The City Baker's Guide to Country Living

by Louise Miller

  “I was thinking of e-mailing him as soon as he lands in Helsinki.”

  The oven timer went off in the kitchen. From around the corner I could hear the splatter of bubbling pie filling hitting the cookie sheet. The room was heavily scented with browning butter and caramelized sugar. I had finished my work for Richard, but I had told Hannah I was still working on the pies and tarts chapter. She didn’t seem to notice that every pie I made was apple.

  When I returned, Hannah was sitting upright with her legs dangling over the side of the bed.

  “Do you need help?” I asked, assuming she was on her way to the bathroom.

  “I think my water just broke.”

  I stopped in the middle of the room. “Are you sure? What do we do? Should I call an ambulance? Boil water? Tear up sheets?”

  Hannah laughed. “No to all of those things. I’m not even in labor, at least I don’t think so.” She scooted off the bed. “Jonathan is at the hospital anyway. Let’s go over and find him. Help me get dressed.”

  • • •

  The television in the waiting room of the maternity ward was set to a marathon of The Bachelor, which I thought was an odd choice, but by the time Jonathan came out of the delivery room, blurry-eyed and happy, I had watched the whole first season.

  “Everybody okay?” I asked, but you could see from the joy in his face that mother and babies were just fine.

  To my surprise, Jonathan wrapped me in a bear hug. “Thank you for being here for us, Livvy. You’ve been a great friend.” I wanted to make a joke about how this was the first time we had ever touched, but instead I burst into tears. Once I had entered into my second trimester, I had become a serious weeper. When Jonathan pulled away I could see that he was crying too. “Come see my sons.”

  Hannah looked exhausted but serene, a white-capped, swaddled bundle in each arm.

  “Hey there, babies,” I said, rubbing a freshly sanitized finger across one of the twin’s cheeks. “They’re so little.”

  Jonathan sat next to Hannah, and a nurse placed one of his sons in his arms. The baby’s mouth stretched into a yawn.

  “You holding up okay?” I asked Hannah. “Did the drugs work?” I was terrified of giving birth. Hell, I was terrified of the whole thing, from birth through high school diploma. Hannah looked so natural holding the babies, as if she were a nurse or a midwife. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever look like that.

  Hannah beamed up at me. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “They really are, Hann.”

  Another nurse came in and checked Hannah’s chart. “Mom needs her rest now.”

  “Can I do anything before I go?” I asked, buttoning up my sweater.

  Hannah shook her head, not taking her eyes off the babies.

  “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  I lingered by the door for a moment watching Hannah and Jonathan, gazing down at their sons, laughing quietly about some little expression one of the boys made. I wanted my baby to know that closeness too. And I knew I had some decisions to make.

  • • •

  It was two in the morning when I left the hospital, but by the time I got back to Hannah’s house I felt wired. I swung by the house to pick up Salty and hopped back into the car.

  The inn’s windows were dark, but I drove around and parked in the back. There was still a light on in the kitchen. I let myself in the back door, the way I had so many times before. Margaret was sitting in one of the rocking chairs, a paperback half read in her hand.

  “Miss Rawlings,” she said, as if she expected me. I set the pie on the counter and sat down in the rocker beside her. “You’re looking well,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I rocked back, not sure if she was being nice or sarcastic. “I brought you something.”

  “All the way from Boston?”

  “Just from Hannah’s. I’ve been here for a while, helping. She had the babies tonight. Two boys.” I jutted my chin over toward the counter. “It’s a pie.”

  Margaret walked over to the counter and opened the Tupperware bin I had stored the pie in. “Everyone doing well, I expect.”

  “Yeah. They’re super cute. You’ll have to come by when she’s back from the hospital.”

  Margaret handed me a plate and fork along with a napkin and a glass of water. She settled back into her chair and took a dainty bite.

  I studied her as she chewed, looking for a reaction. She really did have the best poker face.

  “Now that the babies have arrived, will you be staying long?”

