"Gifts" by Mary Lynn E Longsworth

"Maud! Mein Liebling! You’re finally here! After all these years you’re finally here! I was so afraid you wouldn’t make it."

Matilda Waldfrau smiled softly in the warm embrace of her grandmother’s arms, relishing her moment of peace and gentle bliss in the midst of an airport filled with the comings and goings of people. It was four days before Christmas, and the Frankfurt am Main terminal hummed merrily with the added flush of life during its evening rush hour. Somewhere nearby carolers were singing "O Tannenbaum" with the kind of contagious joy that even had the international business travelers talking cheerfully as they walked by, not seeming the least bit inclined to hurry on such an evening

"Me not make it?" Matilda smiled into her grandmother’s mass of auburn and silver tresses as she hugged the woman close. "Ten years of writing to you once a week, talking to you on the phone once a month, and you think I wouldn’t come when you asked? Heck, you sent me the tickets after all."

Grandma Minnie pulled back, her grey eyes twinkling as her smile took on the sly quality that made Matilda think of the elves of old fairy tales and legends. Age seemed not to have touched her grandmother much as well, leaving her looking just the same as she had when Matilda had last seen her almost ten years ago.

"Lady Wilhemina was concerned about your fear of flying, my lady," a man’s voice interrupted, it’s stolid assurance trimmed with a sinuous curve of the Welsh brogue, and a wavering hint of uncertainty.

It was then that Matilda noticed two men standing close by, though she did not remember them being there before, nor did she see them just arriving.

Her eyes fell first to the one she assumed to be the speaker, and she had no doubt she was right. The pair of intense grey-green eyes staring unabashedly back at her from beneath dark brows could only have belonged to the voice she had just heard. His dark brown hair was almost black as it fell tousled and ruffled to his shoulders, and closely-trimmed beard formed soft down against the edge of his face. Simply dressed in jeans and a hand-knit wool sweater, she judged him to be roughly about her age, just shy of thirty or so. He struck her as the kind of man that given armor and a sword could have easily played the part of a knight or a noble lord with great ease, and then a memory tickled her mind.

"I remember you," Matilda blurted. "You’ve been modeling for Siegfried while my grandmother has been working on the illustrations for "The Ring of the Nibelung’ due out next year. She’s talked about you. You’re Owain Bledri, aren’t you?"

The cheeks of noble pride took on the flush of red as Owain glanced away.

"Very good, chéri!" laughed the other man with the familiar curl of a luxurious French accent. "You’re very good indeed, though Owain is supposed to be my assistant helping me out with your grandmother’s shows and publications, but he does good work helping us both out none the less. So I can’t complain."

"Uncle Serge!" Matilda smiled broadly, enveloped by yet another set of caring arms that hugged her warmly and close. Serge Villeneuve might not have been a relation of the blood, but he was most certainly a relation of the heart.

"After ten years, you’re glad to see your godfather, eh?" he chuckled, giving Matilda a quick kiss to each cheek and then her forehead before smiling at her, his hazel eyes sparkling with life. "And here I thought you wouldn’t recognize me now that my black hair has nearly gone to silver, but no, I’d have to look like a whole other creature to fool you, eh, my not so little Maud? You’ve grown so beautiful over the years. Your grandmother shows me the pictures you send her, but they don’t do you justice. You’ve grown more beautiful than your mother."

It was Matilda’s turn to blush this time, but embarrassment was tainted by the feeling of loss. Shyly looking away, she pretended to glance in the direction of the carolers only to find the pain driven in more deeply as the strains of "Stille Nacht" carried through the concourse.

"These are for you, my lady," said Owain as he offered a bouquet of red and white flowers cradled between both hands to Matilda. She could see the concern in his expression, though, and knew he had seen her reaction to the music.

"The last time I heard ‘Silent Night’ sung in German it was by my mother the Christmas before she died," she explained quietly, gingerly taking the proffered bouquet. For a moment she wondered why she had not noticed Owain holding them before, as if somehow he magically summoned them, but the thought was overrun by the feelings of sadness and loss. "She used to sing it as a lullaby in hopes of getting me to go to sleep on Christmas Eve, but it never worked. All the stories about St. Nicholas and Santa Clause would rattle around endlessly in my head keeping me up. I don’t know how many times I would get up to check to see if the milk and cookies were still on the table by the Christmas tree, along with the carrots for the reindeer. I used to believe in magic when I was a kid, but I know better now. I learned a long time ago that there’s no such thing as magic. Planes crash, people die, it’s a fact of life."

"That is how Maud’s mother died," Grandma Minnie’s voice was low with grief. "We almost lost Maud to in the plane crash as well."

A pall of silence hung in the air as Matilda squeeze her eyes shut, fighting off old memories. She had been ten when the plane crash happened. Buried in the burning wreckage, she watched as her mother’s brilliant blue eyes went dull, her graceful, ink-stained hands loosening their hold on her and falling away even as the hands of their rescuers reached them. Her father had been fortunate enough to have been booked on a later flight, but even with his arrival, even with all the love and comfort they gave one another, he could not replace her mother. That day the magic died, and as the years passed not even the dust of its corpse remained.

"Oh, liebling," Grandma Minnie sighed sadly, wrapping her arms around Matilda again and pulling her close.

"I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t mean to…" Owain’s apology trailed off into silence.

"Perhaps it is time to go," Serge coaxed gently. "It is only four days until Christmas and I still have riddles to write so that Maud can find her presents. She’s probably gotten rusty after all these years, so I may have to go easy on her this year. I don’t want it to take her a whole day to find just one or else we might starve waiting for dinner. Let’s hear it for old traditions, eh?"

Matilda just shook her head finding it hard not to grin, especially at Owain’s marked look of confusion. "My godfather here has a bit of a knack of hiding Christmas presents where they can’t be easily found, even with the clues he gives in the riddles. Thankfully, the Easter Bunny has not taken instructions from him, or else the only way anyone would find their Easter eggs is by the smell three months later."

