Story: Be a Helper (part two)

Be A Helper

(part two)

Bede’s trees flanked a river that Pocketlanders called the Pebbleway; a viny, mossy, dewy forest, where rainclouds hovered for days after a sea storm had blown inland.

For days, needles and leaves wept themselves dry. Bede loved his trees.

His six hills, through the ages tumbling valleyward, had gifted him a large fall of building stones. Ancients unknown had walled the Pocketlands from the Desolate Fell, where none from the Realm sought to go.

This day the sun wore a decent veil, and shone a gentle light. Bede rounded his hedge…

To discover that two of his sprites had done magic.

“Gadwall! Scoter! The soil is not to be turned when it’s soggy. Besides which, you have made a giant turnip, and I don’t see why you should.”

“Jorinda says beets have sugar. And we like cakes.”

“All the cakes!”

“It isn’t time for harvesting beets. Jorinda has enough honey for sugar, and cakes are a treat for the deserving. And that you’re tugging on, trampling my poor infant herbs, remains a turnip.”

“I was only picturing a beet,” Gadwall said. “I suppose I don’t know the difference!”

This was thin for merriment, but Gadwall laughed, and Scoter laughed, and both laughed on for a minute or two.

“The bed will need topping again, and left alone in its struggles til proper spring, the two of you! Now who is going to pull that mammoth thing by the roots? I haven’t got a workhorse.”

“I am not wishing for a workhorse,” it was necessary to add.

Scoter said: “Melchior! If Melchior were here…”

“Magic is never to be used on persons.”

“I know it, but…”

“And if statements are not wishes, as we always discuss. Daily.”

“They are, though,” Scoter said, low. “Finch says…”

“And, Gadwall, your brother is not wishing to move Melchior, no doubt from his hearthside, to this wet garden, to do a chore for us.” At last a downcast glance. “And Finch is an expert on wishes, why, Scoter?”

“Well. She isn’t. But she says…”

“That will do.” Chores, chores! When he had wanted to stroll the woods, note the first changes of spring. But he would have to find Melchior, since only Melchior might want the turnip.

For all that Bede’s hope was to wean them from the use of magic, and teach them the basics of cultivation, tasks even a sprite could manage, he was peeved. One small pony meant little of manure straw, and he would have to go to Langham for it.

Like dogs, and cats…and ponies, even venturesome chickens, all of whom fell to a train in Bede’s wake whenever he went strolling, so were sprites. The cats, the pony, and the chickens would lapse at the forest edge, while the dogs and sprites trekked on.

2

Be a Helper

Be a Helper (part three)

(2021, Stephanie Foster)