Humming quietly to herself, Cassandra tied the brightly-colored, Christmas-themed apron around her waist and began to measure and sift flour and baking powder into a large mixing bowl with focused determination. She had to work fairly quickly if she expected to get a batch of Christmas cookies made before Jenkins discovered what she was up to. For a man well over a thousand years old, he was like a small boy whenever she made cookies—constantly hovering and asking questions, sticking his finger into things to taste them, begging to lick the mixing spoon or the bowl, lurking near the oven ready to pounce as soon as a tray of cookies came out. She loved her husband dearly, but sometimes she just wanted to do some baking without having to keep one eye on her husband and his unchecked sweet-tooth. Today she had asked Eve to distract him for a couple of hours with some hand-to-hand combat training so that Cassandra could have the kitchen all to herself.
The young Librarian creamed together the sugar, butter and eggs, added some vanilla. She combined the dry and wet ingredients and expertly mixed them together into a soft, sweet dough. She pinched off chunks and rolled the dough into small balls, rolled those in a mixture of sugar and cinnamon to coat them evenly, then lined them in neat rows onto a baking sheet. She had just slid the first sheet into the oven when the kitchen door opened behind her. Cassandra whirled around guiltily and stared in wide-eyed surprise; sure enough, it was Jenkins, disheveled and perspiring slightly from his workout.
"Cassandra?" he asked curiously. "What are you doing in here? I thought you were going to research..." He stopped as his eyes swept the countertop, littered with the flour and sugar canisters, empty eggshells and various measuring utensils. He then noticed the frilly apron and the way Cassandra stood protectively between him and the oven. The faintest perfume of baking sugar wafted across the room to him.
"You're baking!" he accused, and hurried across the kitchen toward the oven. Cassandra held out her hands in a gesture of pleading.
"Jenkins! Sweetheart! Don't...!" she began to protest, but he ignored her. He reached a long arm around her, cracked open the oven door and peeked past her inside. His brown eyes widened with eager anticipation.
"Snickerdoodles!" he all but whooped with glee as the oven door closed with a thunking sound. "My absolute favorite!" He stood upright again a looked down at his wife's defeated face.
"My dear, what's wrong?" he asked, puzzled. "Why're you looking at me like that?" Cassandra's shoulders slumped slightly as she smiled wanly up at him.
"Nothing's wrong," she lied. "Just a little tired, I guess. The research wasn't going anywhere, so I thought I'd take a break and do a little baking. It helps me to relax sometimes, clears my head." Jenkins smiled back at her as he placed her face between his hands. He bent and kissed her forehead with a resounding smack.
"You will receive nothing but coal in your stocking this Christmas, my dear, if you keep telling lies like that," he rumbled. The Librarian's blue eyes blinked.
"I'm not lying!" she blurted, but Jenkins only chuckled.
"There used to be an old saying," he countered. "'Don't try to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs'. I've been around long enough to know when someone is trying to distract me from something!" Cassandra sighed in surrender. Eve is right, she thought. He IS a sly old fox!
"Okay, you got me, I'm busted," she said. "I just wanted to bake some cookies for Christmas, that's all."
"You just wanted to bake some cookies for Christmas—without your greedy, cookie monster of a husband underfoot, you mean." She dropped her eyes briefly, then flicked them back to meet his.
"No, no! Nothing like that, sweetheart! I..." she began, but he cut her off.
"It's all right, my dear, I understand," he reassured her. "I know that I can be a bit childish when you're cooking or baking. I didn't realize that it bothered you so much, though, that you would go to these lengths! I only wish you had said something earlier." He kissed her forehead again.
"I'm just going to make myself a cup of tea, and then I'll leave the kitchen to you. I promise!" He turned away and went to fetch a cup and saucer from the china cupboard. Cassandra suddenly felt like the worst wife in the world.
"Would you make me a cup, too?" she asked. He turned around and smiled.
"Of course," he answered.
"And would you stay here and drink it with me?" she rushed to add. Jenkins gave her a knowing look.
"Thank you, my dear, but that's not necessary," he said.
"No, please—stay," she said sincerely. "You're not childish, Jenkins, just…child-like." A thought suddenly occurred to her.
"I guess your mom didn't bake alot of cookies for you when you were a kid, huh?" she asked, trying to make her tone sound light. An odd, pained look briefly passed over the immortal's face and then was gone. He renewed his smile.
"No, she didn't," he murmured, then busied himself with making their tea. Cassandra rolled her eyes at herself. Of course his mother didn't bake cookies for him; from what little the Librarian had learned about his family background, Galahad's mother wasn't exactly the cookie-baking type to begin with, even if there had been such a thing as cookies in the Dark Ages. In fact, she had barely tolerated her illegitimate son when he was a child. Way to go, Cassandra!
She reached behind her back and jerked the bow out of the apron's strings, then yanked the gaudy garment over her head. She smiled for a moment as she remembered the time Ezekiel had worn the apron, carrying a tray of hot chocolate for everyone when he was under the spell of Santa's talisman hat.
