Page 2 of Bluebell’s Fate

It wasn’t Bell’s fault; it was the dark fairies. How was she to know that the dark fairies would be so upset when she accidentally fell and landed in a bed of bluebells. The sweet-smelling flowers had been crushed by Bell’s small body. That was when all this trouble had started. But she was almost to her castle. They would never be able to reach her there.

She sprinted by the stream, past the elderly woman sitting on a rock, and dashed behind a bush. Wait. An elderly woman? Bell had always had an overactive imagination, but if she was seeing things that weren’t there, that would be new to her. She put her hands on her knees and breathed hard but as silently as she could. Once she’d caught her breath, she peeked around the bush, rubbed at her eyes, and smiled. There was an old lady sitting on a rock. And she looked kind—a glitter shone from her smiling eyes. Her dress reminded her of her mother’s, but it didn’t seem quite so intimidating.

Bell walked and planted herself a few paces from the woman. The worst thing that could happen would be for Bell to not like this stranger, and then she could just run straight home. It wouldn’t take much to outpace the old lady. “Good morning. Did the fairies let you in, or are you lost?”

The woman smiled even more deeply. “I didn’t see any fairies, but I don’t believe I’m lost either.”

Looking the woman over from head to toe, Bell couldn’t spot a sign that she had been picking the flowers, which is not something the fairies would quickly forgive. So perhaps the fairies did let her in. Interesting. “I’ve never seen anyone in my woods before. So the fairies must have let you in. And there must certainly be a reason for it. Are you magic?”

The woman threw out her arms wide and arched her eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Bell walked in a slow circle around the rock where the old woman sat. She didn’t have any wings, and Bell couldn’t see anything the woman carried with her that looked magic; in fact, she seemed perfectly ordinary. It was the best disguise a magical being could have possibly donned. Bell grinned, ear to ear. “I believe you are magical. And I like your disguise.” She tilted her head to the side. “I believe I will give you a magical test.” She nodded her head firmly.

The magical woman laughed. “And what test would that be?”

“Do you know what day it is?” Bell asked.

The woman tapped her temple with one finger. “It is the twenty-eighth of April.”

Bell put her hands on her hips. “Well, next year, if you appear in my woods on the twenty-eighth of April, I will know that you are truly magical. If you do not, I will have to think that the bad fairies did not approve of you.”

“So, are these your woods, or do the woods belong to the fairies?”

Bell pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. That was a good question. She always referred to this place as her own woods. Her father had said as much. But the fairies made a lot of the decisions within the safe walls of the trees—just like the steward that helped her father. “The woods belong to me, but the fairies are my stewards for when I am away. My mother won’t let me sleep here.” Her eyebrows pulled low on her head. Bell was still certain that she could get along quite comfortably on a bed of leaves, and she could bring a blanket from the house.

“That is quite wise of your mother. I’d not want you to get too cold outside all alone.”

“I’m never alone. The fairies are always here.”

“And where is your nursery maid?”

Bell swallowed and slid her half boot slowly across the dirt floor. “She won’t miss me.” That much was true. The nurse loved Lavender far more than she cared for Bell. Bell was consistently told that she was too much work, and she struggled to stay focused on her lessons. Lavender, her four-year-old sister, was always good. And Rose had graduated to using a governess.

Bell had only to tell the nurse that she needed to relieve herself to slip away. She always came home in time for tea.

The woman’s eyes misted over. She held out her arms, and like a bee drawn to a flower, Bell ran into her embrace. It felt like the most natural thing in the entire world. “How could you possibly not be missed, dear child? You are the most engaging creature I’ve ever encountered.”

Bell pulled back to look in the woman’s eyes. “I know grownups aren’t actually magical. Do you really believe it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you must be my magical godmother. I do hope you will return next year. Just make sure you don’t pick any of the bluebells, or you’ll get lost.”

The woman nodded solemnly. “Of course, my dear.”

Bell stood straight and gave her a curtsy. “You can call me Bell.”

“Bell. That is a beautiful name.” She smiled again. “Can I give you a bit of advice to think on until I see you again?”

Bell nodded.

“The most important force in this world is the magic that you create. You have it inside you—we all do. But there are some people, like yourself, that have the capacity to be a light in a world where there is much darkness. That is your magic.”

Bell had never forgotten that advice. It had buoyed her up as she grew into the woman she was today. That advice had been the first lesson Bell’s godmother had taught her. Since then, she also taught her important concepts about loving herself. Some of the lessons Bell had relied heavily upon were that to be vulnerable was a strength, and there was honor in being true to herself.

The problem was, she wasn’t always following that advice. Bell hid much of her true self from others, and she suspected it would only get worse as she tried to guard herself in London. Godmother would have advice for that problem as well. Bell was sure of it. She looked down at her sketches she’d worked on while she’d been caught up in her memories; they would be sufficient.

She spread out the drawings on the tabletop and covered them with a piece of cloth from her satchel. Then she placed rocks on the four corners to make sure a gust of wind wouldn’t take her art from the space. Taking one last look at the clearing and assuring herself that everything was prepared for the morrow, she wound her way through the trees back toward home, her heart much lighter than it had been before she’d come.