"Perhaps it is I who took lessons from the Easter Bunny and just expanded on them in my own way," Serge smirked, producing the familiar triangular box of Tolberone chocolate out of nowhere and holding out for Matilda to take. "A bit of a snack for you and Owain on the road, it’s a long trip to Oberwolfach after all. The drive down the A5 autobahn is fast enough, but the roads in the Black Forest get rather winding because of the hills. It’ll be almost three hours before we get there."

"Ahh, yes, three hours and much to talk about," Grandma Minnie smiled broadly, curling an arm around Matilda’s right elbow. Leading her into the river of people moving through the airport terminal, they followed in Serge’s wake as he led the way to the baggage carousels.

"You travel too light, liebling," Grandma Minnie muttered as Owain carried Matilda’s luggage to the waiting black Mercedes-Benz sedan; Serge had brought the car around while they had waited for Matilda’s single piece of luggage, a suitcase deemed far too small by her grandmother.

"Don’t worry about your grandmother," said Serge as he helped Grandma Minnie into the car. "She’d pack the kitchen sink if we let her, as they say."

"Artists must carry their work with them," Grandma Minnie insisted, patting Matilda’s leg as the young woman slid into the back seat beside her.

"Thank heavens I am not an artist then," Matilda chuckled. "We corporate back-office operators don’t need much for work except for our voice, and we can carry that anywhere."

Grandma Minnie stared at her in stony silence as the car pulled away from the airport. "I have gifts for you when we get home, mein liebling, certain special gifts which might change your mind, but first, let us talk of other things. I was thinking perhaps of going to the Christkindelsmarkt in Nuremberg for some holiday goodies while you are here."

"I would die for some fresh liebkuchen, maybe a stollen for breakfast," Matilda suggested, uncertain about the brief chill in her grandmother’s otherwise warm attitude. "Care-packages just don’t replace the fresh-baked stuff, especially the ones that don’t travel well." Her grandmother, like the rest of the Germans, was renowned for her cookies and pastries. If she got out of Germany without gaining a pound it would be a miracle.

Outside, the dark the world of winter slipped by as they talked and traveled southwest on Autobahn 5 for almost two hours. Turning onto B33, they wound their way deeper into the hills of the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest for another half an hour before they drove through the gate of the stone wall of Wolfach, Wolf Valley, and drove past the lit castle of Wolfach that hovered over the valley like an old sentinel. In no time at all, they were driving through Oberwolfach, passing over the Wolf River, and turning onto the gravel road that lead up to the traditional two-storey barn home built snug against the steep hillside.

"Grandma, isn’t that a little large for you to be living in?" Matilda asked, climbing out of the Mercedes-Benz to see the large house lit with electric candles in the windows.

"Don’t be silly, I do just fine here. After your Uncle Karl moved out with his family last year to a house in Munich, Serge and Owain moved in to keep me company, as well as the cats. It’s no problem, really," Minnie wrapped her dark coat tight around her and crunched through the snow and up the stairs to the front door, Serge close behind like a guardian angel. "Just get your things and come on in," she opened the front door. "I’ll draw you a bath and make us some proper dinner. Then we’ll get to the goodies."

* * *

It was almost midnight when the four had finished their meal. Owain had started collecting up the dishes while Grandma Minnie and Serge had left the kitchen table to get the "goodies" she had promised.

"You know, I’m almost scared when they get their heads together. I don’t know what they’ll come up with." Matilda handed her plate to Owain at the sink, watching with mild curiosity as he washed it in the soapy water with more diligence than she thought was necessary.

"Oh, I’ve got a good idea of what they’re up to," he said quietly. "The two of them were quite a-stir earlier this week after Lady Wilhemina talked to your father."

Matilda blinked, this was the first she had ever heard of it. Since her father had remarried some years back he had hardly ever talked to Grandma Minnie any more.

"But why?"

"Lady Wilhemina says that you didn’t get to finish college because your stepmother became ill," said Owain, glancing over at Matilda as he rinsed off the plate and placed it in the drying rack.

"That is correct," said Matilda, picking up drying towel and taking her place beside Owain to help out. "She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in my third year at the Chicago Art Institute. I quit school to help out when they found out it had metastasized into other parts of her body. She’s in remission now, and doing all right, but the doctors are still keeping a close eye on her."

"But you didn’t go back to finish university."

"No, I didn’t," Matilda sighed. This was an old argument she had had often with herself over the years. "I messed up badly my last semester with my grades, and after being out in the working world I found it better than being a poor college student, let alone a poor art student. I’m too old and too out of step to go back to college. Besides, it’s not like I’m my grandmother. I can’t make money with my artwork."

"Don’t you dare say that, Maud. That’s not right and you know it." Owain plunged the plate in his hands into the sink with a splash, glaring at the suds.

Startled, Matilda took a step back only to find herself tripping over backwards as her foot caught something soft. Looking to see what it was as she tried to catch herself, she felt one of Owain’s wet hands catch her arm and prevent her from toppling over.

"Chloe, why do you always get underfoot at just the wrong time?" he grumbled, scooping up a small grey ball of fur from the kitchen floor.

"Ma," the tiny cat answered, oblivious to having nearly caused an accident and perplexed as to what the ruckus was all about. "Ma. Ma."

Owain held Chloe to his chest, wiping his other damp hand on an available towel on the sink. "Maud meet Chloe. Chloe meet Maud."

"Ma. Ma," the overly excited cat wriggled in Owain’s arms, reaching for Matilda. "Ma. Ma."

"I was wondering where she got to," he chuckled, handing the small cat into Matilda’s care. "Oh, she’s got a bit of a speech impediment, if you didn’t notice. She can’t say ‘meow’ like any normal cat unless she concentrates really hard, and then she just looks constipated."

"Ma. Ma," the bundle of soft grey fur looked up at Matilda, wobbling her head a little bit before settling into kneading at the woman’s arms and purring.

