82. New cookie jar
Erna's morning begins in the garden.
As spring arrived in full swing, Erna went for a walk there every morning. By the time Bjorn woke up, she was already out of bed. It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.
Bjorn leaned against the balcony railing of his bedroom, watching Erna walk along the canal connecting the Grand Fountain and the River Abit. She was accompanied by her maid, Lisa, who followed her like a shadow. The rich artificial flowers adorning her hat seemed a little different from yesterday. Bjorn chuckled, finding his wife's simple, meticulous care in changing the flowers every morning somehow endearing.
He went back to his room and rang the bell, and Greg the butler came in with a newspaper and morning tea.
“A guest from the bank is waiting in the study.”
Greg, standing next to Bjorn, who was skimming the newspaper, spoke quietly.
“Tell them I’ll be there as soon as my wife comes back.”
“Yes, Your Highness. What time would you recommend we have the carriage ready to depart?”
“Around 11 o’clock would be good.”
Bjorn put down the newspaper and gave a soft command.
Today's daily newspaper devoted an entire page to the solid alliance between Letzen and Lars. It was a fairly credible article, quoting Foreign Minister Lars.
Although his failure to restore his daughter to the position of Princess of Letzen must have been quite a blow to his pride, the King of Lars maintained his relationship with Letzen as it had been before. Bjorn was pleased with this kind of understanding. As long as there was a pie to share, the relationship would remain clean and tidy.
As the butler withdrew, Bjorn headed back to the balcony. He leaned against the sun-baked stone railing, smoking a cigar, and the languid spring air permeated his body. Erna was now climbing the stairs beside the fountain leading to the mansion.
Bjorn narrowed his eyes and gazed at his wife. With each gentle breeze, her white chemise dress clung to her, revealing the curves of her beautiful body. The absurd thought that a small woman could dominate the magnificent fountain, the gilded statues, and the spring garden spread out below them, Erna lifted her head.
Erna's morning begins in the garden.
As spring arrived in full swing, Erna went for a walk there every morning. By the time Bjorn woke up, she was already out of bed. It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.
Bjorn leaned against the balcony railing of his bedroom, watching Erna walk along the canal connecting the Grand Fountain and the River Abit. She was accompanied by her maid, Lisa, who followed her like a shadow. The rich artificial flowers adorning her hat seemed a little different from yesterday. Bjorn chuckled, finding his wife's simple, meticulous care in changing the flowers every morning somehow endearing.
He went back to his room and rang the bell, and Greg the butler came in with a newspaper and morning tea.
“A guest from the bank is waiting in the study.”
Greg, standing next to Bjorn, who was skimming the newspaper, spoke quietly.
“Tell them I’ll be there as soon as my wife comes back.”
“Yes, Your Highness. What time would you recommend we have the carriage ready to depart?”
“Around 11 o’clock would be good.”
Bjorn put down the newspaper and gave a soft command.
Today's daily newspaper devoted an entire page to the solid alliance between Letzen and Lars. It was a fairly credible article, quoting Foreign Minister Lars.
Although his failure to restore his daughter to the position of Princess of Letzen must have been quite a blow to his pride, the King of Lars maintained his relationship with Letzen as it had been before. Bjorn was pleased with this kind of understanding. As long as there was a pie to share, the relationship would remain clean and tidy.
As the butler withdrew, Bjorn headed back to the balcony. He leaned against the sun-baked stone railing, smoking a cigar, and the languid spring air permeated his body. Erna was now climbing the stairs beside the fountain leading to the mansion.
Bjorn narrowed his eyes and gazed at his wife. With each gentle breeze, her white chemise dress clung to her, revealing the curves of her beautiful body. The absurd thought that a small woman could dominate the magnificent fountain, the gilded statues, and the spring garden spread out below them, Erna lifted her head.
“You’re up!”
Erna's voice echoed through the cool sound of the water. Gazing at his wife, who smiled like the dazzling morning sunlight, Bjorn slowly released the smoke he'd been holding in his heart.
The petty commotion has died down, and the world is once again under his control.
Bjorn smiled slowly, enjoying the spring made even more beautiful by that one fact. Erna waved and began to climb the stairs, slightly lifting the hem of her dress.
Bjorn, admiring the fluttering flowers and ribbons following the busy footsteps, unconsciously tightened his grip on his cigar. It felt like warm snow was falling. Quietly, deep within his heart. Infinitely quiet.
Erna reached the top of the stairs, his absurd thoughts banished by a light laugh. Confirming no eyes were watching her, the young lady hurriedly entered the mansion.
Bjorn finally put out his cigar, praying he wouldn't run into Madame Fitz on his way to the bedroom. A sudden thought crossed his mind: Erna, who would rush over in a fit of excitement, coughing from the smoke, yet foolishly stay by his side. He realized his actions belatedly, but didn't care much. This feeble desire was more bearable than the irritating cough.
“Bjorn!”
Erna, who had knocked meaninglessly again, opened the door and came in before he could even answer. Judging by her bright, unsullied face, she must have avoided Madame Fitz. Erna crossed the bedroom in one breath and stood before Bjorn.
“You are very diligent.”
Bjorn's hand cupped Erna's face. His fingertips caressed her flushed cheek, a playfulness quite different from his calm expression.
“Ah. I think I need to build up some stamina.”
“Stamina?”
“I always get tired first and fall asleep. That’s a bit of a shame.”
Erna calmly listed the unexpected reasons. Bjorn's lips curved in a pleasant smile as he looked down at his shy, yet brazen wife.
"My dear, you work so hard at everything. It's making my shoulders feel heavy. Should I try harder, too?"
“No, you don’t have to. Not at all.”
Even at the moment of seriousness, Erna's lips still held a smile.
