From Scratch

by Gail Anderson-Dargatz

  “I couldn’t afford to pay you.”

  The oven beeped as it reached the right temperature. Murray slid the cookie sheet into the oven. “Pay me in cookie dough,” he said as he closed the door. “Say, a three-month supply.”

  “That isn’t enough.”

  “It’s more than enough. And it would give me an excuse to see you again.”

  I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe you don’t need an excuse,” I said. Then I looked down, shocked at my own boldness. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to say that before.

  “Maybe I don’t.” Murray took my hand again. “And maybe we don’t have to be scared of each other anymore.” He grinned.

  I looked down at his big hand holding mine. “You know, I can’t imagine you being scared of anything,” I said. “Especially me. You’re so capable. You built this beautiful home and your own business.”

  “It has been a very long time since I asked a woman out. I wasn’t sure you would say yes. Taking a risk is always hard.” He looked around at the house, at the antiques scattered on a second work table in the next room. “The same was true of my business. I wasn’t sure at first if I could make a go of it. It took a long time for me to work up the courage to leave my job and start my own business.”

  I squeezed his hand, then let go and sat back, thinking of all the work ahead of me. “There are so many things to do, so many steps to go through,” I said. “Now I have to visit government offices for licenses and permits. And I have to buy insurance and register my business name too. I hadn’t thought of that until you told me.”

  “There is a lot to think about,” said Murray. “But you can tackle it by making a list and checking things off one by one. For the business license, you go to the town office and fill in a form. You talk to the local health inspector for the permit. I can help you with that, if you like.”

  “It would be so much easier to give up my dream of owning a bakery and work for someone else.”

  “I know exactly what you’re going through,” Murray said. “I knew a lot about antiques. I collected them for years. But what did I know about running an online business? I made mistakes along the way. But I took a chance and walked through the steps it took to reach my goal. In the end, I made this business work.”

  “I just hope I can do the same,” I said.

  Murray stood and kissed me on the cheek. “I know you can,” he said. He opened the oven, and the sweet smell of my baking cookies filled the room. In that moment, I believed he was right.

  Nine

  Katie and I carried several buckets of cookie dough into my classroom to show the students. I also brought samples of each kind of cookie dough I hoped to sell, baked into fresh cookies.

  “What’s all this?” my teacher asked, smiling. The other students crowded around to try the cookies.

  “Katie and I started a business,” I said.

  “Cookie’s Dough,” Katie announced.

  “What do you think?” I asked my classmates.

  They all grinned and gave me the thumbs-up as they ate the cookies. Several students took seconds.

  “My kids will love these,” one of the students said. “I never have time to mix up cookie dough myself. I’ll take a bucket.”

  “Me too,” said another.

  Soon I had sold all the buckets of dough I had brought. Katie collected the cash and wrote down the amount. I knew from working for Diana, and from my class, how important it was to keep good records. I needed to know how much I was making and how much I was spending on supplies. I would need to account for everything when I did my taxes.

  “I’ll buy some as well,” said my teacher.

  “I hope you don’t mind my bringing the cookie dough in,” I said. “I wanted to see what people thought of it and if it would sell. Katie thought the college was a good place to start.”

  “I think it’s a great idea.” She finished her cookie. “How are you going to market the cookie dough?”

  “I have a website. Murray calls it my online storefront.”

  “Murray?” my teacher asked.

  “He made the website for me,” I said.

  “Murray is Mom’s boyfriend,” Katie said.

  I smiled shyly at that. Dating Murray was all so new and thrilling. “We’re hoping to sell through word of mouth,” I said. “We’re handing out samples at the farmers’ market. We’ll also try restaurants and grocery stores around town. I’m hoping if people get a taste of these cookies, they’ll want to buy more.”

  Heather took another bite of her cookie. “Then let’s help you get the word out,” she said. “Class,” she called out. “Eva has given us the perfect opportunity to learn about advertising. We’re going to come up with a marketing plan for her business, Cookie’s Dough. Let’s help her promote her cookies.”

  To start, Heather asked me to show the class my website. Murray had done a terrific job. There were pictures of me and Katie baking and close-up photos of cookies. The website had a description of the cookie dough we sold. It also had my email address and cell-phone number on it so customers could place orders any time.

  Then I showed the class the social-media accounts Katie had set up for our business. Katie had posted photos of cookies and information on how to buy our cookies.