"She’s a bit small. How old is she?" she asked.

"About a year old," Grandma Minnie answered, walking into the kitchen with a carved wooden box in her hands. "She was the runt of the litter, and she has some difficulties, but she’s an absolute angel."

"That’s if you ignore the fact that she runs into the sliding glass doors three times before she realizes she can’t get to the birds outside," murmured Owain behind a hand.

Chloe continued purring, happily oblivious in her own cat world.

"I’ve got them set up in the living room," announced Serge stepping into the kitchen and giving Chloe a scritch between the ears. "Whenever you’re ready, Minnie."

"First I want to show Maud this." Grandma Minnie set a box onto the cleared kitchen table and opened it. "All of these things are your mother’s. I set them aside to give them to you along with some other things, but I thought I would show you these first."

Reaching in, the first thing she pulled out of the box was a small, gold locket. "I had this made for your mother when you were in kindergarten," she said, using an ink-stained thumbnail to open it.

Matilda sighed deeply, stifling back the tears that threatened to come. In the locket was a picture of things the way they used to be, the way that she had not known since her mother’s death. Her father and mother sat with her in a portrait on one side, while on the other was the tiny picture of a white flower tipped with pink Matilda had drawn for her mother. The delicate petals looked so perfect she could hardly believe she had made it.

"I was nine when I drew this," she breathed as her grandmother set the locket in her free hand. "It’s a Christmas rose. It was the first time mom let me use her pens. We were here, and she told me about the Christmas roses that bloom around here in the winter, snow roses they call them."

"I remember," said Serge, looking over her shoulder and taking the open locket delicately from her, showing it to Owain. "You so wanted to be like your mother, so grown up. I remember how hard you worked on it, too, and how proud you were."

"I have these as well," Grandma Minnie pulled out a black leather portfolio and opened it, flipping through the set of eleven pictures for all to see. "Your mother drew these portraits of you when you were growing up, one when you were born, and one for each birthday after that.

"Which leads me to this." Grandma Minnie reached in the box again, and pulled out a simple, wooden rectangular box as long and as wide as her forearm marked with the name "M. Waldfrau" burned into the lid. "They were your mother’s pens, and now they’re yours, but that’s not the last of my goodies. Oh no."

Grandma Minnie gently pulled the silent Matilda into the living room. A fire was burning in the fireplace, and a Christmas tree stood brightly lit in the corner. Here and there photos were scattered about of family members both living and dead giving the room an even more homey feeling.

"Serge helped me bring these up from the studio downstairs," Grandma Minnie explained as she stepped between two sizable easels. "These are the reasons why I really wanted you to come this year, liebling, and why you being here is so important to me. This one Owain and Serge have both seen," she carefully removed the cloth covering from one of the easels revealing a detailed drawing of the legend of "Puss in Boots," but only three-quarters of the way completed. "I’ve been thinking of possibly retiring, or at least passing on the family business so that another Waldfrau could be called upon when the need arose. While you are here, I thought you’d might like to finish this for me, it’s your favorite story."

Matilda felt her chest constrict. "I don’t think I could, Grandma, I’m not as good as you. If it goes to press, if it’s published, they’ll be able to tell your work from mine. It’d be a mess."

Grandma Minnie frowned, her gentle elven features becoming sharp and angular. "I have something else to show you, something else that I think needs to be finished before you leave. If you so desire," she said firmly. "Your mother was working on this when she was last here. I thought it only fitting if in honor of her memory you, her daughter and gifted artist in your own right, would finish it if only to keep it in the family. Owain, you’ll want to take a good look at this too."

Carefully lifting away the cloth cover, Minnie stepped away from the second easel, motioning for Matilda and Owain to come closer.

"It’s Hansel and Gretel," Matilda shook her head. "Mom did this with me modeling for Gretel. I don’t even remember it."

"Hansel looks like me when I was a lad," Owain shook his head as well, "but how?"

Grandma Minnie sighed. "Before the second Great War started, when Hitler was coming to power, certain friends of mine in France took myself, my husband, and my daughter out of Germany and safely into Great Britain. Their fear, as was mine, was that my art would either get me used or killed. I took their young son, Serge with me to keep him safe as well. While in Great Britain I was welcomed in Wales by the Bledri family that lived near Snowden. You’ve visited here a couple of times, when you were younger, and your father and aunt used to correspond with my daughter, Merideth, quite often. The reason why you’re in the picture, Owain, is because you were here when it was first being painted, as was Maud, though you two may not remember it."

"Look, I can’t finish that, or your painting, Grandma," said Matilda as she attempted to ease Chloe onto the nearest chair. "I’m not properly trained. I don’t have a degree. I don’t even have the supplies to do what you’re asking. I’m just not that good. My mother and you were both illustrators. What you both did and what you still do goes into books. I’m just a doodler."

As the silence fell, Matilda felt grateful that she was too busy with unhooking Chloe’s tiny claws from her sweater sleeve to look up for fear of what she might see.

"Matilda Leona Waldfrau," Grandma Minnie spoke slowly and deliberately. "You are your mother’s daughter, and my granddaughter. You, like your mother, me, and all the other women in our family have a gift. It’s a gift that goes well beyond our artwork, but that’s where it shows itself to the world most. Whether you like it or not you carry a magic inside of you that few others possess. It shows itself in every letter you write, all the pictures in the margins, the doodles as you call them that you do for others. Matilda, you can use magic."

Matilda cringed, glancing over to see a brown-striped cat watching her from her grandmother’s ankles, giving her a hard, unblinking stare that she imagined would have been an accusation if the cat could talk.

