October 1891

A blue jay flew through the wild forest, and Madeline Sinclair followed. She dashed and trounced through the piles of discarded leaves, unwavering in her pursuit. Her eyes traced every movement of the cobalt-colored bird's flight path.

She hiked up the skirt of her black Victorian mourning dress. The soles of her matching leather boots slipped on the loose leaves. Madeline stumbled. She braced herself with the tip of her closed parasol, stopping only momentarily to gather herself before continuing the pursuit. Her eyes never wavered, always focused on the bird.

"Ms. Sinclair," an older man's voice shouted from behind.

Madeline didn't stop, refusing to recognize the voice. She followed as the bird ventured on with its journey.

"Ms. Sinclair, please stop," the man's voice bellowed once again.

Madeline never wavered in her pursuit, dodging branches, thickets, and other obstacles in her path.

"Madeline, I implore you to stop," the man pleaded.

"Not now," she shouted back. "Not when we are this close."

The crisp fall air filled her lungs. They burned with every breath in her labored chase. The blue jay gained a noticeable distance between them, gaining an aerial advantage as it swooped and glided through the tree branches.

Madeline eased up as she rolled over a felled tree trunk. Her query banked to the left and disappeared deeper into the forest.

She gritted her teeth, thrusting her knees forward. They caught in the excess fabric of her skirt, impeding her progress.

"No," she shouted as tears welled in her eyes. "I'm so close. Not now."

"Ms. Sinclair, please stop. It's over. The bird is gone."

Madeline stopped running. She hunched over, with her hands on her hips, to catch her breath. Each inhale deeper than the last. The leaves crunched as the man approached.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Sinclair, but we weren't going to catch the bird. We were lucky to not trip and fall and harm ourselves."

Madeline focused on the dead leaves below her. Adrenaline coursed through her body. An internal rage slowly built. Her breath satiated, she inhaled to calm her emotions. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the curved handle. She rose and jabbed the tip of the black parasol into the man's chest.

"Farnsworth, that bird was our only hope of finding a tree." She jabbed the older man's chest to emphasize every word.

"We can always find another bird."

Madeline drove the tip of the parasol into the ground. It stood free from her grasp, stuck in the soft earth. She stormed off to survey the landscape of the small clearing. "It has to be here. It must be here."

"Have you considered it wasn't meant to be? Or it was a myth? A legend?"

Madeline shot him a dirty glance. Her eyebrows furled with anger.

Farnsworth added, "How many times have we been searching in the woods only to come up empty-handed?"

Madeline scanned for the elusive blue jay amongst the autumn trees. "It has to be close by."

Russell Farnsworth withdrew a handkerchief from his frock coat pocket. He unfurled the white cloth and rubbed down his forehead. He pulled out a gold pocket watch and glanced at it. "Your father would have agreed with me. Besides, it's getting late. The sun will be down soon, and we're out in the middle of nowhere."

"My father was a fool for not doing what was necessary. He entrusted his hope for a cure to others. And when they failed, he accepted his fate in the Sinclair curse. He accepted the loss of my mother. I refuse to accept my fate."

"It's been almost a year since you banished your fiancé. It's been far too long with no contact from him. You have to accept he's dead. He's gone. You have to let go."

Madeline paused. She scowled at the older gentleman before her. Her chest rose and fell as if ready to explode with anger.

"Never!"

He didn't back down. Russell stood upright, neatly folded his handkerchief, and returned it to the pocket of his dark gray coat. He tilted his head and lowered his chin. He never lost sight of Madeline. He stood poised and confident, and his eyes met hers.

"You know I'm right. You have a responsibility as head of the Sinclair family legacy. You need to be taking care of affairs back home, not gallivanting around forests searching for a mythical tree. It won't bring Callum back from the dead. Your father could not bring back your mother. You need to accept these things as they are. I implore you. Please. Move on."

"I refuse!" She ripped her parasol out of the ground and waved it around like a wand. "I refuse to accept it as my fate. Besides, I have something my father didn't. I have my mother's gift—the whole reason he married my mother in the first place. He hoped her magical powers would prevent her death. Change things. Break the curse. Yet, the Sinclair curse lives on. I refuse to accept that I can't change this."

The loud jeer of a blue jay's call echoed through the woods. They snapped to the origin of the sound. The bird landed on an ash tree. While some branches were barren for the upcoming winter, the remaining leaves still held onto their life-giving green chlorophyll.

