November 22, 2008, Twyla Estates

For the first time in quite a while Covi got home before sunset.  Following helping Morgy with a small celebratory dinner and cleaning up she headed to the study.  After just a few minutes of work to make sure she was indeed alone she quietly closed the great oak door.  On tip-toe she made her way to a tall cabinet tucked inconspicuously in the corner.  If anyone else opened its doors they would find rows and rows of rare texts, ones which it was obvious would be easily preserved in a cool, dark place.

At her hands, however, when it opened on the left side was a column of drawers with little placards of aged off-white color, the fresher seen at the bottom.  On the right was an open space with shelves and rods, the former filled with books and hats and shoes and small figurines while the latter held hung-up dresses and other clothes.

It was her Birthday Chest.

Walking back to the large desk in the middle of the room the small witch picked up all her mail, returned to the Chest and sat on the floor, the skirt of her robes falling in folds around her.  Slowly she unrolled each scroll and opened each envelope, taking in the words, grinning at most, smiling at some, and laughing under her breath at others.  Only a couple made her guffaw and only one made such a sudden impact that she snorted, naturally it was the one Billy had sent her, which breathed fire and nearly took her eyebrows off when she flipped it open.  After she was all done she took the whole pile and stood up.  Each placard on each drawer had a name on it and so she began to open up the ones that had sent her something and put them in their proper places manually, starting with the ones from family and working her way down to the “Acquaintance” drawer at the bottom.  As she filed them a large notepad on the inside of the left door registered the names of each and every person who sent her a card or letter.  When she was done she would rip off that page and the next day she had to herself she would write her thank you notes.

In the corner of the room just opposite of the Birthday Chest was a pile of presents.  Carefully she opened each, tearing into the wrapping paper like a five-year-old, again without a wand, each registering on the aforementioned notepad next to the name listed before.  The noise brought in the usual suspects, the kittens and puppies and other young creatures, and then there was always the young at heart animals she had taken in flooded into the room from the holes she had cut out at the bottom of the walls in the room, especially made for creature traffic.  Per tradition she bunched up each piece she ripped off and threw it into a pile in front of her desk on top of the patiently (and not so patiently) waiting friends.

There were the fashionable things from Callie, the funny stuff from the kids and her brother and coworkers who knew her well enough to do so, the serious things from her uppity family members and unsure coworkers, and then there was a small blue box.  It was the same shade of blue as her eyes.  After quirking her head to the side she gingerly picked it up and flipped it around trying to find a tag or a name.

“Hmm…”

Opening the box against its creaky hinges her eyes went wide as they set firmly on the sleek, wooden and silver fountain pen laid out on a fine bet of red velvet.  Looking up she saw the Gertrudis shield embossed in the lid in silver.  Immediately she knew who it was from.  Something similar happened when she was twenty and again when she was ten.  It was from her father.  It was his habit to give something only once every decade of his childrens’ life and when he did it was without a note.

When each present was opened and the pile of paper was higher than the desk and strewn about nearly the whole of the study in her wee (and not so wee) friends’ play she hopped up and reached around the bottom shelf for her tags.  Taking the quill next to the tags she began to fill them out and stick them or hang them on each present.  Taking up her wand she sorted the presents, putting the figurines of magical creatures Rolf gave her every year in line with the others, all of Luna’s short line of trinkets next to Rolf’s, Billy’s candy in the candy box she had there and connected both to her desk here and the one at work if she needed a sugary pick-me-up, all the fashionables on their appropriate hooks, hangers, and ledges, et cetera, et cetera.  The fountain pen, however, went straight to her desk.

The way she organized things was set so that when a present-giver came to Twyla as a guest she would be able to find and wear or display their gift with relative ease.  Now came the hard part.

Clenching her fists and sighing she returned to the Chest and looked up.  After opening the drawer above her head that said “Eddie” Covi looked down and put her hand in, selecting one and only one card to read.  Then she did the same thing for the “Robbie” drawer.  Blowing the dust off the cards she carefully walked around the mess and sat at her desk.  Flipping open her brother Eduardo’s first with great care she began to read and reminisce.  Like the rest of her dead brother’s his letters were brief, serious, and even distant.  Ever since he married Lizzy, though, there was always a more cheerful note written in purple ink at the bottom of the card and various “Love You!”s from her young niece and nephew before they got their own drawer when their parents passed on during the Battle.  They had been a surprisingly good couple, emotionally as well as socially.  Both friends and family had been delighted by the match and likewise been devastated on that horrible night just a decade ago.

Putting her hands under her chin and her elbows on the desk the little sister read the words over, and over, and over again.  When she had gone through it so many times that she could hear Eduardo practically reading it aloud to her she closed it and gingerly set it to the side.

She hated to admit it, but Roberto’s were more precious to her than anyone else’s.  While they owled each other frequently, his birthday cards were still special, often covering every inch of available space with the same chicken-scratch handwriting she had.  It was a common joke to every coworker and colleague of his that no charm needed to be made to guard what was written on his Mysteries documents since hardly anyone could read it.  Indeed he had used the same “Transcription Quill” that Covi had when he needed to write something someone else would need to understand.  It was actually Roberto who had given her the quill she had today, one of his last gifts to her, to be exact.  Each and every card he ever sent was full of love, inside jokes, updates, and happiness.