"My mother used to say that," her voice was husky as a wave of sorrow and longing washed over her, drowning her in the kind of grief she had not felt in years. Tears began to well in her eyes, slipping one by one down her cheeks. "My mother used to say I could use magic, that all I had to do was draw or pray and the things I needed would be there for me." She looked up sharply at her grandmother, fighting to keep from sobbing, from breaking down as she felt her heart shatter again. "You know what I did? I prayed my guts out for her, drew as many pictures as I could to bring her back, and you know what it did? It did nothing, absolutely nothing." She jabbed a pointed finger to the ground, her jaw tightening as she tried to speak, tried to make sense of it all for herself. "I am not my mother, Grandma. My mother is dead. Your daughter is dead and I can’t replace her. There is no such thing as magic, and I will never finish my mother’s picture."

Matilda did not wait for a response, instead turning on her heel and bolting from the room as fast as her legs could carry her. Serge said something about "Plan B" as she rushed out while her grandmother called after her, but she did not stop. She did not even bother to close her bedroom door as she crumpled into a heap on her bed and sobbed in the near dark until her eyes hurt.

"Ma," Chloe announced herself as she hopped onto the head of the bed and sat only inches from Matilda’s face. "Ma..." her face seemed to take on a concentrated tenseness for a moment before she finished with an, "eow."

"Oh, don’t hurt yourself," Matilda muttered, reaching up to first scritch the cat, and then pet it, finding that she had to actually move the fur-ball after it had suddenly gone boneless with pleasure and landed on her face.

Apparently contented, Chloe curled up against Matilda’s throat and purred.

* * *

Matilda woke the next morning wondering what she had done during the night to make her feel so strangely. She must have slept with her mouth open for starters, which would have explained why her tongue felt like a cross between a sock and a bristle-brush, but she had no recollection of getting into her pajamas the night before. She could not explain why her fingers and toes did not seem to want to move in their usual manner though, nor the why she felt the odd sensation from well past her derriere that told her she had a tail.

With eyes still closed, she gave a great stretch in hopes of shaking the strange sensations loose, yawning deeply as she did so, but to no avail. An itch on her nose made her reach up to scratch it, only to find not only did her nose not feel right, but some huge claw from some massive paw tried to rip it off. She tried to cover her nose with both her hands only to feel smothered.

"Hi, I’m Chloe, who are you?" said a feminine voice that made Matilda think of either a stereotypical ditzy blonde, or a two-year-old.

Matilda’s eyes snapped open, and then blinked in disbelief. Chloe was huge, but then again, so was the rest of the room. Somewhere in the night the world had gone amiss, and Matilda realized her part in it had just shrunk, literally. Looking at her hand, now a tawny marmalade-colored paw, she began to wonder if she had become a cat.

"That’s Maud, Chloe, Minnie’s granddaughter, remember?"

Matilda turned her head just enough to see the brown-striped cat from the night before hop onto the bed looking a whole lot larger.

"Maud?" Chloe stuck her nose close to Matilda’s face and gave a sniff. "She smells like Maud, but Maud didn’t look like this when I went to sleep with her last night."

"No I wasn’t," Matilda muttered, glancing over her how fur-covered shoulder to see a marmalade tail curled around beside her.

"Yeah, well, you’re not sniffing catnip if that’s what you’re concerned about. By the way, I’m Brunhilda. Sorry we weren’t properly introduced last night, but I was a bit busy with work. It takes a lot to run this house, and you can call me Hildie. In case you were wondering, while our little grey runt here was sleeping, I saw the whole thing. You changed, and you did it all by yourself," the brown striped cat sat down nonchalantly beside Chloe.

"Okay, wait, I’m dreaming!" Matilda tried to hold up her hands, only to find that she could only facilitate one paw while she stood on the other three.

"Nope, sorry, you’re not dreaming," said Hilde flatly. "You are indeed a cat: four paws, fur, pointed ears, and a tail, oh yeah, and no opposable thumbs, though there are ways of working around that. The fangs are must, as are the claws, oh and did I mention the acute hearing? Sweetie, you may have gone to bed a human last night, but you certainly woke up a cat this morning."

"Hi, I’m Chloe, who are you?"

"Oh, Chloe, do give it a rest," Hilde flicked her tail. "You already know her name."

"Yeah, but she hasn’t said it. She hasn’t introduced herself."

"I’m Maud," Matilda sighed.

"But Maud was a human," whined Chloe looking painfully confused.

"Well, she’s a cat now."

"But I’m not a cat," Matilda protested

"Then you’re in denial," said Hilde flatly.

"I am not in denial."

"You deny you’re in denial?"

Matilda groaned, putting a paw to her face. "Oh God, I have got to be dreaming."

"No, you’re not. Face it, dear, you are a cat. Be proud of your cathood!" Hilde held a proud paw skyward in a way that made Matilda think of some militant political radical proclaiming their beliefs. "Cathood is perfection. Of course if you don’t believe me, we can always go see your grandmother."

"Fine," Matilda nodded. "Fine, let’s go talk to Grandma and then I’ll know for sure this is a dream."

"Okay," Hilde’s voice took on the know-it-all lilt as she rose and sprung from the bed. "She’s in the kitchen. Come on," she called from the floor.

Easing to the edge of the bed, Matilda took a good look down, and promptly settled down on her belly in fear. "I’ll be along in just a moment."

"What’s wrong?"

"I hate heights."

"How can you hate heights?" Hilde flicked her tail back and forth. "Heights isn’t a person, let alone a place, or even a thing. You can’t hate heights."

"Okay then, I hate falling."

"You have no clue about how to be a cat."

"Being that I was born and raised a human, I think you’d be absolutely correct about that assumption!" Matilda frowned irritably.

Both of Hilde’s ears turned back as her eyes narrowed. "Well, not everyone can be perfect, dear. Look, it’s very simple; cats are built to land on their feet, even from great heights, and not get hurt. All you have to do is jump."

Matilda looked at the distant floor with trepidation.

"Here, let me help," chirruped Chloe giving Matilda an eager shove.

Matilda had never been one for sky diving let alone jumping off of ladders of her own free will. Like her fear of planes, it was the impact that scared her most, which is why it surprised her so much when she landed on the smooth wood floor on all four paws and unhurt.

