In dreams, she and the Captain were always together. Sometimes, she simply
felt herself in his arms, his beard tickling the back of her neck as they
lay together. At other times, she found herself in elaborate dreams of a
nineteenth century life with him. Still other dreams had more modern
settings. During the daytime, he was still a spirit.
In addition to the strange "touch" they were able to share, there grew
deeper connections. She came to be aware of his presence even before he
materialized. He, on the other hand, developed an uncanny awareness of her
emotions. This he frequently found to be irritating; in life, the Captain
had had little tolerance for emotional women. Now, in death, he found his
awareness of Carolyn's emotions bordered on mind-reading.
Life slid beautifully from season to season. Martha surprised them all by eloping with Ed Peevy one Valentine's Day, and Carolyn and the children had to learn to shoulder the domestic load. This greatly amused the Captain, especially when an article about "Wholesome Whole Grains" inspired Carolyn to try her hand at bread baking.
"You can't know how greatly it pleases me to see you finally behaving in a domestic manner," he teased her one morning when he found her up to her elbows in flour. Unable to summon an appropriate, cutting retort, she resorted to the juvenile and stuck out her tongue at him. To herself, she vowed to learn to bake, just to spite him. Her first loaf of bread was an unqualified disaster. It was a brick. Recognizing that discretion is the better part of valor, the Captain avoided the kitchen and made no comments about the bread.
Late the following morning, he was surprised to see the brick in the trash can and Carolyn in the kitchen preparing more dough.
"A sign of a fine seaman is his willingness to sail again after his ship is wrecked," he noted before he disappeared.
"It wasn't a shipwreck, really, just a squall," she replied dryly, but she was grateful for both his reserve and his graciousness.
"Argh!" she cried moments later, throwing down the recipe and the dough in frustration. "Knead until 'smooth and elastic,' what kind of description is that? How am I supposed to know when it is done?"
"A poor command indeed. My mother used to describe well-kneaded dough as feeling like a baby's backside," he offered before he disappeared.
Carolyn smiled at the advice. He didn't often talk about his mother. A picture floated into her mind's eye: Daniel Gregg as a little boy, standing by his mother's side, watching her as she kneaded the family bread. As Carolyn finished kneading the dough, she though of Candy and Jonathan, how soft and sweet they had been as babies, and how quickly they were growing up. The dough in her hands did feel like a baby's skin, soft, supple, warm, and just a little moist.
Later, he appeared as she glumly inspected the dough.
"Another failure. It was supposed to rise by now," she said, with a note of dejection in her voice.
"This kitchen can be quite cool. My mother used to set her loaves to rise in the cupboard near the stove, where it was warm and the air was still. Perhaps you might try setting them in the oven? The pilot light should be warm enough, and there isn't any draft."
She looked at him, but he had turned away. She didn't dare comment on his domestic streak; in his own way, he was supporting her efforts. Her heart filled with love and appreciation. And her bread rose.
The final product finished baking at four o'clock; the tantalizing scent of baking bread filled the house. Carolyn pulled a perfect loaf from the oven.
"Mmmm," she murmured as she drew in a breath. The Captain appeared behind her and she proudly displayed the crusty brown loaf.
"My dear, it smells like my mother's kitchen on baking day. How I loved that smell --- it filled the house."
"Shall we try it? Or do I need to let it cool?" she asked.
"It is more difficult to slice when it is warm, but the taste of fresh butter on warm bread is beyond description."
Carolyn carefully sliced the loaf and buttered two slices. "I'll save the rest for Candy and Jonathan when they get home," she said as she turned around to set the bread on the table. She saw that the Captain had brought two glasses of Madeira. He caught her surprised look.
"After nearly two thousand years of pairing bread and wine together, I cannot argue the premise," he shrugged. He tasted the bread "A perfect pairing."
"To understanding partners," Carolyn said, lifting her glass. "It wouldn't have been perfect without your help."
"Or your efforts," he countered. His fingers were wrapped around the stem of his glass, but he had not lifted it from the table.
"It was fun, actually," she admitted. "Working with the dough is very relaxing. It gave me time to think, time to appreciate my family. Thank you."
"Why are you thanking me?"
