Pitie Salpetriere

Ethan watched Brit with no small amount of amusement and husbandly pride as they meandered down the Boulevard de l’Hospital in Paris. She fingered the necklace of orange blossoms delighting in their citrus-like scent. Upon waking, he had picked the blossoms and boyishly strung them together for her to wear while she nibbled a croissant. Paris at night gave him glimpses and memories of the past. He found himself pleased to share the memories with his mortal wife and wanted her to feel that she had experienced them with him.

The August full moon always held meaning for Ethan. As the nights grew longer, the romance and warmth of the summer night, and the illumination from the bright moon, lured lovers of all ages into the streets. Once they were in full view of the Mazarin, the entrance of the hospital, Ethan pointed out places of interest to Brit. “The hospital was once a place where gunpowder was made, Brit. It has also been used as a prison and a place to put people that irritated society.”

“Like vampires?” Brit asked.

Ethan grinned as he whispered, “Only if they could be caught.” Pulling her close, he chuckled, “At one time, it was also noted for its very large population of city rats. Over 7000 people were housed within so the rats had an abundance of trash to consume.”

Wrinkling her nose, she peered back to the building. Ethan watched and remembered the small blue box in his pocket: a blue camera he had purchased after being asked to take a picture of a young couple several nights prior. He was mesmerized by the digital screen and seemed childlike with his new toy. Positioning Brit where he could take a picture, he fumbled with the camera to ensure the picture would turn out perfectly. Brit did not hear his mumbles about how much easier this was than securing an artist back in the day.

After snapping a picture of the sidewalk, he got the camera centered on his wife. Brit was looking over her shoulder at the building. By the time Ethan snapped the picture, she had turned to watch something he did not see. Brit walked into the hospital compound, past the admissions and seemed to follow a path that only she knew. Tilting his head, Ethan followed her cautiously. “Baby? Where are we going?” She did not answer and he quickened his pace as she walked past a nurse’s station filled with late-evening nurses who were busy with their work.

Smells of antiseptic and medication assaulted his nostrils. Brit continued on her path. Up a stairwell, she emerged on a floor. There were few rooms. Soft beeping sounds of monitoring machines broke the silence of the area. Nursing staff were shuffling about as they silently worked. Each room was larger than normal hospital rooms. Each room contained one patient. Brit walked into one of the rooms.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Brit blinked slowly as she focused on an elderly woman who looked tiny in the bed. Monitors covered her. Brit looked to him with huge eyes and back to the woman. Seeing into her thoughts, he realized that his wife had linked into the woman’s thoughts. The woman felt pain and sadness. She was bewildered and frightened. The scent of the room told him that she was dying and would not likely last to see sunlight again.

Ethan blinked as he saw Brit enter the woman’s thoughts just as he had done with Brit the evening when he first touched Brit’s lips. She walked along and opened doors of better memories. Sunlight afternoons with her new husband were glimpsed along with the laughter of a small child. “Emilie,” whispered Brit.

“Oui! Emilie.” rasped the strained voice as the woman reached out a hand.

“Emilie,” repeated Brit who took the hand and held it. The woman in the bed smiled as she clasped Brit’s hand. Ethan glanced to the door nervously. Brit covered the woman’s hand with her own warm one. The flesh was papery-thin, and the hand shook from palsy. The woman repeated the name smiling as she closed her eyes gripping Brit’s hand tighter.

Brit simply stood rubbing the woman’s hand. In her mind, the woman could see Brit. Brit walked with her to watch her as she sat playing with Emilie, a baby with cornflower eyes and pouting lips that blew bubbles as she gurgled. A nurse came in looking startled. Ethan turned to her as his eyes flashed briefly. A silent exchange had the nurse leaving the room. If anyone asked, the nurse would have told them that the lady’s niece Emilie had visited.

Ethan struggled to get past the smell of death in the room. He could sense the woman’s bodily systems shutting down. His wife touching the hand that stubbornly housed a thread heartbeat caused him some irritation. Death was not far from her, he rationalized. Ethan went back to watching Brit, baffled that she had entered the woman’s mind. He could see Brit intended to stay with her during the final night, and he shifted uncomfortably at the thought of the night passing. Surely his wife would not stay after dawn. Brit turned to look to him and his eyes widened. Surely he read her wrong in that she had thought that the woman needed them to help her calmly pass to the next life! Shaking his head, he continued to watch Brit and grew to feel that he had misread the thought.

