Chapter 7 Cheddar Days Ahead
CHEDDAR DAYS AHEAD
The moment The Celestine Queen crossed into the Cornish airspace above Blythe Meadowsweet’s farm, they all felt the change.
The sharp December chill that had accompanied them through Switzerland and France simply.
.. evaporated. Warm sunlight flooded the deck, and when Minerva looked down at the countryside below, everything blazed in the glorious technicolor hues of summer.
“We’re in the bubble,” Bayard explained to the assembled passengers. “Blythe maintains a permanent summer enchantment over her farm. She maintains that happy cows need sunshine year-round, and happy cows make better cheese.”
“Sounds a little kooky,” someone murmured.
“Perhaps, but at the moment, I’d say delightfully so,” Bayard said. He turned his face toward the sun and took a moment to bask in the glorious warming rays.
Several passengers crowded up onto the deck to watch as the ship slowly lowered itself into an oversized pond at the edge of the unusual, sprawling farm.
The air temperature was a balmy 72 degrees Fahrenheit, with a light breeze and neither too much nor too little humidity in the air.
It was enough to make the group heave a collective sigh of relief.
Not that any of them complained about the winter chill in their other tour locations.
It was just something that they’d all been braced for.
And now there was no longer a reason to brace.
On the contrary, Minerva had the sudden and uncharacteristic desire to find herself a hammock to nap in.
The creamery itself looked like it had been plucked from a pastoral painting and given a psychedelic makeover.
The main barn was painted in swirling rainbow patterns.
Dreamcatchers hung from every available tree branch, and wind chimes fashioned from cow bells created a constant musical backdrop.
The cows themselves were bell-less. They wandered freely over the property, sashaying across the patios and through the gardens, tails swishing, haunches swaying.
They were completely unconcerned with fences or boundaries.
Barefoot on the muddy banks of the pond, waiting to greet them, stood Blythe Meadowsweet herself. She jumped up and down with childish enthusiasm, waving excitedly as the gangplank was lowered.
“Wow!” Wren exclaimed. Even the normally erudite blogger was at a loss for words.
Blythe was magnificent, one of the most beautiful earth witches that Minerva had ever seen.
Her long silver hair flowed loose to her waist, woven through with fresh wildflowers—daisies, cornflowers, and ethereal sprigs of baby’s breath.
Her dress was an elaborate patchwork creation in every color imaginable, layered with scarves and shawls that billowed around her like wings.
She also wore rings on her fingers and all her toes, multiple beaded and belled necklaces, and a solar bright smile that could have powered a small village.
Blythe never seemed to stop moving. Her natural ebullience kept her spinning, dancing, and flinging her whole self into gratuitous hugs.
“Welcome, welcome, my loves!” she called out, her voice rich and warm. “Come ashore! Don’t be shy, pets. The cows won’t bite—well, Buttercup might nibble your sleeve, but if she does, rest assured she means it affectionately.”
As if on cue, a golden-brown cow ambled over and nuzzled Jasper, who went pale and froze in place.
“That’s my girl,” Blythe cooed, scratching the cow behind her ears. “Showing our guests proper Cornish hospitality, aren’t you, darlin’?”
Bayard approached with Fred’s carrier, and Blythe’s face lit up like she’d just discovered a hoard of buried treasure.
“You must be Bayard Fontaine!” She practically floated toward him, her scarves trailing.
“Oh, but the photographs don’t do you justice, do they?
Such distinguished features. And these eyebrows!
” She reached up—actually reached up with both hands—and touched his face, turning it side to side.
“Like little expressive clouds of wisdom, they are. Your aura is divine, too. The soul of a poet and the mind of a scientist. Quite a rare combination.” Blythe licked her lips like she meant to devour him.
Bayard blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I, uh, thank you? This is a beautiful operation you’ve—”
“And this hair!” Blythe’s curious fingers moved on to Bayard’s head, combing through his crazy white fluff of a mane. “ I love how unabashed it is! Wild, yet distinguished. And so soft. Like spun moonlight, dear heart. You must tell me your secrets. Do you use jojoba oil?”
