Cordelia - A Cornish Pixie in Whitinsville

Chapter 1

He who will not be ruled by the rudder

Will be ruled by the rock.

~ Cornish Proverb

A toddler's high, piercing scream drove through Emily's core. The mists of King Arthur's castle, with its knights of honor and plucky maidens, faded away, leaving her sitting at a sturdy wooden table in the Whitinsville Social Library. Beautiful dark wood stretched above and around her, creating an elegant reading room. Golden light streamed in through the bank of windows. Rectangles of light danced across the floor.

The child screamed again.

Emily put her hand to her temples and rubbed, pushing aside her long, blonde hair. It was bad enough that Mrs. Collinsworth, her new seventh grade homeroom teacher, had gotten her last name wrong. Emily had long since given up on anyone getting Treworgy right on the first try. And her mom was working late again, meaning she'd be stuck eating her stepfather's burnt meatloaf and having his sports show blasting full volume throughout their small apartment.

But to have her few precious hours of peace and quiet in the library shattered ...

A woman with a shock of crimson hair, its shade matching her caked-on lipstick, tucked her cell phone on her shoulder while grabbing at the screaming child's arm. The two pushed out through the heavy wooden doors, which fell sturdily shut behind them.

The library eased back into peace.

Emily let out a deep sigh. She glanced down at the book which she'd already read five times before. If only she could find other books which held the same magic for her! It seemed all the other girls in class were either hooked on reality TV shows or were sneaking copies of adult novels from their mothers' rooms which involved sweaty, lust-filled werewolves. Or stepbrothers. Or stepbrother werewolves who were secret billionaires.

She closed her book and her shoulders fell.

She'd had a friend, once. Back in fourth grade Emily had found a soulmate in Carla Ortega who had moved into Whitinsville from New Mexico. They both loved fantasy. Ye Olde times. King Richard's Faire and chivalry.

A year later, Carla's father had gotten reassigned. The family packed up for Miami. Emily had been left behind like a discarded toy.

She tucked her well-worn book into her backpack and stood, stretching. Maybe she'd take one more walk through the stacks and then bike on home. She could always loop around to the Carpenter Reservoir along the way. Now that they'd closed the reservoir to fishermen and boaters the area was far quieter. Just perfect for tucking up against a tree and reading for a while. On sunny days like these it provided a nice alternative to the library – and there was less of a chance of screaming intrusion.

She moved deep into the rows of books, aimlessly wandering the sections. She knew every area of this library backward and forward. Mysteries. Gothic romances. This building was her one safe retreat from life. She'd skimmed most of the travel books ... attempted a number of the craft books ...

Poetry.

Shakespeare, Melville, Dickinson, she'd delved into nearly all of them. But there, she didn't remember that one. The cover was blue and faded and it had that soft musty smell she adored. The cover simply read

Poetic Trifles – Polwhele.

She drew it out with interest. The first page had a date on it of 1820 and listed Cornwall as its printing location.

Curiosity piqued her. Her family was from Cornwall, as her mother had proudly told her on numerous occasions. Her stepfather was Italian and the house was covered with Italian flags, Tuscany tablecloths, and Amalfi shot glasses. But the picture of her mom and her which sat by her mother's bed was edged in the long, pink flowers of Cornish heath. A matching frame and photo sat in Emily's small room.