The Fairy Princess and the Dinosaur

This tale is set vaguely in the easternmost of the three villages of the Test River Valley that make up The Wallops (west to east: Over_, Middle_, and Nether_). I have taken great liberty with the village and the region, for which I apologize. There is no such promontory as Barking Tor (no nearby, noteworthy hills at all, to speak of), no such shop as Birdie's Books and Brews (a private residence is across the street from the Post Office), nor High Street in Nether Wallop, etc. etc. It is, however, a marvelously verdant landscape, and all three villages have charm aplenty to please the most jaded traveler.

Periodically, an author is accused of rushing the ending. Sometimes the accusation simply exposes the reader's insistence on having every single thread tied off in lieu of enjoying the story as the author told it. But there are times—and I must confess this too often applies to my stories—when the comment ("accusation" seems too harsh to apply to all instances) is justified.

Speaking only for myself, a sense of urgency starts building as a story approaches completion—"Hurry, hurry, finish so you can publish and read the comments." It takes a strong will to resist the temptation to cut corners on the original plan and get the damn thing out the door. Sometimes I resist, but too often I don't and conjure some deux ex machina or other shortcut device. I've tried to avoid that pitfall here, but it might be that I simply didn't have a complete story plan to begin (or end) with.

HENRY PRINCE sat pecking away on his laptop at his favorite table in front of the bay window in Birdie's Books and Brews. "Brews" didn't refer to beer, but rather the eclectic collection of teas (bulwarked by a widely admired robust coffee) that Bernadette Robbins—Birdie to her friends and customers—brewed and offered to those who came to peruse her printed works.

Birdie dealt in both new and used volumes, but the growing popularity of ebooks meant she'd had to raise the prices of her teas, coffees, and assorted biscuits and teacakes to offset the falloff in book sales. She was a bit birdlike, tall and thin with sharp features, and wore her hair pulled back into a somewhat severe chignon. She had kind eyes, though, and Henry knew she could be charming and witty when the mood struck her. He thought she might be a decade or so younger than his 64 years.

Henry—he preferred Hal—wasn't reading an ebook, he wasn't so churlish as to indulge in Birdie'sbête noire whilst occupying her premier table. He was writing yet another short story, his chief means of occupying time since he left behind Iowa's muggy summers and chill winters for England's milder, if occasionally drearier, climes. Weather permitting, he occasionally altered his routine for a walkabout.

One morning while browsing through Birdie's used offerings, he came across a vintage Ordnance Survey map of walking trails in Hampshire. It showed several interesting hikes in the vicinity, including one that led to the summit of a modest rise called Barking Tor. Curious, he asked Birdie where the name came from.

From her perch behind the cash box, Birdie looked up from her weeklyTest Valley Tattler and shrugged. "Dunno, 'tis always been called such. Mighta been wild dogs or wolves about once, but na'more. Nice enough hike, though, t'be sure." She went back to her newspaper, Hal back to perusing the map. He bought it when he paid for his tea and cakes, thinking he'd hike up to Barking Tor the following day.

Bright and early the next morning, he popped in to Birdie's for a cup of her stout coffee. He also bought a couple of teacakes, which he carefully wrapped in a paper napkin and stowed in his rucksack. Thus provendered and carrying his map, he set out on his hike to Barking Tor.

As the map indicated, it was a fairly short walk, a bit more than an hour. The way was quite level until the final 15 minutes or so, when the footpath started switching back and forth up the hill. It led through a belt of oak about half-way up, continued through a patch of gorse, then finally wound through stunt grasses to the top. A copse of evergreens stood at one end of the summit.

The view, if not spectacular, was worth the climb. Patchworks of variegated green fields stretched away on three sides, distant villages visible to the north and west. The view back toward the Wallops showed that he had come something less than two miles as the crow flies. At a smallish level spot on the summit, the tumbledown remains of a picnic table spoke of earlier admirers of the bucolic views.

As he sat leaning against the remains of the picnic table munching his teacakes, Hal thought what a peaceful place this would be to spend time. Perhaps he could jury-rig enough repairs to the table so he could sit here with his laptop and write. The calm atmosphere lifted his spirits a bit; he wondered if it might also lift the spirit of his stories.