"See, it’s just like I told you," sighed Hilde, swinging her tale leisurely from side to side as she turned to head out through the partially open door. "Now come on, let’s go talk to your grandmother. I’m beginning to wonder if there hasn’t been some kind of mistake."

"It’s just a dream," Matilda chanted to herself quietly as she trotted after Hilde, trying to ignore Chloe in step beside her chanting, "No, it’s not," until the words started to blend together.

"Guten morgen, Brunhilde, Chloe, Maud?"

Matilda watched as Grandma Minnie’s slippered feet stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor, and looked up to see her elven face looking down at her incredulously.

"Well, I’ll be," she gasped, covering her mouth with a hand though her eyes seemed to glitter with laughter. "Maud is that you?"

Matilda nodded. "But this is a dream isn’t it? I mean, it couldn’t possibly be real, me being a cat and all."

"I’m afraid not, liebling," Grandma Minnie shook her head, pulling out a chair and having a seat. "Here, come here and let me have a good look at you."

Matilda approached only to find herself swept up off her paws, pulled through the air, and set atop the kitchen table facing her grandmother.

"How do you feel?" the elder asked.

"Okay, I guess," Matilda replied uncertainly. "But why am I like this?"

"Well, I told you last night that you had magic in you."

"But I don’t believe in magic."

"I think this proves otherwise, liebling." Minnie folded her arms and sat back with a sigh. "I must say you do have a lovely coat of red marmalade fur. The choice of changing into a cat was quite appropriate for you."

"You mean you changed me?" Matilda croaked.

"No, you changed yourself."

"But you can change me back, right?"

Grandma Minnie rested a hand on Matilda’s feline head for a moment and then shook her head. "No, I’m sorry. I can’t. Your magic is quite strong. This spell of yours is very solid. You can’t change your form unless you want to."

"But I want to," insisted Matilda.

"Apparently not, or else you would have already changed."

"Minnie, is Matilda up yet? I thought perhaps we could take her down to see the market in town, maybe get some things for lunch." Serge strode into the kitchen rubbing his hands together with Owain not far behind. "I think getting her out might do her some good, relax her a bit after last night."

"When did you get the new cat, Lady Wilhemina?" Owain picked up a sweet roll from a plate on the kitchen counter and moved towards the table. "She’s got beautiful fur. What’s her name?" he asked, reaching forward to pet the cat.

Minnie gave a polite cough and Owain pulled back his hand, looking at the pair curiously. "Well, would you like to introduce yourself?" she motioned to Matilda.

"Can they understand me?" asked Matilda uncertainly.

"Of course," Grandma Minnie nodded. "Anyone with the gift of magic can understand you. I have the gift as well as Serge and Owain. You could be a mouse and we would still understand you. Though I will say that we cannot understand any ordinary animals, nor they us, at least not on a conversational level such as this."

Matilda turned around on the table and sat down on her hind quarters facing Serge and Owain judging their expressions before she spoke. Serge looked as if was on the verge of recognition, looking at her through a squinted right eye, and smiling ever so slightly. Owain on the other hand looked uncertain and confused, a feeling that she could relate to quite well.

"Umm, unless they allow cats and someone doesn’t mind carrying me, I’m going to have to politely decline your invitation to go to the market," Matilda bowed her head.

"Politely decline?" Serge chuckled. "Your mood has changed along with your form from last night, chéri.. It is a good change, though, don’t you think."

"Maud?!" Owain blurted out loudly.

Matilda flattened her ears at the sound. "I look better as a cat, huh, Owain?"

"What? No! I never said that. Gods, Maud, I never knew you could change forms," Owain yanked out a chair and promptly flopped into the spot right in front of Matilda.

"Neither did I," she replied, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I just wish I knew how to change back."

"You mean you don’t know how to change? But, I thought with…" he looked to Grandma Minnie with confusion.

"I’ve already told her, I can’t change her back," Minnie shook her head. "Matilda’s magic is strong. The spell is too solid for me to even touch, let alone alter. If she did not do this of her own knowledge, then it’s a divine hand that did it and for divine purposes. It is up to our liebling Maud to figure it out, and that’s that. There is nothing else we can do."

"Give me some time," said Matilda, unsure whether she was saying it to comfort herself, or the others. It was Owain she was most concerned about. While Grandma was willing to take things in stride, and Serge looked like a proud father, Owain had that intense look of determination in his dark eyes and face that she could not figure out. "Everything will be okay. I’ve got Brunhilde and Chloe to help me out in the ways of being a cat."

"You mean you’ve finally accepted your cathood?" she heard Brunhilde shout cheerfully from the floor.

"Just give me some time, and maybe some breakfast?" Matilda’s stomach gave a loud groan.

* * *

The rest of the day went quietly well until Matilda noticed the portfolio of her mother’s portraits of her missing. She said nothing, though, thinking that perhaps her grandmother had put them into storage, and instead returned to the cat-studies Brunhilde was putting her through. Not overly fond of the litter box, she found a way to use the toilet and flush much to the delight of the other cats, even Chloe learned how to do it without falling in, or falling over. Dinner came served on plates and was the same meal being served to the humans, although Matilda got to sit on the table to join in on the discussion; jumping up on to things and down from high spaces scared her no more.

Evening led to pouncing lessons, first with a dangling string, and then with a ball. Chloe proposed tackling the Christmas tree, but Matilda suggested against it as that having the thing fall on oneself as a human was difficult enough, she could easily imagine being squashed as a cat under one.

"Ahh! Here we go! Now we can go onto the lesson of mouse-catching and eating!" Hilde pounced on something in the far corner of the living room, only to return with something in her mouth. Dropping it, Matilda saw that it was a small, dark brown mouse, and one that was still very much alive sitting stunned as if it was trying to get its bearings.

"Although not a very good replacement for regular meals, mice can make for a tasty snack, but you have to watch out for the little bones so you don’t choke on them," Hilde instructed as she gave the mouse a gentle pat

"But it’s alive," Matilda protested.

