My face heated as I trudged after Rafia, who had turned and started walking again. “Of course, my kitchens are outamongst the dangerous gardens. I’m sure the king would love for me to get snatched up by some beastly creature for his own amusement.”
I stumbled behind and pulled my warm cloak about me. Plump violet grapes grew greedy on twisty vines as my imagination flew into a frenzy, imagining a dark creature about to jump out behind every indigo shadow.
Peaks of large carrots rustled in the balmy breeze with the promise of sweet carrot cake and creamed cheese icing. Orange groves and apple trees, arranged in perfect rows, lay heavy with ripe fruit. Beautiful out-of-season strawberries hung plump, perfect for picking.
I peeked around every twisted path, waiting for the terror that would overtake me when, in a singular moment, the path cleared, offering me a vision quite unlike any other. My fear dissipated like smoke from a freshly baked dinner roll. Intoxicating lavender lined the path to a small wood and brick cottage tucked between two gnarly oak trees. Puffs of smoke twined up into the cloudy sky from a thick chimney. This building, close to the size of my own bakery back home, curved in the style of the elves, while using materials like red brick and mortar more familiar to human lands. A delicate balance of both human and elf design intertwined in this curious cottage, and I couldn’t help but be pulled in.
“Here we are, Miss,” Rafia said. “I expect you’ll want to get started right away.”
I couldn’t deny the excitement that lurched my heart ahead, causing me to wrap my hand eagerly about the cottage door handle and pull. A burst of dust met my face in a puff. I coughed and swatted at the cloud of filth. Though Rafia had set up a nice little fire to make the cottage more welcoming, dust covered almost every surface. This kitchen had not been used in some time. I wiped at the windows with my sleeves to let in theafternoon sun, then checked the dilapidated shelves and larder. My stomach sank. This was going to take months to get into shape.
Of course, the king gave me his messiest piece-of-work cottage to work in. Couldn’t have me in the king’s royal kitchen mucking everything up. No, I had to be out here in the middle of the gardens in a hovel. It’s what humans were used to, wasn’t it? Never mind the killer beasts stalking the gardens.
The thought of the king laughing at my hardships filled my mind. I hardened my heart.
“I have a lot of work to do.” I ran my hands through my hair, careful not to tangle the curls.
“You have me, Miss.” Rafia stepped closer, her voice taking on an eager tone. “I’ve been authorized by the king himself to get you anything you need.”
I looked over at her face as she beamed. We shared a smile, and I said, “Anything?”
A half an hour later, we sat before a roaring fire drinking twin cups of hot apple cider in a little sitting parlor tucked away from the large kitchen. Rafia had called in an extra set of hands, two servants, Gale and Isola. Being twins, they shared the same shade of forest green hair and eyes. For now, all four of us sat around the fire on a pair of comfortable old couches, preparing for the hard work to come.
“If you don’t mind me saying.” Rafia grinned over her cup. “I like the hot apple juice and cinnamon better than just plain ‘ol cold juice. Much more fitting for the colder season.”
“I also added a little dusting of cinnamon.” I smiled. “You know, I was supposed to be sitting with my mother and sister last night beside a fire a lot like this. It’s our tradition every year. We sit and drink apple cider and make plans for Christmas.”
“Christmas?” Rafia’s mouth stumbled over the unfamiliar word.
“Yes, Christmas,” I said. “Y’know, cut down a tree, decorate it with ornaments, good will toward men and all that?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.” Rafia offered, somehow looking sorry. She glanced at Gale and Isola who both just shrugged.
“That’s alright. It’s just a human holiday. The most incredible, happy, exciting time of the year,” I said, though the hole in my heart filled a bit with the surprising warmth of the elf’s company. “You three, sitting and drinking with me, have brought me a lot of comfort. Thank you.”
“No, Miss, I—” Rafia shook her head and stood, placing her cider mug on the rickety coffee table before her. “I am here to serve you, not drink with you. I’ve forgotten my place.”
My heart squeezed. She was going to leave. “No, please stay. It’ll help me feel more at home.”
Rafia stood for a moment considering my words, then settled back down with a bashful smile and raised her mug. “Well, if drinking a nice warm beverage by a fire will somehow serve you, Miss, I’m happy to oblige.”
We shared a small laugh and settled in for a few more moments of comfort by the fire. I almost forgot I was supposed to hate every elf. Well, maybe Rafia, Gale, and Isola weren’t so bad.
After the drinks were spent, I stood, wiping the dust from my apron. “Time to getstarted.”
While Gale and Isola scrubbed the floors and walls, I cleaned out the stove and attempted to light it. I wiped the soot from my hands, then pulled the precious cookbook from my satchel and fingered the pages. Father’s early Christmas present; his last gift to me. I wanted to savor every page, but I knew my cinnamon rolls had to be in there somewhere. I was afraid I couldn’t take the pang of seeing father’s familiar handwriting, but now aftera full night’s sleep and a belly full of apple cider, I found I welcomed the sweet emotion.
“For my beautiful daughter, Noelle. Remember that you are a gift, your heart is a blessing, and hope follows wherever you go. Love, your father,”read the inscription on the front page.
I sniffed back tears that threatened to fall and turned to page one. “Noelle’s Famous Cinnamon Rolls”. Father had even illustrated a beautiful cinnamon roll in the center, along with little drawings of the process. The intricate illustrations filled my mind with wonder. They were almost scientific, every detail clear. Mother had teased that father’s hands were a bit too large and clumsy for sure work, but I shook my head in awe.
It was beautiful. A work of both craft and art.
Father had even named the cinnamon rolls after me. I blushed. The cinnamon rolls weren’t technically my recipe alone; they’d been cultivated over several generations of bakers in my family. My grandmother created the yeasty recipe and sweetened them with mandarins and sugar. Father had carried on the traditional recipe. But one year, we’d been out of marmalade. It was close to Christmas, so I’d added cinnamon and brown sugar to the rolls. They were a delicious hit! We still made Mammaw’s orange rolls, but there was something really special about the cinnamon and cream cheese frosting.
“Flour, sugar, brown sugar, butter, creamed cheese, yeast, salt, vanilla, eggs, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg.” I rattled off the ingredients needed to bake the king’s cinnamon rolls and Rafia scribbled runes on a piece of parchment.
The cinnamon rolls were what got me into this mess. Might as well see what I could make work here across the Falls. I shut the book with a sigh. I would savor it. One page for each day.