Brit’s visit with the woman lasted through the night. Ethan mused that the woman had held no more than a blink of life compared to him but, within the thoughts shared by Brit with the woman, it was apparent that she had enjoyed much in those years. About an hour before dawn, the woman sat Emilie down and motioned for Brit to follow her along the path. Brit followed as she watched Emilie grow, marry, and have her own child. The path came to a house and the woman turned to Brit. She kissed Brit’s cheek and went inside.

The beeping machine sounded a single monotone sound. Nurses ran to the room and a doctor followed. Brit and Ethan were directed outside. When the nurse came to find Emilie, they could find no sign of the couple to tell them that Emilie’s aunt had passed.

Outside, Ethan held Brit as they returned to their resting place. He expected tears and sadness. He was amazed that Brit could enter the woman’s mind as she had. Brit turned to him before the sun came up and lisped, “Emilie made her happy, Ethan. I wonder why she was not there. No one should perish alone.” Brit snuggled against him and slept feeling melancholy missing her new friend.

Santorini

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. For several summers, he had tried to escape the long days of summertime with less than optimal results. Unwilling to travel to another unknown place, Ethan booked passage to a traditional summer location in a part of the world more known to him. “Santorini,” he murmured to Brit as they were ferried to the island from Athens, “has a history unknown to most people these days.” Brit was watching the skies with huge eyes. The plethora of stars caused her eyes to glitter. The stars could be seen even with the full moon that illuminated the night.

The boat pulled to the dock and deck hands scurried to secure it. As its two passengers disembarked, the crew exchanged glances with the deck hands. The dark Victorian dress of the pretty couple who had spent more than double for private passage to the island would give tavernas gossip for several days. A driver from the Vedema Resort escorted the couple into a waiting car, loaded baggage and whisked them into the night leaving a blinking crew behind. One deck hand crossed his self and later wondered why.

“We need to shop, Brit,” commented Ethan. He smiled at his wife picturing her in a summery white fluttery cover. Tracing her face, he conversed with the driver in a language unknown to Brit. Yawning, Brit rubbed her eyes and leaned against her husband pondering what was being said. It sounded to her that Ethan knew the driver. She watched out of the windows and, with the full moon, she could see as easily as she would see during the day. White-washed houses gleamed in the moonlight. Noticing her attention to the details of the island, Ethan smiled. He felt sure that she would find it beautiful.

Arriving to the resort, Brit and Ethan were escorted to the Presidential Villa. The rooms were decorated in turquoise and white colors. Rich elegance throughout the villa combined with views of the sea and vineyards. One of the three bedrooms had its windows covered to prevent even a hint of sunshine into the room. As Brit wandered through, she smiled to him and whispered, “I know which one will be our resting place.” Ethan smiled giving her hair a tug as their bags arrived and household assistants unpacked their belongings.

Pulling her to the verandah which overlooked the cliffs and the sea, Ethan pulled Brit to him. She lisped, “You take me to such magical places.” Smiling, he pulled her hand to his lip to kiss before holding it to wrap her closer to him. Both enjoyed the tranquil beauty of the villa by the sea. A clinking of glass caught both of their attention to the fruit and cheese plate that had been delivered. Settling on the lounge chair, Ethan pulled Brit to him and fed her pieces from the platter.

Brit drifted off after enjoying the fruit and cheese, but Ethan remained awake. Stroking her hair, he closed his eyes inhaling deeply. There was something in the air that reminded him of other visits. Sea air mingling with the scents of the city yielded a distinctive scent that Ethan would recognize anywhere. Feeling Brit fall into a deeper sleep, he mused how it would be to be mortal and wake to the sunrise. As light started to streak across the sky, Ethan picked up Brit to take to the room where they would rest. He undressed her grinning at her sleepy protests and tucked her close to him after undressing for rest.

At sunset, Brit turned to see Ethan standing at the door. She had woken much before he did and was greeted by the concierge who had arranged for a shopping trip to obtain better island attire. Brit wore a thin green caftan-styled dress. It draped over her prettily and showed a bit more leg than he was accustomed to seeing. Ethan raised an eyebrow, but dismissed his objections. It was, after all, an island and he wanted to encourage Brit to make choices. Besides, the dark trousers, white linen shirt and dark jacket she had selected for him was most pleasing.

At the restaurant in the resort, Ethan perused the list of popular night spots. He wanted to take Brit somewhere modern and popular. Reading them to her, she selected the one that was on a beach. “Dancing by the sea,” lisped Brit. Ethan had to admit that the image was perfect. Soon, they were on their way to the popular place. Brit’s bouncing caused Ethan to tell the driver that they would walk the rest of the way when the road became impassible with traffic.

