Amanda's Journal--February 1992

I cannot believe how swiftly time is passing! Lottie is growing so fast I almost cry thinking of how soon it will be before she walks, and talks, and eventually goes to school. Already, she rolls around on her quilt, and manages a sort of crawl, by vigorously rowing her arms.

She is very well behaved though, or so I suppose. I haven't been around babies and children a great deal, only Aunt Flora's two daughters, and they were already school age. I recall that one of my cousins...Eugenie, I believe, brought her baby to a Thanksgiving Day dinner. This was a few years before Mother and I moved here...before father died.

That child screamed so much that nearly everyone was angry by the end of the day, and several of the relatives relocated to the veranda to have their turkey. It was very non-traditional, but one could only tolerate the constant crying for so long. Oh, it was horrible. He would draw in a great breath of air and expel it in an ear-splitting wail, and nothing would soothe him. I admit I have dreaded the idea that one of my children might be that way, but Charlotte seems to be fairly content in exploring and discovering things in her new world. She rarely cries and never screams. Mother says I should reserve judgment until she can walk, that's when she will get into things.

Like Charlotte, I too am still discovering new things about this world. She however has no sense of what should or should not be, and is easily impressed with any knowledge. I am having to rediscover, to let go my previous conjectures and embrace what was once fantasy as reality.

When Mother first told me of magic, I attributed it to telekinesis, and other, more practical, scientific explanations. She did not deny that the psychic mind, no doubt plays a role, but said that these people who use it, these witches and wizards, are so accustomed to using it, that they never think to dissect it, to find the source.

That is one remarkable difference between Muggles and Wizards. Wizards are still allowed to believe in everything that cannot be explained. Muggles must have not only proof, but reason, and when they cannot agree on that reason, they have great wars to prove their theories.

I am so very new to this world still that I admit to carrying, at times, a great skepticism. Edward bought for me a copy of Hogwarts a History, that I might understand better, the important role the school plays in Wizarding lives, and why they hold it in such high regard.

I've already witnessed strange plants, flying brooms, magic wands, and enchanted objects. I have traveled by three of the four main methods of Wizarding transport, and have even been struck by a spell. Surely these events were designed to break a soul from skepticism, or convince of a person of her own insanity.

I read the entire book, and was not surprised by anything it said, until it mentioned ghosts! Ghosts! Surely there could be no such thing, in either world. Magic can readily be explained.--certain persons possessing powers; the ability and control to channel these powers through such devices as wands, brooms, and certain phrases, resulting in more powerful results.

But ghosts? To admit to such a possibility is to open the door between adult sensibility and childhood fantasies--and let in any number of impossible beings. Of course I stated my disbelief promptly, which led Edward to try and convince me. It was partly in fun; I would have dropped the matter easily but his mood was such that he teased me dearly about being afraid, and I simply couldn't let hi think that of me!

I agreed to meet a ghost, for the sake of being either convinced or proving my own theory. I wasn't really afraid, so to speak, but I was taught from birth to have a respect for the dead. A sort of superstition from home was to never taunt Fate, and that the possibility that a thing might not be true was no reason to get killed for the proof. Ghosts were always talked about in tones of whispered reverence; they haunted old houses, wells, and stretches of highway where there had been great tragedy.

They haunted. They did not hold conversations, yet I was being told that in the Wizarding world, the ghosts were cognitive; differing only from the living in there appearance and permanence,

Mr. Barkwater's house was supposed to contain a ghost, and Edward made arrangements that we might meet with him. And that is precisely what occurred yesterday evening!

His name is Sir Humphrey Hample, and I'm sure I will never meet a more charming ghosts! I highly recommend him to anyone who wishes to believe in ghosts, as he has wonderful manners, and great wit. He was also polite enough to not leap from the cupboard and startle me!

