A Matter of Magic

By Frances Edington

Silvie stirred but didn’t wake when the white tissue paper was unfolded; she didn’t wake when familiar hands lifted her from her box and slotted her wings in her back. She only woke when those hands put her silver wand into her right fist; then she opened blue eyes and gazed with affectionate recognition into Charlotte’s face. She’d known that face for more than thirty years and each time she woke she noticed a few changes from the passing of another year.

Placing Silvie gently atop a pile of Christmas decorations on the dining table, Charlotte left. Silvie looked around; nothing had changed since last New Year when she’d been stowed away. In the adjacent sitting room, she saw a Christmas tree with strings of lights already threaded in its branches; the ritual of decorating the tree would come later.

With a couple of hours till then, Silvie recalled the day she’d met Charlotte; she’d been on display with other handmade toys in a stall in the Christmas Market in Bruges. On the second day, a lady came holding a five-year-old child by the hand.

‘Look at all these lovely dolls, Lotta;’ she’d said, ‘would you like one?’

The lady asked the stall-holder to bring three of the dolls from the shelf below Silvie; these dolls were more colourfully dressed than she was, which made her sad as she’d caught the little girl’s eye and felt immediately that they belonged together, but she wasn’t a china doll; she was a Christmas Fairy.

The lady held each doll for Lotta to inspect but she had eyes only for Silvie.

‘Can I have the silver one, Mummy?’ she’d asked pointing at Silvie, ‘She’s the one I want.’

The lady explained that a Christmas Fairy was too delicate to play with; her place was on the top of a Christmas tree.

‘Can she be the fairy on our Christmas tree?’ had been Lotta’s response.

That was how she’d come to live with Charlotte’s family. Every year on the Winter Solstice, Lotta would lift Silvie from her box and fix her wings and wand in place. Once the other decorations had been placed on the tree, Lotta’s father would lift her so she could place Silvie against the topmost spike and twist the two ties that held her secure.

On the day following New Year’s Day, Silvie would be taken down and Lotta would remove her wings and wand and pack her in her box to sleep till the next Christmas.

In time, Lotta was able to climb the step-ladder and place Silvie without her father’s help; in time, Lotta grew up and married and Silvie had a new home and a smaller Christmas tree to adorn. In time, Lotta had two children of her own; in time, they moved to a bigger house, but it was always Charlotte who placed Silvie on the top of the tree.

The light was fading from the day as the family assembled in the dining room for the annual tree-decorating party. Charlotte’s younger brother William had come with his wife and their twins; they lived in a distant city but always came to the tree-decorating party; William loved to see Silvie in place at the top of the tree.

‘Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Silvie,’ he’d say as they stood back at the end of their endeavours. ‘We have a tree too with a big gold star, Lotta; but it’s not the same as Silvie casting her magic and blessings on us all.’

After supper, everyone placed their brightly wrapped parcels round the tree then William’s family left to drive home and the rest stood around the tree singing carols. Winter Solstice was the First Day of Christmas for Charlotte’s family; the tree lights would remain on till Twelfth Night, the night of New Year’s Day. Silvie loved these nights of her waking existence; once the glow of the log fire faded only the tree lights lit the room as she kept silent vigil.

Everything was quiet, even the slightest sound seemed loud; what she heard now was the crunch of gravel and low voices outside the sitting room window. Two faces appeared at the window, faces she’d never seen before; she knew it meant trouble but she’d no way of warning the family; she could only watch as two teenage boys forced the window catch and climbed into the room.

‘It’s a good stash,’ whispered the taller boy advancing on the Christmas tree with its pile of presents round the base. ‘A good two sacks worth, I’d say.’

They got to work piling the prettily wrapped gifts into black dustbin liners; it was clear they’d done this before as they worked well together and soon all the boxes were stowed away. As they were leaving, the younger boy looked back at the tree and stopped.

‘Hey, look at that doll, Bert. We should take it; I bet it’ll fetch a packet.’

To Silvie’s dismay, she found herself being thrust into a dark bag with the presents, her delicate wings crushed beneath her; she had trouble keeping hold of her wand. Sadly, its magic had proved singularly useless in preventing this outrage.

The next few hours were a nightmare; the bags were thrown into a van and the driver, an older man, had driven off into the night. They drove for hours; when the van stopped, the older man helped the boys carry the bags into a house.

‘You’ve done well;’ he announced, ‘we should make a killing in the market.’ He lifted Silvie carefully from the sack. ‘This doll’s handmade, Bert; you should have taken more care; one wing’s bent.’ He paused looking at Silvie, ‘She’s pretty as a picture; I’ve a mind to keep her for our own tree.’

‘Is it worth much?’ the elder boy asked.

‘She could be quite valuable.’

‘Then we should sell it, not get sentimental about a stupid doll, Dad.’

Silvie watched as the lovingly wrapped packages were ripped open to reveal their contents. It was a varied haul – watches and books, chocs and socks, bottles of perfume, electronic gizmos and an assortment of toys. The goods were sorted and re-packed in cardboard boxes then reloaded in the van.

For the second time in her life, Silvie was put on display in a market but this was no Christmas Market in Bruges; they were in a dreary town square, their trestle table wedged between a hotdog stand and a old-clothes stall. Silvie closed her eyes, hoping to slip into the dream-world she inhabited between Christmases.

Suddenly she was roused by a familiar voice.

‘Daddy, Daddy look it’s a Christmas Fairy just like Aunt Lotta’s! Please can we buy her for our Christmas tree.’ It was William’s daughter Jenny who spoke.

Silvie glanced at the five-year-old – just the age Lotta had been in Bruges. Their eyes met and there was that same flash of recognition; Silvie’s wand hadn’t lost its magic at all; it had brought her to the city where William lived and had brought Jenny to the market to rescue her.

The moment they got home, William phoned Charlotte to tell her about the Christmas Fairy only to learn that Silvie had been stolen the night before. It was one of those inexplicable happenings and had some unexpected consequences. For one, the police apprehended the thieves and recovered almost all the stolen gifts, which in time reached their intended recipients.

Perhaps the strangest consequence was that Silvie acquired a new mistress. Charlotte knew Jenny must now become Silvie’s guardian. Next Christmas, Silvie would wake in a different home, casting her magic on the next generation of Lotta’s family.

© Copyright 2020, Frances Edington. All rights reserved.