Dark and Stormy
Page 1
A Tillgiven Romantic Mystery
ONE
Isaac Daniels
Winter had fallen with full force at the Tillgiven Bible School in Brunn Vatten, Sweden, and though it was only four in the afternoon, it was nearly dark. I say nearly because the lamp outside of Dr. Hoffen’s office window brightened the remains of yesterday’s snow, cheering up an otherwise glum looking evening.
Most of the students had already left for their three week winter break, but a few stragglers were packing up to take the bus to parts unknown. Families of our European students had graciously opened their doors to many of our far-from-home North American students. Others were going back home for the break. And a few were staying on, working on campus for a little extra in their pocket, instead of spending the Krona to travel.
When Dani Honeywell mentioned in passing that she was going to work in the kitchen over the break, instead of spending Christmas with her sister’s new husband and his band in The Netherlands, I canceled my own plans. Mom didn’t appreciate it, but as I had recently been downgraded from paid staff to volunteer, I thought it a wise financial move.
Plus, Dani, right?
Spending Christmas in the snow-covered cottages of the Tillgiven Bible School with Dani Honeywell was the only gift I wanted this year.
The skeleton staff who were staying on campus during the break were gathered in Dr. Hoffen’s office while he laid out the plan for annual Tillgiven Julbord: essentially a Christmas smorgasbord as ubiquitous in Sweden as the office Christmas party back home, but with more pickled fish.
“We’ve got thirteen days left until the event, and Johanna tells me that’s just barely enough. She’s doing the event completely traditional, pickling the herring herself. So we need to go easy on the kitchen crew until this is all over. It’s short rations and cold supper until day of.”
I nodded, since everyone else was nodding. Something about pickled fish. And cold supper. So long as I wasn’t required to eat cold pickled fish for tonight’s supper, I wasn’t going to worry about it.
Just outside the window, Tate, a tall skinny kid from North Dakota, was saying a heartfelt goodbye to Dani. He was coming back in less than a month, what did he need to hang on to her so long for? Was it me, or did Dani seem to share his emotional goodbye?
Now she was laughing with another student—her friend Haylie—w ho was going on down to Copenhagen to spend Christmas break with some cousins.
Dr. Hoffen was still talking, and I was still nodding. I had agreed, I think, to do some maintenance on some of our outbuildings. Worked for me.
Dani wandered out of sight.
The Julbord meeting was breaking up, so I followed everyone out to the lobby.
A blast of cold air hit me when Troy popped open the front door.
“Brr. This winter isn’t joking, is it?” I popped the collar of my fleece. It was probably time to start wearing the old parka. I stepped onto the front porch with a crunch that didn’t sound like snow.
The porch was covered in hundreds of tiny paper cups filled with pink juice—lingonsaft most likely. I shook the juice off my foot, dumbfounded. I had kicked over a good dozen cups, but that wasn’t the half of them.
While the entire school staff had been tied up in a meeting the students had left us a present.
“At least it’s not a flaming paper sack.” Troy was already on his knees, carefully picking the cups up and tossing the contents off to the side.
“Where did they get this much saft?”
“Brr! Shut the door!” Cadence hollered as she walked past.
“A parting gift from one of the students who isn’t coming back?” I stacked damp pink cups in my pocket. My gloves were in my room, and my hands were getting sticky and numb.
“God Jul.” Troy chuckled. He seemed to be taking the time consuming and annoying prank well. It was his third year at Tillgiven, so I guessed he had seen everything.
It was my first year staying at a place like this full time, instead of the itinerant thing I had done while finishing my PhD, so I wasn’t as sanguine as he was. “You don’t think it was someone who’s still here do you?”
Troy shrugged. “It was probably all of them.”
“What on earth?” Cadence peered out the door. “Charming.”
“At least they didn’t waste something good to drink.” Troy laughed again. “Let’s just get it cleaned up before Hoffen sees it.”