  “Indefinitely.” I stopped rocking and leaned forward. “Listen, I came by because I wanted to apologize. I’ve felt terrible about the way I left here. It wasn’t fair to you.”

  “I understood why you were upset,” she said carefully, “but many people before you have weathered more embarrassment than a broken heart.” I wondered if she was speaking from experience. “You didn’t need to leave.”

  I carefully unfolded the napkin and lay it across my lap. “Leaving just always seems like the best option.”

  “The world is full of heartbreak, Miss Rawlings. Might be a good idea to try something different next time.” Margaret took another bite of the pie, chewing it slowly. “It’s going to be fairly crowded over there when the babies come home.”

  “Tell me about it. Mrs. Doyle is coming to stay for the month of June, and Jonathan has hired both a day nurse and a housekeeper to come in.”

  “You know I’m selling the inn, correct?”

  “I do.” I dug my fork into the pointed tip of my pie slice. It sank easily through the crust, down into the tender apple slices. “Are the papers signed?”

  “Not till the end of the summer. They wanted to see how the staff handled a function like the White wedding before they made any final decisions about who stays and who goes. And they want to see the profits, of course.”

  I hated those corporate hospitality groups. Profit was all they really cared about. “And what will you do?”

  “Haven’t decided. Something new.” Margaret scraped the last flake of pastry off the plate with her fork. “I can only guarantee you through the summer, but if you make a good impression, maybe we can get you a contract with the new owners.”

  “Margaret, I didn’t come over here expecting—”

  “Sap’s stopped running, of course, so the cabin’s free.” She pointed at my bulging tunic. “But sooner than later you’ll want to be close to indoor plumbing. You can have the baker’s quarters. The dog can sleep in the living room unless someone complains.”

  My body suddenly felt buoyant, as if I were floating in Lake Willoughby. “If I stay for the summer, do you know what that means?”

  “That you will irritate me for months with these impossible questions?” Margaret collected our plates and brought them over to the sink.

  I rocked myself out of the chair. “No, it means I’ll be here in July. For the contest.” I stood in the middle of the kitchen, beaming. “What did you think of the pie?”

  Margaret brushed her fingers across her pearls just once. “Good. Not as sweet.”

  “Right?” I asked. “I backed way off on the sugar. Now you can taste the sweetness of the fruit itself.” I hugged my shoulders, trying to contain my excitement. “If this ends up being your last baking contest, wouldn’t it be great to go out with a blue?”

  The room was dark, but I swear I saw a hint of a smile cross Margaret’s face. “Good night, Miss Rawlings. Let me know what your plans are so I can alert the staff.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  June

  Vermont in June is like Oz. The mud-caked slush of spring gives way to green fields dotted with yellow dandelions and black and white cows. On the road to the Sugar Maple I rolled down the windows to drink in the aromas of fresh dirt and cut grass. I felt full to bursting, like an overripe tomato, an
d connected to every living thing.

  This was partly due to pregnancy hormones, I’m sure. I had passed into my third trimester with an inexplicable sense of relief. Every part of my life was in transition. It was like the turning of the seasons, when you can feel change hovering beneath the surface. The period between letting go of the old and diving into the new usually makes me restless and prone to terrible decisions, like the time I had a whisk and spatula tattooed on my butt. This time I felt happy to be returning to the inn and my little cabin between the orchard and the forest.

  I don’t know how long I sat in the Sugar Maple parking lot trying to work up the nerve to get out of the car. I had stayed on at Hannah’s for a couple more weeks, wanting to make sure she had everything she needed, and getting a preview of what life was like with a newborn (or two). It was like attending baby boot camp. But when Hannah’s mother-in-law arrived, I knew it was time to go. Once I entered the inn, the news that I was going to be a mom would be all over town by nightfall. I leaned back in my seat, stroking Salty’s fur, wishing I could just take a small nap and wake up after the baby was born.