Over the next week, Hal carried a few tools up Barking Tor and managed to cobble together a writing table about half the size of the original picnic table. The first time he sat, opened his laptop, and resumed work on his current story, a sense of accomplishment lifted his spirits yet further.

It was during a run of beautiful late summer days he first noticed a woman riding a bay through a break in the woods half-way down the hill. He saw her again few days later. This time a little girl sat in front of her. She stopped to observe him, but he continued typing away so as not to let on he had seen her, which might encourage her to ride up and start a conversation.

A week after that she rode up straightaway to the stand of evergreens with the little girl. She lifted the girl down, then dismounted and tied the reins loosely to a low-lying branch so the horse could browse.

She was attractive, looked to be in her late 40s or early 50s. The jodhpurs and bulky sweater disguised her figure, but she removed her helmet and shook out a mass of beautiful golden hair streaked with the occasional silvery gray. Her cheeks were flushed with the efforts of riding and post-riding chores, her eyes the blue of a clear English sky.

While the woman stowed her helmet, the little girl gamboled up to Hal without removing hers. She spoke before the woman could restrain her.

"Hello my name is Annie I am almost five years old why are you up here what are you doing?" The words tumbled out, driven by the irrepressible curiosity of a four-year-old.

Bemused by her verbal assault, Hal took an immediate liking to her. "Writing. What are you doing?"

"Riding."

He grinned. "You're writing, too? With what? I don't see anything—"

"No, no, silly, ri-ding, not ri-ting. On a horse." Her giggle gave Hal an unexpected burst of pleasure.

Before the woman could intervene, Annie continued her interrogation "What are you writing? And why up here on the mountain? What if it rains? How do you get here?"

Hal answered her questions without pausing. "Stories. Because it's so pretty. I only come when the weather is nice. I walk." Annie quickly sorted the answers.

"What sort of stories? Yes, it is very pretty up here. We ride only on nice days, too. It's too far to walk."

"Stories for adults, about adult things." That was more than he'd ever said about his writing to anyone.

"Would you write a story for me?" He never expected he'd be asked that. He struggled to find an answer, giving the woman time to get involved.

"Annie, that's not polite. And you should take off your helmet to give it a chance to air out." Annie took off her helmet, but hung on to it and didn't leave Hal's side.

Hal winked at the woman, whom he assumed to be the girl's mother, then looked at Annie "What sort of story would you want?"

Annie didn't hesitate. "A story about dinosaurs!"

"Dinosaurs?" Hal looked quizzically at her mother.

"A BBC special yesterday evening. Annie said it was very interesting."

"Well, thatis interesting. I would have thought you'd want a different sort of story, you know, about a fairy princess or something."

Annie looked thoughtful. "Well, a story about a dinosaur and a fairy princess might be interesting." She paused a beat. "Yes, that would be very interesting. Could you write such a story?"

Hal stroked his chin and looked up, then down. "Hmmm, I might be able to. But it would take some time."

They stayed a bit longer, then mounted the horse (Annie with help from her mother) and rode off. Hal left shortly after that, and returned to his flat to sketch out a story about a fairy princess and a dinosaur. It would be a welcome diversion from purpose-driven tales of loss.

A WEEK LATER, Hal packed his laptop—the first installment of Annie's story completed and safely backed up—and set out for Barking Tor. Annie and her mother showed up less than an hour later, Annie instantly insisting on hearing her story. The woman flushed with embarrassment, but Hal tried to assure her without speaking that it was okay.

Hal opened his laptop and started to read.

Once upon a time—

Annie was aghast. "Oh dear. I've heard this story many times. I thought you were going to—" Hal tried to stifle her disappointment.

"Annie, thisis a story that I wrote for you. Many stories begin 'Once upon a time', to tell us that the story happened a long time ago, sometimes in a land far away. Listen a bit longer and you'll see that—"

Annie drew breath to correct him, but he grinned and rushed to complete his explanation. "All right, you'llhear that it really is a story I wrote just for you."

Annie was mollified, sort of. "Well, if you say so..."

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away filled with green fields and birds and butterflies of all different colors, lived a beautiful fairy princess named Anastasia—"

Annie giggled. "I'm not a fairy princess, and I'm not beautiful. I'm just a little girl."

