Another Year for the Treadwells

Another Year for the Treadwells

Postby Treadwell » Tue May 31, 2016 6:59 pm

June 1, 216 A.R.
The Treadwell estate, Myrken Wood.


A candle flickers and flits in the darkness as Aloisius Treadwell wheezes into his upstairs bedroom.

"It's the middle of the night, Aloisius. Go back to your bed downstairs before Bill finds you up here and starts huffing and puffing at you for not listening."

Downstairs? Of course. Despite his doctor's recent protests, the old fellow has come hobbling upstairs with cane in one hand and candle in the other. . . and two plump and sandy-haired twins--one boy, one girl, both aged seven (nearing eight!)--in tow.

"Gwendolyn, mmph, give your mother her treat, hm hm?"

"Treat! Alo--"

At this moment, Alice is cut short by a merry eruption of gleeful giggles, a scurrying patter of feet, and the presentation of a thick slice of cake on a plate with a fork and knife.

"Egbert?"

"Yes, Poppa. Mummmm?" And thus is Gwendolyn joined by her very slightly older brother, who carefully offers a mug of warmed milk as Aloisius limps around the bed, putting his candle on the bedside table.

"Why, Aloisius! All of you ought to be in bed, and you," a squinty glare finds her husband in the dim light, "ought to be in the guest room, not climbing stairs with your knees."

"Hush, Lovey, and thank your children for helping me and for thinking of you, mmph mmph. Their idea, after all."

"Their idea?"

An old father gives his young children a nod in the dark, and those children happily close in, climbing into the bed on opposite sides of their mother to worm into comfort.

"Their idea, mmph! After all, they reminded me a few days ago of our birthday, hm hm."

"But that's--"

"Now, hmph. Today. This very night. Gregory, bless him for staying awake this late, assures me he heard Jack call out two a bit ago, and, well. . . ." Hands flappity-flap at the plate and mug as Treadwell slowly sinks into a couch. "I know it's late, Dearest, but they wanted to get this over with, hm hm. Fit to burst, yes, weren't you, children, wanting to give your mother her gift?"

"Mother?" pipes Gwendolyn as she points at the cake. "Pleeeeeease?"

Elderly mother kisses young daughter's cheek in the dark, then young son's. Fork silently slices into cake, bringing a bite up to mouth. Milk is soon sipped to wash away the admittedly dry treat.

"Happy birthday, Alice."
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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