  Margaret and Alfred appeared in the parking lot. Alfred gaped when I hoisted myself out of the car, but he quickly recovered and grabbed all the heavy boxes of cake-decorating supplies I had ordered from Raphael. Margaret scolded me for spending so much money on a cake wheel but didn’t say a word when Salty waltzed through her flower bed.

  The kitchen was already bustling when I shuffled in, looking for decaf, the day before the wedding. I had filled and frosted the cakes the previous day, but they still needed to be covered in fondant, decorated, and assembled.

  Alfred worked beside me, his long prep table covered with plates on which he artfully placed handfuls of baby arugula. “You know, Livvy, you really shouldn’t have left the Maple Sugaring Festival so early.”

  It was comforting to be back in the kitchen with Alfred. I hadn’t seen him since I had arrived, and I’d been worried that he was avoiding me.

  I rolled out a thin layer of fondant, a healthy dusting of confectioners’ sugar on the table to keep it from sticking. “How come?” I said absently.

  “You missed the talent show,” he said, suppressing a laugh.

  I slid the layer of fondant over one of the cake layers, carefully tucking in the edges so the cake appeared to be completely wrapped in fabric. When the edges were straight and smooth, I pressed a silicone mat with the raised double-wedding-ring quilt pattern into the fondant, then followed the lines of the impression with a spiked embossing wheel so that the fondant looked like it had been stitched.

  “Did I?”

  “They sang ‘Let the Sunshine In,’” he said, a small nest of arugula cradled in his hand. “You know. From Hair?”

  With tweezers I carefully tucked tiny sugar pearls into the spaces where the stitches met. “Oh my God, they weren’t naked, were they?” I dropped the tweezers.

  “Yes, they were. You should have seen the postmistress.”

  “No! Enough! No more visuals!” I said, laughing.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Rawlings,” Margaret said as she walked through the kitchen and into the dining room, the door swinging in her wake.

  “I know about the sale,” I said quietly to Alfred, pressing the rolling pin into a fresh piece of fondant. “Although I still can’t believe she’s selling to anyone connected with Jane. What are you going to do?”

  Alfred’s expression sobered. “I’m hoping to stay, but if they decide to change things up, I’ll find another place. Don’t worry about me.”

  Alfred finished the salads and turned his attention to the stovetop, where he started sautéing something with leeks that made my mouth water. I covered the final layer of the cake. It was time for my least-favorite part: assembly. Each cake layer was already supported by stiff cardboard. I pressed several wide plastic straws through the layers for stability, trimmed them with scissors, then held my breath as I carefully set the chocolate layer on the coconut with passionfruit curd, the lemon-raspberry on top.

  “It’s stunning, Livvy,” Alfred said behind me.

  I turned to face him, smiling. “Now the hard part—getting it into the walk-in.” At the suggestion of motion, the baby flipped over. “Stop squirming.”

  “What’s that? Are you all right?” Alfred looked alarmed. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, rubbing my side. “It’s just the baby. She’s squirmy this morning.”

  “She?”

  “That’s what Margaret said. I’m going with it.”

  Alfred came to stand beside me. “May I?” he asked before he set his hand on my belly. He started when he felt her move. “Wow. She’s strong, like her mother.”

  “Either that or grouchy like her mother,” I mumbled.

  “Livvy,” he said quietly, “I could make an honest woman out of you.”

  “I think it’s a little too late for that,” I said, laughing.

  Alfred removed his hand. He looked hurt.

  “Alfred?” I asked tentatively.

  “I know you probably still have feelings for Martin—it’s Martin’s baby, isn’t it?—but we’re a good team, Liv. And I’ve always wanted children. I’d treat her like she was my own.” Alfred kept his gaze steady. He was serious.

  I grabbed his wrist. “That is pretty much the kindest thing anyone has ever offered me.”

  Alfred’s eyes moved from mine to the floor. “That sounds like a no.”

