Mary Jane wasn’t an adventurous girl. She rarely left her house and hardly ever without one of her parents or siblings. Not that she didn’t like to - hearing the chatter of all the people at the town market and feeling the sun on her face were her favorite moments of any week. No, Mary Jane liked the outside. The mysterious, unknowable space. It’s just that she could never find her way through the confusing world of shadows that surrounded her. She alone lived in it. Noone else in her family had to navigate the same everchanging ethereal landscape. Her mother said, that she must have been cursed as a child. But Mary couldn’t understand why someone would want to place an infant in such a scary world. There was never a time where she remembered being surrounded by anything other then the shadows. Every time she went out without a steady arm to hold onto, the foggy sea of dark, indistinct silhouettes seemed to spiral around her. After many bruised knees and scraped palms Mary Jane didn’t feel the need to take any more risks. She preferred to stay inside, spinning and weaving. It grounded her. The thread was taut under her fingers and the loom responded to her commands without fail. She pressed the pedal - the wheel spun around in a steady pace, she pushed the shuttle across - it came out right on the opposite side of the material. In the repetitive motions of her work, there was nothing the shadows could conceal from her.
That afternoon, like most others, was filled by the quiet rattle of the spinning wheel and a melodious voice, like a great big bell ringing. Mary Jane’s father was an energetic man who liked to tell stories. Or just talk, really. Many would have thought this an annoyance, but his wife wouldn’t have it any other way. She was a woman of few words, something she had in common with her younger daughter, so her husband filled the silence for both of them. At the moment he was discussing, with himself, whether the apple harvest would have been more successful if Old Vernon hadn’t cut the fresh southern branches.
“I mean really, who would have blamed him, if he just left them there a few more weeks? Yes, some of them were drying, but to cut the whole thing! All of them, all the fresh shoots! I know what you’re going to say, I know” - a knock of wooden cup being put down on a table sounded from the middle of the room- “’Elian, Honey, the new branches don’t bear fruit until their second year, at least.’” - he mimicked - “But, they don’t have to! Maybe just having them would have made the trees stronger? Maybe they work like a family - it works when everyone’s together? If he kept them, they probably could have produced three more barrels of apples. Four even!”
“Maybe they could have” - Bria’s soft voice came from under the right wall, mixing with the smells of this evening’s dinner being prepared - “Could you pass me the onions Honey?”
“Where- Oh, yes, of course” - Elian’s heavy footsteps circled the house and stopped right by the firepit. - “Here you go Bee’ - he punctuated with a quick kiss - “Like I was saying, I’ll go talk to Old Vernon, maybe next year we could try-”
The doors slammed open, followed closely by a piercing yell.
“MOOOOM! DAD! Mary Jane! You are not gonna believe who came into town today!”
Mary Jane smiled to herself, not stopping her spinning for the sudden interruption. For Linnea nothing was ever boring or usual. People said, that when she was born she took with her all of the curiosity, leaving nothing for her younger sister.
“Dear, I promise we’ll believe you, if you consider not blowing out our poor old ears next time.”
“Right, right, sorry” - she said, at a much more tolerable volume - “But listen! A man rode into town with a wagon, painted so pretty, blue with little stars and flowers. He set up right at the square, and he has the strangest things! Like maybe a smith? But much smaller, and the walls are lined with all kinds of glass circles.”
“How interesting!” - Elian was instantly intrigued - “Do you think they are beads of some sort?
“Nooo? They looked too big for that, but with all the wires he has, maybe it is some kind of jewelery” - Linnea tried to gather what she saw
“Well, dinner won’t be ready for at least one more hour” - her mother cut in - “Why don’t you go and just ask the man what he does?”
“That’s a wonderful idea Bee!” - the father’s voice lit up - “See, girls? That’s where all the smarts in our family comes form” - Bria’s giggling and sounds of playful shuffling filled the room. After they quieted down, Elian spoke again - “Mary Jane, it’s time for a break. Let your hands rest and come meet the traveler with us.”
