Page 126 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘You know something?’ Callum says, adjusting his arm slightly where it’s wrapped around my shoulders. ‘There’s been a number of times my faith has been questioned over the years by things that have happened, and a number of times it’s been strengthened. But since you came to Bluebell Wood, Ava, and the birds started bringing gifts to your table, my belief has only gone from strength to strength.’
‘Do you think my birds were acting as messengers from some higher being, then?’ I ask, surprised to hear him say this. Usually Callum steers clear of talking about his faith with me, even now.
‘Do you?’ he asks.
‘Nice try,’ I reply. ‘But you’re not pulling me in with that old trick. You know I believe in the birds of Bluebell Wood. But why they did what they did remains a mystery I don’t want to solve.’
After we’d found the documents in the church Bible, we’d wasted no time in getting them looked at and transcribed by an expert. After a few nervous weeks – which then turned into months, when even more interested parties became involved – we’d had to submit all the evidence we had, including the photos of Mavis and Corbin. Eventually we’d heard the news we’d hoped to hear for so long.
According to our evidence, not only did the Church own the land that the cottage was on, but much of the land in and around Bluebell Wood, including the fields sold for development. The ancient documents had been proven not only to be evidence of the land that King Henry II gave to the farmer, but both they and the cover that protected them were thought to be the originals that the King had presented to Mavis’s ancestor, and they were now on display at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, on loan from the British Museum in London.
Callum had been shocked at first to find that everything he knew in Bluebell Wood had suddenly changed, and he’d been put under a lot of pressure by the local landowners to sort things out in a way that would keep everyone happy. Which, of course, Callum and his diocese had done their best to do, along with help from a top London solicitor, who Hannah had been happy to recommend.
The housing development was still on pause while the dig continued to find interesting artefacts buried beneath the soil, and Colin Cuckoo had been lucky to get away with only a hefty fine and a suspended prison sentence, after his part in concealing what was buried in the soil all around the village was finally uncovered.
Callum was currently trying to come to an agreement with a new development company to build some homes that wouldbe sympathetic to the style of the current houses and cottages in Bluebell Wood, so that no one missed out, including the Church, who would still get the money for the roof repairs and a new window.
The new church hall and the play park were already being built with the proceeds of some of the treasure found in and around the field, as well as the money that Callum had made in appearance and interview fees from media companies wanting to hear the story of King Henry II and the missing documents.
Lonan and Linnet were still going strong, and Lonan regularly took Robin on birdwatching weekends to various places all over the UK. Lonan had also pitched a new idea to his publishers, and was currently writing the first draft of his next novel about Henry II, a farmer and a small village by a wood in Cambridgeshire.
So all in all, the strange events that had befallen Bluebell Wood had turned out extremely well for everyone involved.
Callum looks up at the glass box frame where I now display all my gifts from the birds.
Sometimes I’d explain to people if they asked what they were, and sometimes I’d just say they were things I’d found in the garden, if I didn’t think they’d understand.
Everything was there: the yellow Trivial Pursuit piece, the pieces of broken mosaic, the fifty-pence piece, the red feather (that Robin had returned to me as a gift), the nurse’s watch, the Mars Bar wrapper, the Love Hearts sweet, a now well-wilted olive branch, the corner from the torn bingo card, the Roman coin (which had also been returned as it wasn’t of any particular value) and the gold locket. The RAF brooch with their eagle insignia had turned out to be Evelyn’s father’s, which he’dgiven to her mother, and she’d been overjoyed when I told her I’d found it ‘in the back garden’.
I’d spent a lot of time thinking about the gifts the birds had given me and why, and for some reason it didn’t feel right to have this one item in my collection. I knew it must mean something to someone, and that someone would more than likely want it back. So I too had been thrilled to find it meant something to my predecessor in this cottage, and I could give her back something for what she’d given me by allowing me to stay here.
‘Do you still think the only meaning in the gifts the birds left you was the Roman theme?’ Callum asks, looking at the frame. ‘Was it really only so we could unearth all those treasures in the field and discover who really owned the land?’
‘I think those birds had a dual purpose in every single thing they gave me,’ I tell him. ‘I may not have known it at the time, but each of those gifts represented something that was going on in my life back then. Each gift told me to be braver, stronger, and to believe in things that I never thought possible.’
I look at all the special gifts lined up together in the frame. Only this morning I’d had a new gift, which I hadn’t shared with anyone yet, not even Callum.
When Merlin and I had gone outside as we always did first thing to fill up the bird feeders and spread my special mix of seed, nuts and fruit on the table, I’d discovered something waiting for me. It had been over a year since the birds last left anything, so I’d been surprised to find it there. This was very different to anything they’d left for me before: it was a tiny stuffed toy owl wearing a mortar board and a gown, and printed on its little white sash were the words:Best Teacher Ever.
I’d held the owl in my hands for a few moments and stared at it.
I’d spent the last ten months working as a teaching assistant at the school and I’d loved every minute of it. Jemima had been incredibly supportive and had told me on more than one occasion what a wonderful teacher I would make.
I’d thought about it a few times, but I’d always talked myself out of it. Was I too old to retrain? Would I be any good at it? Was it too late to start a new career at my age?
I was still undecided what to do for the best.
Until now.
‘Best Teacher Ever?’ I’d read out loud to the birds and my friend the robin, who’d flown down into the garden to watch me like he always used to, with his head cocked to one side.
‘If you guys think so, then who am I to argue with the birds of Bluebell Wood?’
