Under The Oak Tree

By Bethany Kohler

It was that time of year when Lancaster Manor’s garden was filled with all the colors and fragrances which have given English gardens their reputation. In the middle of the garden grew a large oak tree with branches that spread like welcoming arms. Nestled in these branches was Molly Lancaster, with her nose in a book.

Suddenly, she looked up and cocked her head in a listening attitude. There was definitely a sound like sniffling coming from the ground below her. She closed her book, with a finger between the pages, and looked down from her perch.

At first, she saw only the carpet of bluebells beneath the tree. Then she espied a small figure kneeling among the flowers. The head was bowed, and the slender shoulders convulsed with gentle sobs.

Molly’s heart was touched at once. She leaned forward. “Are you quite all right? Is there anything I can do?”

The small figure jumped. A tear-stained face was turned up to Molly’s view. The eyes were large, with purple irises. The skin was a warm green hue. The hair was as soft and pink as a peony. The creature stared mutely; her surprise seemed to momentarily eclipse her grief.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Molly added apologetically. “You’re a flower-nymph, aren’t you?”

The creature nodded.

“I met a naiad once when I was younger. But you’re the first flower-nymph I’ve met. I’m Molly.”

“Hyacinth.”

Molly climbed down from the tree and sat amidst the bluebells a polite distance from the nymph. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s just. . .  Quercus was taken by Feldspar, and it’s all my fault.” Hyacinth barely got the words out before she covered her face and broke into tears afresh.

Molly sat and waited. She did not try to speak, but her heart was so full of tenderness that her silence was a comforting balm.

Presently, the nymph raised her head above the surrounding bluebells. Her purple eyes were luminous with tears. “He went to take the legendary Crystal Crown from Feldspar’s treasury. But I’m sure he was caught because he should have been back by now. And I don’t know what will happen to him. Feldspar will be so angry.”

“I don’t know who Feldspar is,” Molly confessed.

Hyacinth looked surprised at Molly’s ignorance. “You’ve never heard of Feldspar? Keeper of the Secrets of the Deep? Guardian of the Treasury?”

“The treasury?” Molly racked her brain to connect the dots.

“Yes, the treasury of the earth,” Hyacinth explained.

“Is he a gnome then?”

“Of course! But you better not call him that to his face. He says it’s ‘shorthand’ and ‘disrespectful’.”

“It sounds like you’re afraid of him.”

Hyacinth pressed her lips together and nodded.

“I don’t yet understand how it’s your fault.”

The nymph hunched her shoulders and drew her knees up to hide most of her face. “Quercus was only going to steal the crown because…” She glanced at Molly, and then looked down at a bluebell near her elbow. “Because I told him I wanted it.”

“Oh, I see.” Molly brushed a wayward curl out of her face. “If Feldspar is so dangerous, why would you ask for his crown?”

“I didn’t exactly ask for it, I just sort of mentioned that it would be my dream to have it.” Hyacinth drew a long, shuddering breath, and then sighed.

At that moment, Molly noticed something behind the nymph. A lean, brown figure was approaching stealthily. His deep green eyes met Molly’s, and he put a finger to his lips.

Hyacinth was staring at her own toes. “He’s probably trapped in some dark hole, deep under the earth. And I’ll never see him again. All because I was selfish and thoughtless.”

Molly tried not to smile.

“I wish I’d never mentioned that stupid Crystal Crown. I’d give a thousand Crystal Crowns to know that Quercus was safe.”

“Do you love him?” Molly asked, with a mischievous little twinkle in her eye.

“Yes.” The nymph looked up into Molly’s face as though it was a revelation. “I love him. I don’t need any Crystal Crown. I don’t even want it anymore.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” the tree-nymph said from behind her. “After I went to all the—”

Before he could finish, Hyacinth tackled him to the ground with a squeal of joy.

“Careful!” Quercus laughed. “Feldspar really will kill me if you break this.”

Hyacinth gasped when she saw the crown. It was clear as glass and woven around with silver vines and colored gems of purple and green. Quercus placed the Crystal Crown on the flower-nymph’s head. She raised both hands to touch it with delicate fingers. Her eyes were round with wonder and delight. “I can’t believe you really got it for me. No one has ever stolen from Feldspar and lived to tell of it.”

Quercus flashed her a grin. “Well, not to downplay the dangers involved, but, as it turns out, old Feldspar is a sentimental sort. When I explained to him why I wanted it and told him about you”—he caressed her cheek— “he just gave it to me. Well, loaned it to me. We will have to return it at some point.”

“You are the bravest, most wonderful nymph in all the world!”

Molly began to feel she was intruding. Both the nymphs seemed to have forgotten she was there.

“Who would have guessed old Feldspar had a soft spot, eh?” Quercus leaned in for a kiss.

Molly took that as her cue, and quietly slipped away to find a new reading spot.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bethany Kohler is a writer and poet with a penchant for witty banter, a weakness for verbose descriptions of scenery, and a passion for weaving truth into fiction. She carries a deep regard for nineteenth-century literature, and counts many dead authors among her mentors. When she is not reading or writing, Bethany might be found baking delectable pastries, sewing historically inspired dresses, or singing anything from folk songs to Broadway tunes.

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