Title:

Between snow and ice

Sequel to:

Between roses and peppermint

Prequel to:

And sit a while with me
Twenty-one days
A few days more
Two seconds
End of days

Author:

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

Classification:

Fiction – based on the bible

Timeframe:

Winter 1939

Location:

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

Summary:

AU/ As the sequel to 'between roses and peppermint', this is another story about the small town New Heaven's Valley, just a short story about a small town in the States – and this time it is about winter '39, about Christmas, New Year's Eve, and about Mr. Snowman – about a church that is a place for God's family … have fun reading … to understand how things started in this story, you need to read 'between roses and peppermint'.

Disclaimer:

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and no place called Cárn dorch Liath in Scotland, and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

Rating:

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

Author's notes:

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much

Warning:

Story contains bad language and swearing.

Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence. It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child neglect.

Child neglect as well as abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused or neglected, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated or neglected.

This does however not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word or warning:

If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smudge, bring brown rings caused by your coffee cup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …


Breåk· … ·~ ~*~*~*~*~*~ ~· … ·Łine

Previously in between snow and ice

"Of course not, because it is not important." He answered. "In the small things I am going on in life with a common sense, an open mind and knowing the Lord's requirements – and even if I took a piece of grape and the Lord told me not to eat it, I would not … but doing any of the big things would mean messing around with the Lord's works, and that is an absolute no-go."

"You can talk!" Dunstan growled at him, angrily.

"Why is it that you are so reluctant of meeting your brother?" He asked, not really understanding human ways of thinking – or feeling. He would be happy to meet a new brother, or a brother he'd thought lost long ago.

"How should I know?" The man angrily attacked, but he knew that it was not to hurt him, but to make himself feel better, to vent some of his frustration. "You're the angel. And don't deny it, I know that you are!"

Well, that much for Dunstan not knowing that he was an angel, and for a moment he wondered how many people more might know about it.

"I have no reason of denying it." He calmly answered. "But that is not the point, Dunstan. The point is – why is it that you are so reluctant of meeting your brother."

"You're not denying it?" The human asked, looking at him perplexed.

"Of course not." He said, again.

"I don't know why." Dunstan finally said, sighing. "I've worked so hard on being dead. Only the family lawyer knows that I am still alive, and for now I've had no reason to … and now Hereweald's here."

"Is it because of the money you would have to share?" He teased, knowing that Dunstan wasn't really thinking like that. The man might be frustrated at the moment, at the knowledge that there was a relative left of him, but surely not because of the money he was to inherit but because he didn't know how to handle the situation, because the wealth and power he was to inherit, was more than one man alone could handle anyway.

"What?" Dunstan looked up at him, startled, before he quickly shook his head. "No!" He then said, furrowing his brows. "Of course not! I don't care about that money and I don't even know what to do with it. I just wonder – he must have known that our father has died, why didn't he claim that money? He's the oldest, after all, the firstborn."

"That is a question you should ask your brother." He answered, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have worked so hard on being Dunstan Black, leaving everything Hrothgar behind." Dunstan suddenly whispered, as if he'd surrendered to the situation. "How am I to go back there now?"

"Together with your brother." He answered, calmly and quietly. "Because know, that he is as insecure as you are. He has lost the same as did you. But both of you can gain something, if only you go and talk to him."

"What am I to say?" The man asked, looking up at him with a desperate expression on his face, in his eyes. "Hello I'm your brother, nice to meet you?"

"Why not?" He asked back. "You could use a worse choice of words than that."

Between snow and ice

Chapter nine – brothers indeed

Or – don't lick the spoon …

December 22nd, 1939, Friday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

Viewpoint of Dunstan

He hadn't slept last night.

He'd been lying in bed, turning from one side to the other, but he hadn't slept, and so he'd gone back to the living room, taking the bible Michael had – accidentally, of course – forgotten at one or another of his visits during the past few months, and he didn't really know what to make out of it. But … the thing was there, all those people out there read it, so he saw no reason as to why he shouldn't take a look at it now. He could go back to bed and turn from one side to the other, or he could open that particular book and read through a few pages.