As they walked, Ethan tensed with the thickening of the crowd. Many wore little more than bathing suits. The music thumped from the club. Scents of smoke, alcohol, and sunscreen mingled with sweat permeated the air. Brit looked up to him as he hesitated. As they walked to the door, a drunk barreled from the club and vomited. Turning to Ethan, Brit lisped, “Let’s go somewhere else, Ethan.” He gave her a questioning look as another person passed making a remark in a language Brit did not know. As Ethan glowered at the man, Brit lisped, “I want to go somewhere you will like better.” Ethan raised an eyebrow to her statement. Brit puffed her cheeks remembering the club in France. “If we stay here,” she continued, “someone will lose an arm…or…something.”

Ethan blinked a few times and chuckled. “Indeed, baby.” Another drunk bumped him and he nodded. “Very likely.” Turning, they caught their driver still languishing in traffic. Sliding into the car, Ethan said, “Take us to Thera…Ancient Thera.” Brit looked to him quizzically. Ethan tapped her nose, “It is ancient even to me, Brit.”

Getting them as close as he could, the driver indicated where he would wait for them to walk the ancient city. No one was about and Ethan quickly carried Brit the distance. Again, the nearly full moon illuminated the night. He took Brit to one of the three sides where the cliff dropped abruptly to the sea. As they walked, Ethan painted enthusiastic images of the city as it was nearing the end of its reign. Brit listened as he described the theatre and the festival grounds. His disdain for pagan rituals and practices was evident in his descriptions.

Playfully, he spun her around on the festival grounds where men would dance naked centuries before. “Why did women not dance?” Brit asked.

“Back in those days, baby, they were too busy being women,” Ethan replied. Brit looked to him in confusion. Seeing that many questions were coming, Ethan swung her around again faster than before. She giggled and so he swung her about a third time. “What I mean, Brit, is that they were so busy with their homes and children…” His words trailed off as she nodded. Ethan swung her again to ensure that conversation trail was closed. Kissing her, they continued to explore the city.

Brit found the Temple of Pythian Apollo fascinating. She asked many questions about it and its practices. Ethan flatly discussed the pagans who believed in the false god. As she walked about gazing at the temple and touching the stones that remain, Ethan watched. Her dress fluttered and her hair wisped in the sea breezes. The sounds of the sea were loud beneath them. Ethan vaguely recalled a priestess in fluttering robes and long hair.

Brit walked to him and slid her arms around his neck pulling him down to kiss him softly. As she kissed him lingeringly, Ethan frowned slightly at the image of the priestess sliding her hands up his chest. Ethan broke from Brit’s kiss to walk to the edge of the cliff where he gazed down. This time, his wife’s hand was in his rather than a sword. Over the edge, he saw white seafoam surrounding rocks rather than red seafoam surrounding the broken body of a pagan priestess who dared to charm her way from her fate.

“This is a magical place, Ethan,” whispered Brit. Ethan turned to her. His eyes dark and tinged with red.

“It is indeed, baby.” His fingers trailed to the cross around her neck. Smiling at him, she tilted her head at the red in his eyes. Touching his hair, she gave him a questioning look. He kissed her hand again and whispered, “Let’s explore more than a temple for a false god.” Later, back at the resort, Ethan continued to try to shake the image of the fluttering of Brit’s dress that resembled the robes of the priestess so long ago.

The last leaf

The sound of metal striking metal over and over again could easily be heard across the first floor of the estate. However, the strikes did not seem to be wild or random. Instead, the experienced kindred would notice a series of clear patterns in the vibrations resonating from inside the master dining room, interrupted only by soft laughter every now and then.

“Can we take a break Ethan?” Brit asked making big eyes, while using an embroidered handkerchief reading ‘E. S.’ to remove little pearls of sweat from her forehead and décolleté. The fencing training dress, clearly coming from Victorian times, had been arranged for her by Ethan to make the fencing lessons seem more like an opportunity to dress up and embraced her form tightly, the laced up corset however was not necessarily as practical, as it was optically pleasing.

“We have two more routines to practice and then of course there is the scheduled sparring for today” was Ethan’s only response to her inquiry. He was well aware that her “break” would mean ending the fencing lesson for the night and just enjoy the opportunity to wear the pretty outfits, that Ethan changed every three lessons, as an additional motivational factor to keep doing them. He was also well aware, that if he started a lengthy debate with his wife, she would most likely get him to eventually do just what she wanted taking advantage of her overwhelming natural charisma, that enchanted him in such a magnificent way since that night over the rooftops of Toxia.