Cadence disappeared. She came back with a box of large garbage sacks and Xavier, a guy about my age who had come to the school to drop off his little sister.
“Didn’t you and Leah pull this one four years ago?” Troy asked.
Xavier paused, a stack of cups in his hands. “We might have.”
“Rumor has it you filled the kyrka.”
I gave Xavier a once over. I hadn’t pegged him as the type to cover the school chapel with paper cups filled to the brim with juice.
“They say it was the kyrka, do they?” Xavier picked up four cups with one pinch and didn’t spill a drop.
“Was it?” Troy asked.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Xavier grinned.
“I met Leah right before she left. Real fire cracker. Do you still keep in touch?” Troy asked.
Xavier shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”
Troy kicked over a section of cups. “What a pain.”
I took a step without looking and crushed half a dozen full cups in one blow, not to mention the cups I knocked over one at a time. If this had been bowling, I would have been winning. My pants cuffs were soaked with snow and juice by the time we had stuffed the last of the cups into the garbage sacks.
Xavier wandered off without saying goodbye. I had to conclude that it was weird to be back at Tillgiven, but without the people that had made it his school.
I stood at the bottom of the steps and watched him leave.
“Headed off to find Dani?” Troy knotted a garbage sack.
I glanced towards the student lounge. Lights shown through the slats of the wooden shutters. I shook my damp Converse. Pink droplets landed on the snow. “I think I’ll call it a night.”
“It’s only seven.” Cadence laughed. “Don’t be a party pooper.”
“At least let me wash this…saft off of me.” I shook my hands and grinned.
“You seem shocked, but it’s not that big a deal.” Cadence picked up two garbage sacks. “It’s innocent fun in a place where fun can be hard to come by.”
“You think?”
“It didn’t hurt anyone. Saft is cheap. Why worry?”
“Don’t you wish the students were a little more serious about the Bible?” I grabbed the last garbage sack.
“Nope.” Cadence’s eyes lit up. “I like watching them grow up here. They start out like this…goofy, kids, right? But by the time they go home most of them are on fire, ready to snatch the world from the hands of the enemy.”
“I second that.” Troy said. “The students are mostly kids, and they act like it. But after a few ministry weekends and the spring mission trip, most of that energy turns to good.”
I swung the sack of cups over my shoulder. “Honest?”
“Well…” Cadence laughed. “I wouldn’t say they stop being idiots while they are here, but they do seem to be much more serious about the Bible and their future by the end of the school year.”
“Can I hold you to that?”
Cadence held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”
I headed to the dumpster. “I’m going to hold you to that.” Because if these brats didn’t straighten out, I really didn’t know if I could survive the year—Dani Honeywell or no Dani Honeywell.
TWO
Dani Honeywell
Coo
king was not one of my untapped talents.
The cooking thing had been tapped.
And its depths had been taken, and I had come up wanting. No, not wanting. I never really want to cook. I had come up lacking.
That’s more precise for modern English. Nothing like living with a bunch of highly-educated Europeans (as it turns out, European schools are more ambitious than US schools) to make you want to improve yourself.
That said, kitchen slave was the only job the school was willing to give me over winter break. My parents had decided early on that they weren’t interested in flying me back home for the holiday. Something about excessive fuel use, and oh, being broke.
My sister Drew and her new husband Berger were mad that I wasn’t coming to stay with them at Berger’s parents’ house in The Netherlands, but I'd had enough of Drew to last me at least until New Year’s.
So I asked permission to stay on campus, and they gave it to me, if I would work. Cadence, our RA, knew I stunk at house work. She recommended me for the kitchen. I guess it was good she didn’t know I stunk at cooking too. But so long as I got to spend a snug and cozy winter at Tillgiven with Isaac, I was happy.
The kitchen was big—bigger than the house I grew up in back in Oregon, but as that was just a little cabin, I supposed it wasn’t a huge wonder.
