Request Ficlet for Celandineb

[dwgm]

I am supposted to be in Santa Barbara in twenty minutes. Better put it in hyperdrive, eh?

But I wanted to get at least one more of these Drabble/Ficlet Request Meme stories written and posted. This one is for celandineb...

~ ~ Two Men Walked Into A Bar…

 

“We’d best stick to ale, Jack.”

“Elizabeth, eh? You think she’d object to us comin’ home three sheets to the wind, then?”

Will grinned, ruefully, and steered his notorious friend to a table in a comfortably secluded corner. “I do. She’s been cooking all day. A surprise for my birthday.”

“Cooking! Your bonny bride can cook? Wouldn’t have thought it.”

“The Governor’s cook is teaching her. Results have been mixed, so far, but he’s helping her, this time.”

“You relieve my mind of a great weight,” said Jack, very seriously.

Will laughed.

“What’ll it be gentlemen?” The tavern keeper’s wife, a respectable-looking matron in mobcap and apron, beamed down at them.

“Ale, Mrs. Fitch, and thanks!” said Will.

“Ale, by all means!” Jack agreed, then, fixing the lady with a suggestive smile, added, “And would that crock on the counter happen to hold what I think it does?”

He was rewarded with a coy look that sat oddly on the motherly face. “It does indeed! Me own pickled onions!”

“Famous throughout the region!” Jack extolled. “We’ll have a dish of those as well, if we may.”

“By all means!” said Mrs. Fitch, preening. “I must say, it’s always a pleasure to serve a real gentleman..” And then, she chuckled, and looked at Will. “Two gentlemen! Although it seems just yesterday you were a skinny little lad nippin’ about on Mr. Brown’s errands. How the years fly!”

Shaking her head, she took herself off. Will stared at Jack. His clothes were less unkempt than they’d been when the two had first met, but other than that he could hardly be mistaken for anything but a rogue. “How do you do that?” Will demanded.

Jack grinned, eyelids drooping. “Pirate!”

“That’s no answer!”

“It’s precisely the answer!” Jack retorted, impatient with Will’s obtuseness. “It’s all part o’ the game, lad, knowin’ how to get ‘round folk: what pleases ‘em, an’ all.  Smoothes the way, considerably, I can tell you. Mrs. Fitch, now, she’s been makin’ those pickled onions, accordin’ to ‘er great grandmam’s receipt, since Fitch opened this place—an’ that’d be before you were more’n a twinkle in your da’s eye. It’s little enough trouble to show an appropriate appreciation of the lady’s efforts, ain’t it?”

Will shook his head. “Do you ever do anything without an ulterior motive?”

Jack made a show of considering this, but then shook his head. “No, not really.” But then he grinned again, when Will laughed.

Presently, Mrs. Fitch returned with a tray holding two foaming mugs, a plate of sliced, crusty bread slathered with butter, and a bowl of the famed pickled onions. “Here you are, gentlemen!”

“Mrs. Fitch, you’ve outdone yourself!” said Jack. “A toast to our hostess, Will!”

“Hear, hear!” agreed Will, and clanked his mug with Jack’s.

“Get on with you, now!” said Mrs. Fitch, but looked immensely pleased. Jack winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, blushing like a girl as she turned away.

Jack sat back chuckling, and picked up one of the onions. “Fine as pearls, mate. Have some!” He popped it in his mouth.

Will wrinkled his nose slightly, one eye on the retreating matron. “No, thanks,” he said quietly. “I’ve an aversion to onions, I’m afraid.”

“An aversion!” Jack washed the onion down with a gulp of ale.  “Sounds serious,” he remarked. “Oh, well. More for me, then.”

-.-.-

The two friends were a trifle well-to-live when they bid Mrs. Fitch and her husband adieu, some time later, but the subsequent trek to Will and Elizabeth’s little house, did much to expurgate any lingering effects of their sojourn at the tavern.

And yet Will sounded a little over-enthused when he exclaimed to his beloved, “Elizabeth! Look who’s come for my birthday!”

“Jack!”

Elizabeth’s wide smile was contagious, and Jack took off his hat and swept her a graceful bow. “At your service!”

“You received my message, then!” she laughed, curtseying in return. But then she popped up and came to embrace him, grinning even wider at his slight look of surprise at such an effusive greeting. “I’m so happy you arrived in time! Cook has been helping me make a wonderful dinner. There are several dishes I’d never have attempted, otherwise.”

“I’m all agog to see what you have for us,” said Jack, with a glance at Will, who seemed to find this extremely funny and was at pains not to laugh.

But Elizabeth turned to Will, embracing him, next, and said, “Oh, I have been working very hard all day! You have only to ask cook. Now go and wash up—it’s all ready, and I am most anxious to see what you think.”

Presently, Jack, Will, and Elizabeth sat down at the dining table.

“This first course is one of my favorite dishes,” said Elizabeth, “and look at the lovely wine we have to go with it—Father sent it over, before he left on his journey. He was so sorry he had to miss your birthday, Will.”

The Governor’s butler, Beck, poured Will a glass of excellent claret, and the kitchen maid put a wedge of steaming pie on his plate. “It smells delicious!” Will remarked, and watched Jack and Elizabeth being served. “What is it?”

“It’s an Onion and Cheddar Tart!” Elizabeth said happily. “I had the cheese imported especially for your birthday—just like Jack!—and I’ve been working for days to learn to make a crust like this. Isn’t it lovely?”

Will stared at his piece of tart, and managed to look past the browned shreds of onion and amber cheese on top to note the careful fluting of the pastry edge. “It looks wonderful, sweetheart,” he managed.

“Ma’am!” interrupted the kitchen maid. “Cook said to tell you he would appreciate your advise in the kitchen, if you would.”

“Oh! Oh, yes!” said Elizabeth, and smiled at her husband, and at Jack. “I’ll just be a moment, I’m sure.”

She bustled off into the kitchen, followed by the servants, and Will and Jack were momentarily alone.

“An aversion, eh?” said Jack, not quite laughing.

“Good God! What am I going to do?” hissed Will. “It’s not funny! Onion Pie!”

“Of course it’s funny,” grinned Jack. “And if you want my advise, you’d better get over your aversion right quick, or I’ll wager, come bedtime, someone’s going to suddenly recollect some aversions of her own. Savvy?”

~.~

ETA: Not going to SB. *whines* Got too late, and I need to take Mom out shopping for Easter Sandals and See's Candy tonight, and I'm not feeling well, besides (flirting with a cold), and am looking at a really full day, tomorrow: Cooking of major proportions, then visiting of Uncle in nursing home (he'll be 97 in April!!), then off to the L.A. Museum of Science and Industry to see the Body Worlds exhibit.

Since I'm not going after all, maybe I'll write some more...

Comments

[yoiebear.livejournal.com]

[How about this one? Can you read it?]

Hell, I can't write anymore. I blame my job for that fact. At least I can still read and enjoy the great stuff you offer.