Scented Memory
Lucien came home and was immediately struck with a strong, beautiful scent upon opening the front door. Vanilla and sugar and…something else. Soft and calm and lovely. It was so familiar, but Lucien couldn't figure out exactly what it was. And not only that, he was sure he had smelled that exact combination of scents sometime before. A long time ago.
He smiled. Memory is so strongly tied to the sense of smell. And this was a smell that reminded him of…he wasn't sure what. But it made him smile.
"Jean?" he called out, hoping to get some answers.
"Kitchen!" she shouted back.
He entered the kitchen to find her using with the oven. "What's going on here?" he asked.
"I'm baking biscuits," she replied. "Though I haven't made this particular recipe in years, so I'm a little worried of how they'll turn out."
He looked around at the ingredients on the countertop, sniffing around. "That scent is rather strong. What is it?"
"Lavender. The vanilla changes the smell somewhat, so it's hard to recognize sometimes."
"Ah yes, lavender. I should have known. But why are you making biscuits with lavender?"
"They're for Agnes Clasby," Jean explained. "You've told her to cut down on her sugars, and I ran into her at the bakery, staring rather bitterly at the cakes. But this recipe calls for much less sugar than a lot of baked desserts, so I thought I'd make a batch for her."
"That's very nice of you, Jean," Lucien said, nodding in approval. "But that's rather unusual, isn't it? Lavender in desserts?"
Jean smiled softly. "The farm I grew up on, we had a patch of lavender. My father always loved the smell, so my mother would use the plant wherever she could. Putting it around the house, inside pillows, even in the linings of jackets she made for us. And she'd use it in her cooking sometimes. That's how she came up with this recipe. It's a very unusual flavor, but it's really lovely."
Lucien caught another strong whiff of the confections in the oven. And like a bolt of lightning, he remembered where he'd smelled them before. "Do the biscuits come out looking rather pale and puffy?"
Surprised, Jean told him, "Yes, actually, they do. Assuming I've done it right."
"I've seen them before. Who else makes them?"
"No one, I don't think," Jean replied, thinking. "But when I was very small, not older than maybe three or so, we did go through a really bad harvest, and Mother sold them in town to make a little extra money."
"Pigtails," Lucien whispered, his eyes slightly unfocused.
"What?"
His face slowly broke into a grin and he turned to her. "You had pigtails. Curly brown pigtails."
"Lucien, what are you talking about?"
"Jean, I remember where I've smelled this before. I was there. Somehow. My mother and I went to the market and she said something about the smell, and she bought some biscuits for us. And while she was paying for them, I saw a little girl sitting quietly, staring at everyone and watching everything. With curly brown pigtails and the biggest turquoise eyes I'd ever seen. That was you, wasn't it?"
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I…yes, that was me, I think. You really remember seeing me?"
"That smell. Brought it all back. The mind is funny that way."
Jean was still trying to piece it all together. "I don't remember seeing you. Though I don't know if I ever remember going to the market with my mother at all. But you…you saw me as a child. It makes sense, I suppose, that at some point we crossed paths. I've lived in Ballarat my whole life. And you were born and raised here, of course. But…" she had to laugh. "I can't believe it!"
Lucien put his hand on her cheek, looking into those same turquoise eyes. "Now I know for sure that you've been beautiful your whole life. And now we can tell people we've known each other for more than forty years"
She chuckled, "Well, I don't know if we could say that."
The bell on the timer went off to indicate that the baking was finished.
Jean reluctantly pulled away. "Well, let's see if these came out as well as you remember, hmm?" She opened the oven and picked up a dish towel to remove the hot tray. "They look the way they're supposed to, I think." Jean narrowed her eyes, analyzing her work.
Lucien picked one off the tray and nearly burned himself.
"You've got to let them cool!" Jean scolded.
He ignored her and took a small bite. "Oh, Jean, these are incredible!"
She smiled proudly. "Oh good. I'll leave a few here for you when I take the batch over to Agnes."
"Thank you. And be sure to tell her that they are just as good as I remember your mother making them."
Jean nodded. She knew Agnes Clasby would love to hear that Lucien remembered seeing Jean as a small child. She could almost hear Agnes saying, You see? You've always been meant to be together. How you two could have wasted all that time…