Don't expect the meeting of a ghost to be a thrilling, hair-raising adventure; a seance was not even required ,as Sir Humphrey lives right in the attic. That was a trifle disappointing, but the evening itself was highly enjoyable. We four played Lunatic Eights until nearly midnight, listening as Sir Humphrey regaled us with the story of his life.

I can't be sure, but I think he may of exaggerated it slightly to keep us from noticing that he was cheating! I know he was! I didn't win a single set, and I always win at least one set--and Edward two or three, but last night we all lost dreadfully.

We are invited again for Brag, but I won't trust him in a gambling game! I hear that when the Wizards play it, you have to wear gloves to keep from being scalded...perhaps that is just rumor.

I must go now, Mother should be bringing Lottie. She has kept her all night, and it seems like forever. I hope she hasn't spoiled her too much.

Amanda's Journal--February 1992

My poor Lottie! Se took a tumble from her cradle today, but fortunately she landed unharmed on the parlor rug. Edward had brought the cradle down just this morning, saying he thought the nursery too cold this week for her to nap there. He has tried to get warming charms to heat it, but they never stay in that particular room.

At first he was furious with the cradle and soothed Charlotte himself, telling her he would throw it away to please her. I pleaded with him not to s do that! It is such a beautiful cradle, and he put so much work into the carvings, wouldn't it be a great waste to see it smashed and thrown out?

My heart would have broken.

After Charlotte calmed, he agreed to merely place a few charms on the cradle, one which would prevent it's tipping or falling, and another that keeps any hands but ours from taking her out. She cannot now even climb over the edge. When I complimented him on the spell, he admitted it was a charm that shopkeepers use to protect their display items.

The cradle now safe, we fell to discussing whether or not she might have used just a little magic, because regardless of how we tipped it, it wouldn't turn in the same way again. I said I think she must have managed to crawl over, but Edward is certain she might have powers. We watch her everyday for signs of magic, but so far there has been no definite proof.

Every evening Edward demonstrates charms and spells for her...summoning little items, creating flowers, rainbows, and prisms. She seems delighted, and the exercises are supposed to encourage her.

I know he is greatly concerned, but I am sure he wouldn't dote on her less if she were just a squib, like me. We are both just worried that we might yet be forced out of this world, and then what would we do?

I won't worry about those things just now...Aunt Eloise has promised in the past to do all that she can either prevent such an expulsion, or assist us in any way possible if it did occur.

For now, I am content to love my husband and daughter, and to enjoy the pleasures of life.

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On the Monday following Amanda's meeting with Sir Humphrey, Patsy rushed into the kitchen, tardy as usual at ten past nine. She buttoned her cuffs hastily, and tied on her apron, as she began preparing a late breakfast. Amanda soon joined her, Charlotte no longer allowing her the luxury of sleeping in. Mother and child were both bathed, dressed, and in good spirits.

Edward never ate breakfast himself. He had long ago grown accustomed to not eating it, and now considered it vile. In truth he ate seldom at any time, and then only sparingly. He complained that overindulgence was the sin of mankind, and was equivalent to suicide for the man's constitution. However, he believed that women must be humored and fed frequently, to keep their bodies, minds and dispositions in perfect alignment. He also thought they required unnatural amounts of sugar.

She was used to a different sort of culinary lifestyle. In her world, there had never been a meal served with less than six dishes, however a lady was trained form birth to never make a public spectacle by glutting herself. A girl forcing large bites of food from a heaping plate and into her gaping mouth was as unpardonable and unattractive as a girl scratching her underarms, or performing some other revolting personal grooming in public.

Eating for appetite was done in private, eating in public was a courtesy.

Edward seemed to think eating was one of those annoyances, like breathing, that he simply had to do. This was unsettling to Patsy who believed breakfast to be a vast spread of eggs, sausages, oatmeal, toast, and coffee.

Amanda thought it should involve french toast, cottage cheese, thick slices of fried ham in chicory gravy, and a glass of cold milk. They had swiftly learned to compromise. Patsy sat down to a plate of eggs and sausage, Amanda to french toast and ham.