Madeline held her breath. Her eyes fixated on the bird resting among the ash tree's branches. She glanced down to the ring of rocks surrounding the base of the tree. She approached it with soft steps, not wanting to crunch the leaves and scare off the bird—not without confirming it was the prized tree she sought. Madeline recalled her mother's guiding advice.

S earch for an ash tree with still green leaves amongst those which are retreating into their winter slumber. Rocks at its base to protect it from things crawling in the darkness. A blue jay on its branches to guide the souls to the land of the dead. There you will find the tree of the fairies. There you will find the entrance to his realm.

Madeline smiled. A tear fell down her cheek. Her year of searching had finally paid off. She stood at the base of the prize she sought. Her parasol bounced off the ground as she let go to touch the tree trunk. Her fingers traced the gnarled grooves in the bark. She laughed.

"This is it," she exclaimed. "This is the tree we've been searching for."

"My word." Russell approached and touched the tree. "You were right. You were right about everything."

Madeline scrutinized the tree from its base to the tip of the branches above. She placed both hands on the tree trunk. "I call forth the Oaken King so I may enter his realm of fairies and parlay," she shouted.

There was no response.

She repositioned her hands toward the center of the trunk. "I seek an audience with the king of the fairies so I may parlay entrance to the underworld."

There was only the sound of the rustling branches caught in the autumn breeze.

Russell leaned in to speak softly into her ear. "Maybe he's not home."

Madeline placed her ear to the tree. There was no sound, but she was unsure of what she expected to hear. Perhaps the revelries of the fairies as in the stories of old. Maybe the chittering of diminutive voices. Anything. Anything except the silence which greeted her.

Russell asked, "Are you certain this is a fairy tree?"

"I'm certain," Madeline replied. She tapped the trunk a few times and stood upright. "The ritual of Sauin must commence within the week. We'll need to make contact with the Fairy King before then."

"I'll have the order here as soon as I can."

"This tree will need protection. I want you to use the foundation's money to buy the land around here. Whatever the cost. I want to own this land."

"Shall I have them clear the other trees?"

"No. We can use them to hide it. We'll protect it. Only we know its true purpose. We'll build a park. The forest will be off limits to development and progress. We'll hide it in plain sight. Right here in this alcove. Undisturbed."

"It shall be done. I'll see to it personally."

Madeline stepped back and placed her hands on her hips, her mind lost in thought. What if he won't grant me an audience? How many times do I have to try? People will get curious. They will ask why I'm constantly going into the middle of nowhere and drudging through the woods. After all, I must keep up appearances.

No. No, she mustn't open her actions to such questions. After all, if her father taught her anything, besides the value of owning something, it was to never let people see your preparations, only your results. Her moves would have to be done in secret.

She tilted her head, scanning the forest floor for answers. There, among the discarded, wilted, decaying leaves, small rocks were strewn about next to a broken branch. With her previous contentious emotions tempered and a new point of clarity, inspiration struck.

"We should build a town," she said.

"A town? Another town? Isn't running one town enough?"

"The mayor runs the town. I run the mayor. I can run two mayors. We'll build a town right outside this park. I won't have to travel far, and people won't ask questions as to what I'm doing."

Russell took a step back. He scrunched his face with furled eyebrows, wrinkles emerging around his narrowed eyes, flared nostrils, and biting his lips—no doubt holding back from offering up one of his many protesting thoughts. He paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath. "Might I inquire as to why you need a town? Shouldn't contact with the Fairy King once be enough?"

Madeline bent down to pick up her black parasol. She removed her black lace glove from her left hand and proceeded to clean the dirt and mud off the wooden tip. Madeline flicked opened the umbrella and placed it on her right shoulder, returning the lace glove to her hand. She spun the parasol around a few times.

"My father taught me that I should never continue to pay for someone's services when I can buy them once and use it forever."

She proceeded back through the woods the way she came.

"What should we call it? Madeline? Sinclairsville? Something else?"

Madeline paused, never turning back to acknowledge his question directly. She twirled the parasol in her hands. Her mind wandered through various names, but it kept returning to one. She glanced over her shoulder, slightly turning to face Russell. A smile on her face.

"Newbury," she replied. "Newbury Grove. A fitting name for my new neighborhood."