Beneath the Old Oak

by Lisa Shambrook

  Autumn’s face softened. “You were late to class today, with a look on your face saying ‘Don’t mess with me,’ and you sat on your own giving evils to the teacher and anyone who dared catch your eye. Then you stared outside with no thought for anything going on in class, even me, and I’m quite interesting!” She dropped to her knees beside Meg. “That’s when I knew you were going to be good to know.”

  “You know nothing about me…”

  “And that’s what’s so good, you don’t know anything about me either! Today, in a choice between you and that Sienna girl—you won!” Meg laughed. “I’ve had fun, you can’t imagine how scared I was, my first day in a British high school!” said Autumn, offering her hand and leading Meg to the abandoned log. “I like you for who you are today, who I met, not for what goes on elsewhere in your life. It’s you I like, not your mom or your dad.”

  Meg sighed. “My mum’s crazy…”

  “And so’s mine!”

  “No, I mean really, certified!” said Meg emphatically.

  Autumn squeezed her friend’s hand again. “It’s no big deal…”

  “She’s just out of hospital after a psychosis a couple of weeks ago, and we’re just getting used to everything. She ran away, just went missing for a week…” Meg’s hand shook. The sun gilded the trunk in gold as it moved across the horizon behind them and Meg sighed. “I’ve been a ghost at school, and I don’t want to be anymore, I want to be me.”

  “Then be you,” said Autumn. “No one else can!”

  “I’m crazy too, you know, it’s not just Mum,” said Meg. Autumn shrugged. “Trees talk to me, or at least this one did, used to…”

  Autumn shrugged again. “Pah, trees talk and swallow people, just ask Frodo!”

  “I could do with a friend,” said Meg, glancing across at the girl beside her.

  “Then that’s two of us!” Autumn’s eyes gleamed as green as the leaves on a stalk a few metres away.

  Meg’s mouth dropped as her eyebrows rose. “No way!”

  “No way what?” cried Autumn, following Meg’s gaze.

  Meg stood and stepped slowly across the sawdust and crackling twigs, with Autumn hot on her heels. Meg gazed across the ground to the trunk and then back to the stalk. There, where the last bough had hung with its outstretched fingers scraping the earth was a stem. Just about a foot high and sporting six sets of lime green leaves was a shoot.

  Meg dropped to her knees in the loamy earth and stared in disbelief.

  Autumn crouched down beside her. “You know only one in ten thousand acorns actually grow into an oak tree?”

  Meg could barely speak. “It’s brand new!”

  “Not brand new, it’s been growing since last fall…”

  “But I never saw it!”

  “You were too busy looking at the tree, the old oak.”

  Meg sighed. “Too busy looking at what’s towering over me to see what’s hidden beneath it. I never saw it! Then when the tree fell, the branch covered it…”

  “But now it’s free, free to one day grow into a mighty oak.” Autumn stared at Meg. “You’ve been clouded by the big things, now let the small things take over.”

  Meg nodded. “It’s time for me and the little acorn to grow.” She gazed down at the stalk and smiled. Meg gently stroked one of the pale, green, baby leaves and a huge smile lit up her face as a tiny, but definite, thrill tingled and laced through her fingers, infusing her with hope.

  The End

  The inspiration for this novel came in the form of a poem written by Doreen Shambrook, which she has kindly agreed to allow me to share:

  The Death of a Tree

  It stood as tall as a mountain tower,

  its branches spread out with unending power.

  Two hundred years, it had stood there alone,

  but only its leaves moved, when blown.

  Life in its foliage, hid in its bark,

  like nests in the branches, for sparrow or lark.

  Here the birds met every year

  before they moved to a warmer sphere.

  Squirrels racing to and fro,

  as if they didn’t know which way to go.

  Their nuts they hid within its wall

  to use again when snow did fall.

  So many things this old tree saw,

  more of nature, than us for sure,

  And on the ground round its feet,

  young lovers there would oftimes meet.

  They carved their names on its trunk together,

  and knew their love would last forever.

  When in the heat of a summer’s day,

  little children would come round him and play.

  The boys would climb to the very top,

  the little girls scared that they might drop.

  Then one day in the midst of a storm,

  some of his branches were from him torn.

  A ferocious wind, with claps of thunder,

  trees all around, sent all asunder,

  and as the wind grew so much stronger,

  he felt he couldn’t stay up much longer.

  He tried to be brave and stay upright,

  but he knew somehow he’d lose the fight.

  Then in a moment all nature stood still,

  as the wind was gathering over the hill,

  like the waves of the sea it came up fast,

  and now this tree had seen its last.

  A few weeks later people came to see,

  a fallen hero, their beautiful tree.

  Nature could see the pain in their eyes,

  because now only a battered trunk lies,

  but nature always heals things her way…

  So take a walk in that place today,

  you will not find a hole where there once was a tree,

  but you’ll see an acorn as proud as can be.

  I want to offer thanks and recognition to this flicker of inspiration that offered Meg her solace and her story.

  Further thanks go to my family for their endless support and to my beta readers—Sarah Aisling, Beth Avery, Laura James and Lizzie Koch for their insight and valuable feedback. I also wish to thank Blue Harvest Creative, my incredibly supportive Design Team, who go way beyond the call of duty.

  A last word of appreciation goes to my readers, without you my words and stories would be lost. If you’ve enjoyed my story, please consider leaving a short review on your favorite review site or blog, and you will have my unending gratitude.

  Lisa began weaving intricate stories inside her imagination from a young age, but these days her words find themselves bursting forth in the forms of flash fiction, short stories, and novels.

  She was born and raised in vibrant Brighton, England, and living by the ocean heavily influenced her lyrical and emotional writing. She works with the senses, description and colour, and her readers will easily visualise the narrative. A wife and mother, Lisa draws inspiration from family life, faith, memory, and imagination. Lisa lives in Carmarthen, West Wales, another town rich in legend and lore.

  Visit the author at:

  www.lisashambrook.com

  www.bhcpress.com