Gran'papa Owl
Character studies. The widowed Mr Goldstien knows all about raising owls; children, not so much. However, his wife, his son, and his daughter in law are all gone, leaving him to raise his two little granddaughters all on his own.
A/N:
Some creative liberty taken with Queenie's name and its origins.
Please be patient; you can expect an explanation in chapter 3.
There is very, very, VERY little dialogue in this, as it is mostly speculative character building. I would like to get around to fleshing it out properly later on, but only time will tell.
The common thread in fanfic seems to be that of Tina and Queenie raising one another as orphans—or near to it—after the death of their parents. However, during the film, we hear about one other relative of theirs: their owl-raising grandfather. I haven't seen him come up in anybody's fics yet, so have some Grandpa Goldstien!
Some period-based sexism (courtesy of Grandpa Goldstien). Mentions of bisexuality. Mentions of demisexuality.
I reference Jewish customs and practices in this fic. If I get any of them wrong, please let me know so that I may correct them.
1910
Old Elijah Ariel Goldstien knows nothing about raising little girls. He knows marginally more about raising boys, but his own son, Fyvel (affectionately known as Filly), grew up being closer to his mother and was born with her gentle nature. Part of Eli regrets not being home enough during Fyvel's childhood, but it is also too late for regrets, because Fyvel is gone, and he must focus on the two children standing on his front porch in Saratoga Springs, New York with only one lonely suitcase between them. The only legacies his son left behind.
Regina is a teary-eyed, sniveling mess. Her sister has made an attempt at brushing the younger girl's hair, but it curls wildly in every direction like an angel's halo, and a soaked handkerchief becomes a home for her endless tears and runny nose. She has her grandmother's mouth and ears, but her mother's flaxen hair, and the sight of her gives Eli a sore pang.
Porpentina is more reserved and Elijah wonders where she gets it, because it doesn't come from Fyvel. Her hair is the perfect opposite of her little sister's in color, but it doesn't lie flat, coiling into loose locks at the ends and is just thick and kinky enough to betray her Jewishness. She stands stiff and straight, her dark eyes glistening and her cheeks splotched with an ugly pink blush that lets him know that she's cried recently, but she doesn't cry openly.
He misses Abigail tremendously.
Eli doesn't know the first thing about little girls, but he thinks he can put together a decent porridge from them all to eat—he has never done it himself, but Abigail made it for them so many times over the years that he imagines he can make it halfway right.
Naturally, it's terrible. Eli hasn't touched a stove in a very long time, but oatmeal seemed disarmingly simple. Porpentina makes a face at the food, but then goes blank and forces it down. Regina takes one bite and cries until the cream goes utterly blue and the oats deflate like an emptied balloon. Porpentina grimaces at it and excuses herself briefly to bring butter and sugar to the table as palatable condiments. Regina's porridge is beyond help, so the older sister shares hers.
Eli's heart aches. How can he provide for these girls if he can't even feed them properly? He hasn't the money for a nanny or housekeeper, not even for a house elf.
"No!" Regina cries suddenly. Porpentina freezes, stares. Regina looks up, her face ruddy like the skin of a peach, and stares her grandfather straight in the eye through her tears. "We don't need any of that. We-we'll learn together. None of us know how to do anything on our own. We've got each other, Gran'papa, we'll all learn."
Eli feels his eyes prickle and his lungs feel like they crack right through, but he stands and circles the table to kneel and pull his two granddaughters into his arms. Regina clings to him and sobs freely. Porpentina is trembling, but it isn't long before he feels her little tears seep through the fabric of his shirt. He kisses the top of her head, feels her hiccup, and lets his own tears fall.
They don't know each other well, but now they're stuck. They've always been related, but now they're family in a way they have never been before, and together they grieve.
Guess who isn't dead?
Excuses? Oh, I have plenty of excuses for why I haven't written in five years, but I won't waste your time with them here.
Finally dipping my toes into the world of writing again after years of silence. I am horribly, horribly rusty.
I will try to update this a couple of times per week. If anyone has any writing prompts or topics they would like to see explored, please let me know; I am happy to indulge.
You can find me on Ao3 under the same old pen name. Find me on Tumblr, too.
~MegiiJ
