“Darling, Grace needs to talk with us,” Grandma called to him.
“Hey-ya, Grace!” he said, turning around and smiling at me. “You’re up and at ’em early today.”
I poured out my woes about Mrs. Eaton’s news, the huge fees we faced licensing our home baking business, and how Bonbon would be banned forever from the kitchen. “Can you imagine that?” I said. “I mean, I wouldn’t even be able to bring Bonbon through the kitchen to let her out in the backyard.”
“You’re a business owner now, Grace,” Grandma sympathized. “You have to follow the rules.”
It was a compliment to have my business taken seriously, but that didn’t make the rules any less frustrating. “Thanks…I guess,” I mumbled.
“Running a business is a big responsibility, Grace,” Grandpa added. “Not only do you have to follow health-department rules, but you need to try to be responsible in other ways, too. For instance, in the early days of industry, folks didn’t think much about their trash, and that led to pollution. It took the past few decades and lots of work to clean up the Blackstone River. So all business owners need to follow environmental rules now, too.” He pointed toward the recycling bins and the stacks of flattened boxes near the back door. “That’s why we separate our trash and recycle all that we can.”
I nodded at Grandpa’s words, but inside, I was struggling. It was funny to think that the small baking business my friends and I had started might need to follow some of the same rules as this big kitchen. I gazed at the long counters, wide sinks, large mixers, and well-worn baking equipment, and I sighed. “I just wish my friends and I had a real bakery kitchen like this one to use instead of one of our parents’ kitchens.”
And then a big and really great idea struck.
“Um, I need to ask you two a serious question,” I whispered.
“We’re all ears,” Grandpa said.
I inhaled, looked Grandma and Grandpa in the eyes, and asked, “Is there any possible way that we could use your kitchen—I mean during afternoons and evenings, when you’re not as busy? We have lots of new orders coming in, and pretty soon we might not have a place to bake. Could La Petite Pâtisserie work here?”
“Goodness,” Grandma said, looking around the kitchen as if with new eyes.
My words came out in a rush then. I explained that Maddy and Ella and I could come here after school, pull out our recipes and supplies, and fill our orders.
Grandma and Grandpa listened but said nothing.
“Plus,” I said, as if adding a big bonus to my argument, “Mom could have her kitchen back. And she really needs that. It could all work out!” I gave my grandparents my most confident smile and waited for them to respond.
My stomach twisted as I wondered what they would say.
Grandma and Grandpa shared a conversation through their eyes.
My heart beat faster.
“Oh, I just don’t know.” Grandma gave a slow shake of her head. “First, we’d have to look into guidelines regarding a shared business. And second—” She looked at Grandpa for a long time without saying anything. “Well,” she finally said. “Sharing this bakery kitchen just isn’t a simple decision right now.”
My heart started to sink, but I buoyed it back up. “Grandma, I promise we wouldn’t be any trouble. We’d be really careful, and we’d clean up after ourselves, and we’d all be very, very, very responsible.”
She kissed the top of my head. “I know you’d do your best, Grace. You always do.”
“Tell you what,” Grandpa said. “We’ll look into it—see if it’s something we can try, at least for a while. In the meantime, you girls will need to find an adult who could be here with you after hours, when we’ve gone home.”
An adult who would be with us every moment? It was one thing to have Mom and Dad on call at home if we needed them, but another to have an adult who would stay with us the whole time we were working. That kind of person would be hard to find.
But then I thought of another possibility. “How about Josh?” I suggested.
Grandpa shook his head. “Josh is only fourteen. It’s gotta be an adult. No exceptions.” He turned to the loaves, loosened them from their pans, and set them to cool on a wire rack.
“How about Mom?” I asked, but even as I said it, I knew the answer.
Grandma smiled. “Grace, your mother is not your Aunt Sophie. She’s spent her life trying to get away from the bakery business. It’s just not her thing. Plus she has her hands full teaching, don’t you agree?”
I nodded. My mind was spinning, trying to come up with a solution. “Dad doesn’t get home until after five,” I said, thinking aloud. “That’s just not early enough to help us out here on weekdays. And he’s always doing projects around the house on the weekends, so I don’t think he’d have time to help us.” My hope began to dwindle.
When the bakery’s entry door chimed, Grandma said, “Well, you keep thinking about it, Grace.” Then she left to help a customer.
“I will,” I said. I glanced at the kitchen clock above the sinks. It was almost nine. “I have to run, Grandpa. My friends and I have orders to fill, and we start in a few minutes.”
“Proud of you, Grace,” Grandpa said as I gave him a hug good-bye. “I know you’re in a hurry, but you haven’t branded a loaf in a long time. Maybe that would help you feel better.” He nodded toward a rack filled with rising loaves of bread. I knew exactly what he meant, and suddenly my spirits rose, too.
I washed my hands, sprinkled flour lightly on the counter, and grabbed a small chunk of dough from the mixer. Then I quickly rolled out a small ball, used a knife to cut out the letter G, and carefully added it to the top of a round loaf of bread. When the bread came out of the oven, my letter would be part of it, branding it as my own.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I said with a smile. “This way I’ll be sure to get my very own loaf.” Somehow, working with the dough had cheered me up. “Now I’ve got to get back to my business.”
“Thatta girl,” he said and waved me off. “Better get going!”
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by American Girl or Scholastic Inc.
Illustrations by Sarah Davis
Author photo credit: James Hanson
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First printing 2015
e-ISBN 978-1-338-19715-0
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Grace Stirs It Up Page 12