I wanted to share this little short story I wrote some time ago, the first short story to come and stay on Scribble and Blott. I couldn’t wait until March….
Mollie O’Riley and the Lucky Thimble
It was no wonder, the people in the village would say when the story was mentioned, that Mollie O’Riley had finally had a stroke of luck after all these years. It was bound to happen sooner or later, they would say, and it was lucky it happened sooner rather than later, for that maid’s one stroke of luck had actually saved her village. But all that is to come with passing years. For now, it was Saint Patrick’s day and Mollie O’Riley was tumbling down a hill of green clover, yelling as she went. She was a grown girl of sixteen now, a young lady who was supposed to be too old for such things, but as she took her laundry out to wash, the lush green hill called to her, and Mollie answered without delay. Bump, bump, ba-bump, she went as the bottom of the hill approached, and with that, she bumped into a rock and tramped up the hill, sore from her sudden meeting with the stone, and found that a violent gust of wind had blown her wash right off the wash line, and, upon coming home, a drizzly rain began from out of nowhere and she found herself soaked with the icy water.
Thus was the life of Mollie O’ Riley, she would say to herself as she walked towards her home. The village in which she lived was dilapidated. The stone-filled fields were not good for growing much of anything, especially potatoes, the mainstay of the townspeople’s diets. The people who stayed in that dilapidated little village stayed out of necessity, rather than by choice. Even my village has bad luck, she thought as she went dejectedly into the little wooden house. There was sewing to be done, after all.
Stitch after stitch on the bedsheet that Mollie was sewing came out crooked, which caused her to reflect on her history. You see, Mollie’s problems with luck had begun almost from her birth. When she was just a little girl, she had been walking to church on St. Patrick’s day just after a rainstorm when a cart full of carrots had come by and sprayed her new clean dress with muddy water. St. Patrick’s day was the worst of all, because while other people were finding four-leafed clovers and catching leprechauns, Mollie had the worst luck out of the whole year on that day.
Ouch! Mollie was jerked back to reality when she felt her sewing needle poke her finger.
“Where is that thimble?” asked Mollie of herself. And just then, on the side table nearest Mollie’s chair, there sat a new, shiny, silver thimble. It wasn’t like any that Mollie had ever seen, least of all like Mollie’s own thimble, a rusty contraption that we could have kindly called “vintage”. Upon closer inspection, the new thimble was found to have a four leafed clover etched into it’s shining surface.
“Father must have bought this for me for St. Patrick’s day,” reasoned Mollie. “It’s awfully nice,”
So Mollie put it on and began to work. It hadn’t been scarcely a moment when there was a knock at the door, and a big bunch of flowers was found to be lying there, with no card or identifying mark of any kind.
“Hmm,” said Mollie as she put the flowers in some water. When she returned to her sewing, Mollie noticed that the seam that wasn’t close to finished before she left was neatly completed now, though she hadn’t sewn a stitch.
“Strange,” said Mollie to herself, unnerved. She sat in an old wooden chair in the main room of the house waiting for some more “luck” to come her way. She glanced suspiciously to either side, occasionally calling,
“Ah-ha! I know you’re there!” to an imaginary foe.
Soon, Mollie’s father arrived, and it was time to go to church. Mollie tucked the silver thimble in her pocket and followed the sound of the church bell through the village. It’s bells chimed through the green valley, calling everyone to come to the little clapboard church. Once Mollie and her father were seated in the pew, three things happened before the service even started. First, Mollie was not drafted to sing in the choir (a usual occurrence in the small country church.) Secondly, Mollie and her father had the pew to themselves instead of being seated in the back on chairs, and thirdly, Mollie noticed what appeared to be a strange little shadow in the shape of a little man actually dancing, yes dancing, near the front of the chapel. She folded her hands in her lap and watched with hawk’s eyes for that little shadow until the service started. Just when she had convinced herself that it was nothing, that she must have just imagined it, or it was a trick of the light, she saw it again, and after church was over, she was the first one out to chase that shadow. She ran over the green hills and leaped over the little creek that wound through the woods and ran past the footbridge that spanned the length of the little creek, her hair flying and her bonnet in hand, chasing the dancing shadow. It appeared to be how Mollie had always imagined a leprechaun to look, wee and merry and quick. Mollie had seen it dart into a green meadow, and she snuck carefully around it. It was a leprechaun, and he was there, dancing gleefully in the meadow, celebrating his escape. In one quick motion, Mollie had dove into the meadow and caught the leprechaun under her bonnet, where he was squirming about. Once Mollie cautiously lifted up the bonnet, the leprechaun walked out. He was dressed from head to toe in a little green suit, and a four-leaf clover was stuck in his tiny hat. He wore miniscule black shoes and long green socks.
“Ah, well, what do you want?” asked the leprechaun irately.
“Firstly, an explanation,” said Mollie.
“What were you doing in church?”
“I was looking,” began the leprechaun as he dived into the pocket of Mollie’s dress,
“For this,” and he returned with the silver thimble.
“What do you want that for?” asked Mollie.
“It actually belongs to me,” said the leprechaun.
“I, er, left it, and you found it,”
Mollie didn’t really believe this leprechaun’s dubious story.
“Well,” said Mollie crossly as she took the thimble from the leprechaun.
“It’s mine now, I found it,” she said.
“Well,” wheedled the leprechaun,
“Would you consider a trade for it?”
“No,” said Mollie.
“This thimble is very lucky,” she said.
“I’ve only had it a few hours and I’ve already had lots of luck for the first time in my life,” Mollie explained.
“Well,” began the leprechaun,
“I will trade your one lucky thing for three lucky things, wishes to be exact,”
Mollie agreed right away, and soon, Mollie was sitting in the grass, thinking for things to wish for. She began to walk home to ask her father for advice, but tripped over a stone and fell on the ground.
“Oh, honestly!” cried Mollie.
“That’s the second time today!”
“I wish there weren’t any rocks in the ground for me to trip over,” said Mollie.
And, quick as a wink, there were no stones in the village ground, thanks to the leprechaun.
Saddened by the waste of a wish, Mollie hurried home over the dilapidated footbridge.
“This bridge is a sorry sight,” said Mollie,
“I wish someone would fix it up,”
That was the second wish gone. She hadn’t even gotten home until she noticed the little garden outside of her house.
“My potatoes won’t grow,” she said. “It’s the soil here, it’s no good for potatoes. I sure wish that we could grow potatoes, so many we wouldn’t know what to do with them,”
The leprechaun obliged, and soon, potatoes were sprouting out of the little garden, and the leprechaun and the thimble were long gone.
Mollie O’Riley returned home, dejected, and upon opening the door of the little wooden house, found the little wooden table heaped with potatoes and all manner of crops, with her father behind it smiling. There were carrots and onions and greens from the now rock-free fields, and potatoes, as many as you could ever eat, because the soil was so rich and just right for growing potatoes. Everyone in the village’s fields prospered and their tables were full for years to come. The little maid who had “wasted” her wishes had actually saved her neighbors, every one!
The people from the neighboring towns would come to visit, to walk over the newly repaired footbridge and enjoy the sights and sounds of the village, although they never quite understood how such a little village had overnight became so very prosperous. But Mollie O’Riley most certainly did, as she watched the leprechaun scamper happily down the hill, never to be seen again.
© 2020, Claire Griffiths. All rights reserved.