Brit puffed her cheeks, noticing that Ethan was set on continuing the lessons but dutifully followed up the routines that were still planned until the time of sparring arrived, at which point her sparkling eyes made it quite clear that the lessons became fun once more. And how could a game of chase across the whole estate around, over and under the furniture, swinging a sword dressed up like a pirate princess not be fun? Especially since the term pirate princess came from Ethan’s lips describing her most recent outfit, immediately intriguing her. “But a book in the library said, that women on ships were bad luck” had been her first response until Ethan assured her that that did not apply if the woman in question was actually a princess or queen, in which case they were excellent luck!

Ethan thoroughly enjoyed this little game with his beloved who had clearly improved over the years and even though none of the two had ever seriously injured themselves during those sessions, it had surprised him that he had to increase his level of alertness to avoid just that, as the influence of their sharing combined with the lessons resulted in wickedly fast succession of attacks coming from Brit, even more so when she seemed to have the most fun with it.

The chase throughout the floors of their hiding place of the season in the South of France ended in the bedroom, where he lunged back against her in a Celerity enhanced motion, trapping her sword between his torso and his upper arm, while taking a hold of her free arm pulling her to him. “Show mercy princess, I surrender!” he declared in a shocked manner as if her sword had really pierced his chest causing Brit to get all nervous checking to see if that was the case before letting go of it and wrapping her arm around his neck “You are my prisoner then now? What did pirate princesses usually do with prisoners?” her interest was quite sincere and not suggestive as it could have been, had she been another. So Ethan took his time to present her with a series of options spanning from mild torture practices up deserting them on a lonely island to rot. Just as she was going to declare her lost interest in being a pirate princess, he added the marriage and living happily ever after option, which of course increased the interest exponentially again.

Following the reenactment of exchanging vows and some moments of utter tenderness between them as they reached for each other’s wedding bands, followed by a proper bridal kiss, Ethan took the opportunity to present news. “I believe we have stayed here long enough Brit. It is time to return to Toxia for a while. People are beginning to notice and remember us too much here and that is never advisable for my kind.” Brit initially seemed unhappy with leaving as she had truly enjoyed the time in France but the idea of seeing their friends in the city again was enough to lift her spirits and convince her this was a good idea. On the other hand, maybe the fact that Ethan mentioned, that nights would be longer in Toxia and they would have time for longer dates had something to do with her mood swing as well.

A few nights later, Brit locked the front door of the house that had been home for the largest part of 2010. The way she gently touched the heavy wooden decoration elements on it indicated she would miss it but her expression looking at Ethan as he helped her into the car made clear, she was looking forward to returning to the city, where the two of them met. It was the moment Ethan quickly accelerated the car leaving the driveway, that the last leaf fell from the cherry plum, that Brit had so enjoyed watching, once its leaves started changing colors in autumn.

Scrambled Eggs - Take Two

When Brit opened the door, snow flurries swept in to the room in a swirl along with a bundled woman named Miriam. The door shut with a whistle of wind. Brit welcomed the visitor while helping her out of her cloak and scarves. The woman greeted Brit stiffly in a heavily accented voice, “My name is Miriam. I have come to instruct you to make eggs.” Brit smiled happily and Miriam watched as Brit placed the cloak and scarves on a hanger. Turning, Miriam saw Ethan sitting near the window and froze in place.

“This is my beloved Ethan, Miriam. Ethan, we have a visitor,” Brit said in her soft lisp. Miriam offered an awkward curtsey, which caused Ethan to frown. Tilting her head, she quirked over Miriam’s change in behavior. “I am sure that Ethan was expecting you, Miriam.” Miriam nodded and kept her attention on Ethan.

Ethan turned his attention to the woman. “I was indeed. Please do come in. I thank you for offering your services.” With a grin toward Brit, he continued, “Brit seeks to learn the art of perfecting scrambled eggs. We were told that you have been practicing for years.” Ethan returned to his book.

Miriam relaxed a bit at the smile. Nodding, she exclaimed, “Yes. Yes. I have been scrambling eggs for visitors and..well, visitors for a few hundred years!” Brit’s eyes widened as she had seen the woman out during the daytime. The woman looked at her hands and said more softly, “Yes, yes. A few hundred years can expand to a lifetime.”

