Founders (Helga)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
Helga stirred the stew in front of her with half her attention focused on the preparations for the meal and half her attention on the problem keeping to her room two floors above her. She had always managed her best thinking in the kitchen, and she was desperately in need of some charity of thought now. She added another pinch of salt and let the repetitive motion of the spoon circling soothe the feelings of confusion and concern that were plaguing her. Letting her head clear could do nothing but help the situation.
[more]
Her daughter used to fuss at her back when she was at an age to be all for shortcuts and finishing day to day chores as quickly as possible. She used to insist that there was no need to expend the effort of manually completing chores like cooking when a simple wave of your wand could accomplish such things for you. She had always smiled and refrained from making the comment that rose to her lips each time - that she would understand the value someday. She knew the words would be wasted - they wouldn't mean anything to her until she actually got to that point.
Gitte had grown up to find her own quiet time for thinking in needlepoint of all things and no longer made exasperated comments to her mother about her cooking habits. Her middle child was a few weeks shy of delivering her own second child, but Helga wasn't sure that she would be able to be in attendance. She hated to miss the occasion, but she felt obligated to see things through here. She would need to remember to write her about the possibility. She might try to make time in the morning to do so.
There were many changes that would need to be made if Rowena did not improve soon. She had not emerged from her room since Helga had coaxed her out for a walk around the garden two days before the baby had arrived. She was barely picking at the food that Helga kept serving her. She was not just sad. She was not just weary. Helga had methods for those. Rowena was something else altogether. It was as if she was lost. Moreover, she seemed determined to do her level best to remain lost.
Helga had seen women who struggled to get their equilibrium back after the birth of a baby. She had a variety of means at her disposal that she used in those instances. Rowena, however, had been this way since before the baby had come.
The truth was that she didn't know how to help her friend. Helga may have spent more than half of her life as a widow, but everything she had thought she had known about the state was crumbling in the face of Rowena's determination to mire herself in her grief and allow it to overcome her. She had been in low spirits ever since Gareth's death. The four months since that event had seemed to bring no improvement. It felt like she was spiraling further and further into her closed little world that she was creating within the confines of the four walls of her bed chamber.
It had been Thom who had written to Helga asking her if she would come to serve as his mother's midwife. Rowena had tolerated her presence but whatever Thom had presumably hoped for about her arrival bringing back his mother's usual temperament had failed to come to fruition. Helga had been surprised at the state her friend was in - she had been less surprised at the way Rowena had sent most of the people around her packing.
Helga had hoped that the birth of her daughter would change that, but that did not seem to be occurring. Helena was nine days old, and Rowena only seemed to be getting worse. Her friend hadn't even chosen her child's name. Thom had chosen the name for his new sister when Rowena had dismissed the suggestion that she choose something with an agitated "call her what you will." Thom had been taken aback, but he had done as bid and chosen a variation on a name from an epic poem he was in the midst of working on a translation for - Thom's academic inclinations had taken a decidedly less theoretical bent than either of his parents. Thom had done his best to talk his mother around, but Rowena showed no inclination to listen to him. He was missing his father as well, but he was twenty five and not of a temperament to miss out on the present for the sake of the past. He had gone back home three days ago (even though his wife had told him that he should stay with his mother so long as she needed him).
Thom had been a contented baby; Helena was anything but. Helga was convinced that had far more to do with Rowena than it did with the little girl's natural temperament. Babies were sensitive creatures; they were dependent on the adults around them for care, and Helga felt that made them rather good readers of human nature. As long as Rowena was distressed, then Helena was going to be distressed in turn (and on and on the cycle would continue until Rowena - being the adult and the one in a position to make actual choices - made an effort to break it).