Charlotte was placed in her high chair and given her toy wand to play with. Occasionally, Amanda would offer her small tastes of egg or sweet milk.

" Did you hear me come in last night?" Patsy began cheerfully, by way of a morning salutation." No, of course you did not! If you had, you would have already said ' Pat, what kept you out so late?' Wouldn't you? Oh for sure, you would have...and I couldn't have lied! I would have to admit that I had been seeing a gentleman. I know what you're thinking now! How cruel men can be. How callous. You are probably thinking of how men treat maids and serving girls. But just don't think that of Phillip! No, just don't think it of him!"

Amanda stifled a smile at Patsy dramatic, artistic speech.

" All right." she said. It had been difficult at first, but she was slowly growing accustomed to Patsy. the discovery that their birthdays were only six days apart had given them a common ground of interest, and the fact that Patsy had not been allowed to use magic until she was grown, made her more sympathetic to towards Amanda.

" No, no...I am serious!" she said coloring." If you would just ask about him, you would understand.. yes, understand everything about him. I'll bet you are wild with curiosity, aren't you? As to what type of man could turn my head. I am usually so sensible! My grandmother used to say I was too sensible to catch a man. But I tell you, Phillip is different! Oh, he is very quiet, the poor dear. Heavens! I just called him dear! What you must think of me! Calling a man dear before I've known him past a fortnight! Well, I won't say it again, though I might not help myself from thinking it. Do you think that wicked of me?"

Even Charlotte turned to Patsy as though interested in her dialogue. At least, Amanda thought, Lottie should not have trouble learning to talk and she wondered briefly what it might be like to have Patsy, Amele, and Eloise talking in the same room.

" If you're affectionate towards him, I don't think it is wicked." she answered.

" Well, we are not exactly affectionate, least, he hasn't said much toward the matter. Except for last night when we were walking back from the Muggle theater, and I was telling him what a fine movie I thought it was, and I did, only now I can't recall it's name. He took my hand and said, ' Patsy, I rather like you.' Isn't that sweet? That's the type of man Phillip is! I tell you I was shocked. Too tongue-tied to answer, can you imagine?"

Amanda could not, but she agreed that he sounded sweet.

" Oh he is...he is. Perfect gentleman. I said to myself after I got in last night, when you didn't hear me...I said, ' Pat, girl, you have a real gentleman now and you're going to have to keep him'. That's what I said. What is it Charlotte? No...you can't have that. What a dear baby she is. I should want one just as dear. I wonder how Philip feels about children? "

" Well...you could ask him." Amanda suggested, taking Charlotte out to sit on her lap.

" Oh! What would I do if he didn't like children? Wouldn't I be heartbroken! Now I've got that to worry over. It's just dreadful, you can't just look at a man, and think what fine, brown eyes he has...but you have to fret now, and worry later over all sorts of things! Does he like children? Does he like the sea? Does he prefer fish or chicken? I haven't even got to the questions like what color he favors, and does he go to church! I don't even know his parent's names!"

Patsy sat with a great sigh, overwhelmed now by how much work she had yet ahead of her.

Amanda passed Charlotte to her, and began to clean away the dishes herself.

" So...he has brown eyes, does he?" she prompted.

" Yes. Just as brown as you please. And hair the same, and curly, like a girls." Patsy sighed again. this time more longingly. " I was hoping he would come around last week and ask if I wanted to go to Madam Puddifoot's. I always wanted to go there, I've heard so much about it, and they say at Valentines she dresses it up with floating cupids and everything. But Phillip he is Muggle raised so he doesn't think of places like that, and I guess I am too old; it must really be only a place for the kids. "

" He isn't a Wizard then?"