The woman Miriam looked to be about 40 years of age. She seemed to be a woman who had lived life without much luxury. Walking to the refrigerator, she pulled out several ingredients: Eggs, milk, and real butter. Turning to Brit, she seemed to almost appraise her before speaking. “You will not get a good result if your ingredients are not quality. Look here.” Miriam poured a bowl of water and tossed in a few pinches of salt. Swirling the water, she then put in the eggs which sank immediately. “Eggs that float are old.” Brit nodded in understanding. “Fresh egg shells are rough and chalky. If they are smooth and shiny, you can discard them.”

Brit’s eyes widened at such sage advice. Miriam gave a nod of approval seeing that her words were being heeded. Brit tested all six eggs and found one that floated. “Out it goes,” said Miriam. Brit tossed the egg into the waste bin and retrieved another egg. Ethan raised an eyebrow before closing his book to watch the lesson.

“Low fat milk is used, though it is a modern concept. For years, we used cream. Un-pasteurized cream.” Brit said nothing in reply. Miriam muttered, “Modern times. Now people think even whole milk is too heavy,” which caused Ethan to grin again. Miriam reached for a bowl and instructed Brit to break the eggs into the bowl. Brit carefully cracked each egg and inspected for shells between each egg addition. Miriam waited patiently. “Sometimes, you may be forced to use an egg that is not so fresh.” Lowering her voice, Miriam whispered, “They will seem fresher if you add one single drop of vanilla.” Brit mouthed the word ‘vanilla’ as she committed the secret to memory.

Miriam tapped the bowl. “Use copper for eggs. Add 1 half eggshell of milk for each egg and one dash of salt for each two eggs.” Miriam demonstrated. Pantomiming, Miriam added, “And do not stir the eggs with a whisk. You will lift them and drop. Like a tilted wheel motion. Beat them until they are frothy and even colored. Brit carefully followed the instructions. Miriam turned to Ethan after ensuring that Brit was on the right path. She opened her mouth as if to say something to him but he was focused on Brit with an expression of sheer amusement and delight.

Miriam examined the contents after 2 minutes and warned, “Never over beat the eggs. They will fail to be fluffy.” Brit waited for the next set of instructions. Pulling a well-used 12 inch skillet, Miriam said, “This is the right size for six eggs. First, heat it up. Do not add butter before it is warmed.” Setting it on the flames, all three simply watched as the fire licked the skillet. Miriam indicated that Brit should add about a tablespoon of butter. The butter flowed without sizzle and coated the bottom of the pan.

Brit tilted the skillet as Miriam showed her to do and then added the eggs into the skillet as the last bit of butter liquefied. Miriam showed her to watch for indications that the eggs were setting before using a spatula to push the eggs toward the center and tilting so more liquid eggs would fill the spot. Brit followed the instructions carefully to Ethan’s delight at watching his wife’s wonder over such a simple thing.

As Brit slowly pressed the eggs as indicated, Miriam turned again to watch Ethan. After a moment, she spoke, “When ingredients are not kept properly, they will age. Age fast.” Neither Brit nor Ethan responded but Ethan’s glance shifted to Miriam. Miriam continued, “It is a little thing…to keep something from aging.” Ethan’s jaw set a bit before he walked over to Brit. His hand touched his wife lightly on the waist and caressed her hair pulling it back. Miriam kept her gaze on Ethan even as Brit smiled up at his touch. Brit continued to cook the eggs. Miriam’s eyes shifted to Brit’s hands before looking down at her own weathered hands.

Miriam showed Brit how to break up the large clumps and, when there was no more egg to run, Miriam told Brit to flip all over and count to fifteen. Then, she pointed to the plate and said, “Good. Now place them there and you can add more salt or pepper, if you like.”

Brit beamed at Miriam, “They look perfect!”

Miriam laughed briefly, “I assure you that you will find none better.” To Ethan, she added, “Your lady is a budding chef.” Ethan nodded obviously pleased at Brit’s excitement. Miriam politely declined when Brit asked her to share the eggs and directed Brit to enjoy them while they were warm. As Brit nibbled, Miriam went down the list of things one should never do to eggs. “Do not stir eggs. Do not beat whites then add yolks.” Brit ate slowly taking in all advice. “Never use baking powder in eggs. Nor sugar. Sea salt and salt. It is truly all the same.”

Brit said to Ethan, “We should stay a long time! I could learn lots, I think.” Ethan smiled at her as she ate the eggs.

Miriam responded quickly, “I could offer other lessons.” Brit bounced looking to Ethan.