As it was, Rowena had refused to see the girl entirely on this day - leaving her to the care of the wet nurse and what attention Helga could offer her in between the other tasks she was undertaking trying to keep the household running. She was out of ideas. She had received word that Godric was on his way, and she hoped that he would be able to talk his sister-in-law into some semblance of normalcy. She couldn't be sure that that would work. Rowena was so apt to take things amiss these days. Not to mention that she was developing a dreadfully imperious habit of refusing to see anyone that interrupted her brooding. Godric, however, was a force of nature all on his own. Rowena would find it far more difficult to send him packing than she had nearly everyone else. She hadn't tried to make Helga go away. As out of it as she was, she still seemed aware enough to know that trying to make Helga leave would be a battle that she would not win.
Helga could out stubborn almost anyone, but stubborn couldn't accomplish everything. In truth, Rowena's actions were so foreign to her that she struggled for the right words and actions in response.
She had been married at twelve. She had borne three children and become a widow by her seventeenth birthday. She had mourned for Hugh, but it had never occurred to her to shut herself up and cease to function. She had kept living. There had been three little ones depending on her. Further, in her world, death had always been considered a part of life. Death simply was. It was the natural progression of life for all things and people to die, and her family had always taught their children to accept it as such when it was time.
For Rowena, death had been a problem that she had failed to solve.
Godric's visit had the potential to turn unpleasant, and this house had seen enough unpleasantness over the last few weeks to last for anyone's lifetime. She had actually encouraged Thom to leave - which was something that she normally never would have dreamed of doing. The boy . . . man she reminded herself (he was a grown man with a child of his own) . . . had been so twisted around by his inability to get through to his mother that it was doing him more harm than good to try to help. As it didn't seem to be helping Rowena any to have her son with her, there was no purpose to his remaining. He had asked if he should take Helena with him, and Helga wasn't sure she had done the right thing asking him to leave his sister behind. Consigning the infant to her brother's care smacked of finality. Helga might have been at an end of ideas, but she was not yet ready to make such a concession.
She was failing a friend that needed her, and that was something that Helga could not simply allow to stand. She would stay and fight what battles she could until Rowena was ready again to fight constructive battles for herself.
Godric was coming and that gave her an ally if nothing else.
Helga stirred the stew in front of her with half her attention focused on the preparations for the meal and half her attention on the problem keeping to her room two floors above her. She had always managed her best thinking in the kitchen, and she was desperately in need of some charity of thought now. She added another pinch of salt and let the repetitive motion of the spoon circling soothe the feelings of confusion and concern that were plaguing her. Letting her head clear could do nothing but help the situation.
[more]
Her daughter used to fuss at her back when she was at an age to be all for shortcuts and finishing day to day chores as quickly as possible. She used to insist that there was no need to expend the effort of manually completing chores like cooking when a simple wave of your wand could accomplish such things for you. She had always smiled and refrained from making the comment that rose to her lips each time - that she would understand the value someday. She knew the words would be wasted - they wouldn't mean anything to her until she actually got to that point.
Gitte had grown up to find her own quiet time for thinking in needlepoint of all things and no longer made exasperated comments to her mother about her cooking habits. Her middle child was a few weeks shy of delivering her own second child, but Helga wasn't sure that she would be able to be in attendance. She hated to miss the occasion, but she felt obligated to see things through here. She would need to remember to write her about the possibility. She might try to make time in the morning to do so.
There were many changes that would need to be made if Rowena did not improve soon. She had not emerged from her room since Helga had coaxed her out for a walk around the garden two days before the baby had arrived. She was barely picking at the food that Helga kept serving her. She was not just sad. She was not just weary. Helga had methods for those. Rowena was something else altogether. It was as if she was lost. Moreover, she seemed determined to do her level best to remain lost.
Helga had seen women who struggled to get their equilibrium back after the birth of a baby. She had a variety of means at her disposal that she used in those instances. Rowena, however, had been this way since before the baby had come.
The truth was that she didn't know how to help her friend. Helga may have spent more than half of her life as a widow, but everything she had thought she had known about the state was crumbling in the face of Rowena's determination to mire herself in her grief and allow it to overcome her. She had been in low spirits ever since Gareth's death. The four months since that event had seemed to bring no improvement. It felt like she was spiraling further and further into her closed little world that she was creating within the confines of the four walls of her bed chamber.
