

“Can we offer something?” Mary asked.

“Of course,” Patrick said. “They particularly like some oatmeal with fresh butter.”

Sheila shook her head. “There is no oatmeal, but I do have some cheese. Come, Mary.” She helped Mary find some and arrange it on the windowsill to Mary’s liking.

As Sheila and Mary fussed with the arrangement, Patrick turned to his grandson. “Do you believe me?” he asked softly.

Michael bit his lip, not looking at his grandpa in the eye. “Did that really happen?”

The old man sat so he could look in Michael’s face. “Cross my heart and hope to die. All I said truly happened.”

A tiny bit of hope returned to the boy’s eyes. “And you saw Robin Goodfellow?”

Patrick nodded.

Michael hesitated, then said softly, “Could I offer something to the fairies too?”

Feeling his heart swelling with pride, Patrick grinned. “Of course you can.” He then helped his grandson pour some honey into a small saucer and place it on the window.

Sheila smiled. “Come along, Mary and Michael. It’s time for bed.”

The two children thanked Patrick for the story and chatted excitedly as they scampered off. Sheila quickly tidied the small room.

“Patrick, do you think it is a good idea to be telling these stories?”

Patrick grinned. “It’s time for them to be learning their family history.”

Sheila chuckled. “I suppose if they find themselves in a similar predicament, they’ll wish for something similar.”

As Sheila banked the hearth, and Patrick snuffed a candle, the old man chuckled. “Well, I know if I ever am stuck in a similar position, I’ll be wishing about potatoes.”

Patrick and Sheila chuckled as they left the room.

The full moon shone upon the windowsill, reflecting off the plate of cheese from Sheila, tankard of moonshine from Patrick, and saucer of honey from Michael. As a cloud crossed the moon, Robin Goodfellow arrived. Looking about, he chuckled, and grabbed the cheese off the plate. He greedily snatched the honey, then beheld the tankard with a grin. Swigging down the moonshine, he laughed merrily and stole away into the night.

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