Feeling the over anxiousness of Miriam, Ethan’s smile faded. He shrugged and said, “We shall contact your employer when Brit tires of eggs.”

Miriam pressed a thumb to her mouth staring at the window. Brit took another bite of eggs and Ethan caressed her hair again as he watched the woman seated across from them. Taking a hard look at her, Ethan could see Miriam's panic within and he was sure he could smell death upon her. Miriam was aging quickly. “Are you okay,” asked Brit.

“I.” Miriam looked from one to the other. Ethan could hear the woman’s heart race. “I need to drink,” she whispered in a panicked voice staring straight at Ethan. Brit looked to the refrigerator offering a stammered apology for not offering Miriam a refreshment. As Brit babbled, Ethan spoke silently to Brit to return to the table and sit down. Brit turned to him and blinked before doing as he indicated.

Placing his hands on Brit’s shoulders, Ethan said calmly, “You need to talk to your keeper. Several centuries yield a lot of loyalty. Perhaps you can find a way to remind him of your needs.”

“Please,” Miriam whispered. “I only need a little.” Ethan stiffened as Brit looked from one to the other bewildered. Miriam begged, “Please. I..I shall not last much longer.” Ethan did not respond. Miriam’s voice caught, “My years were like hers less than a month ago.”

Ethan’s hand went to Brit’s hair protectively and he said, “I am sorry. You should go now.” Pink-tinged tears formed in Miriam’s frightened eyes causing Brit no little anxiety. Ethan pulled Brit to him and nodded to Miriam. As Miriam started to say something else, Ethan whispered, “Go.” Miriam’s sob caught in her throat. She grabbed her cloak and scarves to run out of the cabin.

The wind howled into the cabin from the opened door. Ethan crossed to secure the door before returning to pull Brit close. Picking her up, he covered Brit and sat back in his chair cradling her to him. “Why is her beloved not feeding her?” asked Brit.

Ethan felt her racing heartbeat and could imagine her thoughts within. “I don’t know, baby. I do know it will never happen to you.” Not wanting to remind her that not all who are kept are beloved, Ethan pulled Brit closer and shushed her softly. He could hear the questions she was forming within.

Scrambled Eggs - Take One

The recipe seemed easy. It called for six large eggs, six tablespoons of low-fat milk, and some butter for frying. It also called for three dashes of salt, which caused Brit some concern. Additionally, Ethan was quite sure that black pepper might enhance the flavor. “The book does not say that though,” whispered Brit.

“Cookbooks are guides, Brit. Not Bibles,” replied Ethan. He paused looking over a letter that he was reading. Tapping the paper, he smiled to her. “Unless you are baking. Then you may wish to stick to the recipe as baking is a bit like alchemy. There is an art to it.” Brit puffed her cheeks and looked at the recipe again shifting uncomfortably. Placing his letter aside, he said encouragingly, “You can follow the instructions as they are written. Then we shall assess what to change.”

Brit nodded and found a small bowl. She changed to a larger bowl after adding the fourth egg. Using a fork, she meticulously removed broken bits of shell. “Oh no. I did not heat a large non-stick skillet.” Turning from the bowl of eggs, she fished about for a skillet.

Ethan said, “Maybe reading the entire recipe would be the better plan. Then you would know what to do and in what order it should be done.”

Beaming at him, Brit said, “That’s a way good plan.” She sat at the table and read the book again carefully making pictorial notes on a separate piece of paper. Comparing the notes to the cookbook, she looked up satisfied. Ethan helped her adjust the heat to “medium” after she pointed out there were no markings on the stove. Placing the skillet on the heat, Brit went back to adding the milk. She paused with the salt. “How much is a dash?”

“A dash is…” Ethan rubbed his chin. “Just bounce the shaker three times in the bowl.”

“Is that a dash?” Brit asked.

Ethan gave her another confident smile, “We can add more than take it away. Let us try that for now.” Brit carefully bounced the shaker three times over the bowl. Looking at her notes, he said, “And now, you should beat it vigorously for 2 minutes.” Seeing her hesitation, he motioned what he thought he should do.

“You mean mix them up lots?” She held the bowl peering into it.

Ethan nodded affirmatively, “Indeed. They are called ‘scrambled’. Brit started to stir the eggs after peering up at the clock to keep time. Ethan watched her with a hint of amusement. Brit had been enjoying the small cabin and playing house. Her hair framed her face as she worked. Noting the stove, he picked up a ribbon and walked behind her as she stirred. “When cooking, I wish you to tie your hair back, baby.” He could not help but shudder at the brief thought of what fire could do to both of them.