It had been Thom who had written to Helga asking her if she would come to serve as his mother's midwife. Rowena had tolerated her presence but whatever Thom had presumably hoped for about her arrival bringing back his mother's usual temperament had failed to come to fruition. Helga had been surprised at the state her friend was in - she had been less surprised at the way Rowena had sent most of the people around her packing.
Helga had hoped that the birth of her daughter would change that, but that did not seem to be occurring. Helena was nine days old, and Rowena only seemed to be getting worse. Her friend hadn't even chosen her child's name. Thom had chosen the name for his new sister when Rowena had dismissed the suggestion that she choose something with an agitated "call her what you will." Thom had been taken aback, but he had done as bid and chosen a variation on a name from an epic poem he was in the midst of working on a translation for - Thom's academic inclinations had taken a decidedly less theoretical bent than either of his parents. Thom had done his best to talk his mother around, but Rowena showed no inclination to listen to him. He was missing his father as well, but he was twenty five and not of a temperament to miss out on the present for the sake of the past. He had gone back home three days ago (even though his wife had told him that he should stay with his mother so long as she needed him).
Thom had been a contented baby; Helena was anything but. Helga was convinced that had far more to do with Rowena than it did with the little girl's natural temperament. Babies were sensitive creatures; they were dependent on the adults around them for care, and Helga felt that made them rather good readers of human nature. As long as Rowena was distressed, then Helena was going to be distressed in turn (and on and on the cycle would continue until Rowena - being the adult and the one in a position to make actual choices - made an effort to break it).
As it was, Rowena had refused to see the girl entirely on this day - leaving her to the care of the wet nurse and what attention Helga could offer her in between the other tasks she was undertaking trying to keep the household running. She was out of ideas. She had received word that Godric was on his way, and she hoped that he would be able to talk his sister-in-law into some semblance of normalcy. She couldn't be sure that that would work. Rowena was so apt to take things amiss these days. Not to mention that she was developing a dreadfully imperious habit of refusing to see anyone that interrupted her brooding. Godric, however, was a force of nature all on his own. Rowena would find it far more difficult to send him packing than she had nearly everyone else. She hadn't tried to make Helga go away. As out of it as she was, she still seemed aware enough to know that trying to make Helga leave would be a battle that she would not win.
Helga could out stubborn almost anyone, but stubborn couldn't accomplish everything. In truth, Rowena's actions were so foreign to her that she struggled for the right words and actions in response.
She had been married at twelve. She had borne three children and become a widow by her seventeenth birthday. She had mourned for Hugh, but it had never occurred to her to shut herself up and cease to function. She had kept living. There had been three little ones depending on her. Further, in her world, death had always been considered a part of life. Death simply was. It was the natural progression of life for all things and people to die, and her family had always taught their children to accept it as such when it was time.
For Rowena, death had been a problem that she had failed to solve.
Godric's visit had the potential to turn unpleasant, and this house had seen enough unpleasantness over the last few weeks to last for anyone's lifetime. She had actually encouraged Thom to leave - which was something that she normally never would have dreamed of doing. The boy . . . man she reminded herself (he was a grown man with a child of his own) . . . had been so twisted around by his inability to get through to his mother that it was doing him more harm than good to try to help. As it didn't seem to be helping Rowena any to have her son with her, there was no purpose to his remaining. He had asked if he should take Helena with him, and Helga wasn't sure she had done the right thing asking him to leave his sister behind. Consigning the infant to her brother's care smacked of finality. Helga might have been at an end of ideas, but she was not yet ready to make such a concession.
She was failing a friend that needed her, and that was something that Helga could not simply allow to stand. She would stay and fight what battles she could until Rowena was ready again to fight constructive battles for herself.
Godric was coming and that gave her an ally if nothing else.