"Let the gentleman tell the story, Annie. If you keep interrupting, he'll never get to—"

Annie pouted. "I wasn't interrupting, I was just telling him that I'm—"

"Anastasia, please try to be quiet. I want to hear the story, too."

Hal hadn't tumbled to Annie's reaction to the name of the fairy princess, but this time he looked at her in surprise. "Anastasia? You said your name was Annie. I named the princess Anastasia because, well, because it's a beautiful name, and the princess is a beautiful girl, and it sounds something like Annie."

Annie was impatient to hear more story, so hastened to explain. "My real name is Anastasia Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Annie. Well, everyone except Gregory. He calls me Nasty..."

"Gregory is her older brother—"

"He's only seven, that's not old!"

When Hal looked askance at the woman, she mouthed "Later." He nodded, then turned back to Annie. She started to elaborate on her complaint about Gregory, but her mother cut her off without raising her voice. "Anastasia Elizabeth, that's quite enough."

Invoking her given name and middle name had the desired effect. Anniehmmphed, but settled back to listen. Hal covered his smile with a genteel cough and went back to reading.

"...a beautiful fairy princess named Anastasia. Princess Anastasia was the daughter of the King and Queen of the fairies. They loved their beautiful daughter very much, but were so busy with king and queen business, they couldn't spend much time with her. She didn't go to school, her teachers came to the royal palace to teach her how to dance and sing and dress and speak different languages—"

"Why did they have to teach her how to dress? Wasn't she old enough to dress herself?"

The mother frowned. "Anas—"

Hal intervened. "No, that's a fair question. But Annie, if you would be a little bit more patient, you would learn the answers to these questions."

The woman grinned. "Asking Annie to be patient is like asking the wind not to blow." She softened the rebuke with a gentle smile and patted Annie's cheek. Annie frowned, but was silent. The woman urged Hal on. "Let's hear more story."

... her teachers came to the royal palace to teach her how to dance and sing and dress and speak different languages, but Princess Anastasia said those things weren't interesting. Just last month she had told her lady's maid she didn't need help, and started dressing herself. Well, sometimes, when there was a special celebration and she had to wear a very fancy dress and maybe a cape or a crown, she would still let her help, but those were the only times.

Princess Anastasia wasn't very interested in dancing or singing, and speaking other languages seemed sort of silly when everyone spoke fairy language. She wanted to learn interesting things, like how to ride a horse, or shoot a bow and arrow, or swim in the river. But the teachers didn't know these things, and the King and Queen said they weren't proper things for a fairy princess—

Annie couldn't contain herself. "But they aremuch more interesting than dancing or speaking languages! Grandmama is teaching me how to ride, and I'm sure she would let Thomas teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow. He practices behind the horse barn, and he is very good." Her enthusiasm briefly faded. "I don't know how to swim, though, I'm sort of afraid of the water."

Hal looked at the woman in wonder. "Grandmama? I thought you were her mother!"

Grandmama beamed at the compliment, because Hal's expression betrayed a surprise that couldn't be fabricated on such short notice. "La, sir, you'll turn this aging head with such honeyed words, if you aren't careful."

It almost sounded to Hal as if she were flirting, and for the first time in years he felt an attraction to a woman. Slight, to be sure, and fragile, given how recently they had met, but nonetheless an attraction. He felt both a bit giddy and guilty at the same time, but she didn't give him time to stew about it. With a proud look she started bragging about her granddaughter.

"Annie and I go riding each Thursday on that gentle mare." She pointed to the bay tied to the tree. "Her name is Esmeralda. Annie rides in front of me, and is learning how to rein. Some Thursday soon she will start riding by herself on another gentle mare, a dapple gray named Tillie." Annie giggled in anticipation of such an interesting event.

"Thomas, our gardener, belongs to a society that reënacts medieval goings-on. The one next month has to do with longbowmen. He has a reproduction of a bow from the time of Henry VIII. It's yew, more than 6 feet tall. I can't pull it, not even a little bit, but Thomas can and is getting more accurate. He might be persuaded to give Annie some guidance, if he can find a bow fit for a small child." Annie nodded her approval at yet another interesting possibility.

She paused, with a sidelong glance at Annie. "I'm looking into swimming lessons—"

Suddenly Annie was tired of all the talking. "That's not interesting! I want to hear the rest of the story!"