"Squeamish are you?" Hilde’s ears turned back in irritation. "If you’d like, I could kill it."

With amazing speed the mouse was up and scurrying across the living room floor, its tiny paws making little scratching sounds as it hurried.

"I got it!" shouted Chloe, bounding after it.

"No, wait!" Matilda flew across the room on four paws, but not before Chloe had caught the moving morsel.

"See, I got it," Chloe lifted a paw. "You wanna eat it?"

"Here, give it to me," insisted Matilda, not feeling the slightest bit winded for her sprint.

"You gonna eat him?" asked Chloe as she pawed the curled lump of fur across the smooth wood floor to Matilda.

Matilda let out a soft sigh as she gently nosed the mouse; he was still alive and breathing.

"The best way to kill them is to bite off their heads," said Hilde as she approached.

Matilda curled a paw around the still mouse and pulled it protectively close between her front feet as she sat. "I am not going to bite off his head."

"Are you denying your cathood again?" Hilde’s tail flicked.

"No. I’m saying that I’m not going to eat this mouse."

"Fine. Fine. Do what you want to. I mean you’re only a human pretending to be a cat after all. I can’t expect perfection." Hilde turned around and stormed off into the rest of the house.

"So whatchya gonna do with him?" asked Chloe, nosing the shaking mouse to its feet.

"I’m going to protect him until he decides to go back to his little hole or wherever he came from. He doesn’t look too badly off, just a little rattled is all."

"Oh, okay," Chloe bobbed her head with the feline equivalent of a shrug. "Well, I’m gonna go find Grandma Minnie and see if I can get a snack. I think she’s downstairs in the studio. Wanna come?"

Matilda looked to the mouse who suddenly seemed quite sprightly and alert for something that had gotten knocked about a bit. "Sure," she replied, "I think this guy will do just fine on his own now. He looks to be okay. Lead the way."

Following Chloe first to the stairs and down them, Matilda began to wonder if the mouse had gone completely mad, or at least anti-mouselike as it kept up with her all the way into the studio.

While the upper levels of the house had always been a house, the bottom most floor had originally served as a barn, but had long ago been converted to meet Grandma Minnie’s needs. Seeing everything from a new angle, and even hopping up into one of the chairs beside her grandmother’s drawing board, Matilda suddenly wished that she could draw again, even sketch, or doodle, anything, but her paws would not allow for it. So, instead, with Brunhilda ignoring her, and the mouse accompanying her, Matilda spent the rest of the evening in the studio watching while her grandmother worked on her art and Serge focused on the accounting and discussed business; Owain, she had been told, had been sent off on an errand that would have him in and out of the house at odd times for the next few days.

* * *

The next day was as quiet as the previous night, although Matilda found that aside from Chloe, she now had another new friend. While Chloe had slept on the blanket folded at the foot of the bed in Matilda’s room, Matilda had slept curled upon her pillow with the mouse beside her. At first she figured that the dark brown mouse with almost black fur would be gone by morning, having gone about its mousy life, but it was still there when she awoke.

Grandma said nothing as Matilda trotted into the kitchen with a mouse beside her. She only gave a slight nod as she added some extra scrambled eggs and a piece of toast to Matilda’s plate for her to share with the tiny creature. Chloe purred happily as she ate, but Brunhilda still avoided them, eyeing the mouse and leaving the kitchen once she was done eating.

The rest of the day was spent down in the studio. While she could not draw, Matilda was determined enough to at least help out, putting teeth marks into pencils and markers as she carried them to and fro for her grandmother. Occasionally she was unable to find something, and it was the mouse that rolled out or pointed out the particular pen or pencil for her to take.

It was not until early evening, when the sun was setting that Matilda heard a loud thud coming from above. Scrambling up the stairs she found the back door wide open to the winter, and a pair of large footsteps leading out into the snow and all the way to a huge figure running into the woods.

"He’s got your mother’s pen box!" Brunhilda shouted, as she bolted past Matilda and out the door and into the snow.

Matilda followed as fast as she could, her four paws moving her faster than two legs ever could. Ahead she watched as Brunhilda’s dark form came to a sudden stop at the treeline and she began to scramble backwards, her fur standing on end as she righted herself and sprinted straight back to the house.

"What’s wrong?" Matilda tried to ask, but receiving no answer, she took up the trail of the thief again and headed towards the woods.

It was at the treeline that she saw just why Brunhilda had run away. Still lumbering into the forest, it had stopped to look around, and it was everything her worst nightmares and the fairy tales had said it would be.

"Ogre?" Grandma Minnie rubbed her chin. "So that explains it. I knew there were spirits in the forest that protected it, but I didn’t know that one of them was an ogre. So that’s what’s taken your mother’s pen box. I just don’t know why, though."

"Do you know where he lives?"

Grandma Minnie shook her head. "If it has a lair, then it’s hidden it well. I’ve certainly never seen it."

* * *

The next day Matilda stayed in her room, watching over her mother’s locket, the last of the three things that had been left to her. Chloe, the mouse, and even Brunhilda kept watch when at last they left the room for dinner.

A loud thump came from the back door, and Matilda sprang from the table, scrambling to the back door to once again see the massive form lumbering rapidly across the white snow in the dark, headed straight for the forest.

Matilda did not wait a moment, but took off after the creature as fast as she could run, knowing full well that in its lair it had hidden her mother’s treasures, her treasures, and she would get them back.

"Hey! Come back! Bring those back!" she shouted as she raced through the snow, keeping the ogre in sight as she ran, and ran she did for what she felt was almost hours up-hill, down-hill, and through frozen valley creeks. Then she saw it, a wooden door in the side of the hill hidden by the bauer of a large tree branch.

Slipping through the door before the ogre could close it, Matilda pounced on the table by the fire and wheeled on the behemoth in anger. "I want my mother’s things back and I want them now," she shouted, only find to herself being swept up by a huge, gnarly hand and being crushed.

