Wibbly Wobbly Oak Tree
© Peter L. Barnes 12th June 2019
Victoria sat under the ancient oak, enjoying the warmth of the summer sunrise, marvelling at the twisted, turning boughs above her head. A gentle breeze rustled the bright green leaves, swinging the outstretched boughs about, like an upside-down octopus.
Something dropped into her lap, and opening her eyes, expecting to find a fallen twig, she marvelled at the exquisite flower laying there. A pale pink flower lay on her dress, dotted with a pink pattern, drawing her eyes to the long bright stamen topped with a purple head.
“Oh, how lovely.”
A shadow loomed over her.
“Morning princess,” said an instantly familiar voice.
Looking up, she recognised the expected figure of Thomas, son of the head gardener, the sun forming a halo around his head and twinkling in his unruly mop of golden hair.
“Step away from the sun or I shall freeze.”
Thomas stood to the side.
“Thank you for my morning flower, Thomas,” she said. “You know I love the rhododendrons.”
“They are particularly beautiful this year,” said Thomas. “Sadly, it will be the last I’ll bring you.”
“Why, has the tree died?”
“No, my father has been transferred to your father’s estate in Scotland.”
“That’s terrible,” said Victoria. “Who will I talk to each morning?”
“I think our little talks are part of the reason.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Lord Stanstead feels that we have become too close over the years.”
“But there’s no-one else to talk to here,” said Victoria. “We are so far away from everything.”
“And everyone,” said Thomas.
“I will be bereft without you,” said Victoria, trying not to cry. “I have learnt so much from you about the plants and animals.”
“But I do think it’s for the best,” said Thomas.
“No, it’s not,” said Victoria, standing up and brushing the grass off her dress. “I’m going to talk to father right now.”
“Pleased don’t do that Victoria,” said Thomas. “Otherwise he might fire my father and then we’ll become destitute.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” said Victoria. “But we’ll still keep in touch, yes?”
“Of course, I’ll send you letters when I can,” said Thomas. “You’re reading and writing lessons won’t be wasted.”
“Are you leaving today?”
“I’m afraid so. Bye.”
“No hugs then?”
Thomas looked up at the window of the mansion on the hill to see two faces watching them closely. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Victoria gazed after his disappearing form, as he slowly made his way down to the farmhouse and out of her life. If he did write then they were intercepted by her parents and she was worried that if she did bring the subject up, it would have repercussions for Thomas.
You will have to wait for the short story book to read the rest, sorry but copywrite doesn’t seem to be honoured these days