Autumn Nights - A Narnia Oneshot Challenge

The Master of Culinary Disaster

Prompt: Cinnamon Buns 

John Pevensie lay on the couch, coughing every few minutes. He was sicker than Edmund had ever seen him, a low fever sapping the life out of him. Mrs. Pevensie, Peter, and Lucy were away for the weekend, visiting friends in Bristol and Susan was working all day. She'd left a pot of soup and a note that said she got off work at 5:00, and would make cinnamon buns then.

But it was only noon, and Father needed cheering up now.

Edmund scoured the cabinets, looking for his mother's recipes. Finding the little box Peter had made her, he shuffled through the index cards before finally landing on the recipe for cinnamon buns. It couldn't be that hard. It was just putting the right pieces together. Like a model airplane. He laid out the ingredients on the counter, put a pot on the stove, and fetched a mixing bowl. Leaving the milk to warm, he turned to the dry ingredients. Flour, sugar, salt—that was easy enough. He beat them together, then checked the recipe card. Yeast. He needed yeast. Where did Mum keep the yeast?

The smell of smoke filled the room. Edmund whipped around. The milk. He yanked the pot off the burner, splashing scalding milk onto the floor. It was tinged yellow. Unsure what to do, he charged ahead. It couldn't cause that much of a problem, could it?

After finding the yeast, Edmund mixed the dry and wet ingredients and left the dough to rise. Only it didn't. Two hours later, the dough had barely moved. But now it was a question of honor. He rolled out the dough, tearing it into strips and folding it back up. He threw the dough parcels onto the baking sheet. Good enough. He popped them in the oven. 45 minutes later, he pulled them out.

A pan full of deflated biscuits that smelled faintly of smokey milk.

"What in the world is going on in here?"

Edmund spun on his heel. "Susan! You're not supposed to be here!"

"They let me off early." She stared at the culinary horror in his hands. "What did you do?"

Edmund's cheeks burned. "That's it!" He shouted. "I give up!" He threw the pan on the table, tin clattering, then stomped upstairs.

Susan watched him go, brow knit. She joined her father in the living room.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"He's been working in there all day," Mr. Pevensie said, clearing the phlegm from his throat. "I think he was trying to make something for you."

"For me?"

He nodded. "He asked me something about your Mother's cinnamon bun recipe."

"Ohhhh—" Susan's eyes lit up, "I see now. He was trying to help me cheer you up. The dear boy."

"He certainly wasn't gifted with the culinary arts." Mr Pevensie laughed then groaned, holding his aching head.

Susan smiled softly. "I'll see if I can't fix this mess."

~~~

Susan cleaned up the kitchen, and a few hours later a perfect batch of cinnamon rolls was set out on the table. She put on a kettle of tea and made Edmund's favorite hot chocolate before calling him down.

"Edmund!" She yelled up the stairs. "I need you!"

"What did you want—I was reading my astronomy book," he said, jumping over the last step.

"I made a fresh batch of cinnamon buns—" Her brother scowled at the breakfast pastry, and Susan hurried on, "---and tea and cocoa. I thought we could all enjoy it together, in the living room."

Edmund's disdain softened, and he gave a bashful grin at the thought of hot cocoa. "I suppose that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

Susan smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. You go in and sit with Father. I'll bring in the treats."

Edmund headed towards the living room.

"And Ed?" She called. He turned around. "Thank you for helping. Even if it didn't turn out. It's the thought that counts."

Edmund ducked his head, trying to hide a grin. 

The sun set over Abbott's Garden, spreading its warmth on the other side of the horizon, but the three souls sitting in the Pevensie house didn't feel the chill---hot cocoa, cinnamon buns, and good company was the kindling for the fire in the hearth, burning ever warmer in their hearts.