The Old Oak

1

"And so you see children, Sir Henry Marshall defended Speeler Hollow for this very reason. To him it was more than just some land. It was their last bastion. If Speeler Hollow fell, so too would the nation. The enemy would have had a greater foothold, a river feeding into—"
   "His brother founded the city Levergarde. Why is this not a city? Was Sir Henry Marshall not as good?" A boy said, only just raising his hand as he spoke.
   Beatrice smiled at the boys outburst. "Yes, William. Blake Marshall did help in establishing what would become Levergarde (it was Ethergue back then, of course). Speeler Hollow not becoming a city had nothing to do with whom of the brothers were better. Different men, different visions. Speeler Hollow was a refuge for some, but a source of painful memories for others. To Sir Henry Marshall, it was something else.
    "After the war both Marshalls intended to travel, yet Sir Henry became sick from the wound in his leg.
    In his journal he states that 'I have lost my leg in defending Speeler Hollow. It is a sacrifice for the people. But a sign from God that my roots are imbedded here. I will not leave this blood soaked land. Instead, I rise up from the sacrifices of my brothers in arms a town which' —"
    Beatrice cut herself short and uttered a cry. From the view of the window she caught sight of someone taking to the oak tree that stood in the middle of the field, with an axe. She excused herself from her class, budging their wooden desks askew as she hastened for the door. She had to pause to let a horse and cart clack on by when she got past the picket fence. It turned left along the back road that lead to an arch bridge over the river, shrouded by bush and trees.
    Across this lane was the field that was home to her favourite oak. Not just her favourite oak, the towns oak. As old as the first buildings of Speeler Hollow.
    "Mister Hamilton! I say, Mister Hamilton!" Beatrice's voice grew louder with each furious step.
    He ignored her or could not hear her over the thump of the axe. She stepped behind him and grabbed the axe on the back swing. The tight boots around her feet had little purchase on the smooth grass. She almost tumbled pulling against Hamiltons frightened efforts to hold on to the axe.
    "Mister Hamilton. That is enough!" Beatrice pulled hard and the axe came free of his grasp. She could hear multiple gasps and cheers from the school children behind her.
    "God's above, woman! What in the blazes are you doing?"
    "I should very well ask you the same thing! Hacking at this beautiful tree. What nerve!"
    "Ah, lay off, miss. Return me my axe."
    "That's Mistress Fischer," she said with all the stern practice teaching fifteen children of varied age brings. "I will not at all lay off. I will not have this tree cut down, either."
    She stamped her foot and prodded the man with the handle of his axe.
    Mr. Hamilton threw up his hands, took a step back and scrutinised the tree.
    "S'just a tree Missis Fischer. Besides, I may as well have it before them aero fat-cats take it."
    "What do you mean?"
    Mr. Hamilton scoffed. "Aren't you s'posed to be a teacher. Thought knowing things was your forte? The aero-naughts are going to be building a big —" he expanded his arms wide, wider still, indicating the field they stood in, "BIG - air factory here. Probably going to wreck this tree anyway. Thought I'd take the wood before they do."
   Beatrice was dumbfounded. This was indeed news to her and she barely noticed Mr. Hamilton reaching for his axe.
   "You can have your axe. If I catch you — or anyone else, for that matter — taking to this tree with as so much as a butter knife I will reign heavenly fire down on them so fast they'll..."
   She paused, her anger speaking before having planned her threat.
    "Yeah, yeah. We'll rue the day." He snatched the axe back from Beatrice.
    Mr. Hamilton grumbled many more sentiments under his breath and he took off across the field at a slow deliberate pace, collecting his horses reigns in his hands. Beatrice standing sentinel by her oak, staring not at his retreat but the large field that merged into both forest and pasture. Her mind was whirling at the news of this airfield.
    Surely, Mr. Hamilton's age was catching up to him. There was to be no airfield!
    Her concentration was broken by a noise. A thousand stones tumbling down a mountainside. A hornets nest inside a box. She stepped out from the shade of the oak and shielded her eyes. A big brown oval egg was moving across the sky. It was bound in a mesh of rope, a frame work of propellers underneath and to each side, a tiny carriage at its front underbelly.
   "Airships, indeed! Well, we'll see about that!" Beatrice pulled her dress up and stormed off across the field. She would have to let the children play outside now, little Leonard was already sitting half cocked on the window sill waving at the ship. All this excitement has ruined their concentration and therefore her lesson.
    No matter, it would give her time to prepare.