The Escape

Chapter 3 - Madelyn Adélie - November 6 1923

Today is my 17th birthday. It is the one day that I get to leave the house, and it means the world to me, but it doesn't mean anything to my family. After finishing my chores, I head outside and walk to town, which is about 2 miles (3.22 km) away. In town, I headed to this little diner and got a free ice cream sundae with a cherry on top. I hum softly, the song goes:

Of all the trees that grow so fair, old England to adorn

Greater are none beneath the sun than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Yew that is old, in churchyard mould, he breedeth a mighty bow

Alder for shoes do wise men choose, and Beech for cups also

But when you have killed

And your bowl it is filled, and your shoes are clean outworn

Back you must speed for all that you need to Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Elm, she hates mankind and waits, 'til every gust be laid

To drop a limb on the head of him that anyway trusts her shade

But whether a lad be sober or sad, or mellow with ale from the horn

He'll take no wrong when he lyeth along 'neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Oh, do not tell the priest our plight

For he would call it a sin

But we've been out in the woods all night, a-conjuring summer in

We bring you good news by word of mouth, good news for cattle and corn

Sure as the sun come up from the south, by Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs

All on a midsummer's morn

Surely we'll sing of no little thing

In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn

I hum this song occasionally to myself, but when I hum it today-an elderly, pirate-looking man looks dead at me and says, “How the h3ll do you know that song?”

I replied with, “I don't remember, but I have always hummed this song as long as I can remember.”

“That's the captain's song he sang to his daughter before she was kidn*pped. He wrote it for her. He called her his little Shadow.”