The Purple Rose

Oxford, England

June 1910

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Abigail, and she loved to help her mother in the garden. She always told their neighbors and friends her daughter was born with a green thumb. Abigail would pick the peas, carrots, and potatoes and store them in the cellar with her mother. She loved planting the rhododendrons, larkspurs, and tulips every spring and watching them bloom when the weather warmed.

One day, as she was working in the garden while her mother rested from a headache, she wandered into the rose patch—a special section filled with different varieties of roses: pinks and reds, whites, and even one that looked purple. She and her mother could never quite figure out how one particular rose bush looked so violet in the sunlight.

As Abigail looked up at the big house they lived in, with its many gables and shutters, she saw Miss Ada—her teacher—walking up the path. Miss Ada had once confided in Abigail that she believed fairies existed.

"Perhaps that’s where the purple roses came from," she had said.

But Abigail thought that was ridiculous. Her father was a doctor and didn’t put much store in “such stuff and nonsense,” as he called it. Still, Abigail loved Miss Ada and the imaginative sparkle she always carried.

Miss Ada must have felt her gaze because she turned, spotted Abigail, and waved. Abigail waved back, and Miss Ada crossed the garden toward her.

“Abigail, what are you doing on this fine Saturday morning?”

“Oh, just tending the roses, Miss Ada. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see your father about a complaint I’ve got in my ribs.” She winced as she touched her right side.

“Are you sick?” Abigail asked, worried.

“I hope not, but that’s what I’m here to find out. I took quite a tumble down the stairs fetching turnips for dinner, and I haven’t felt quite the same since.” Miss Ada smiled and nodded toward the rosebushes. “Your roses look beautiful. The purple ones are looking even more purpley.”

Abigail giggled despite herself. “That’s not a word, Miss Ada.”

“Is it in Fairyland,” Miss Ada said, smiling, admiring the roses and pointing to the blooms that had once been white but were now tinged lavender. “I see the fairies have been at work, painting them at night.”

“Oh, Miss Ada, you know there’s no such thing as fairies.”

“Don’t be so sure, Abigail.” Miss Ada winked.

“Miss Merryweather!” Abigail’s father called from the front door. “I’m ready to see you now.” Her father stood in the doorway, pleasant and professional, concern softening his expression.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Miss Ada said, then turned to Abigail. “See you in school on Monday—and don’t dismiss that there might be fairies. There’s magic all around us.”

As Miss Ada walked away, a blue and black butterfly fluttered up from where she had been standing and alighted on a nearby tree.

Abigail returned to her work while Miss Ada went inside to see her father. Every now and then, Abigail thought she heard giggling, but when she turned, there was no one there. Later, as she worked deeper among the roses, she caught the faint sound of tinkling chimes, though she knew there were no bells in the garden.

She finished pruning and gathered a few of the purple roses. When Miss Ada emerged from the house, Abigail handed them to her.

“Oh, for me, Abigail? Thank you.”

“‘You’re welcome, Miss Ada. Are you okay?” she asked, still concerned.

“Oh yes, dear, my ribs are just injured from the fall. I’ll have to be extra careful in the classroom. We’ll have to get Henry to put wood on the fire,” she said with a wink.

Abigail scoffed. “Henry won't help but Simon might.”

“We’ll see,” said Miss Ada.

Abigail followed her to the sidewalk, unsure of how to say what she wanted to say. As if sensing something, Miss Ada patiently waited, smelling the roses, her brown eyes twinkling as she looked at her.

Finally, Abigail blurted out, “Miss Ada, I heard giggling and tinkling chimes while I was working in the roses.”

Miss Ada laughed softly. “Those would be the fairies, my dear girl.”

“Do you really think so, Miss Ada?” Abigail asked, her heart speeding up at the thought. How exciting to have fairies!

“I do, my dear.” Miss Ada gave her a gentle side hug, winced slightly, then said, “Why, look at your garden.” The two turned and saw a light mist had gathered amongst the roses and a hundred butterflies at least, all different colors and sizes, were flying around and alighting on the flowers and herbs.

Abigail gasped in wonder. Miss Ada gave her another squeeze and then continued on her way, the bunch of roses held carefully in her hand.

Maybe Miss Ada is right, Abigail thought, and for a moment, she allowed herself to believe.

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Teacake Tidbits

1. The Edwardian Fairy Craze and the Cottingley Fairies (1917 roots): Around the turn of the century, belief in fairies was still surprisingly common, even among educated Victorians and Edwardians. This fascination culminated in the famous Cottingley Fairies photographs taken by two girls in Yorkshire in 1917. But the groundwork for that gullibility—and wonder—was laid decades earlier, in the 1890s–1900s, when spiritualism, séances, and Theosophy popularized the idea that unseen elemental spirits might coexist with humans in nature.

   
   

2. The Folklore Revival Movement: Between 1880 and 1910, folklorists such as Sabine Baring-Gould, Lady Wilde, and later Katharine Briggs collected and published local tales of pixies, brownies, and nature spirits. Many English country folk (especially in Devon, Cornwall, and the Lake District) genuinely believed fairies could bless crops or blight them, and still left out bowls of cream or bread to keep them appeased well into the early 1900s.

   
   

3. Fairies in Early Science and Religion Debates: During this era, fairies were often discussed in respectable circles as possible “nature spirits” — not imaginary, but entities existing in unseen realms of vibration or energy. Even respected intellectuals like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle defended the possibility of fairies, arguing that photography and psychic research might one day prove their existence. This blend of spiritualism, pseudoscience, and folklore gave fairy belief an oddly modern second life in Edwardian England.