Every counter in the kitchen was stainless steel. Keeping them spotless with the magic power of lemony Vim was part of my job.
There was a big butcher block next to a giant stand mixer that stood taller than me, two boiling pots we affectionately called the “pot heads” and a huge…I don’t know what to call it…like a giant griddle. It was a big stovetop but like a giant pan at the same time. Johanna used it to fry up meatballs for the whole school at once. If I liked red meat at all, I would have been very impressed.
Not that I hadn’t tried to like the Swedish meatballs. I had. They were just so…meaty.
But meatballs weren’t today’s problem.
The soft winter snow fell outside on this dark morning, and I stood, hands clasped tightly in front of me, while Johanna, a jolly, round Swedish woman with a head full of fluffy blonde curls, laid down the law.
It wasn’t pretty.
Apparently the Julbord feast we had to prepare was specific and very fishy. I was okay with eating fish. Especially fresh caught from the lake and grilled on the beach. Obviously fish are animals and I’m a vegetarian, but I had to make some concessions for the culture.
Culture aside, there was a lot of pickling involved in the Julbord fish dishes, and it looked like it was up to me and the other two assistants to do it. I exhaled slowly.
This was a cultural experience.
I would grow as a person.
It would be good.
At least after they gave me a cup of coffee.
Why did the fish pickling have to start so early in the morning?
After laying out the full list of fish, meat, breads, and desserts—I was depressed by how few traditional leafy green veggies were a part of this party—Johanna stepped out to the root cellar. I let out the sigh I had been holding in. I hated cooking.
Nea, a Swedish girl a couple of years older than me who was part of our regular kitchen staff, laughed. “It’s not so hard. Plus, it’s all very delicious.” She pulled a large box of salt off a shelf. “Let’s start with the gravlax. So simple. You will feel much better once you have it all ready to go.”
“Will I?” I stared at the door to the walk-in fridge. In just a matter of days it would be chock full of trays of fish stewing away in pickling juices. How was that supposed to make me feel better?
“She is not making lutefisk, right? That is something.” Nea lined up the salt, sugar, white pepper, black pepper and vodka. “See how simple the gravlax is?”
Vodka was not something I had expected to see in a Bible school kitchen. But this was cultural, so I wouldn’t freak out.
“Why don’t you go into the fridge and get the salmon? I promise I won’t lock you in.”
I laughed nervously. My stomach fluttered. It was like she had read my mind. Pickled fish—or cured, as gravlax technically was, was not the scariest thing about a walk-in fridge. But if she promised I wouldn’t get locked in and freeze to death, I guessed I had better trust her.
I yanked on the stainless steel handle and pulled open the door. While big for a fridge, the room was no bigger than a regular old pantry. A very cold regular old pantry.
“The pans are on the lower shelf, left side.” Nea hollered.
I found five deep baking trays, covered in parchment, where she said they would be. They didn’t smell fishy, so it must have been nice, fresh salmon we were about to soak in vodka.
I grabbed two and hauled them out. “This is a lot of fish.”
“Ja, but if we don’t eat it all at the Julbord it will be nice to have for suppers.”
I tried not to gag.
I should at least try it before I decided I hated it.
I went back for the rest of the trays. They were heavy with fish. There was no way we could eat all of this in a year, much less one big party.
Nea was at the sink, washing some glass baking dishes. “First, we will cure the salmon for four days. They are big fish, Johanna cut them thick. They will take a long time. Then, we will freeze it. The salt will cook it, and the freezing will kill anything you are afraid of.” She shook her hands dry and joined me at the counter. “You American kids are always very afraid of food going bad, but I promise, it will be excellent.” She grinned, the way only a real Swedish girl could smile about weird fish. But if she promised it would be “cooked” and nothing gross would grow in it, I had no more objections.
I peeled back the double layer of parchment paper and stared.
The huge, fleshy salmon rested skin side down in a sea of jiggly green gelatin. I tapped the dish to see if that much gelatin would wobble. It did. “So was this the first step?”