  “I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I’m going to be a mother. I can’t think about being a wife now. It is marriage you’re talking about, right?”

  “I’m more of a traditional guy than I look,” he said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

  “That’s not a good reason for marriage, Al,” I said softly.

  “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

  Margaret walked back in, her arms full of white lilies, gripping a pile of papers. “Lilies for a wedding,” she scoffed, plopping them down on a table. “It smells like a funeral parlor out there.”

  My stomach roiled. Alfred turned back to the stove, but not before I saw the crestfallen look on his face.

  Margaret came and stood behind me, assessing the cake.

  “All three flavors?” she asked.

  “Three flavors? I thought she wanted all chocolate,” I said, throwing my hands up in mock horror.

  She smacked my hands with the seating chart. “Now, how are we going to move that thing?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Alfred, and effortlessly, he picked up the three-tiered cake and carried it into the walk-in.

  “You could do worse,” I heard Margaret mutter behind me.

  • • •

  The day of the wedding was bright and sunny, as if Jane White had made arrangements with God himself. Puffy clouds dotted a sky so blue it looked spray-painted on. The white tents were set up in the field overlooking the valley below. I spent the morning helping Sarah and Margaret tie white tulle onto the backs of the chairs in the dining area while a team of men laid down the dance floor under the adjacent tent. It was only eleven in the morning but the sun was blazing, and a fine sheet of sweat had formed on my forehead.

  The women of the wedding party were giggling in the sitting room in their matching pink gowns, bouquets of miniature lilies clutched in their hands. They were all in their early twenties, fresh-faced and hopeful. I heard a gasp from the group, then a squeal, followed by a chorus of sighs. I looked at the top of the stairs to see Emily White standing in her wedding gown, white lace dotted with tiny crystals. She looked like a confection. Jane White stood behind her in a suit made of teal silk, a choker of pearls tight at her throat, fussing at the back of Emily’s gown and frowning. She looked down at me, her eyes trailing from my face to my belly. My hand protectively cradled my bump. I turned and scuttled
back into the safety of the kitchen.

  Margaret stood leaning over her checklist and drinking a cup of tea. Alfred was giving directions to a couple of young new dishwashers while Sarah poured iced tea into glass pitchers. There is nothing worse than feeling idle in a busy kitchen. I waddled up to Alfred. “Give me a job. I feel useless and in the way.”

  Alfred’s lips attempted a grin, but his eyes told another story. “Everything is under control here, Livvy. Why don’t you get off those feet for a little while,” he said, tilting his head toward the rocking chairs.

  I did as he said. It actually felt good to sit down. Alfred sang along to Frank Sinatra on the radio as he sliced the fingerling potatoes. Margaret was right. I could do worse, a lot worse. He’d make an excellent, doting father. Husband too. I shook my head. Someone opened the back door, and a warm breeze filtered through the kitchen. I was surprised when Dotty appeared, her gray hair piled high in a loose bun on top of her head. My eyes immediately filled with tears. I pressed my hands into the armrests of the rocking chair and tried to hoist myself up. Dotty made a clucking sound and shook her head. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurted. My cheeks blazed and I began to cry in earnest.

  “I can see that,” Dotty said, laughing. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Kinda,” I said, rubbing at my eyes with my forearm. Dotty dug around in her handbag and handed me a packet of tissues.

  “You’ll be a good mother. I always thought so.”

  I blew my nose loudly into the paper tissue. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” That I’m carrying your grandchild. “I haven’t really known what to do. Did Margaret say anything?”

  Dotty rocked back in her chair. “She mentioned it a couple of days ago. But don’t be cross with her. She was just sparing me hearing it at the grocery store.”

  I leaned back into my chair. “Did she tell you who the father is?” I asked quietly as I watched my feet leave the floor.

  “She didn’t have to.” Dotty reached over and took my hand in hers. “Now,” she said, looking serious. “Martin hasn’t mentioned it. He’s always been a private boy, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have kept this from me.”