In honor of National Chocolate Day, I’ve got a dragon-themed chocolate short story for you!

The Chocolate Dragon, pt 1

Millicent Brown forced herself down the stairs, the narrow stairs from her home to the Chocolate Dragon, the chocolate house she and her husband ran. Well, not anymore. ‘They’ did not do anything anymore. He had been laid in the churchyard yesterday. That ceremony was the end of ‘them.’

She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. The illness that had taken him was swift and merciful. She and the children, who would have been turned over to the parish had anything happened to her, had been spared. In times like these, she felt the lack of family or connections nearby most deeply.

They had much to be thankful for, though. Or at least that was what she had been told. The Chocolate Dragon was one of the most popular places in Twyford, a spot where those ‘coming into town for the day’ made a point of stopping and having a rest from their errands.

She had borne sons, three of them, all hale and hardy. So, the shop would not pass to some distant relation of Tom’s who would put them out as soon as Tom was cold in his grave. They still had their home and livelihood to keep body and soul together, making her very blessed indeed.

So blessed, it felt ungrateful even to acknowledge her grief and loneliness that came hand in hand with it. The overwhelming weight of the changes in every moment of her life had to be kept to herself alone. The children had enough to bear, and no one else could be put upon to listen to her mulligrums.

She sniffled and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve again. Enough of that now. There was work to be done. She trudged to the kitchen, just behind the house, connected with a covered walkway, an improvement Tom had added just this year to protect their wares from the rain and snow on the journey from kitchen to dining room. Bless it all, one more reminder of all she had lost.

She opened the kitchen windows and lit the fires in the Rumford stove and roaster that was the beating heart and source of the Chocolate Dragon’s fire. The morning cold wound its way through the kitchen, taunting and teasing, but it would not stand up to the Rumford stove. The brick behemoth, too large for most homes, had several fires, each covered by an iron plate to hold cooking pots and pans. A cast-iron oven was built into the brickwork, heated by its own separate firebox, allowing her to bake, cook, and heat water for chocolate, not to mention warm the kitchen, all on the same appliance. Truly a marvelous innovation, one which made the chocolate house unique in Twyford.

The morning sun caught the framed print of the Mordiford Dragon that hung beside the door. Something about the early light turned its toothy smile from fearsome to friendly, but the effect lasted only a few minutes. Thomas insisted it brought good luck, and as he hailed from Mordiford, where everything harkened back to the Mordiford Dragon, it was only fitting to have that dragon watch over the kitchen. One more way Thomas’ influence seemed to reach beyond the grave.

The shop assistants, a junior clerk who tended the customers and two girls who worked in the kitchen, would arrive later. She usually handled mornings by herself. There had been times she resented that, but for now, it was nice to know that no one would look askance at her if a few tears escaped now and then.

She dabbed her eye with her apron and pulled out her kitchen journal from a drawer in the worktable standing in the middle of the kitchen’s stone floor. She leaned over it, elbows on the table, and flipped it open to today’s list. Just focus on today, on the list in front of her that laid it all out. Just focus on that and it would all get done. First thing, get the Bath buns she set to prove last night in the oven to bake.

She wrestled two large trays, covered with white linen towels, from the shelves along the far wall. Even in the chill morning air, a sweet yeasty perfume rose from the trays. Yes, that was the thing to put everything else in perspective. She slid the trays onto the worktable. Best check the dining room while the oven heated for the buns.

Scurrying through the chill, she rolled up the shades on the front windows, encouraging the first rays of morning light to dance along the well-swept floorboards, between the neat little wooden tables and chairs waiting patiently for her patrons to take their places. The scents of chocolate, coffee and baked goods hung in the air, extending a welcome to all within their reach.

Wait, what was that? A loaded cart pulled by a plodding old horse approached. So early? Perhaps Peter, her eldest but not-yet-strapping son, could help her wrestle the heavy cacao bags inside a little later.