Well, and when skimming through the first pages, reading through the creation, he couldn't help thinking that he was reading a fantasy book, but when skimming through the proverbs, then he couldn't help finding that there were a lot of truths in them, too, truths he already knew, had heard from others, from people who didn't have anything to do with God, church, or the bible, like the one that said that a man who is kind benefits himself, while a cruel man hurts himself – or this one: 'ponder the path of your feet, then all your ways will be sure'.

There were a lot of other things he didn't understand – like … how would the tree of knowledge of good and evil be a bad thing? It was a good thing if people knew about good and bad, if people knew what was good and bad, because only that way they could decide to do good and leave the bad stuff. People needed to know the difference between good and bad, so, why had God told Adam and Eve, that they were not to eat of it or they'd die? And why had it had such a catastrophic impact on mankind? He could understand that God might have been angry because they'd done something he had forbidden, but why was it such a bad thing in the first place? He just didn't understand.

But then again, in other parts of the bible he'd skimmed through, he'd found things he'd heard before, again, things he did understand very well, like this one: 'A house divided against itself cannot stand', or – 'to everything there is a season', simply meaning that there is a right time and a wrong time to everything.

Wise and true things he'd heard before, and wise and true things that were logical, which he understood.

So, surely there was something truthful in the bible – but, if there were some things in the bible which were true, then maybe everything was true? Because who would write a book such as this, that was halfway truth and halfway a lie? Sure, there might be some truths in every book, even in fantasy books … maybe … but this book was never meant to be a fantasy book but a guide for mankind, so, what if this story about how God had created the earth was really true?

If God was almighty, then surely it could be true.

So, he'd started to skim through that book a bit more – and finding a bit more – like the saying that a leopard couldn't change its spots … and he frowned, because he'd never thought that it actually came from the bible, he'd not known that. But there it was written: 'Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?' So, people had picked that saying from the bible, really and truly. Or 'let not the sun go down on your wrath'. His granny used to say this one whenever his parents had been arguing, and they'd been arguing a lot.

In the end, he'd been skimming through that book all night long, back and forth, reading a verse here and a sentence there, finding things he hadn't thought he'd find in a book like the bible, even things like this one – 'and spend the money for whatever you want – oxen or sheep or wine or strong drink, whatever your appetite craves. And you shall feast there and celebrate before the Lord your God and rejoice, you and your household'.

He'd needed to look twice when reading that, and suddenly he understood why people here in New Heaven's Valley didn't shy back from sitting together and having a good time in their church, even drinking alcohol while he had already wondered why good and godly people would do that. They didn't get drunk, but they didn't condemn alcohol either like so many other Christians he'd met over the years did. They were rather handling it with common sense, because they were allowed to do so. Their God didn't forbid them all the things they liked.

And that had been the first moment when there had been a small and soft 'click' in his head, someplace in the backside of his mind there had been a small switch that had been turned, and he'd realized that – these people weren't forbidden all the enjoyable things in life. Their God didn't tell them to do the boring stuff only while 'no sex, no excitement and no alcohol' like his mother always had said when his older brother had left the house.

But well – neither of the things he'd read did really help him with his current problem – namely what was he to do about his brother? Michael had told him that he should go to his brother and talk to him, and that they should try to answer that question together – and it seemed logical to him. But – what was he to say? And would the man believe him, even? Would he not make a fool out of himself? And what if Hereweald was angry at him because he'd run off in the middle of the night so many years ago? Leaving behind not only Hereweald but worse, his twin, too? What if Hereweald turned his back on him, telling him that he should go to hell?

He wouldn't be able to bear that.

In other words – Michael had been right, partly … he was more interested in himself than in his brother, he was more scared of what his brother could do than of really meeting him and telling him, scared of what he might think, scared of how he might react, scared of – of being rejected.

But … didn't he have to bear the consequences of his decision he'd made so many years ago?