“Just an Ordinary shampoo…” Bayard laughed nervously, attempting to edge away.
Behind them, Exandra stripped off her parka and balled her hands into fists. She made a sound that might charitably have been described as a cough. But it actually sounded much more like a possessive growl to Minerva.
“Blythe, this is Agent Exandra Thorne,” Bayard said, trying once more to step back politely, but Blythe stepped along with him. Her hands were still tangled in his hair and she wound herself against him like a vine. “She’s investigating—”
“Oh, aren’t you tall!” Blythe commented, barely glancing up at Exandra.
“Quite striking. I hope you can sew. Must be tough to find clothes. Now, Bay… May I call you that? I can’t wait to show you around the Creamery.
I have a feeling you’ll really get the artistry and love that’s gone into this place.
You must sit right beside me for the workshop. ”
“Well, I, uh… I mean… that is… we….” Bayard struggled to find the words to explain that his first duty was toward the group. He wasn’t accustomed to being fawned over and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
“Get. Off. Him.” Exandra poked Blythe in the shoulder. “Can’t you see you’re making him uncomfortable? Give the poor guy a little space.”
“Oops. My bad. I’m just a hands-on kind of witch.” Blythe shrugged. “I can’t help myself.”
Bayard stumbled a bit, catching himself with his cane as Blythe reluctantly released him.
“No, that’s okay, I just needed a moment to get my bearings.” Bayard tried to smooth over the situation. They were scheduled to be here for another two and a half hours. He didn’t want things to get awkward.
A moment later, she was linking her arm back through Bayard’s.
“Why didn’t you say you needed help getting your bearings, silly? Let me give you a quick tour. You’ll get those bearings back in a jiffy. Hurry, now! We’re running late and we have to get all the Yule cheese wrapped before nightfall.”
Exandra moved to follow them, but no matter where she positioned herself, Blythe somehow outmaneuvered her, standing between Bayard and the agent, creating a barrier.
“Everyone is welcome to join us, of course,” Blythe called over her shoulder. “So long as you limit your energy to good vibes only. Here at Meadowsweet Creamery, we have zero tolerance for bad vibes. Don’t make me perform a chakra alignment on you!”
With this statement, she shook a warning finger at Exandra.
Exandra’s jaw clenched so hard, Minerva worried she might crack a tooth.
“Shall we follow them?” Zephyr offered his arm to Minerva with an amused smile.
“I do think we’d better,” Minerva answered. “I’m a little worried about Exandra.”
The interior of the main creamery was chaotic, yet organized at the same time.
Traditional copper vats sat alongside the modern equipment, all of it decorated with painted flowers, suns, moons, and peace signs. A cadre of small, stocky men with elaborately braided beards moved efficiently through the space, ushering the production along.
Dwarves, Minerva recognized. They all wore tie-dyed work clothing, clog-like sandals, and matching scowls.
“Those are my special helpers,” Blythe explained, still clinging to Bayard’s arm. “They’ve been with me for forty years! They understand cheese the way I understand sunshine—it’s in their bones.”
One of the dwarves, a grizzled fellow with a bright orange beard, stared ominously at Bayard as they passed. So much for good vibes only. Bayard shuddered.
“Now, then,” Bayard said, gently extracting himself from Blythe’s creeping grasp under the pretense of addressing the group. “Who wants to learn a little more about cheese production?”
Jasper’s hand was the first one that shot up.
“Thank you, Jasper,” Bayard smiled wryly, before continuing with the lesson.
“Traditional cheddar-making involves a process called cheddaring. It involves stacking and turning the curds repeatedly to achieve the proper texture and acidity. But what makes Meadowsweet Creamery’s cheddar so special is the cloth-binding process.
I’m sure the group would love to hear more of the details directly from you, Ms. Meadowsweet. ”
“Oh, but you explain it so well, Bay-Bay…” Blythe sighed, booping his nose.