For now, she’d rather let the boys sleep a bit later in the mornings. They had so much difficulty sleeping at night after Thomas’ illness. Yes, the vicar warned her she would only teach them to be lazy lay-a-beds, but just because he had a pulpit on Sundays did not make him proficient in all things. She was the expert on her own children and would do what her heart found fit.

The cart pulled up to the front door. Best get on with matters.

She unlocked the door. “Oh there, you’re early today.” She waved to the driver, not the same man who brought her supplies. Similar in face and build, but lacking the grizzled man’s whiskers and lined brow. “Where’s Old Henry?”

“Aye, yeah, me father’s got himself banged up a bit. Had a bit of an accident down at the docks picking up the last load. A pile of cargo wasn’t secured right an’ he ended up at the bottom of it all.” The driver jumped down from the cart and patted the dappled gray horse.

“Heavens! How bad is it?” Millicent gasped and held her breath. She had not the stomach for bad news these days.

“Aww, don’t you worry none there, Mrs. Brown, You know how tough he is. He’ll be fine, I’m sure, but the surgeon thinks he broke his leg, so me ma’s keeping him to bed until the surgeon agrees he should be up and about.”

A surgeon had been called. That alone suggested a far more serious situation that this young man was letting on. “You’ll be taking up for him until he’s back up and about, then?”

“I will. Me name’s John Henry. Me brothers, Michael Henry and James Henry, we’re all taking over. We all favor dad. You’ll know us when ya see us. Where do you want your things?” John Henry untied the cover on the back of the cart and flipped it up to reveal the crates and barrels and bags beneath.

Well, that was new. Old Henry just dropped things off the side of his cart and got on with his business, and she nearly said as much. Good sense kicked in just before the words escaped. “I need those things in the kitchen at the back, but I can let you go through the chocolate house to get there. Would that be too much trouble?”

“Not at all. Would hate to make pa’s clients angry on the very first day, no? Not a good way to do business.” He touched the brim and his worn cap.

“Thank you kindly.”

He climbed onto the cart and handed her a wooden crate—heavy, but not too heavy, much easier to manage than a sack of cacao pods. John slung a large sack of cacao pods over his shoulder. Odd. The bag didn’t seem to sit right. There was a lump on one side. She bit her lip and led him in. Hopefully, the beans hadn’t gone wet and moldy.

She opened the kitchen door with her shoulder, set the crate down on the floor near the worktable and pointed him to the corner, near the heavy stone metate where the cacao was ground. He dropped the sack on the floor and hurried out for the rest.

What was that sound? Odd. It almost sounded like something had squawked, or maybe groaned, possibly cried for help, when the bag hit the floor.

Lovely, now she was going daft on top of it all. No, she would not succumb to it. She had work to get to, so she hurried out to help unload the rest of her supplies.

It took several trips, which left her breathless, but far less exhausted than she would have been if she had done it on her own. It would take some time to get the kitchen in order, but there were enough chocolate tablets prepared to cover the shop’s needs for the next several days. Grinding beans could wait a day or two. Unpacking could wait until it was convenient.

Right now, she had Bath buns to bake.

Once those were in the oven, she consulted her list. Next: start the shortbread biscuits—no wait, she needed to check on that one odd bag. She grabbed her kitchen shears from their hook on the wall, and went to the corner, studying the lump in the large hessian sack.

Great heavens, it moved! Blast and botheration. No doubt, it was a rat of some sort, caught inside. Best get it out now before it ruined the entire load of cacao—if that hadn’t already happened. A broom, she needed a broom to shoo the creature out once she opened the bag. Easier than trying to kill it just now. She grabbed her broom and opened the kitchen door. A chill breeze forced its way in.

Sighing, she grit her teeth and cut the top stitching on the sack, using the tips of the shears to pull open the seam.

The sack wriggled and struggled. A head appeared. A dark brown head with large, blinking eyes.

No whiskers or wriggling nose, though. Instead, two leathery wingtips peeked above the hessian.

Have you ever gotten something unexpected in a package? Tell me in the comments while I cook up the next installment.