Ethan helped Brit add the butter to the skillet and watched as she poured in the egg mixture a bit too soon. The sizzle caused her to pause. Using a flat wooden spoon, she started to stir the eggs to the center as it said in the cookbook. Almost immediately clots of yellow egg started to form. Brit’s eyes widened as if she were witnessing magic. She continued to stir until all of the yellowy egg mixture had congealed and the outsides looked wet.

“Brit, it says you should break apart all of the big pieces and flip them over,” Ethan said as he pointed to the line in the book watching as Brit followed his instructions. Brit watched and counted the extra time to cook the eggs before scooping them out onto a plate. Ethan turned off the flame smirking, “And the last line is salt and pepper to taste.”

“What does that mean,” asked Brit.

“It means that you add salt and pepper until it is how you best enjoy it.” Brit nodded and Ethan gestured to the table. Brit nibbled her lower lip realizing she had forgotten to make toast. Ethan chuckled, “It does not matter. You can make toast later as it would be better, I think, than cold eggs.”

Shrugging, Brit grinned as she slid onto her chair and watched as Ethan brought the salt and pepper with him to face her. She ate the eggs slowly sprinkling a few grains of salt and/or pepper with each bite. Finally, she announced, “I like the eggs with salt and a tiny bit of pepper.”

Ethan chuckled and said, “Then we should write that in your book.” He picked up a pencil adding the note as Brit finished her eggs. When she was cleaning up, he asked, “Were the eggs good?”

“They were good, but they were not as good as when other people make them,” Brit replied. Ethan frowned and reread the recipe thinking that Brit had followed it reasonably well. Lisping, Brit said, “They were still yummy.”

Flipping through pages, Ethan said, “I am sure that we can find how to make them as you like them. This is but a start.” He placed the book aside and turned to her as she finished clearing the table. “You are yummy but that does not mean that I do not desire ways to see how I can improve on your perfection.”

Grabbing her up, he gave her several playful bites until she was giggling while squirming in his hold. Ethan continued until her heart was racing and then he bit deeply and drank several long sips while holding her closely. She melted against him fluidly making him think of the butter in the pan. As he drank, he swore he could taste the pepper. It was seemed like a memory of some dream.

Doing Things Alone

For Brit, the most exciting part of the trip was not the clandestine flight. It was not the elegance of the spectacular Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Munich with the suite that had uncovered windows that faced north allowing her an unobstructed view of the city. Ethan noticed that Brit spent time gazing out of the windows, and she also enjoyed the stretch limo that took them to the most exclusive places each night of their stay. The food was predictably excellent the night that Ethan took Brit to dine on a saddle of Whitford Hill deer smothered in dark chocolate and spice jus. Regardless, neither of those items made as much impact as when they checked out and Ethan accepted keys to the fiery red Mercedes. He held the door for Brit to get in as she stood in the stunned realization that a driver would not be taking them on the second leg of their trip. Ethan smirked, “Are you waiting for sunrise to continue our trip, Brit?”

Giggling, she hopped into the car and slid back against the buttery leather still blinking at him as he adjusted the mirrors. “I didn’t know that you really could drive, Ethan.”

Motioning to her seatbelt, he put his own on as she did. “I am full of talent, baby,” he chuckled with a wink. Turning the key, the car purred. Brit beamed at him. Her bright smile caused him to smile. “Well,” he explained with a wave of his hand. “You did say that we rarely do anything alone once we leave home.” She continued to look at him as she nuzzled a cheek against the leather of the seat. “I suppose I felt that perhaps we should stray from home more on our own.” Tapping his fingers, he mentally went over every aspect of the trip. He had not strayed from home without assistance in a very long time, but the drive would not take more than a few hours and they had all night.

Putting the car in gear, Ethan tapped the gas and the car lurched in fluid motion causing Brit to gasp in gleeful giggles. Her merriment caused Ethan to smile. His smile waivered upon hearing the GPS chirp out directions ‘Turn right’. “Yes, I know,” Ethan responded once and then simply shook his head. “Modern conveniences can be…” Brit looked to him expectantly. “Modern,” he grumbled softly turning as the GPS commanded him to do.

The full moon was high as they drove from the city. Ethan had considered taking a train, but what if it broke down? He relaxed more as the city lights formed a glow behind them. It had been several years since he drove on his own. Ethan had to admit that it felt good to be alone with Brit and not dependent on another. A disturbing thought of a car breakdown or other issue crossed his mind but he pushed it aside. It was simply a short trip, and he desired to give Brit a glimpse of what would be normal for any mortal couple.