Nea stood next to me, her arms slack, her mouth open. She shook herself slightly. “No.”
We opened the other four pans of fish and they were all swimming in gelatin as green as the ink in a fresh magic marker.
Johanna came in with her arms full of fresh dill from the cellar. She lifted the leafy branches to her face and inhaled. “Ummm. Delikat.”
“Maybe so.” Nea said. “But this fish is not so delikat!” Nea pushed the tray towards Johanna.
Johanna set the dill down. “What is this?” Her cheerful face transformed in an instant. Thin, white eyebrows pulled down, round, pink lips pinched shut. Her face turned from peaches and cream to a steaming bowl of spicy tomato soup. “Vad är detta?” She yelled.
I took a big step back and bumped into a pot head. It swayed. I grabbed the edge to steady myself and it.
“What is this, Dani? Who has done this?” She picked up the heavy pan with both hands, and then slammed it down again. “All of it? All of the salmon? How much has been lost?” She stared at me, steely-eyed accusation boring a hole in my forehead.
I scratched my head. I chewed my lip. “That depends…can we wash it off?” My words caught in my throat.
“Can we wash it?” Johanna repeated the question like I had been speaking Latin. “I cannot wash off that terrible flavor.” She pulled the paper over the tray, like covering a corpse. Which, from the fish’s perspective, was very appropriate.
“So I guess it’s all green?” It wasn’t a question, though it sounded like one. And it wasn’t a guess either. I knew for sure it was all green.
Nea cleared her throat. “Maybe you should just freeze it and serve it for the school, but we definitely need new salmon for our gravlax.”
“Green salmon.” Johanna took a deep breath and held it. “Do you have any idea how much money this salmon cost?”
I didn’t. And why should I have? And why did she keep staring at me like it was my fault? Was it because I was a student? An American? Not Nea, who she’d been working with for a couple of years?
“Wait!” I leaped forward and grabbed her sleeve. A word with Steve, or Dr. Hoffen, the director of Tillgiven Bible School, could easily mean a Christmas with Drew and Berger for me. I knew I was on thin ice after running off in October and technically stealing the school Saab. “Let me talk to Isaac. He can help us.”
“He can help us by buying more salmon?” Johanna’s sarcasm was clear, even through her accent.
“He can help us figure out who did it.”
Johanna shook my hand off. “Fine. Go talk to Isaac. See if he has any idea what is going on. Nea, clean up this mess. We’ll make inlagd sill right now instead.”
I ran out of the kitchen before I could learn what inlagd sill was. Isaac hadn’t failed me with the Drew situation. He could clear up this fish mess, easily.
Isaac was outside, behind the boys’ dorm, staring up at the eves of the shed. He was speaking with Dr. Hoffen, and both of them looked worried.
“Hey guys. Isaac, can I have a word?” I stamped my feet in the snow to warm them up. I had run out of the kitchen in my kitchen-approved, rubber soled converse, and the snow, while not super thick, had quickly soaked through the canvas tops.
“One minute.” Isaac offered me a strained smile. “I haven’t done much construction, to be honest, but if all this needs is a repair, I think the guys and I could handle it. Xavier and Si said they had done some work like this back home.” He licked his lips and looked at the roof.
Dr. Hoffen nodded, eyes narrowed. “The next heavy snow is going to cave this shed in. All you need to do is remove the shingles, put in new sheeting, and cover it back up. The rest of it looks fine. To be honest, I might not even worry about it, but we want to be in good condition for the Julbord.”
Isaac pressed his lips together, but nodded. “Right. I got it.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his lips even with the weird fish crisis weighing on my mind. He was just so…pretty.
“Okay then, take whoever you need—Xavier and Si sound fine to me—and get this taken care of first thing.” Dr. Hoffen turned to me and smiled. “Where’s your coat, Dani? You’re going to freeze to death.”