All Through the Night Part Four

[callensensei]

Part Four

The great backlit clouds were piling high above the moon until finally they began to drift apart, revealing the stars. It seemed that Mrs. Howell had spilled her whole jewel box out on the night sky.

“Lovey, my dear, I think you’ve overdone it a trifle. That brew does smell awfully pungent.”

“Nonsense, Thurston. You heard what the Professor said. It’s no good to us if it’s too weak.”

“Well, if you say so, my dear.”

The Howells left the campfire that they had been tending a little ways off and approached with a tray of clay mugs, napkins and a plate with a large, brown loaf. “Here we are, everyone! Coffee and cake!” called Mrs. Howell happily, her blue chiffon robe swishing around her.

Her husband set the tray on the table and picked up a knife. “It’s the fruitcake you made yesterday, Mary Ann. We took the liberty of requisitioning it, if you don’t mind.”

Mary Ann smiled. “Not at all, Mr. Howell. Here, let me help you serve.”
She touched Gilligan reassuringly on the arm as she slipped to her feet. He looked up to see her go, but made no move to leave the Skipper. Silently he shook his head at the cake Mrs. Howell offered him but did take the steaming mug. A slight scent of chamomile wafted above it. “This one is different, Gilligan dear,” she murmured. “It’s an herbal tea. I hope you like it.”

When Gilligan’s hand shook slightly as he grasped the mug, the Skipper reached up to steady it. But Gilligan’s hand stopped shaking after a moment, and he sipped the drink. He glanced up at Mrs. Howell and nodded, then grasped the cup in both hands and drank some more.

The others by this point were getting their first taste of Mrs. Howell’s coffee. When Ginger took a tiny sip, it took all her acting ability not to make a face. “Uh…could I have a little more sugar, Mrs. Howell?”

“Why surely, dear. Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Ginger dumped a third of the bowl into her cup and stirred it vigourously. “I have a sweet tooth,” she explained.

The Professor sniffed his coffee and surreptitiously poured it into the sand at the edge of the bonfire. Mary Ann, who had settled back in next to Gilligan, saw this and got up again with her own cup. “Uh, I just remembered there’s some fruit left over from dinner. Why don’t I go and get it?” When she returned, her cup had mysteriously vanished.

Meanwhile, the Skipper took a deep draught as the others watched in amazement. “Mmmm. That’s great, Mrs. Howell. Lots of body, just the way I like it.”

Mr. Howell looked at his expectant wife and realized there was no escape. He took a nervous sip and choked like a man who has tried to swig brandy. “Oh! Cough! Cough! Bravo, my dear. Nectar and ambrosia.”

“You’d better have some more, Thurston dear. It sounds as though this night air is giving you a chill.” She happily topped up his cup with the thick, viscous black brew. “There’s a whole potful, darling.”

Mr. Howell hurriedly put his hand to his lips and cleared his throat. “Ah, in a moment, my dear. Now, this puts me in mind of a funny story about my eccentric Uncle Egbert Howell and the time he bought a coffee plantation in South America. Oh, he was a character, my Uncle Egbert: I’ve got a million stories about him. He didn’t realize that you got the coffee from the little red beans on the trees, you see. No, no, he thought you tapped the trunk and the coffee came dripping down the little spout like maple syrup. He had pails hung on all the trees and used to wander about them with a mug of cream and sugar all ready.”

The castaways snorted with laughter and shook their heads. “Mr. Howell, I don’t believe you! You’re making that up!” laughed Mary Ann.

“Oh, by no means, my dear! Uncle Egbert is a veritable legend in our family. Why, I was there myself the time when he…“

Gilligan silently watched them all. He bent his head to his cup, but his eyes were twinkling.

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