Into the Cold

Sitting at the table, Amelia watched as Caleb toyed with the soup she’d made.

“That smells wonderful,” he said, his stomach rumbling.

“I hope it tastes good too,” she replied, scooping up a spoonful herself.

Caleb took a bite, rolling the tenderized meat around in his mouth, enjoying the spiciness of the herbs and black pepper.

“It’s good,” he burbled, soup dripping down his chin.

“It’s really, really good,” he repeated, spooning more into his mouth.

“I found some dried sage on the shelf,” Amelia explained, pointing to the clean shelf. “Granted, they were really old, but I think they still added a nice flavor to it.”

“Sage?” Caleb asked, looking to the indicated shelf, “I’d forgotten I even had any.”

“I found a lot of mystery containers up there,” she continued, “I was able to identify most of them. Though there are about four or five I couldn’t place.”

“Which ones?” he asked, suddenly interested in supplies long forgotten.

Amelia stood and reached up, wincing a bit when she tried to use her left arm. Trying to cover her pain, she quickly switched to her right and took down the unknown herbs.

“Are you okay?” Caleb asked, having seen the pain on her face.

“I’m fine,” Amelia lied, putting on an unconvincing smile.

Accepting her assurances, he picked up the first container. Opening it, Caleb took a careful sniff. Not getting anything, he breathed deeper, inhaling some of the herbs into his nose.

Caleb began sneezing uncontrollably, dropping the container, spilling its contents all over the table.

Amelia burst into laughter as he tried desperately to stop, his eyes watering and the muscles of his back aching with each bellowing sneeze.

“I…” he sneezed, “I’m sorry… about the… the mess.”

“It’s fine,” Amelia said, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks as she swept the spilled herbs off the table, into her hand.

“I think… ,” he began, sneezing again, “I think that one was once fennel.”

“Well,” Amelia chuckled, “it doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever it was went up your nose or across the table.”

With a final rib cracking sneeze, Caleb collapsed back against his seat.

Still giggling, Amelia handed him a rag to wipe his nose.

“Maybe we should wait on the rest,” she suggested, indicating the other containers.

“I think that would be a good idea,” Caleb sniffed, blowing his nose. “That was unpleasant.”

“Would you like some more soup?” Amelia asked, holding her hand out for his bowl.

“No,” he said with a cough, “I think I’m done.”

“I’ll do the dishes,” she said, taking the steaming kettle off the stove and pouring it into the wash basin.

As she cleaned, Caleb organized the supplies he’d salvaged from the plane. With the empty boxes Amelia had found he had plenty of places to store everything.

When everything was cleaned and put away Caleb sat back down and produced a Cognac bottle and two empty cups.

“I thought we could celebrate our new relative wealth,” he explained filling their cups. “I took a few of the unbroken bottles from the planes hold.

“Here,” he said, handing her a cup, “to finding treasures.”

“I thought you only used this stuff for medicinal purposes,” Amelia said sipping at it gingerly, and was instantly coughing.

“Oh my God,” she rasped. “That’s not a drink, it’s an astringent.”

Caleb laughed, taking a small sip from his.

“Yeah,” he sighed, letting the liquid burn its way down his throat, “it’s good for that too. I usually don’t imbibe, but after burying Billy and seeing the hell you survived I think we’ve earned a little something.”

Amelia simply nodded her head and clinked her cup against his.

“Speaking of which,” he continued, putting down his drink. “It’s time for those stitches on your forehead to come out.”

Absently, Amelia reached up and touched her forgotten wound.

Caleb stood and returned with the medical kit he’d found. Opening it, he pulled out an alcohol wipe, tiny scissors and a large adhesive bandage.

“Are you ready,” he asked, searching her eyes.

Taking a deep drink from her cup, she inhaled deeply before nodding.

Caleb worked quickly, cleaning the scissors before snipping the stitches he’d made. Thankfully, only one required any effort to remove, blood trickling from the holes it left behind.

Sighing, thankful that the hard part was over, he wiped the area clean with the alcohol pad, apologizing to Amelia when she cringed in pain. Applying the bandage he allowed his shoulders to finally relax.

“All done,” he breathed, truly happy. Taking the stitches out had gone better than he could have hoped for.

“Thank you,” Amelia said, running a shaking hand over the rough fabric of the bandage.

“I don’t know about you,” Caleb said, gripping his cup, “but after that I could use another drink.”

“Amen,” she replied, finishing off her own cup.