She tipped her nose up and took a whiff, taking in the scent of the soil and ripe berries, closing her eyes to savor the earthy feeling. When she opened them again, she noticed the Landseer accompanying her was doing precisely the same thing, her tail wagging left and right.
At first, Bismarck merely smiled at the dog, who playfully barked at her when their eyes met. It sounded like a laugh to her ears—it was as if she was inviting her to laugh along.
And laugh she did.
Even if it was only a spell of simple chuckles, she laughed.
She wouldn't have smiled, much less laughed if there was no reason. Her past had none.
Her present, though, was another matter.
She took another whiff. There was always a different scent every time, and she hated none of them.
And the longer she stood there on the solid ground, the more the kinship she felt with the land grew. It was strange at first—she used to feel more at home at the sea.
But she no longer doubted it—she had fallen in love with Newfoundland. Right away, at first sight, even.
Not even that man was that lucky, she mused. She of the past—someone beset by guilt, the burden of leadership, and her own unfounded fears—was one with a heart sealed away. Nothing could ever hope to warm their way up to it—or so she thought.
While something like a relationship was probably not at all on his mind back then, he did strive to win her over, so to speak. And in his persistence in overcoming her stubborn resistance, she eventually found a kindred spirit.
And now, there's only her of the present. Only the heady feeling of freedom remained—the feeling that she could go wherever, do whatever.
In that land that seemed like a new world, they certainly had gone places and done much—from sampling the fried fish and the pale ale of George Street, exploring the many trails of Signal Hill, to nearly falling asleep together under the northern lights. And finally, that little winery nestled just outside the town of Twillingate, too.
She had vowed to keep the memories alive before realizing that even without such an oath, she would remember them for the rest of her life anyway—because she loved both.
Newfoundland and its inexplicable, adventurous sense of wonder—and that person who showed her she could set herself free.
Speak of the devil, Bismarck thought, amused, when she heard someone calling her name from afar. The dog had run off to welcome the newcomer, whom she noticed was carrying a basket and what seemed to be a picnic blanket.
"What is this for?" She inquired as she came up to him.
"This? I've thought that we should taste the wine over here instead of the winery," the Commander replied as he laid the blanket on the ground and placed the basket there.
"Um, why?"
"Well, you see, when we arrived, you seemed to appreciate the outdoors more. I can't say I'm surprised. It feels pleasant, isn't it?" The Commander laughed as he took a seat and gave a spot near him a pat, inviting her to join. He saw her blushing as she did—endearingly subtle, as always, but one he would always be able to see.
"You…noticed…?"
"Yes, I did. And I'm happy."
"…Happy?" Bismarck frowned. The Commander noted that her surprise at that was less understated but still far from overt.
"Yes. I'm always happy seeing you being so open," the Commander replied as he pulled a bottle and two glasses from the basket.
"I… don't mean to," she dazedly accepted the offered glass. The liquid inside proved intriguing. Judging by the color, she was sure it was supposed to be red wine. Yet, for some reason, she had a feeling it wasn't.
"Hmm…maybe, but do know I don't mind if you do," the Commander raised his own glass. "Zum Wohl."
"Zum Wohl," Bismarck smiled, and their glass met.
Sipping the liquid, she found that it tasted somewhat like red wine, only less tart. She glanced at the bottle and learned what she had was made of blackberry.
"Hm, so how does the wine taste? Personally, I like it," the Commander remarked. His glass was already empty.
"Not bad at all, considering this is the first time I had fruit wine," Bismarck replied and polished off her glass. She allowed the Commander to pour her another.
"Not bad for a new experience, eh? Well, my friend gave us something else…" The Commander took some biscuits and cheese from the basket and another bottle devoid of any label. The liquid inside was clear but slightly cloudy.
"That's…"
Bismarck certainly had never seen it before. She somewhat begrudged that fact.
"Birch sap wine. Not many of these in the batch, but I was lucky to get one."
"Birch sap…huh…" Bismarck murmured. That certainly piqued her interest enough.
When she finally got to sample it, she found out she liked the birch sap wine more. It wasn't remarkable for sweetness—actually tasting more akin to water with a hint of sweet. But there was something that was drawing her in—even if, at first sip, there was seemingly nothing much to it. If it were water, it'd be the freshest she ever had.
"Not too sweet…I like this," said Bismarck. The Commander gladly poured her another, as he believed the now apparent blush wasn't her starting to get intoxicated. She's German, after all—and the wines they had didn't contain much alcohol, to begin with.
He didn't say it, but when he, too, tasted the wine, it reminded him of her.
"So, where are we going after this?" Bismarck asked after a moment while helping herself to another glass of birch sap wine. The Commander had left the entire bottle for her, but she disliked hogging things to herself. Still, she figured she could have one or two more. At first, she was skeptical of the drink, but now she would swear by it.
"Hmm…we have plenty of options, actually, though I have no plans," the Commander replied, feeding the dog a biscuit.
"Oh…in that case, I'll go wherever you take me."
She has that gleam in her eyes again, the Commander thought. Bismarck probably didn't realize it, but she'd show it every so often since they set foot on the island.
"You know…" the Commander began, "I imagine Leif Erikson would have felt the same wonder as you did."
"…Oh? What do you mean?" Bismarck asked, not expecting to be likened to the legendary explorer—especially out of the blue.
"I imagine when he landed here like many people believed he did, he was in awe over what the new land had to offer. Especially the wineberries. And that's why he named it—"
"Vinland…" Bismarck continued for him. She saw the Commander seemed to be delighted that she did.
"Yes, Vinland. A new world for him—and now, for you, too."
The woman, who once sealed her heart away, once again felt a warmth within it. She understood now.
"…This…yes, you're right…and I'm free to see everything within it, am I not?"
"Yes, yes you are."
"…And… it's all thanks to you."
"Nah," the Commander dismissed. "You set yourself free."
"You…helped me too, so I'm still going to thank you."
"In that case, you're welcome," the Commander replied, smiling back. He poured another shot of blackberry wine into his glass and then a shot of birch sap wine into Bismarck's.
"How apt we're talking about Vinland while drinking wine," Bismarck remarked. The Commander nodded, approving.
"No better time to, now that I think about it. And since we're talking about Vinland, I think I know now where to take you next."
"Oh? And where might that be?"
"L'Anse aux Meadows. There's a Viking settlement there that is over a thousand years old."
"Ah…I certainly would love to."
"Oh, that's great. We'll have to spend a night here, though. It's quite far, and we have to set off in the morning," the Commander, delighted by her interest, rose to his feet after checking his watch. "Ah, I have to get my orders from my friend. I'm sure Parzival and Viersechs would enjoy those fruit wines I got for them."
"No alcohol, right?"
"Um, just a tiny amount won't hurt. Without alcohol, they are just juice."
"I suppose you're right," Bismarck replied, waving the Commander goodbye and watching him leave.
"So this is my Vinland, I see…" she whispered as she sipped another glass of birch sap wine and fed the dog another biscuit before having one herself. "Thank you again…love."
She raised her head, once again taking in the scent. It was still as pleasant—if not more so.