Hal bowed to the wishes of their young princess and continued the tale.

...the King and Queen said they weren't proper things for a fairy princess to learn.

One day Princess Anastasia went to the kitchen and asked Cook for a basket of teacakes and biscuits. When Cook asked why, she explained that she was going to have a picnic in the garden with the birds and butterflies. Cook smiled, and soon gave her a small basket of teacakes and biscuits, plus a little tablecloth and a few serviettes.

To Princess Anastasia's delight, the garden that day was filled with birds and butterflies of all colors. She spread the little tablecloth, sat down upon it, and started to eat a teacake. No sooner had she taken a bite when she saw a rabbit watching her. That was very interesting, but when she offered the rabbit a bite of her teacake, it hopped behind a rose bush—

Annie nodded knowingly. "We have rabbits in our garden, but Thomas doesn't like them. He says they eat too much, and tries to chase them away. They always come back, though."

She crawled on her hands and knees over to look behind the rose bush. There was no sign of the rabbit, but she noticed a small hole in the garden wall. The rabbit must have run away through the hole. She crawled over and looked through the hole. All she could see was the nearby forest, but no rabbit.

The forest looked even more interesting than the garden. The hole was just big enough for her, so she went back for the basket. She crawled to the other side of the wall, picked up her basket of teacakes and biscuits, and walked into the forest.

Hal closed his laptop, which upset Annie greatly.

"Wait, that's not the end! It was interesting! What happened in the forest? Did she have a picnic? I want to hear the rest of it!" She folded her arms and sulked.

Grandmama tried to console her. "Now, now Annie, I think the gentleman—"

"Henry, Henry Prince. Although my friends call me Hal."

The woman smiled enigmatically. "I'm sure they do." She paused, as if trying to decide what to say, then sort of sighed. "And so shall we, although Annie should call you Mr. Hal." Anniehmmphed again, apparently her favorite way to express disapproval.

"In any case, that was quite enough story for one day. Might there be more to come?" Hal thought she sounded hopeful, and her smile widened when he nodded.

"Of course. Were you to ride this way, mmm, say next Thursday, most likely you'd hear the next part of the story." Hal had enjoyed the company of Annie and her Grandmama, and hoped to tempt them into more meetings. "But not the whole story. There would still be more parts to come."

Grandmama chuckled. "Why Mr. Hal, that means the whole story might take 1001 ni...no, not nights,weeks! That's..." She did some mental arithmetic. "...why that's almost 20 years. Annie might not find the story quite so...interesting by that time." Her eyes crinkled with silent laughter, which Hal found endearing, if not downright attractive.

"Oh, this story wouldn't take nearly that long. But there must be many more stories to be told about our fairy princess as she grows up." He did his best to look solemn, but found it difficult to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upward. "In fact, I'm quite sure of it."

Grandmama nodded sagely, then turned to Annie. "Annie, why don't you feed these to Esmerelda." She took a plastic bag of apple quarters from her voluminous purse and handed it to Annie. "You do remember how to feed them, don't you?"

Annie gave her a condescending look. "Of course I do, I'm almost five years old. Just keep my hand flat."

"Got it in one. I knew you would remember." Annie beamed at the compliment. "After she has eaten all the apple, would you please pull up a few handfuls of grass for her? We want to be sure she has enough to eat. After all, she worked very hard to carry both of us this far."

Annie nodded her assent, took the bag of apple pieces, and marched off to her chores. Hal wondered if the woman had sent her granddaughter off so they could talk privately. She quickly confirmed it.

"So tell me, Hal Prince, what else do you do besides sit here or in Birdie's shop writing stories for adults on your laptop computer?"

Hal was surprised that she knew he spent so much time in Birdie's. True, he almost always sat at the table in front of the bay window, putting him in plain view, but he wasn't aware that such an attractive woman had paid attention to him. Of course, the Post Office was just across the street, so she might well have simply seen him when she had business to attend to there.

He said there wasn't much to know. Retired, he'd been a professor of economics at a university in the Midwest. "I don't watch much television, even though BBC is better than almost everything we get in the U.S. I read books, mostly what I can find at Birdie's, although occasionally I order a book on loan from the library in Winchester. I have borrowing privileges there."