As Ethan drove on, Brit played with the buttons on the car. She looked in the glove box and found chocolate. Chewing a piece, she smoothed her lipstick by using the make-up mirror above the visor. Ethan produced a CD of Trans-Siberian Orchestra to Brit who had been playing with the radio and was paused at a song by Flyboy. She inserted the CD and the sounds of “Wizards in Winter” seemed to surround the car. Snow started to fall.

Brit twisted in her seat exposing her thigh so that she could watch the snow swirl behind them. Ethan’s hand slid to the soft warmth of her thigh and lightly touched the bitemarks there. After several moments, he tapped her thigh and said, “Turn around, please. You can help watch where we are going.”

Brit turned to face forward lisping, “But I don’t know where we are going.” The sky continued to sprinkle snow as music played and they raced along in the car. Ethan’s hand stayed on her thigh and Brit watched out of the front window noticing that the road was winding while it carried them higher into the mountains. With the bright moon behind the scattered clouds that dropped snow, the world took on a blue-tinted glow.

Another hour passed and the clouds had thickened giving the air a darker feel. As the elevation climbed, the snow stopped falling. In its place was a slightly foggy glow. “Turn left in .5 kilometers,” said the GPS giving both of them a start. “Turn left in point five kilometers, Ethan,” lisped Brit.

Ethan stopped glowering at the GPS map and grinned. “Thank you, baby.” Turning at the correct point, the car followed a twisting gravel road that seemed to have been carved out of the mountain. The GPS was silent as if it had no more advice to give. “This looks familiar,” said Ethan. Ethan drove for another 10 minutes. Brit was quiet unsure where they were and feeling that the road was growing smaller and smaller.

Cresting a hilltop, Ethan made a hard right and pulled into a clearing. Other cars were peppered around tree stump guides hinting where one should park. As Ethan cut the engine, a figure emerged from a small cottage and walked toward them. In a language that Brit did not understand, Ethan greeted and the greeting was returned. The cloaked figure nodded to Brit and assisted Ethan to gather luggage from the car.

Brit took Ethan’s hand and followed the person who was helping them to navigate to their lodging. Brit noted that Ethan’s voice seemed relaxed and jovial to the other person’s comments. Turning down the path, Brit exclaimed, “Pretty!” Down the path, small cottages were each lined in Christmas lights.

Turning, the cloaked person said in an accented voice, “Many thanks. Though most visitors will be moving during the day up here. Skiing.” Brit nodded and Ethan motioned to go further. Turning down another line of cottages, the figure stopped at the one on the end. “You can still stay at the lodge, Ethan.”

“My wife and I wish to give seclusion a try,” replied Ethan. The cloaked figure gazed at Brit a moment and nodded before opening the door.

As lights were turned on, Brit broke into a bright smile. The cottage was like a tiny house. It had a small kitchen and bathing room. There was a living room area complete with plush, leather sofa and a cozy throw and fireplace. Ethan grimaced at the fireplace as the figure explained how to ignite it with a touch of a button. The cottage had a queen sized bed with luxurious covers, and every window had foil-lined shudders.

Ethan nodded with satisfaction. “It all looks to be in order, friend.” The two shook hands and the cloaked person left. Turning to Brit, he kissed pulled her to him and kissed her softly. “I’ll bet you are hungry,” he said. She nodded and he grinned impishly, “There should be sustenance in the refrigerator, baby.”

Opening the refrigerator, Brit paused looking over the eggs, milk, cheeses, and assorted vegetables with some meats. “It’s raw ingredients for food.”

Ethan chuckled giving her a small book titled, “You Can Cook!” Brit slowly opened it and read with her lips moving silently. Ethan offered encouragingly, “You said that we rarely did things alone. How hard can this be? I once cooked for myself in the field often.” Ethan picked up an egg and said, “I used to be quite fond of eggs.” Searching for a pan, he motioned her to the book and said, “See if you can find something to do with eggs.”

Thirty minutes later, they left the cottage to travel to the lodge. “Tomorrow, we will spend time with the cookbook,” Ethan assured her. “Tonight. Well, no one cooks the same day of travel.” Brit passed a pretty white wired tree and admired it while Ethan flipped through the book. Tapping it, he said, “Do not order scrambled eggs tonight, Brit. It may be something for you to make tomorrow.” Tucking the book in his pocket, he offered his arm and escorted her to the lodge to ensure that she ate before resting.