May 13, 1893 - The Annual Potts House

It was the perfect spring day, Caroline thought as she promenaded down the path of the English Garden on Evander's arm. Behind them the nurse wheeled Lillian in her pram as the group inspected the flowers. Caroline was proud of the picture they presented. She had worn a new silk gown of blue green striped with white with a marching parasol, gown and parasol lined in Brussels lace. She had been waiting for such an occasion to wear it and flower show was the perfect opportunity.

Everywhere she looked were gorgeous flowers. "Oh Evander, look!" She pointed (yet again) at another flower. These dahlias were in vibrant colors, larger than normal varieties, their spiky petals swayed in the gentle breeze. She had just fixed her gaze on a bright red one when she noticed the frogs nestled in the petals. Grinning, Caroline stepped to peer at the queer sight, letting go of her husband's arm in the process.

At the same instance, however, a brigade of gnomes came dashing across the path entirely unnoticed by the party at large until they were under Evander's feet.

Evander Darrow

  

Evander’s mind was far away, much as he was trying to pay attention both to his wife and to the flowers. He supposed the important fact was that Caroline was evidently trying – she had her arms in his – but it felt altogether like this was something they only did when there was an audience, like her choosing the new dress for today. Things didn’t feel quite the same when they were at home, somehow; Evander couldn’t fathom why, but he had the strange suspicion she had pulled away. An inevitability, perhaps: he could not have expected her to stay the way she had been on their honeymoon or in the early days of their courtship after almost two years of marriage.

(For his part, he didn’t think he had changed in the least, so he didn’t know what had.)

In any case, the sight of frogs perching on the flowers did not compel him much, though he looked dutifully in that direction; so dutifully that he was not expecting the sharp bite at his heel. Evander lurched onto his other foot, lifting that one out of the way, but managed to kick another of the gnomes in the process – and was thrown flat backwards onto the path, the gnomes grabbing greedily at him from all sides. “Augh! Augh!” he grunted, trying to swat the surrounding horde away without much luck. For Merlin’s sake. There were enough of them to lift him off the ground if they wanted, as if they would carry him off to their burrows like a parade of ants.

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Well that hadn't been the response she had expected from Evander, Caroline whipped around and her eyes went wide at the sight of her husband sprawled on the path surrounded by gnomes. A small shriek of surprise left her lips for the creatures were very ugly and not something she'd had to deal with before. Were they biting him? In horror she realized they were. And they were attempting to lift him by all accounts.

Her fingers trembling Caroline dug into her reticule, fumbling as she felt for her wand. What spell? What spell? Evander would know. Later Caroline would chide herself for who she had become, for the fact that she once would have known exactly what to do without needing to rely on Evander (although it must be stated, that when looking at this rationally, she still wouldn't have known because she had never in her life had to deal with a garden gnome before). "What spell?" She found herself asking her gaze on Evander's as her fingers finally clasped the her wand.

  

A small shriek was a natural reaction for anyone, Evander was sure, but he still felt a little put out about it, because none of them were yet grabbing at her, too preoccupied by swarming him. If only he had the luxury of shrieking, instead of trying to snatch his sleeves and trouserlegs out of their grasp. But there were simply too many.

He had had the same thought as Caroline, and instinctively gone fumbling for his wand – a harder task to finagle, when he was horizontal and there were gnomes scrabbling at him on all sides. “Anything,” was all Evander had the patience to utter in his exasperation, because Caroline had never been remotely stupid before, so surely she could come up with something (after all, she had gotten herself – and him – out of plenty of scrapes before). He couldn’t quite twist his body around to see her properly; so, not knowing whether she was making any progress towards casting a knockback jinx or a freezing charm or impedimenta, casting anything, Evander managed to get his own wand out, and braced himself to use it himself –

But before he could, one of the gnomes snatched it away in its grubby potato-skin fingers. Evander tried to lurch up enough to snatch it back, but the gnome’s teeth sank into his fingers, and (never mind that, but at losing his wand) he could have moaned in despair.

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Evander rarely used that tone with her, in a state of magic she cast the first spell she could think of, a stupefy spell. It only stunned a few gnomes though and she was worried about accidently getting Evander. How had she ever let her magic fall to the wayside like this? Beyond daily charms and modes of transportation her well honed skills had faltered. In desperation she cast a wind charm, "Hold on!" She warned Evander before saying the incantation. With any luck the gnomes would be pushed away and Evander could ouse his more significant weight (when compared to a gnome) to anchor himself.

  

Hold on, she said; to what? Evander might have asked, if he had had the time. As it was, she cast something else and he swiftly understood – the gnomes were buffeted away, like a whirlwind of ugly flying potatoes.

He resisted the breeze by managing to sit up, and the more of them that were loosed from him, the easier it was to finally haul himself back to his feet. With one desperate snatch, he retrieved his stolen wand from a stray gnome, and straightened up again, feeling – and looking – rather worse for wear. His clothes were awry, creased and with a couple tears in the knee from the gnomes’ grubby hands, and his hair was no doubt a ruffled mess.

He turned to Caroline, more sheepish than he had sounded a few moments before. “Er, thank you,” he murmured, glancing furtively sidelong to ascertain how much of a scene he had made.

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Relief flooded her as the gnomes were scattered. She stepped up to Evander, her eyes taking inventory of him and glancing around them to see who had noticed. This section seemed, mercifully, empty. "I think the gnomes are the only thing in this section of the garden" She remarked raking her fingers through his hair to style it, giving it the apperance of her full attention. Then she turned her attention to his torn trousers and cast a quick mending spell on them. "There." She stepped back with a tone of finality. "Other than being a bit stiff I suspect it shall be as if nothing happened."

At the moment the memory of his tone still stung so she figured she mighht as well present herself precisely as she suspected he'd wish - especially given what she'd known of him since the day they'd met - apperances meant more than anything. Even if that came to her. The thought stung but she turned to conrinue as if nothing at all had happened in the first place.

  

He was eminently grateful for her hand running through his hair, and the attention to his knees, but he had just said thank you, so Evander felt it going overboard to say it again.

It was in his eyes, at any rate; she would know he was thankful.

Of course, he still felt that it had partially been her fault – she had distracted him; she had let the gnomes get the better of him before doing anything. “Very good,” Evander acknowledged, though there was not much enthusiasm in his tone anymore. He pointed at a section of the garden show that looked more populated and far less hazardous. “Shall we take a turn over there, and then go home?”

The gnomes had very much spoiled the day for him now.

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There was no arguing with him, Caroline knew from that tone. She stiffened, willing her face to remain neutral, calm. She'd looked forward to this outing, to being with Evander, and yet now simply because of one mishap, he wanted to call it a day.

"Certainly." To keep her tone from seeming to stiff and betraying her disappointment she found it was almost too cheerful: as if she knew couldn't wait to get away from these gardens too. She wished he'd give the display a chance, wished not write off the whole day, but what good had wishing done her thus far?