Of course it hadn't been easy, leaving back his twin when he'd left back then, but it had been necessary, because he'd been unable meeting his father again after he'd seen the man doing what he'd done. He'd been unable of looking at the man without seeing a monster, without wanting to kill him for what he'd done. His father had done a lot of things, but that night had been the last straw that had broken and he'd just packed his things and had left. A backpack with a few clothes, a few pictures from his brothers, and a few sandwiches and apples for the start of his journey. That's been all he'd taken with him back then – together with the piggybank where he'd had saved a few dollars, not much, but it had been enough for the first few weeks until he'd had a small job.

But still he had no answer – what was he to do now?

Turning the page, sighing, his eyes fell onto a sentence that made him blinking stupidly for a moment before he read the same sentence again: 'a friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a difficult time'.

Was he not in a difficult time?

Why else had he been skimming through that book all night long instead of sleeping?

Wasn't that what people did if they were in difficult times?

And now he read that a brother was there for the difficult times …

Was that true? Could that be true for him, too?

If so, then surely …

Taking the book and closing it with an angry and loud 'thud', he threw the bloody thing against the next wall – where it hit the structure with another 'thud' before it fell to the floor, laying on the ground and looking harmless and just like any other normal book – but he knew that it was no normal book, because he had looked inside.

Taking a deep breath he got off the armchair and put on his jacket, because he had to go for a walk, and he had to think, and maybe he had to talk to his brother – maybe.

He ignored the book that lay on the floor, accusingly, because he refused to believe what was in there – because surely that was not meant for him.

Breåk· … ·~ ~*~*~*~*~*~ ~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Gwyneth McFlaherty

"Hello Gwyn." Emily said the moment she entered the lobby of the church, and she smiled, happily – she was back home.

"Hi Emily." She answered, giving the other woman a short embrace, and then sat down into one of the chairs, smiling at the cup of coffee the other woman put in front of her – yes, she was back home … this was her church … this was her family … and this was her home …

"Hello Timmy, last Christmas preparations?" She asked the boy, pointing at the present the child was trying to wrap, his tongue sticking out from between his lips with concentration, the child trying to bind the bow so that it wold look somewhat nice and considering the folds in the band, it was clear that it wasn't his first attempt.

"Yes, Mrs. McFlaherty." The boy said, grinning. "I've bought a bible for the Professor, for Professor Hrothgar, and then I got a dollar from Sébastien for clearing his driveway off the snow, and so I could buy another bible. I'll give it to uncle Diesel, and maybe he won't rip it to pieces."

"Oh boy." She said, knowing that – most likely the man would be doing just that.

"I hope he'll come for Christmas, you know." The boy then said, stopping in his work and looking up at her, smiling. "The Professor, I mean. He will leave tonight or tomorrow morning to go home, after sheriff Benson has opened the streets again."

"I don't know." Emily sighed, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair, her eyes elsewhere. "I fear he won't. He's so stubborn when it comes to such things."

"Dunno, Ma'am." The boy said, looking over at the other woman. "I hope he will, I like him, he's scary."

"And you like scary people, Timmy?" She couldn't help asking, smiling at the child.

"Not generally, Mrs. McFlaherty." The boy answered. "But I like him."

"That he is, Timmy." Emily laughed. "Maybe I should get him a Christmas present, too."

"You should, Ma'am." The boy eagerly nodded his head. "Just in case."

"So, you like scary people, too, Emily?" She couldn't help asking, frowning, because … well – if that was not one of the strangest conversations she'd heard, lately, then she didn't know what was. So, what had she missed while she'd been away? After all, she hadn't been gone for a year, but four days only.

"Not generally." The other woman answered, laughing happily. "But I like him, even though he's scary."

"Are you checking him out?" She couldn't help asking, watching Emily closely.

"What?" The other woman quickly asked – too quickly for her liking. "No! Surely not … I …"

"Oh, oh." She smiled. "There is someone interested in the Chemistry Professor from Hathaway …"

"No." Emily shook her head. "No, of course not, you're silly."

"Hmm." She nodded her head, knowingly. "Really, Emily." She then said. "How long is it that Julien died? Ten years? It's nothing wrong to look for another man after that time, there's nothing reprehensive in that. But does it really have to be that eccentric curmudgeon?"

"Even if I laid my eyes on him – what I didn't do – I would never hurt Jethro and Cameron with taking another man. They wouldn't understand, and they would be hurt."