Bjorn, who had just given a short laugh, finally let go of his wife.
"Get ready, Erna. We have someone to meet."
***
All she got in return for the empty cookie jar was a small book-like piece of paper.
Erna stared at the passbook in her hand with narrowed eyes. Her name and the amount of money she had deposited were clearly written on it, but she couldn't believe it represented money. Of course, she knew that people in big cities preferred to deposit their money in banks, but she never dreamed she would be one of them. That was until she followed Bjorn to the study and encountered a Freyr Bank employee.
“Then I will take my leave now.”
The employee who opened Erna Dneister's savings account stood up, taking the money from the cookie jar.
Erna looked at his bag with a hint of regret. It was a treasure that filled her heart just by looking at it. Even though it was a paltry sum, it was meaningful to Erna. It was a symbol of her past, when she had lived her life to the fullest, and it was also the money that had created her connection with Bjorn. Thinking of its significance, she felt it was a shame to waste even a single coin, so she treasured it.
As the money finally disappeared beyond the study door, Erna let out a sigh she had been holding back.
“Don’t you like the new cookie jar?”
Bjorn, his arms crossed, asked a sly question. Erna, who looked back and forth between the bankbook in her hand and her husband, nodded with a furrowed brow.
"I guess I like the old way better. Can't we go back?"
“Now let go of that barrel and become a member of civilized society, Erna.”
“But this paper doesn’t feel like my money at all.”
“Your name is clearly written there.”
“But... what if the bank misuses my money? What if they don't give it back?”
Erna's eyes, filled with strong distrust, stunned Bjorn.
“Don’t worry. They won’t embezzle that money.”
"What if the bank goes bankrupt? Then some people will never get their money back."
Erna's expression grew even more serious. She seemed to have completely forgotten that she was standing before the very owner of that bank who feared bankruptcy.
“Seeing how suspicious you are, I doubt you'd fall for scams easily anywhere. Well done, Erna.”
“Could you please stop saying that? I really hate that word.”
When Erna became serious, Bjorn's gaze became even more mischievous.
"Ah, scam. Yeah. That's a painful word."
“Bjorn!”
“Even if the bank fails, I will definitely return your money, so please stop worrying.”
From being treated like a thief to a conman. It was a huge blow to his pride, but Bjorn willingly agreed. Since the gift was meant as a gesture of reconciliation, there was no reason not to show a little more tolerance.
"So, get acquainted with the new cookie jar. It'll be much better than that."
Bjorn gazed with a vacant gaze at his rival, the old tin can. The snowman, adorned with relics from the past, still wore an innocent smile today.
“At best, it only protects your money, but a new cookie jar can even increase the amount of money you protect.”
“Does the money increase?”
Erna's eyes widened at the lighthearted joke.
“Will it grow if I just leave it alone? Really?”
The enemy, seemingly unaware of the interest, looked at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. At this point, Bjorn began to seriously wonder about his wife's hometown. What kind of countryside could possibly raise such a savage lady?
With a soft sigh, Bjorn explained savings and interest in a calm tone. The sheer absurdity of it all actually calmed him down. His wife, who, despite being completely ignorant, was diligent in everything she did, listened intently, her eyes sparkling. Finally, when she finally grasped the concept of interest, her expression became so excited that he thought he should hang a bankbook by her bed.
“Thank you, Bjorn. I will treasure it.”
Erna put her bankbook into the cookie jar with a brighter smile than ever before. She still didn't seem inclined to throw it away.
"Use the safe. How long do you plan on holding on to that piece of junk?"
“It’s a little worn, but it’s precious to me, so I don’t want to throw it away. It was a gift from my grandfather.”
Although she felt awkward, Erna carefully placed the cookie jar on her lap.
"When I was eight, my first birthday after my mother passed away, my grandfather bought it for me. He said he wanted me to smile like this. To commemorate that promise, we built a snowman together. It looked like this."
Erna smiled, stroking the crumpled tin lid, just like the snowman beneath her hand.
"It's a very precious memory to me. The snowman has melted away, and my grandfather is now far away, but this one remains. I want to keep it with me for as long as possible."
Even when talking about painful memories, Erna never lost her smile.
Although it was a sad and foolish wish, Bjorn could not bring himself to order her to abandon it, so he nodded and accepted his wife's wishes.
Eight years old.
The words lingered in his ears, leaving a lasting impression. He already knew that Viscount Hardy's ex-wife had died young, but hearing Erna's age after losing her mother brought that truth home to him.
Abandoned by her father at the age of five, she lost her mother before she turned eight, and grew up in poverty in her maternal grandparents' home. It was quite a strange life, in retrospect. Perhaps she didn't seem to notice it because she always had a carefree smile.
"Right. But Bjorn, isn't it time to leave? You said you were meeting the directors at the bank."
Erna looked at her watch and asked urgently.
“I’m just going to quit.”
Bjorn leaned back against the cushion of the chair as if he was satisfied with it.
“What does that mean?”
“I feel like even if I just stay still, you will work hard to make flowers and feed me.”
"No."
Erna shook her head firmly and stood up from the sofa.
“Go quickly and work hard so I can earn a lot of interest.”
Bjorn, who was looking at his wife, who was revealing her ambition with an innocent face, laughed out loud.
“Go ahead. Hurry up.”
Bjorn, blinded by interest, finally got up, overcome by his wife's urging. As always, Erna escorted him to the mansion's entrance, where a carriage awaited him.
“Have a nice trip.”
Beyond the closed carriage door, an innocent yet greedy fawn waved softly. Just as he was thinking, "The next time I'm going to do something naughty, I can just whisper a little something to her," the carriage began to move.
Bjorn leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window at the flowing scenery. It was just that, and he couldn't help but chuckle. The spring flowers in full bloom reminded him of Erna.
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