By the look of things, an outside viewer would never have guessed that it was nearly bedtime at the Turner home. Every lamp was lit and music blared from the phonograph player. The supper dishes sat piled in the sink, greasy newspapers from the chip shop covered the table, and a basket of laundry sat in the hallway. Perhaps most extraordinary of all was the winding row of dominos that snaked through the entire sitting room.

While this same observer might not recognize the evening routine, they could be certain of one thing: Mrs. Turner was not at home.

“Please, Daddy, please let me put the last one down,” cajoled the junior member of the construction crew. “I’ve been so patient. Please?”

Patrick Turner lay on the floor, his legs at awkward angles so as to not disturb the tiled masterpiece. His chin was pressed to the floor, and one eye was squinted shut. “I’ll tell you what, sweetheart. Let me set the last one, and when we’ve both moved you can start the show. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Patrick finished placing the tile and gingerly rose to his feet with a groan. “I might pay for that tomorrow,” he muttered. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the serpentine that had taken over the room. With a satisfied smile, he clapped his hands together enthusiastically and announced, “Ready, Angela?”

“Ready, Dad!”Angela deftly tiptoed over to her father. She held out her hand.

“Good luck, Dad,” she smiled.

“Good luck, Angela,” and they dramatically shook hands.

“Drum roll, please, Dad.”

And with the roll of an imaginary snare drum, she sent the first tile down.

All sounds in the house muted but for the click of tiles hitting each other as the line collapsed in slow-motion. The two engineers held their breath, silent prayers going up that the line would collapse uninterrupted.

A mere ten seconds later, every tile was down, and Angela and her father could breathe once more.

“We did it!” the excited six year old cried. “It worked! Just like when Timmy did it! Every tile!”

Patrick grinned, shaking his head. “Every tile! Angela Turner, you may be a domino genius! Wait until we tell Mummy!”

“Oh, poor Mummy. She didn’t get to see. Should we set them up for when she gets home from her class tonight?”

Patrick squinted his eyes as he shook his head with certainty. “No, not tonight, sweetie. In fact, we’d better get these cleaned up right now. It’s nearly bedtime.” Patrick knelt to begin the clean-up. Angela watched, her mouth screwed up in disinterest. “Come on, you,” her father ordered. “You promised, and I’ve got a lot to do before Mummy gets home and sees this disaster. So if you want to read a story tonight…”

Angela sighed heavily, but she knew he was right. If Mummy were to come home to this mess, she might start bringing her to class to be used as a model. “Alright. But its always more fun to make the mess than clean up.”

Half an hour later, the dominos were put away, chip wrappers cleaned up and dishes were washed.

“Not quite up to Mummy’s standards, but it’ll do,” Patrick said. “Now go get ready for bed while I finish up. And pick out a short story tonight. It’s late.”

“Daddy,” Angela pleaded. Her eyes were round as she looked up at her beloved playmate.

Out of necessity Patrick had built up some defenses against his daughter’s wiles. “Don’t even try the big eyes and pout with me, Miss. Short story or no story. Now, get!”

When Patrick came to the doorway of her room, Angela was still in front of her bookshelf, an intent expression that called to mind his wife.“I can’t decide. We’ve read all the storybooks.”

Pushing off from the doorjamb, Patrick asked, “How about we read another chapter from “The Wind in the Willows?” He picked up the tattered copy. Tim had loved that one as a young boy.

“No, not in the mood.” She twisted her hips, making her pink nightie swing.

“So what are you in the mood for, then?”

Angela’s eyes lit up. “You tell me a story, Daddy. Tell me the misty road story.” She climbed up on her bed and slipped under the yellow butterfly quilt.

Patrick’s brows drew together in confusion. “The misty road story? How do you know that story?”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Mummy tells me that story all the time. It’s my favorite.” This time, her big eyes did their magic. “Please, Daddy, tell me the misty road story. You remember it, I know you do.”

Patrick rubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Yes, I remember it.” His face softened as the images of that long ago day came to mind.

“See, Daddy, you know it. Just tell me the parts you remember. I’ll fill in everything you forget.”

A laugh burst from his chest. “Oh, you will, will you? Alright, then, scoot over. Make room.”

He sat his length along the bed and Angela snuggled her way under his arm, her head resting against his chest. “I’m ready.”

“Well, then, where does Mummy begin?”

“Mummy begins with Mummy’s story. About how she got sick and decided to change her life so she could be happy. You know, Daddy. I’m sure she’s told you. But you should tell me your story”

Patrick kissed her hair. “Yes, she’s told me. So I just tell you my story?”

“Yes. And don’t forget the part where Timmy was hanging out the car window.” Angela was not going to let any detail slip.

“Noted.” He paused, thinking of where to start. “Alright. Tim and I were in the car, driving to bring Mummy home from the-”

Angela sat up and looked her father in the eye. “Daddy, you have to start at the beginning. That’s nearly the end.”

Patrick’s eyebrows came down in confusion. “I’m not sure how to do this, sweetheart.”

“Daddy, it’s easy. Just think for minute. I can wait.”