"Sure?" She asked, trying to picture Cameron in this situation. "Cameron loved Julien, as did Jethro, but I don't think that any of the two expect you to remain alone, a widow for the remainder of your life. Julien is dead, Emily, for ten years now. You're not betraying him with another man, you're not committing adultery. Why should you not look for another man in your life after all those years?"

"Because, it's just that – Cameron loved Julien, and Jethro loved him, too." Emily shook her head, watching Gabe and Michael approaching together with Timmy, the boy happily running ahead of the two and into the lobby, straightway towards Timmy where he pulled the other boy off his seat with an anxious "hi Timmy, come, quickly".

"Hi Angus." Timmy answered, big eyed, and packing the bible he'd wrapped into the large box together with the other presents, where Morgan McFlaherty would take them to place them beneath the large Christmas tree tomorrow night.

Tomorrow evening and Sunday morning would be a rather busy time.

People would prepare salads of all kind, they would bake bread and cake, and cookies, they would roast sausages and steaks, and they'd make pudding and other deserts, too, while others would decorate the church with flowers and with the best table cloth, with napkins and with porcelain. They'd put tables together in the entire house, in the lobby and in the service hall for the Christmas dinner, and in the upstairs classrooms for the children to play one game or another in the afternoon.

They'd cook coffee and brew tea, and everyone would bring something to eat on Sunday.

It would be coffee and cake on Sunday after noon while people talked and celebrated Christmas, and there would be one sermon or another during the day, prayers, and people who wished to say a few words could do just that, too, and later in the evening there would be another sermon, dinner, more prayers, and then they'd unwrap the many, many Christmas presents beneath the tall tree in the service hall.

They'd play a game of questions and answers, and the person answering a question the right way, could take a present from beneath the tree, any present, and hand it over to the one it belonged to – who then would be busy unwrapping the present while the person who'd answered the question correctly, would ask another question. It was always fun, celebrating Christmas this way, and no one was alone, no one was left behind, and no one was forgotten.

"Come outside?" Angus whispered, leaning close to Timmy as if he were to tell a big secret. "I have a new nose for Mr. Snowman, and then we could do a snowball fight, Mr. Snowman, Michael, Gabriel and I, and you, too."

"Great." The other boy whispered back, getting his jacket and hurrying outside together with Angus.

"They've given the snowman a name?" Emily asked, smiling, watching the two boys.

"Sure." She shook her head. "After all, Mr. Snowman is a member of this church for years now. Angus has kept Mr. Snowman's things, the top hat, the broom, the eyes and buttons, and only the nose will be new each year. Angus has asked for it this very morning when I got home."

"Well, in this case I liked last year's Mr. Snowman." Emily laughed. "He's been successfully guarding the door. I hope this year's Mr. Snowman will be as nice as was last year's."

"If Michael is involved?" She chuckled. "Then he'll be wearing a sword."

"Most likely." Jethro huffed, having entered the church and hearing her last sentence.

"How did you get home, by the way?" Emily then asked. "The roads are still closed off."

"Mr. Hollister took me on his sledge." She smiled. "It's been an – adventurous ride, but really worth it."

"That's good. How was your time with Mary and her husband?" Cameron then asked, sitting down beside her. "It's really good to have you back."

"I'm happy to be back, too, but it's been one of the most interesting times I've lately had." She smiled.

It had really been a few good days. They had played games, they had talked a lot, and they had taken a walk whenever the storm had ceased a bit and it was safe doing so. They had cooked together, and they had eaten together – but she'd missed her family, Morgan and the children, and she'd missed reading in her bible, and she'd missed the prayers together with other Christians, and she'd wondered how these people could be so happy, even though they didn't have God in their lives.

She'd talked about God, sure, and Mariah had let her talking, not telling her to keep her mouth shut about God or Jesus, even though she had known that both, Mariah and her husband had not cared about what she'd said, but neither was it the same as if she could talk with other Christians, nor had it had any effort, because they'd simply thought her being stupid for believing in God and for telling them, no less.

