Lucy and the Water Sprite (Part 3 of 3)

          Lucy’s eyes were dampening as well.  “I’m going to see if I can find out where the oil’s coming from.  I’ll meet you at our usual spot later.”

          “Good idea,” said Maratha.  Then she sped off in the murk.

          Lucy blew her nose in a handkerchief she kept for emergencies.  This was definitely an emergency.  “Oh, dear,” she whispered.

          Not much farther on, Lucy spotted the neighbors’ mill.  The creek was dug wider here.  A big water wheel turned slowly.

          The last thing Lucy took in as she hurried toward the building was a motorcar parked very close to the creek.  “Wow!” she exclaimed.

          It wasn’t until she was right up against it that she noticed anything wrong.  A pool of black fluid lay beneath the front wheels.  It was flowing into the water.

          Lucy charged further up the hill to her neighbor’s small wooden farmhouse and knocked on the door.  Mrs. Burroughs peered out with a smile.  She looked around about Lucy’s head as if looking for someone else.  “Where are your—” she began.

          “Your motorcar is leaking oil into the creek.  It’s horrible,” cried Lucy.

          “Oh,” said Mrs. Burroughs.  “Let me get John.”  She walked through the house to the back porch.

          A burly man with a graying beard strolled up to the front door.  “Hello, missy.  What’s the problem?”

          “You’re new motorcar is leaking oil into the creek.”

          Mr. Burroughs frowned.  “I’ll have to hire a mechanic.  There can’t be too much spilled.  I’ll grab a bucket.”

          Lucy walked with Mr. Burroughs over to the shed and picked up the smallest bucket.  Mr. Burroughs showed her how to slick the very top of the water off and pour it in a hole his dog had dug in his yard.  The water began to clear.

          Lucy wiped sweat off her forehead.  She knew it would take a long time to clean everything up, but it would be worth it.

          Luckily, Maratha returned.  She brought her father with her this time.  When Mr. Burroughs turned his back to dump another bucket, Maratha’s father waved his hand and the oil was cleared!

          Maratha and Lucy shared a wide grin.  Mr. Burroughs looked bewildered at first when he saw the water.  Then he muttered, “Creek nymphs,” bid Lucy a good day, and went back inside.

          The creek was saved.

Lucy and the Water Sprite (Part 2 of 3)

          “Dip your dress in the water,” said Maratha.  “I think I can fix it.”

          Lucy crawled to the water’s edge and dunked the end of her dress into the creek.  The hole disappeared!  “My dress!” Lucy yelled.  New, shimmering fabric lay where the hole had been.

          “I made you a patch from the water,” said Maratha smiling.

          Lucy stared down at her dress, eyes wide.  “How did you do it?”

          Maratha looked puzzled.  “I weaved it from the water.”

          “That’s amazing.  Thank you, Maratha.”  Lucy brushed her hands across the seamless patch and stood.  “I’m ready to finish our adventure.”

          Maratha beamed.  “We aren’t too far now.”

          From there on the creek dipped and twisted constantly down the grassy hill.  Minnows swam more often in this stretch of water.

          Lucy continued at a brisk walk.  Her breathing was back to normal.  She couldn’t stop playing with her dress as she trudged on.

          The ground went perfectly flat for a few paces before curving upward.

          Maratha did a few spirals in the water.  “We’re here!” she cheered.

          The surface of the water was darker than usual.  Along the bank, the pebbles that should have been red or brown were mostly multi-colored.  It was like seeing a hundred tiny rainbows.

          Maratha’s smile began to droop.  “Something’s wrong here,” she said.

          “What is it?” asked Lucy.

          “The water,” said Maratha.  “It’s filthy.”

          “It does look funny,” said Lucy.

          “And it feels funny,” said Maratha.

          Lucy picked up one of the rainbow pebbles and rubbed her thumb across it.  It felt slippery.  “Why don’t we go downstream a bit more?” she suggested.

          “I think that’s a good idea,” said Maratha.  She led the way.

          Before long, the surface of the water changed to black.

          Maratha’s face turned white.  “Oh, no.”

          “The water,” said Lucy.  “It’s really muddy.”

          Maratha shook her head.  “Not muddy, oily.”

          “An oil spill!  In the country?” Lucy said, gasping.

          It looked like Maratha was crying, but the water hid any tears.  “I have to go back and tell my father.  This is horrible.”

Lucy and the Water Sprite (Part 1 of 3)

(Note: This story was written for school with a target audience of approximately 11.)

          Lucy ran down the bank as fast as her legs could carry her.  Flowers poked up from the ground in every direction, sloping down toward a burbling creek.  At the water’s edge, pebbles replaced the usual dirt of the meadow.  They soon made way to river stones and fast-moving water.

          Lucy giggled as she splashed around.  Her light yellow dress was soaked.  Brown pigtails clung to her neck.

          “Lucy,” came a voice.  Bubbles rose in the creek.  A woman’s face appeared just below the surface.  The outline of a blue gown showed around her.

          “Maratha!” Lucy squealed.  She stopped playing in the water at once.

          “Having fun?” asked Maratha.

          Lucy nodded.  “Lots.”

          “Good,” said Maratha.  “Do you want to go on a hunt with me?”

          Lucy looked scared.  “A hunt!  For bunnies?  For stags?  I can’t hunt an animal!”

          Maratha’s forehead crinkled.  “No, not for animals, for pebbles.”

          “Oh!” Lucy cried.  “But there are pebbles all over.”

          Maratha’s smile widened.  “I’m not looking for just any pebble.  I’m searching for a rainbow pebble.  I’ve only ever seen one rainbow pebble in the entire creek, but I hear there are many downstream.”

          “I’ll go, I’ll go,” said Lucy, jumping up and down.  “Lead me there.”

          Maratha’s face disappeared, then reappeared a few paces down the creek.  Lucy skipped along the bank to follow.

          The grass beside the water looked like it went on for miles before dropping into a misty valley.  Maratha swam until the creek turned into a small waterfall, droplets flying up onto Lucy’s pale, sweat-covered face.  There, she had to flatten herself on the bottom and inch slowly down the fall.

          Lucy sat down at the foot of the waterfall.  “Can we rest awhile?” Lucy asked.

          Maratha nodded.  “I’m sorry.  I forgot that we’ve gone a long way for a little girl.”

          “That’s okay, Maratha,” Lucy said, breathing heavy.  “Just let me smooth out my dress and catch my breath.”  She ran her hands down the folds of her dress.  Suddenly, she stopped.  Her finger wiggled inside a hole over her tummy.  Lucy began to cry.

          “Why are you crying?” asked Maratha.

          “I tore my dress,” Lucy sobbed.  “Mama and Papa won’t be very happy.”