"Where on earth did you find this apron?" she asked, hoping to switch to a less awkward topic of conversation. To her surprise, she realized that she'd only made things worse, judging from the look of surprise on Jenkins's face at her question. Her husband stared at the apron for several seconds, as though debating with himself, his cheeks turning pink. Then, with a quiet sigh, he resumed preparing the tea things.
"Gretchen left it here," he said bluntly. "Mrs. Claus." Cassandra's eyes popped open wide.
"She did?" squeaked the Librarian. "But...how? Why? I mean, you don't normally just leave an apron somewhere, most people don't travel around with an apron in their pocket..." She stopped speaking as she realized that she had perhaps stumbled across something she shouldn't have. She gaped at her husband as she tried to think of a graceful way to back out of the mess she'd stepped in.
"I…I'm sorry, Jenkins, that's none of my business," she said quickly and began gathering up the dirty baking utensils. He went over to her and took her hand, then gently led her to the kitchen's table, indicated for her to sit.
"You're my wife now, Cassandra, so it is your business," he began. "I should have told you about Gretchen a long time ago." A sick feeling filled Cassandra's stomach.
"You mean...you and her were..." she said timorously, suddenly near tears and not really wanting to hear the answer. Puzzled by her reaction, the immortal looked intently at her for a moment, then, startled as he realized what she was thinking, hurried to explain.
"Oh, no, Cassandra, no!" he said urgently as he took her hand again and held onto it tightly. "We were friends, my dear, that's all! Nothing more, I swear!" He saw her eyes fill with hope and relief then, but they were still cautious.
"You know that Santa is gone most of the year, moving around the world, gathering good will," he said. "Gretchen...well, it's hard on Gretchen. She came from a very large, garrulous family, and she's not used to spending so much time by herself, so she was lonely. She used to come to the Library on occasion, just to visit, sometimes she would cook dinner for us, just to have some company. She and I became good friends." A peculiar look filled his eyes, sadness mixed with something like regret.
"We both realized, though, that we were in danger of becoming...more than just friends," Jenkins continued quietly, dropping his gaze. "The last time she was here was on a Christmas Eve; that's when she left that apron here." Jenkins paused for a moment.
"Gretchen truly loves her husband, Cassandra, and I am not the sort of man who would ever seek to disrupt someone's happy home. Besides that, there was my own vow to Charlene to uphold." He squeezed Cassandra's hand again and looked up, a sad smile on his face.
"We decided that it be best for everyone involved if she and I became 'long-distance friends' only, so to speak. I've not actually laid eyes on Gretchen in over a hundred years." Jenkins shifted uneasily in his chair.
"I'm sorry for not telling you about this sooner, Cassandra, but please believe me when I tell you that I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. I didn't say anything because...well...it just didn't seem relevant anymore. You're my true love...always." He raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed her knuckles. With wide, penitent eyes he looked up at her again.
"Forgive me?" he asked, and Cassandra smiled at him, her chest literally aching with her love for him.
"Of course I do," she said, and her heart skipped a beat at the smile that lit up his face. "I should be apologizing to you, I shouldn't have forced you to tell about something so personal." Jenkins shook his head before she had finished speaking.
"Nonsense, my dear…" he started to say, but she place a finger over his lips.
"In fact, to show you how much I forgive you—" Cassandra jumped up from her chair and hurried over to the baking utensils waiting patiently to be washed. She grabbed the mixing bowl and the large wooden spoon she had used to mix the dough and took them back to the table. She held them out to the Caretaker.
"Here—there's still a little bit of cookie dough left in the bowl!" she said. Jenkins practically snatched the implements from her hands in his eagerness. He looked inside the bowl and did a double-take: There was enough dough left in the bowl for at least two or three more cookies. He looked up, confused, and Cassandra chortled.
"I was saving it for you," she confessed with a grin. "I know how much you like to lick the bowl." The timer on the oven went off, informing them that the cookies were finished. Cassandra ran to the oven, slipped her hand into an oven mitt and then pulled the hot tray of cookies out. She slid the second tray in and set the timer again as she closed the oven door. The kitchen quickly filled with the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked sugar cookies and cinnamon. Jenkins greedily eyed the fresh-baked treats even as he scraped the mixing bowl clean, gobbling down the left-over dough. Cassandra gingerly stacked three of the piping-hot cookies into her mitted palm and carried them over to the table.
"Do me a favor, sweetie—taste these and tell me what you think?" she said, holding the cookies out to him. "Careful, now, they're hot!" Setting the bowl and spoon aside, the immortal picked up a cookie and tossed it a few times between his hands until it was cool enough to eat. The whole cookie disappeared into his mouth and he leaned back in his chair as he chewed, eyes closed, little grunts of happiness sounding in his throat. The Librarian laughed.
"You sound just like Franklin when he gets a treat!" she snickered and held out the remaining cookies in her hand. "Would you like another one?" Swallowing the last of the cookie, Jenkins opened his eyes and leaned forward to take her empty hand and kissed it.
"You are the best Tree-wife ever!" he declared. His other hand was slowly reaching over to take another cookie at the same time. Cassandra picked up a cookie before he could reach it, then leaned over to give a quick kiss to his crumb-sprinkled lips.
"And you're the best Tree-husband ever!" she said, then popped the cookie into his mouth before he could say another word.