But other than that, it had been a few nice and interesting days, and she had enjoyed the friendship they had shared.

"That's good to hear." Cameron nodded his head. "Anyway, I'm glad you're back home. Hereweald will soon be going home, too, I guess. Sheriff Benson said he'd reopen the western driveway that will lead to Whitechapel Mount City via the baseball pitch as soon as possible."

"Hmm." Jethro made. "Concerning that Professor – now, what's about going out with him, Emily?" Jethro then growled without forewarning, his hard eyes on his sister who took a deep breath.

"Why would I do something like that?" Emily asked back, blushing, and she frowned, because Emily should really not keep her feelings secret. "I have no …"

"I'm not stupid." Jethro growled. "I've seen the looks you've thrown at him."

"Listen, Emily." Cameron sighed, sitting down beside his sister. "Julien is dead for ten years now and there is nothing wrong with looking for another partner in your life. You are not meant to be alone for the remainder of your life. I just do not really understand how you could look out for such a cantankerous and ill-tempered guy like Hereweald, but if that's what you want, then be it. I just fear that he'll hurt you with turning you down. That man is not made for any kind of relationship."

Well, she couldn't agree more with Cameron – and really, Emily should just try it.

There wasn't anything else to say about the subject, and Cameron started telling her about how well Morgan had done with the children.

Breåk· … ·~ ~*~*~*~*~*~ ~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Hereweald Hrothgar

"Hereweald …" He heard his name being called, and for a moment he wondered if he shouldn't just ignore it and walk on, but then he stopped with a resigned sigh, knowing that – most likely – the caller wouldn't give up so easily if they called him by his given name, and he wondered who exactly did show the audacity to use his first name, because he had not given permission for that to anyone at all, not even to Wohehiv and Hendrik who both used his given name anyway. And seeing that Wohehiv had introduced him to the people here in town, using his first name, it was clear that they would use his first name, now, too – in other words … his reputation was destroyed. Utterly and totally destroyed.

He'd never have introduced himself with his forename! Never ever!

Bloody Indian!

And turning, he put on his best glare – and then lifted his eyebrow, because he didn't even know the person.

He'd seen the man before, just the other morning when Wohehiv had dragged him to this church of his for breakfast, the man had walked past them, watching him with a strange expression on his face.

And now the man stood before him, again, watching him, again, and he could tell that there wasn't just a battle going on in the man's mind, but an entire war.

"What is it?" He asked, impatiently, to get the man out of his war. He'd been on his way to – maybe – going home, driving up Whitechapel Mount. The direct serpentine road up the mountain wasn't opened yet due to the thread of one of the ledges coming down, but perhaps he could leave the small town southwards, passing the baseball pitch and then driving up Whitechapel Mount from the northern side, and he better made haste before that idiot sheriff came up with another reason as to why the street had to remain closed.

"You are Hereweald Llewellyn Hrothgar." The man said, his voice raspy.

"Seeing that you have called me by my given name already – one should think I am." He huffed with some annoyance in his voice.

"Well …" The man then said, slowly, taking a deep breath. "My name is Kenrich Dunstan Hrothgar."

Dunstan … he blinked at the man stupidly …

But … surely it couldn't be …

Dunstan was …

It just couldn't be …

But … how was that possible …

"To my knowledge Kenrich Dunstan Hrothgar is dead." He growled.

"Then why have you not called Lawyer Winchester when father died to claim your heritage?" The man – Dunstan – accused, and at least now he knew that the other was really his brother, because … a simple stranger wouldn't know about Lawyer Winchester, and surely not about his father having died or the money he was to inherit.

"I suggest we do not discuss that on the street." He said, taking a deep breath, and turning towards the Coffee House, he walked on. He didn't really want to go to the Coffee House. But the only other option would be to take the other man back to the motel and he wouldn't do that! Or to Pope's Soda Shoppe where all the kids were hanging out, and that was just as unacceptable.

"Sorry Llew." The other man said, following him. "I didn't mean to accuse you of anything."

"Don't call me that!" He hissed, angrily.

There wasn't an answer, but he could hear the man's footsteps in the snow following his own.

So – Dunstan was alive.