"I know who you are," he growled, his foul breath nearly making Matilda gag. This creature not only looked like the ogres her grandmother and mother had drawn in their illustrations, but he fit the bill for every fairy story she could think of: huge, ugly, and brutal. "You’re the witch’s granddaughter."

"I am," she croaked.

"Show me your magic then. Shape-shift or I’ll crush you."

"I can’t," she gasped, feeling the hand grow tighter. "I don’t know how."

"Don’t know how? Maud, Minnie’s granddaughter and you don’t know how to change? I should have expected as much from a girl who would throw away her mother’s things."

"I didn’t throw them away!" Matilda protested.

"Oh, you didn’t throw them in the garbage heap when they were given to you, but you refused to use them. Now they’re mine. All mine."

"But I want them back."

"Then you’ll have to show me your magic. Show me that you’re worthy to have them back."

"But I can’t, I don’t know how."

"Pahh!" he scoffed, and tossed Matilda into an iron cage near the fire and locked it. "Either you are a liar, or you’re stupid. In either case, I’m not going to let you go, and I’m certainly not going to give you your mother’s things until you show me your magic."

Moving a large foot-stool close to the cage, the ogre placed Matilda’s mother’s locket on the seat. "This is very much out of the reach of a cat, but not of a human. If you can get it, you can have it, but right now I need to leave. I have work to attend to, but I will be back soon. Enjoy," he laughed a loud, deep, wicked laugh that reverberated off the walls of the small room and slammed the door behind him as he left.

Matilda sighed sadly and looked about the simply furnished single room outside her cage. It looked a bit like a hunter’s cottage, with a wooden bed at the far end, a table in front of the fire with a single chair, and an iron grate over the fire for cooking. She looked longingly at the gold chain dangling from the edge of the stool and tried not to cry in fear and abject frustration when she felt a gentle nudge at her side.

"You can do it, Maud, you can get it."

"Mouse?" she nearly shouted, hardly able to believe her eyes as she saw the small creature of dark fur, and it had spoken. "Okay, with ogres, magic, and talking cats, and now a talking mouse, if I’m not dreaming, then I’m living a fairy tale!"

A sound like laughter seemed to come from the mouse before she heard its soft voice again. "Maud, you can get the pendant if you want to. You may not believe, but I do. Borrow some of my faith if you need it. Borrow some of my faith and believe."

Matilda pulled her whiskers back in a smile. "Faith from one so small?"

"Children are small, but they have faith too. You believed once, believed in magic and the fairy tales your mother drew for you as she told them. Can’t you believe again, if only to get a small locket from a chair?"

Matilda looked towards the dangling gold chain again, remembering everything she could about her mother. Remembering the warmth and the love, and all the fairy tales she used to tell her. She remembered holding her mother’s locket as it hung around her neck, and drawing the picture of the Christmas rose within it. She imagined reaching out to take it again with a human arm and a human hand, pulling back to look at the old photo within, and then it fell to the floor before her and she was a red marmalade cat again.

"You did it," the mouse whispered as he nudged the locket against Matilda’s paw where she stood against the bars of the cage. "You did the magic."

"You had help!" The ogre shouted when he returned a short while later as he pulled the lock off the cage door. "You had help, and that little mouse helped you!"

"No he didn’t!" Matilda tried to claw at the ogre’s huge hand as he grabbed the mouse, but only got knocked back.

"He helped you and for that I will crush him!" The ogre lifted his other hand, preparing to smash the mouse in his palms.

"No you won’t!" roared Matilda as she lunged from the cage, feeling herself suddenly grow as large as the ogre as she knocked him off his feet with a single tawny paw.

"Mouse?" she called, feeling herself shrink again.

"Over here! I’m all right," he scuttled free of the unconscious ogre.

"Are you sure?" Matilda scooped the tiny mouse in her hands and took a hard look at it.

"Maud! Maud!" he was practically bouncing in her hands. "You turned yourself into a lioness! You should have seen it! You turned yourself into a lioness, and now you’re human again!"

Matilda snatched up her mother’s pen box and portfolio and made for the door only to find it locked, and the ogre laughing from his place on the floor.

"That door won’t open until I tell it to," he chuckled, getting to his feet. "And I won’t tell it to, nor give you the rest of your mother’s things until you show me the rest of your magic."

"But I already turned into a human," Matilda protested.

"But you didn’t show me your other magic, your art," he said, mocking her as he made for his bed, making it groan as he stretched out on it. "You have your mother’s pens, and there’s a piece of parchment there on the table. Make me a drawing by the time I wake up from my nap, or I will keep you here forever, and I know your grandmother. She would let me keep you if she knew of our agreement. Now do it, and have it done by the time I awake."

Matilda sighed, watching as the ogre fell fast asleep and started to snore. Moving to the table, she set down her things and the mouse, and found indeed there was a piece of plain parchment on the table along with two brightly lit lamps. Sitting down, she opened up her mother’s pen box and prepared to begin.

"The ink’s dry," she gasped, shaking one of the pens in a futile attempt to get it to work. "What am I supposed to draw with now, mouse?"

"Hold out your right index finger," he instructed, and quickly bit it.

"Ouch," Matilda hissed. "What did you do that for?"

"Dip the nibs of each pen into a single drop of blood as it forms on your finger."

Matilda did as instructed, watching in silent amazement as the color of each pen sprung to life, its ink refreshed and refilled.

"Now draw."

Matilda’s hand flew over the paper, the picture in her mind taking shape so fluidly and so easily. Across the parchment she drew the tale of the Three Ravens: three boys turned into ravens by their wicked step-mother’s magic, and saved by their sister who could not speak for seven years, seven days, seven hours, and seven minutes. She drew how she had married, and how the evil step mother had tried to have her burned as a witch as she kidnapped each of the three children the young woman gave birth to, and told her princely husband that his wife had killed them. The young woman prevailed, though, and her brothers were returned to humans, and in doing so, they showed their sister where they had safely hidden away her babies, rescued from the well the evil step mother had tried to drown them in.