Patrick considered. He’d never really told this story to another person. In the beginning, when he had to share the change in his life to family and friends, he kept to the basic facts. The details of the story were too precious to broadcast to the world. But this wasn’t the world he would share his tale with, this was his daughter, who apparently already knew more than he thought.

He glanced around the room, hoping to either find inspiration, or to delay long enough for Angela to fall asleep. Truth to tell, he was a little uncomfortable sharing these emotions aloud. His eyes fell upon the stack of Angela’s favorite fairy tales, and he smiled as an idea started to form in his head. He wondered if Angela would let him get away with this.

“Once upon a time-” he began.

“In a kingdom called Poplar,” Angela chimed in.

“Angel Girl, who is supposed to be telling this story?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Angela replied, stifling a yawn.

“Well then,” Patrick continued,

Once upon a time, in a land called Poplar, there lived a man and his son. The man was a special guard for the kingdom. It was his job to protect the people from enchantments.

“Oh, evil enchantments!”

“No, not evil enchantments,” Patrick contradicted. “Just…sad.”

He would cross the kingdom each day, giving out potions that would help to bring gladness to the land.

This was a very difficult job, but the King’s Guard was fortunate that there were others to help. In a hidden corner of the kingdom, there lived a family of Fairies. These Fairies were kind and good and beautiful, and they would fly from home to home offering peace and compassion to all those who needed it.

“Did they have wings?” Angela asked.

“Yes. Pretty wings, like a butterfly. They wore blue dresses and had wings of pink and gold.”

“I think I know who the fairies are. Daddy.”

“Well, don’t spoil it for me. May I continue, Miss?

The Guard was very grateful for their help, because each day, the sadness seemed to spread through the kingdom. Each day he saw sickness and pain and wondered if the enchantments would one day take over the entire land. Each day the Guard grew sadder and sadder.

Little did the Guard know, but a sad enchantment was taking hold of him. First, he lost the ability to laugh, and soon he could not smile. The kingdom became darker and greyer. One day, the Guard noticed something strange. Instead of his ordinary robes, he was wearing a suit of armour.

He tried to remove the armour, it would not release. The enchantment was complete.

For a long time, the Guard continued his duties, and felt grateful for the armour. No longer did the sadness of the land touch him. He was safe from the gloom.

But the Guard had a son, a young boy who loved to laugh and play. The boy watched his father lock himself away in his suit of armour, and the boy grew sad, too.

The Fairies saw this, and they worried. The Guard would disappear behind the armour one day they feared, and the gloom would rule the land. The fairies conferred about their fears, but could not solve the problem.

There was one fairy that watched most closely. The smallest of the Fairies, she was gentle and lovely and kindest of them all. She watched the Guard and set out to help.

The littlest Fairy began to follow the Guard on his visits. Together, they worked to ease the suffering they saw. Over time, they grew to be friends.

The Guard began to notice how very heavy his armour was. It grew more and more difficult to lift his arms to hold his son, or to help an old woman or do a kindness. Worst of all, the Guard realized that while the armour could keep the sadness from the world out, it was no protection from the pain in his own heart.

The Guard had grown to love the Littlest Fairy, and knew the armour would keep her away from him. Time passed, and the Guard continued to help the kingdom, and was grateful just to be near the Littlest Fairy.  Then one day, when he was busy helping another, an enchantment took the littlest Fairy away.

“Oh, Daddy, this is sad.”

“Yes, it is sad. But let’s wait for the ending to see.”

The Guard was beside himself with worry. As he travelled about the kingdom, he called for her, but had no response. If the littlest Fairy wanted him to save her, she would answer. His armour grew heavier He went home to find his son waiting for him.

“Father,” the boy called. “I’ve heard the littlest Fairy calling. I know where she is.”

“My boy, the Fairy does not want us to find her. I have frightened her with my suit of armour.”

But the boy was determined. “Father, you must listen again.”

The Guard closed his eyes and listened with all his heart. He stopped listening to the creaks and groans of the armour, to the sounds of others seeking his aid. He listened only for the littlest Fairy.

Slowly, he could hear the littlest Fairy calling his name, and his armour was pierced.

The Guard and his boy climbed upon the horse and rode for days to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, through the misty fields and forests, as her voice grew stronger. The boy stood behind his father, urging him on, shouting for her, when suddenly, the mist cleared, and standing before them was the littlest Fairy.

The Guard jumped down from his horse and stumbled towards her. With each step he grew more sure, as pieces of his armour fell to the ground, until finally, the Guard stood before the littlest fairy.

The littlest fairy nodded. “There. We’ve made a start.”

The end.

“I knew Mummy was the little Fairy, Daddy, “ Angela assured him as she tried to stifle a yawn.

“Yes, you’re very smart, Angel Girl.” He shifted from the bed and reached over her to tuck her in. “Did you like my story? Enough mist for you?” He bent to press a kiss to her forehead as he pulled the covers up tight.

“Yes.” the little girl rolled to her side, settling in with her cuddly. Sighing, she said as she drifted off, “I think Mummy liked it, too.”

Surprised, Patrick looked up and saw his wife in the doorway. “Shelagh. How long have you been there?”

Shelagh smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “From the very start, dearest.”