" Not he, but his family is. Well, half and half I believe. His brother is a wizard. Sin school and bright boy, Philip says. They are all proud of him because he is the captain of the Qudditch team, and Phillip believes he'll be professional one day. Have you ever read any Wizarding novels?"

Amanda blinked at the sudden change of subject.

" Not yet. " she admitted. " Not novels."

" Oh, I have to give you one. It's by Penny Parry She is simply delicious. Are you certain you have never read 'The last quest for the Golden Vampire?' "

" I am sure."

" ' The Crest'? 'Oberon'? 'The Lush Room'? But you must have read just a snippet of ' The Star Crossed'? Oh let me tell you a little about it! No...I shouldn't. Well, I just have to tell you a little. It is about a girl called Jesda who is being sacrificed by an evil Wizard named...Hath? Hart? Something H'ish. She is rescued by a blind beggar called Jorund, and he is banished to the Northern realm. Jesda flees to find him, and then Jorund and the count have a battle with fire on a glacier, and Jesda falls into the sea and drowns. To bring her back, Jorund cuts out his own heart, and burns it!"

Amanda glanced nervously at Charlotte, who appeared to be listening intently.

" That sounds...interesting." she said.

" I'll find it for you. Then you tell me if you like it. But don't say you hate it! It was the first Parry novel I ever read. And it was very special to me. If you don't like it, I'll cry!"

After breakfast had been cleared away, Patsy went in search of the book. She returned, quite disheveled, two hours later.

" I thought it was lost! You'd never believe where it was! I had to go all the way to China to get it! Honestly, I was all the way under my bed, and it was under my clothes, and a biscuit wrapper, and three notebooks; all behind my Sunday shoes!"

Amanda had once made the mistake of peering into Patsy's room when she had the door wedged open. She had quickly realized that the reason the door was wedged open, was because it had no room to close, and Patsy had been hurriedly shrinking items and cramming them under her bed to make more room.

From the time Patsy had first began earning her own income, she had begun to collect items of whimsy, and accumulate articles of clothing. She had move only the two trunks into her rooms, but the trunks, much like Mary Poppins' carpetbag, appeared to be bottomless. Patsy had taken out at least two hundred outfits, twenty pairs of shoes, dozens of handmade throw pillows in the shapes of hearts and stars, posters, photographs, robes, hats, belts, scarves, and a pink fur rug that was either a poor representation of a small bear, or was a real fur rug from some alien creature Amanda had never had the fortune to meet.

She also unpacked three crates of trinkets such as snow globes, flower vases, ant farms, sun-catchers, and statues of animals made from brightly colored plaster. As the final touch, she had also brought a parakeet, which was named Udolpho and was messier than three owls would have been. She had to line the entire floor of her room with old issues of the Daily Prophet, since she had been repeatedly unsuccessful with barrier charms around his cage. Udolpho loved to throw birdseed, and at even a great distance he could manage to get nearly all the chaff into Patsy's bed.

Since Udolpho's arrival, Crisp had taken to eying him hungrily whenever he could; and even spent an hour every afternoon clinging to Patsy's narrow window sill--staring relentlessly in at the much smaller, nervous bird. This exercise seemed merely for the joy of watching Udolpho have an apoplectic fit every day.

Amanda wondered if she were the only woman in the world who had a maid that could not fit into her own room for the clutter? She said nothing about it though, because Patsy did all of her other work without shirking, was immaculately neat in appearance and actually liked to chop onions...a task that Amanda loathed. For some strange reason, no matter how potent the onion, it never teared up Patsy's eyes, even when everyone else, including Udolpho, seemed to be moist.

Amanda decided that she liked Patsy.

Edward liked Patsy as well.

Charlotte liked Patsy.

Patsy liked everyone.

And Crisp liked Udolpho. A lot.

It seemed as though everything was, at last, perfect.

Therefore it was absolutely shattering to receive a note from Stella, in April , saying that Aunt Eloise had suddenly, and inexplicably, fallen deathly ill.