Daisy, Daisy
As Minerva slowly rose towards consciousness this October fourth, the morning of her thirtieth birthday, she pressed her eyes shut and held her breath. If they were here, it would be the tenth consecutive time she had awoken on her birthday to discover a vase of daisies on the table beside her bed. Mysteriously, the daisies appeared no matter where she was, and more than once an uncomfortable discussion had ensued when she'd been questioned as to their origins.
Over the years, she had ventured to ask a few likely friends and family members if they sent the daisies, and they all confessed to being intrigued as they denied sending them. But one of her oldest friends, Poppy, had made her promise that if they appeared ten years in a row, she would ask everyone she could think of until she discovered who had sent them.
And so it was with trepidation and excitement that she tentatively breathed in, wondering whether she would smell them. Noticing no scent, it was with disappointment that she opened her eyes. She pulled herself upright immediately, surprised to see the daisies only a few feet away, their distinctive aroma evident. Why had she not noticed it earlier? She lowered her feet over the side of the bed and smiled as she raised the daisies to her face, savoring their smell and texture.
Before she'd had as much time as she wanted to savor the gift, Poppy's face called to her from the fireplace, and she went to confess receiving them. "If I find out you're not trying to find out who sent them, then I'll start asking people myself!"
With that threat as motivation, Minerva began that day asking dozens of people. It was discouraging work, being told, "No," so many times. Fortunately, when Poppy called on the weekend, they went through a list, and Poppy agreed she had asked enough.
Despite this reprieve, Minerva continued to wonder who sent the daisies on her birthday, and she wondered whether someone she had asked had lied. In the coming years, she spent free time on her birthday and for a day or two before and after working on the puzzle, but with no insight.
And so it was that Minerva remembered the daisies the day before her birthday just a few months after marrying. After dinner she prepared to broach the topic with her new husband.
She could see in his eyes the recognition of her worries as he asked, "My dear, what is on your mind?"
Taking a deep breath, she explained, "Every year on my birthday, someone sends me daisies. I've never discovered who." She hoped that her new husband would be as understanding of her secret admirer as she was as of the women who wrote to him.
"And are daisies so unpleasant that you fret about it each year?"
Whatever Minerva had been expecting or dreading, this was not it. "Not at all – I quite like the daisies and even the mystery."
Taking her hand, Albus confided, "Those flowers were from me, my dear."
As Minerva slowly rose towards consciousness this October fourth, the morning of her thirtieth birthday, she pressed her eyes shut and held her breath. If they were here, it would be the tenth consecutive time she had awoken on her birthday to discover a vase of daisies on the table beside her bed. Mysteriously, the daisies appeared no matter where she was, and more than once an uncomfortable discussion had ensued when she'd been questioned as to their origins.
Over the years, she had ventured to ask a few likely friends and family members if they sent the daisies, and they all confessed to being intrigued as they denied sending them. But one of her oldest friends, Poppy, had made her promise that if they appeared ten years in a row, she would ask everyone she could think of until she discovered who had sent them.
And so it was with trepidation and excitement that she tentatively breathed in, wondering whether she would smell them. Noticing no scent, it was with disappointment that she opened her eyes. She pulled herself upright immediately, surprised to see the daisies only a few feet away, their distinctive aroma evident. Why had she not noticed it earlier? She lowered her feet over the side of the bed and smiled as she raised the daisies to her face, savoring their smell and texture.
Before she'd had as much time as she wanted to savor the gift, Poppy's face called to her from the fireplace, and she went to confess receiving them. "If I find out you're not trying to find out who sent them, then I'll start asking people myself!"
With that threat as motivation, Minerva began that day asking dozens of people. It was discouraging work, being told, "No," so many times. Fortunately, when Poppy called on the weekend, they went through a list, and Poppy agreed she had asked enough.
Despite this reprieve, Minerva continued to wonder who sent the daisies on her birthday, and she wondered whether someone she had asked had lied. In the coming years, she spent free time on her birthday and for a day or two before and after working on the puzzle, but with no insight.
And so it was that Minerva remembered the daisies the day before her birthday just a few months after marrying. After dinner she prepared to broach the topic with her new husband.
She could see in his eyes the recognition of her worries as he asked, "My dear, what is on your mind?"
Taking a deep breath, she explained, "Every year on my birthday, someone sends me daisies. I've never discovered who." She hoped that her new husband would be as understanding of her secret admirer as she was as of the women who wrote to him.
"And are daisies so unpleasant that you fret about it each year?"
Whatever Minerva had been expecting or dreading, this was not it. "Not at all – I quite like the daisies and even the mystery."
Taking her hand, Albus confided, "Those flowers were from me, my dear."