The girl smiled and stopped the wheel. She put down the yarn in its basket, always in the same place right by her stool, and took her father’s open hand. It was rough from working in the field, but warm and patient in its steadiness. Very much the opposite of her own - delicate and marked only in places where thread moved through her fingers. As she linked her arm with the man, they walked through the door and into the windy day. Wind wasn’t Mary Jane’s favorite. It bit her eyes and drowned out words spoken around her. But it did make the giant, immovable shapes dance, pulsing and whirling at the edges. Of all the shadows surrounding her, those she probably liked the most.
As the three of them neared the town square, they started hearing the sounds of a small crowd. Chatter and curious questioning buzzed around, moving towards them with each gust of the wind. Just as they joined into the group gathered around the wagon, the sound of confident footsteps quieted the prattle.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” - the voice came from slightly above, like the person speaking was standing on a stage. It reminded Mary Jane of traveling actors who sometimes came to town. She liked listening to their stories. Maybe he was a performer?
“My name is Barion” - the man continued - “and I roam the lands in search of people in need of my help. For you see, I’m in possession of powerful tools, able to… bring clarity into your life. Tell me, good people of Duskenridge, have any of your friends or neighbors ever complained about not finding their way? Overlooking details? Seeing far into the distance, but not up close? Do any of you feel as though you lived in a world that’s… foggy and unclear?”
In the silence that followed Mary Jane could hear her own heartbeat as loud as thunder. She didn’t even notice how hard she was squeezing her fathers arm until he gently unclutched her hand. Linnea’s hand softly landed on her shoulder, as if encouraging her to speak out. Woken up from her shock, Mary Jane opened her mouth.
“I…” - she couldn’t push out any more words. Didn’t even know what she would say. How did the man know exactly how she lived? Noone ever understood when she spoke about it. Maybe he was familiar withe curse that was placed on her? Did that mean he could…?
Even despite the shortness of her speech, the man seemed to notice her.
“Yes girl? Does my description strike a chord?”
Silence.
“What’s your name girl?” - this question was softer, much less theatrical.
“Mary Jane” - she answered quietly.
“Well, Mary Jane, would you come up to my wagon? I believe I have something you would be interested in.”
***
When later she thought back to this day, the rest of the evening almost melted together. She spent what felt like an eternity in the man’s wagon, answering his many questions about the shadows, while her parents and sister eagerly waited outside. Her mother came, urgently called by Linnea. Something important would happen that day in the small wooden cart and they all felt it. The clinking and grinding coming from the inside sung about what was to come. But none of them understood their words yet.
When Mary Jane stepped out of that wagon, her world crumbled to the ground. And as she looked around, it put itself back together, unrecognizable. In place of shadows, she saw her family. Their faces twisted in tension, waiting anxiously for any sign of how to react. Her legs gave out beneath her. Their faces! Falling to the soft grass (which was so green!) she couldn’t help the tears from streaming down her cheeks. She saw their faces… The faces that now crowded her with sudden worry, asking over each other how to help her. But they couldn’t. It was already perfect. Her father had freckles and all the little lines around his eyes. She had felt them so many times when brushing her hands over his face. And oh, the eyes! Her mother had blue eyes! If she wasn’t already, she could start crying just from that alone. She looked up into the endless sky, the color of her mother’s eyes. There, as far as the eye could see, lingered tiny specs of light, blinking peacefully.
“Are those… stars?”
***
Mary Jane wasn’t an adventurous girl. But she loved the outside. She was rarely home and hardly every for long. If someone wanted to see her, she would always be found sitting in the middle of some golden field, looking up at the clouds. Or sometimes right onto the ground, tracking the busy ants and beetles. She loved to walk along the stream coming from the mountains. The blinking of blinding reflexes on the surface reminded her of the stars. Wherever the water stilled in little puddles she could see her own face, framed by silky brown hair. Not like Linnea’s. Hers ran in waves, just like the stream. Still, Mary’s favorite sight remained the silhouettes dancing in the wind. The trees brought her joy above all else. She could spend hours watching each leaf sway in its own place, sometimes swirling to the ground, tracing elaborate patterns as it fell. And she did, she looked until her eyes dried out and her head began to ache. Only then did she return home, with a grin permanently etched on her face. She never forgot the man who changed her life. Took her from the world of shadows and guided into the most beautiful one she lived in now. The wonderful invention he gave her would forever be her most treasured possession. She never took it off, even though he said to. What did he call it? Spectacles?