But why had he not …

And what had he done all those years?

How was he, Hereweald, to handle this situation now? How was he to handle his brother, even?

Why had his brother not come back when Osmond had died? And surely he must have known about it …

There were so many questions rushing through his mind, he barely could grasp one of them to form them into an understandable sentence, and for a moment … but no.

No, he knew that Osmond had died, because he'd died in his arms, bleeding to death because he'd been unable to stop the blood flow, because no one had been there to help him, neither his father nor …

Pushing these thoughts aside, he entered the Coffee House, scanning the area with his dark and hard eyes for a moment, and then he went to a table at the very end of the room.

"Why did you run away back then?" He asked, the moment the other man, his brother, sat down at the table. "And why did you come back now?"

"I have left because of our father." The man, Dunstan, said, apparently knowing that he had to answer some questions. "And I didn't come back just now – I'm living here for some time now, but I didn't know that you're living here, too."

"I'm not living here." He growled, darkly. "I've just been stranded here in that bloody one horse town due to that bloody snow storm, that's all. And do you really think that you've been the only one who'd had to suffer from our father's words and hands? Or from our mother's neglect and disinterest?"

"Of course not." Dunstan said, scowling at him. "But I haven't been the only one who'd run off, either."

"No." He sighed, leaning back and then ordering two cups of coffee from the waitress. "No, you haven't been the only one. But I've only left after Osmond … after our brother had died. I've stayed until that day and I would have stayed until he'd moved out to keep him safe and sane – if that was even possible in that household. I've only left after there had been no reason left for me to remain."

"I know." Dunstan nodded his head, sighing, and looking sad. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just … I don't know how to handle this." The man then said.

"And you think I do?" He asked back, his black eyes harsh on his brother's black eyes.

"Apparently not." Dunstan said. "I'm really sorry. I've been Dunstan Black for so many years, I don't really know how to go back to being Dunstan Hrothgar."

"Why would you do such a foolish thing?" He asked, startled, not understanding. "And giving up on your family name?"

"Are you proud of being a Hrothgar?" Dunstan asked, glaring at him, and he sighed.

"No, I'm not." He shook his head. "But I am a Hrothgar, and denying it won't change it. I am not responsible for what our father did, I am only responsible for what I am doing."

"What am I to do now?" His brother asked, shaking his head, and suddenly he realized that – yes, this was indeed his little brother, and his little brother needed a bit of help here.

He inclined his head towards the lady who brought the two cups of coffee, and then took a deep breath. It wasn't that he wouldn't need some help here, too – but he was the older of the two, and he was used to situations that grew over his head.

"You take back your family name." He then said, taking the lead just the way he'd do it with the students from his house. He'd deal with his own emotions later. "And concerning the money, I have no interest in it, you may have it, all of it – what is the exact reason as to why I have not contacted lawyer Winchester when father died, just to answer your earlier question. But you, you better make sure that you get back your family name. You are Kenrich Dunstan Hrothgar. You are who you are and changing your name won't change who you are."

"Who are you?" The other man asked. "What are you doing now? And where do you live?"

"I am living at Hathaway, up Whitechapel Mount." He growled, darkly. "I'm working as the chemistry teacher up there."

"Chemistry, eh?" Dunstan asked, grinning, and he scowled at the man in front of him.

"You have a problem with that?" He growled at the other man, darkly. Chemistry was his passion, and there was no reason for anyone to make fun of it.

"No." Dunstan shook his head, seriously. "It's just that I've studied chemistry in Virginia at the Scientific University of Nevada."

"Chemistry." He sighed, his eyebrow lifted.

So, the man didn't just have the same hard and black eyes as he had, the same deep and velvet voice, the same long and black hair, and his face didn't just bear the same expressions as did his own, but he had the same interests, too.

Brothers, indeed, he thought and he leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs beneath the table, content with the situation.

It surely wasn't that he'd missed his brother.

It's been nearly twenty-seven years, a time long enough so that he wouldn't miss Dunstan anymore. Not to mention that he was no one who easily missed other persons – they were there, in his life, or they were not, it was as easy as that, because he wouldn't be able to change it anyway, never mind if he missed the person, or not.