When she was about to cry there was the sound of the doorknob turning.  Feeling very vulnerable and caught off-guard she took up her wand and took a defensive stance.  Covadonga should have noticed, however, that none of her non-human guests deviated from their playing.  When the door opened she finally understood why.

It was the man himself, or at least what was left of him, not that that made her love him any less.

Dropping her wand and nearly collapsing into her chair she put her now empty hand to her forehead as she exclaimed, “Merlin’s tightie whities, Robbie!  You nearly scared the life right out of me!”

Looking down, as he always did, he approached her with his hands behind his back.  Too tired to correct him for his lack of eye-contact she simply watched him.  When she was in arm’s length he took one of his hands from behind his back.

It was a card.

Rising to her feet slowly, so as not to startle him, the little sister took the card, her eyes wide in wonderment.  She looked down at the cover and there, in all its splotched, crooked, and child-like glory were the words in what looked like colored pencils:


“FELHahppeey Berfirthday,”

And lastly, in bold markers:

 “LOISIN COVI”

The little witch’s free hand went to her mouth, and then she looked up to see Robbie’s blank stare still trained on the floor.  Dropping her hand she attempted to speak, but nothing came out.  There were no words she could think of that she could say.  After a moment her big brother turned around and hobbled out the door, revealing Morgy—her fully clothed and free house-elf—with her cap clutched in her long fingers, her ears somewhat droopy. 

With a slight grin she said, “I caught him in the Play Room having taken apart the Craft Kit,” a place and a thing reserved for her younger human visitors, “And trying to draw something on construction paper.  Well…” she swallowed the visible lump in her throat, “I… I saw… I think it was Spanish, and well… you know I is not so good with the Spanish and…” her bright wide eyes settled on Covadonga, and seeing that she was not upset she continued, “but I could understand, kinda, what he was trying to do, so… umm… I helped him a long a little.  And he jumped up and started up here after only a little bit… and… well… here we are…” the house-elves ears perked up a bit.

Once again struck dumb, Covi could only walk forward, sink to her knees and give Morgy one of the biggest, tightest hugs she had ever bestowed on her life-long friend.  She had been around when Covi had been born in this very house, back when it belonged to her great-great-grandmother, Nan Ashwin.  Pulling back the house-elf could see that her now-not-so-young charge was nearly on the verge of tears.  Morgy sighed and patted Covadonga on the head, like so many times she had done before when the witch was shorter than she was.

“Happy 30th, Miss Covi,” she whispered and kissed the woman on the cheek before leaving her.  She now had to find Robbie and still put him to bed.

Covadonga was left alone, well… alone except for the zoo with her.  Standing up she returned to her desk and cautiously put the older cards to the side.  Touching the front she reflected on its simple words. “Loisin” was a nickname she picked up while visiting family in the Welsh territories, one which stuck with her brothers until she went to Hogwarts.  It meant “sweet” or “sweetie” and mostly for little girls, which Covi certainly was for a very long time.  Still one in many ways.  How on EARTH Roberto remembered that in his state was beyond her.

Taking a deep breath she opened up the card to find… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Completely blank.

Her brow furrowed she placed a hand on the left panel and flipped the page over back to the front.  After reading the simple words once more she went back to the inside and found, to Covi’s great surprise, an eagle had appeared under her left hand.  When she saw it she nearly jumped in her seat.  The drawn eagle (in the same colored pencils as the front had been written in) cocked its head to the side and stared at her.  After blinking a few times she put her hand on the right panel, and upon lifting it a phoenix appeared.  Wide-eyed with wonder she sat back and watched the scene unfold before her.

The eagle stared at the phoenix and the latter did likewise.  After a tense moment the eagle flapped its wings a couple times and hopped on its feet.  The phoenix seemed to giggle at the other bird’s little dance and fluffed its feathers.  A perch suddenly emerged from the center fold.  Both birds then flew to the perch and leaned against each other and looked up at Covi.  After a moment the sketch stood still.  With a smile she closed the card.  Taking the older cards she stood up and went back to the Chest.  Putting the cards back and shutting the drawers she returned to her seat.

One of her eyebrows slowly rising, she leaned forward and opened the card again.  After a moment of staring at the blank space again, she put one hand on each panel and lifted them, revealing the birds once more.  Giggling she clapped as the two did an aerial dance and looked to her for her reaction.  When the drawing froze again Covadonga shut the card and immediately opened it again, putting her hands down as she had before.  Each and every time she did this the birds did something different, playing, flying, and dancing for her, sometimes talking mutely to each other, their beaks opening though no noise came out.

For the rest of the night this little routine was repeated, Covi’s laughter ringing through the night long after all the animals curled up in their makeshift beds of wrapping and tissue paper.

It was the best card she had ever gotten, and probably ever would get for a very long time.