"Are you done yet, little Maud?" asked the ogre from above her shoulder just as she was finishing.

"I am done," she breathed a sigh of relief and held up the picture for the ogre’s inspection.

"Your magic is here, little Maud," said the ogre with a nod. "You know the tale, and you’ve drawn it true and with life, but I cannot let you leave."

"But why?" Matilda jumped to her feet, wondering if she would ever see Owain again, or her grandmother, or Serge even. "Why?"

The ogre held up one of the pens in his great, gnarly hand and held it out to Matilda. "Because you forgot to sign your name on it, and put the date. You could become famous, you know, and it would be something to say that I knew you, and show my friends the picture you made for me."

Matilda felt her knees start to buckle with relief as she took the pen and inscribed her name into the hem of the young woman’s dress. "What’s today’s date?" she asked.

"It’s Christmas morning, little Maud, and it’s time for you to go home," answered the ogre, taking back the picture and moving to the door. "Your mother’s things are yours now; take them with you, and the mouse. You have done as I have asked of you, and I think you’ve learned something, but as the spirit of this forest it’s my job, now isn’t it."

Matilda blinked. "But you’re an ogre. Fairy tales say your kind are mean and ugly."

"Little Matilda, we can all change our own stories, just as you have. There is just one thing I want to ask of you before you go. When you get home finish those two pictures, the ones your grandmother and your mother left for you to complete. They are their gifts to you, their legacies for you to pick up and carry on. Now its time for you to go, the sun’s up and your grandmother will be worried about you. Take this leather coat with you, it’s too small for me to wear, but I’m certain that it’s previous owner would not mind you having it, eh little mouse?"

"Not at all," the mouse answered, climbing into one of outer breast pockets as Matilda put the coat on and gathered up her mother’s things.

"Here are some boots, they might be a bit large for you, but they will serve you well," offered the ogre. "Once you are ready, I will show you the way home."

The journey back to Matilda’s grandmother’s house went faster than expected, and soon the ogre was talking on the back porch with Grandma Minnie exchanging Christmas greetings like old friends.

"I knew she would be safe with you," Grandma Minnie smiled, handing the ogre a large Christmas pastry oozing in icing.

"She will always be safe with me, you know that," he burbled around a mouthful of food. "I was a little concerned though about how long it would take. She’s like her mother, though, a fast learner."

"Where’s Owain and Serge?" asked Matilda. Strangeness and magic was afoot, and she was starting to get used to it.

"Right here, chéri," the ogre smiled as it started shrinking, changing appearance from an ugly monster into her godfather. "As for Owain, though, that’s still for you to find out. I will give you this hint though, he’s been far closer to you for a far longer time than I have while you’ve been visiting."

Matilda glanced down at the little mouse poking its head out of the coat’s breast pocket, his dark-brown fur looking almost black in the early morning sun. "Owain?"

"My lady," he bowed his head. "I must apologize, I’d change here, but I don’t want to damage my coat, and I certainly don’t wish to smother in the snow before I shift."

"But mouse?" asked Matilda incredulously.

"Help can come from any quarter, be it a mouse, or an ogre, or even a couple of cats. Remember Aesop’s fable of the Lion and the Mouse? Well, I choose to be a mouse, and at the moment I’m a ravenously hungry mouse so if we could, my lady, I would like to go in, get changed, and eat."

Christmas day flew by, as did the rest of Matilda’s vacation. With diligence, help, and a lot of hot chocolate mixed with encouragement, she finished her grandmother’s and mother’s paintings with time to spare. The night of New Year’s Eve found her back in her grandmother’s studio, though, drawing Chloe as she napped under the lamp on her drawing board. Brunhilde was upstairs with Grandma Minnie in the kitchen, while Serge brought in firewood for the fireplace in the living room.

"You do good work, my lady," Owain’s voice was so soft it was almost a whisper as he looked over Matilda’s shoulder at her handiwork. "Just tell me one thing, what are you thinking as you draw?"

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "I think about a lot. I think about light and shadow, proportion and how much I like to practice."

"That’s not all though, is it, my lady?" Owain’s hand rested gently on her shoulder.

For a moment Matilda was silent as she stared at the sketch taking shape before her, it was more than just Chloe she was starting to see, Hilde was curled up by a fire while Grandma Minnie and Uncle Serge sat in their chairs watching the flames in contentment. At the table by the Christmas tree Matilda drew in a leather-bound book, while Chloe slept in her lap, and Owain set out the milk, cookies, and carrots.

"No," she finally said quietly. "No, that’s not all. I think of how I miss my mother, but I don’t feel afraid anymore. I think of where I’ve been, how far I’ve come, and where I’m going. I think of the magic I have and how much I need to learn about it, along with my drawing, and how much the two of them mix. I think of how I could never have gotten here alone."

"Your uncle and grandmother are quite special people in more ways than just their ability at magic. They love you a lot for starters. I’ve seen it since I first got to know them."

"But there’s more than just them, Owain, there’s also you. If it hadn’t been for you I would have never wanted to shift, never had the ink to do the drawings. If it hadn’t been for you, who knows where I would have been right now, but I’m not going to guess. For the first time in a long time I know where I belong, what I need to be doing, and I’m truly happy with it."

Matilda looked up at Owain to find him staring at her with gentled eyes, his features softened.

"Magic is one thing," she continued quietly, "but family and being surrounded by the people who love you and care about you, that’s the most important thing. Grandma’s already got it in the works. I don’t know how long it will take through the official channels, but as soon as I get back to the states I’ll be turning in my letter of resignation at work and packing up my things. I’ll be moving back here to grandma’s as fast as I can."

"Happy New Year!" Grandma Minnie and Uncle Serge shouted down the steps in unison.

"Happy New Year," Matilda and Owain answered in reply.

Matilda never saw Owain’s kiss coming, but she did not complain, it was just a bit more of the magic coming into her life.