No, but something felt right.

Something felt as if it had fallen into place.

Something felt as if it had become the way it had to be.

"So, where have you been?" He asked, taking a sip of his coffee which was – he had to admit that – acceptable brewage for a small town-coffee such as this.

"I've been here and there." Dunstan said, shrugging his shoulders. "I've travelled the states, working here and there, learning this and that, and the moment I've had enough money for the university, I've studied chemistry. For years I've worked at Virginia Police Department as an analytical chemist and I've lived at a big farm, together with friends – until one of them … well, until Joshua died. I've left Hopedale and … came here where I work as a mechanic during the summer months."

"And what about the winter months?" He asked, his eyebrow lifted.

The WMC Garage in Whitechapel Mount City was a garage where he'd had his car once – and once only. They didn't just not know their stuff, no – they also had demolished his car seriously instead of repairing it, and Stormway had to straighten it out. In other words, he knew Norman's Garage, and he also knew that Stormway sometimes had so much work that he needed help, but most of the time too little work for one mechanic, let alone two – or three.

"During the winter months …" His brother said, slowly. "Well, during the winter months I'm driving forty tons over the ice roads of the Barren Ground."

"What a nice job." He sighed. "You have studied chemistry and end up as a mechanic and as a trucker, how very convenient."

"Well – you have studied chemistry and ended up as a teacher, that's not so much better." Dunstan shrugged his shoulders.

"I am the Chemistry Professor and the head of house at a Scientific Academy." He huffed. "I dare doubting that one can compare that to being a mechanic or a trucker."

"Maybe not." His brother nodded. "But that's what I'm doing at the present time, and that's what I'm happy with."

Well, at least his brother was able to articulate properly, not having slang and the speech of a schoolchild. He'd be able to converse with that man from time to time without getting bored or annoyed within the first five minutes.

"Concerning our inheritance – I suggest you think it over." Dunstan suddenly said and he scowled at the man, because neither did he wish to think it over, nor did he wish to speak about it. "I've had a long and difficult conversation with lawyer Winchester about everything, and in the end – well, I don't want father's partners getting all the money and everything else. They are already waiting in the wings like vultures, and so I've agreed to accept the inheritance, even though I didn't want to either. And for months now I have worried about what to do with that wealth, with all the banks and hotels and with the firms – it is too much for one person to handle, but if we did it together … think it over, Hereweald. Together we could manage."

"You really think that we two could rule the entire Hrothgar Imperium?" He sneered at his brother. "That is stupidity in its finest form. Father had an entire crew watching out and taking care of the imperium. I have no wish to end up like him. I am not as wealthy as he was, but I have a small manor and I have more money than I need for living, actually, and I am very content with what I have."

"Please, Hereweald, at least think it over." Dunstan asked and he sighed. "I cannot do this alone – but I won't have any of father's partners laying their greedy hands on the money either."

"I'll think it over." He sighed, glaring at his brother angrily.

"Thank you." The younger man said. "So – will we see each other again?"

"Sure, we'll date for a few times and in half a year I'll marry you." He drawled.

"Nice." Dunstan nodded his head, leaning back in his own seat. "But I won't stay at home to look after the children and to take care of the household. And I won't cook the meals either – I'm crap at cooking."

"You are a chemist and unable to cook?" He huffed. "Cooking is following written instructions just the way chemistry is – the only difference is, with chemistry you better don't lick the spoon. Other than that, any chemist should be able to cook a somewhat decent meal. However – yes, I suggest that we start going part of our ways together." He then added. "I will not invite you over and you better do not invite me, either, but I have no objections in meeting for a cup of coffee once in a while."

"That sounds good for the beginning." His brother answered and he lifted his eyebrow at the younger, because he had no inclination of changing that into a regular meeting.

He didn't know if it was a good thing or not, but like so often in his life he'd take the situation the way it was.

Breåk· … ·~ ~*~*~*~*~*~ ~· … ·Łine


To be continued

Next time in … between snow and ice …

Chapter ten: the bloody idiot and a cup of coffee …

Author's notes:

A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ...

Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ...