Fiddleeebod

‘Go to the beach,’ her grandmother told her.

‘Sit on our favorite bench,’ her grandmother told her.

‘Here’s a sandwich. Wait there until noon,’ her grandmother told her.

‘And then watch closely,’ her grandmother told her.

Ambelinda followed her grandmother’s instructions without hesitation. For her grandmother was wonderful, magical, enchanting, and she had raised Ambelinda with loving care ever since the terrible incident.

Ambelinda sat on the bench, looked out across the lake and ate her peanut butter and honey sandwich. She crossed her legs at the ankles and swung them in a steady rhythm. Time passed. Her mind wandered here and there and back. As noon approached, Ambelinda sharpened her focus, darting glances up and down the beach. Noon arrived, and it happened.

Shimmering into existence right in front of her was a tall thin white tree with long rusty fringes of hair hanging from its branches. The tree beckoned to Ambelinda.

‘Come to me, precious jewel’ was a whisper softly sounding in Ambelinda’s ears. She stood, approached the tree, and disappeared in laughter.

Later that afternoon, the grandmother stood on the spot where the tree had appeared. She reached down, scooped up sand and allowed it to filter through her fingers. Her eyes glistened, but she smiled and nodded yes.

‘One year to prepare another potion, and I, too, will join you, my darlings,’ she mouthed silently.

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Stories by Steve