She moved to stand close beside him again, but before she could get there, Exandra positioned herself between them.
Undeterred, Blythe stepped directly in front of the giant agent and placed her hand possessively on Bayard’s shoulder, forcing Exandra to choose between stepping awkwardly to the side or colliding with her.
Minerva caught Zephyr’s eye and had to suppress a laugh. This was getting ridiculous.
“The, ummmm… cloth-binding…,” Bayard continued. He stepped back a pace and used his cane to create a pocket of air between himself and their clingy hostess. “The cloth allows the cheese to breathe during aging, creating a more complex flavor profile than wax or plastic wrapping.”
“But it’s not just any cloth,” Blythe interjected in a singsong voice, finally focused on something other than Bayard. “Come, my pets, let me show all you the wonders of the wrapping room. This is where the real magic happens. Magic that I’m counting on all of you to be a part of!”
She led them to the vast barn that had been converted into a makeshift workshop. Long tables covered in brown paper stretched the length of the space, and hanging from clotheslines crisscrossing the ceiling were yards and yards of muslin cloth, dyed in every color of the rainbow.
“We dye all the muslin ourselves,” Blythe explained, “using natural vegetable pigments. Beetroot for the reds, turmeric for the golds, indigo for the blues. Each batch is unique, and each carries a special blessing for the cheese it will eventually swaddle.”
The cloth swayed gently in the warm breeze from the barn’s open windows, creating a mesmerizing display of color and light.
“We made these rainbow patterns specifically for the Yule cheeses,” Blythe continued, moving to one of the tables. “The different colors bring different blessings—warmth, harmony, abundance, and joy. When our cheese is served on a Yule ploughman’s platter, those blessings infuse the whole meal.”
On the table lay the wrapping materials that their group would be using in the workshop. Smaller squares of precut tie-dyed muslin, bundles of cinnamon sticks, sprigs of olive wood, containers of edible glitter for sprinkling, and spools of string to bind it all together.
“The final touch,” Blythe said, “is a triple-blessed silk ribbon, also naturally dyed. There’s a batch curing in the sunlight right now.
” She gestured toward the windows where a clothesline was visible outside, flowing ribbons dancing in the breeze.
“Tonight you will all help us wrap the Yule order—our most important delivery of the season.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Wren said, her camera out. “May I photograph it?”
“Oh, no, doll,” Blythe said apologetically. “The magic in the dyes is very temperamental. Camera flashes can disrupt the blessings. I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on your words for this one.”
Wren looked disappointed but nodded.
Bayard was still trying to regain his professional equilibrium.
“The rainbow cheddar itself is aged for exactly nine months in Blythe’s caves, where it develops a range of flavors that represent the full spectrum of cheddar possibilities.
You get sharp and mellow notes as well as earthy and bright ones, all coexisting beautifully. ”
“Just like you, dear heart,” Blythe said, stroking his cheek. “Such a beautiful balance of qualities you have.”
This time, Exandra’s attempt to move between them resulted in her hip checking the table, sending several cinnamon sticks rolling across the floor.
“Oops, pardon me,” Exandra muttered, dropping to retrieve them, her face flushed with frustration.
“Let me help you, Exandra.” Minerva bent down to assist her, their eyes meeting briefly. Understanding passed between them and Exandra’s expression flickered with something like gratitude before the defensive walls slid back into place.
“Shall we all proceed to the tasting?” Blythe suggested. “I’ve prepared a proper ploughman’s lunch for you all to enjoy out in the orchard. There’s cheddar with crusty bread, my own pickles, a bit of ham, and some lovely apples from my trees.”
As the group followed Blythe out toward the sunny orchard, Bayard lingered behind to catch his breath. He sighed a deep sigh of relief. So far, so good. Nothing had gone wrong during their visit to the Meadowsweet Creamery.
But then he froze, a terrible thought occurring to him.
No incident and nothing going wrong meant that Exandra might wrap up her investigation and leave. And he still hadn’t summoned the courage to tell her how he felt about her.
The thought made his chest tighten with something like panic.