"Because I wouldn't have done it, if it hadn't been for you," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "I wanted to prove to you that I could be 'domestic' if I wanted to be, but I had always discounted the value of domestic tasks. I found great pleasure in baking: not only in making the bread itself, but in the process, and in being able to provide it to those that I love."
He smiled warmly. His blue eyes captured her green ones as he lifted his glass to her.
Life slid beautifully from season to season. Martha surprised them all by eloping with Ed Peevy one Valentine's Day, and Carolyn and the children had to learn to shoulder the domestic load. This greatly amused the Captain, especially when an article about "Wholesome Whole Grains" inspired Carolyn to try her hand at bread baking.
"You can't know how greatly it pleases me to see you finally behaving in a domestic manner," he teased her one morning when he found her up to her elbows in flour. Unable to summon an appropriate, cutting retort, she resorted to the juvenile and stuck out her tongue at him. To herself, she vowed to learn to bake, just to spite him. Her first loaf of bread was an unqualified disaster. It was a brick. Recognizing that discretion is the better part of valor, the Captain avoided the kitchen and made no comments about the bread.
Late the following morning, he was surprised to see the brick in the trash can and Carolyn in the kitchen preparing more dough.
"A sign of a fine seaman is his willingness to sail again after his ship is wrecked," he noted before he disappeared.
"It wasn't a shipwreck, really, just a squall," she replied dryly, but she was grateful for both his reserve and his graciousness.
"Argh!" she cried moments later, throwing down the recipe and the dough in frustration. "Knead until 'smooth and elastic,' what kind of description is that? How am I supposed to know when it is done?"
"A poor command indeed. My mother used to describe well-kneaded dough as feeling like a baby's backside," he offered before he disappeared.
Carolyn smiled at the advice. He didn't often talk about his mother. A picture floated into her mind's eye: Daniel Gregg as a little boy, standing by his mother's side, watching her as she kneaded the family bread. As Carolyn finished kneading the dough, she though of Candy and Jonathan, how soft and sweet they had been as babies, and how quickly they were growing up. The dough in her hands did feel like a baby's skin, soft, supple, warm, and just a little moist.
Later, he appeared as she glumly inspected the dough.
"Another failure. It was supposed to rise by now," she said, with a note of dejection in her voice.
"This kitchen can be quite cool. My mother used to set her loaves to rise in the cupboard near the stove, where it was warm and the air was still. Perhaps you might try setting them in the oven? The pilot light should be warm enough, and there isn't any draft."
She looked at him, but he had turned away. She didn't dare comment on his domestic streak; in his own way, he was supporting her efforts. Her heart filled with love and appreciation. And her bread rose.
The final product finished baking at four o'clock; the tantalizing scent of baking bread filled the house. Carolyn pulled a perfect loaf from the oven.
"Mmmm," she murmured as she drew in a breath. The Captain appeared behind her and she proudly displayed the crusty brown loaf.
"My dear, it smells like my mother's kitchen on baking day. How I loved that smell --- it filled the house."
"Shall we try it? Or do I need to let it cool?" she asked.
"It is more difficult to slice when it is warm, but the taste of fresh butter on warm bread is beyond description."
Carolyn carefully sliced the loaf and buttered two slices. "I'll save the rest for Candy and Jonathan when they get home," she said as she turned around to set the bread on the table. She saw that the Captain had brought two glasses of Madeira. He caught her surprised look.
"After nearly two thousand years of pairing bread and wine together, I cannot argue the premise," he shrugged. He tasted the bread "A perfect pairing."
"To understanding partners," Carolyn said, lifting her glass. "It wouldn't have been perfect without your help."
"Or your efforts," he countered. His fingers were wrapped around the stem of his glass, but he had not lifted it from the table.
"It was fun, actually," she admitted. "Working with the dough is very relaxing. It gave me time to think, time to appreciate my family. Thank you."
"Why are you thanking me?"
"Because I wouldn't have done it, if it hadn't been for you," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "I wanted to prove to you that I could be 'domestic' if I wanted to be, but I had always discounted the value of domestic tasks. I found great pleasure in baking: not only in making the bread itself, but in the process, and in being able to provide it to those that I love."
He smiled warmly. His blue eyes captured her green ones as he lifted his glass to her.