  “Let’s help Eva by liking or following her business on her social-media sites. Tell others how good her cookies are! Who’s willing to offer a review of her cookies?”

  Everyone was, as it turned out. They all loved my cookies. The other students in my class recommended my cookies and dough to their friends on their social-media sites. Katie had been right to urge me to bring samples into class. The cookies sold themselves. I was sure now that if I took samples of my dough and cookies into local stores and restaurants, I could sell them there as well.

  Ten

  A year later, I found myself back at the old bakery location in the strip mall. But this time, the bakery was mine. The walls were freshly painted and covered with big, colorful photos of cookies. Outside, a sign over the door read Cookie’s Bakery. And beside that, a banner announced Grand Opening!

  Inside, Katie and Diana served customers at the counter. Diana worked for me now that her knee was healed. Retired, she found she could use the extra cash. More, she missed the bakery and her old customers. She would work a day or two a week in the bakery.

  Heather and my former classmates had arrived as a group to help me celebrate the opening of my bakery. They were now placing their orders with Katie and Diana. After I greeted them all, Murray took my hand and led me to the door.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “I have customers to serve.”

  “Katie and Diana can handle things for now. You’ve been so busy the last few months. Take a moment to absorb what you’ve done.”

  Together we stepped out into the crisp fall air to admire the bakery-café. “You made this happen,” Murray said. “That’s got to feel good.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do this by myself,” I said. “You and so many other people helped me.” I nodded at Katie and my friends in the bakery. “I couldn’t have done this without you all.”

  “Isn’t it amazing what you can do when you’re willing to take a chance?”

  “And when you have a plan,” I said. My teacher, Heather, was right. Creating a business plan was the first step to starting any business. Once I had my business plan—my “recipe” for making a business—then it was just a matter of following that recipe step by step.

  “I wonder where I would be now if I hadn’t risked starting my own business,” I said. “Likely still working at the donut shop in town, barely making ends meet.”

  “And the people living here would have no place to get together,” Murray said. “You’ve given this community a gathering place.”

  Heather beckoned at me through the window to join my old classmates. Today I would celebrate all
my hard work. I breathed in deeply, smelling the freshly baked cookies. Then, together with Murray, I stepped back inside.

  Cookie’s Oatmeal Doily Cookies

  Doily cookies are also called lace or lacy cookies.

  1 cup butter, left out to warm until it’s soft

  2 cups brown sugar, packed into the measuring cup

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  2 cups old fashioned rolled oats

  ¼ cup flour

  pinch of salt

  Use an electric mixer to blend the butter and sugar together in a bowl. Stir the vanilla into the mixture.

  In another bowl, spoon together the rolled oats, flour and salt. Slowly add the oatmeal mixture to the butter and sugar, stirring as you go.

  Chill the cookie dough in the fridge for an hour.

  Remove the dough from the fridge, and heat the oven to 350º F.

  Place a sheet of parchment paper on a baking sheet. Roll teaspoons of the dough into balls and place them on the parchment paper, leaving lots of room between balls. Press each ball flat. For added flavor, sprinkle each cookie with brown sugar before baking.

  Pop the cookies into the oven and bake for about 10 minutes. But watch the cookies as they bake. They burn easily.

  When the cookies are golden brown, take them out of the oven. Leave them on the baking sheet for a couple of minutes. Then put them onto a plate to cool fully. The cookies are so thin, they break easily, so be careful as you take them off the baking sheet.

  For an added treat, serve the cookies with ice cream.

  PREVIEW OF NO RETURN ADDRESS BY GAIL ANDERSON-DARGARTZ

  That Saturday morning I woke feeling sad but didn’t know why. The sun was shining. The lilac bushes in my front yard were in bloom. It was one of those June mornings that usually put a spring in my step. But this day my sadness deepened as the morning wore on.

  I tried to shake the feeling by walking down to the village. I took in the cloudless blue sky over the mountains and breathed in the scent of the wild roses that grew along the rural road. But that didn’t help. By the time I reached the post office I felt real grief.

  I must have looked sad too. As I pushed through the door the postmistress asked, “You okay, Rhonda? Something wrong?”

  “I’m fine,” I told Susan. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

  I dodged more questions by opening my mailbox. Then I sorted my mail at the small counter, putting most of it in the recycling bin. Other than bills and advertising flyers, I didn’t get much mail any more. People sent emails instead, of course.

  My mother used to send me letters though, even after I moved to this lakeside village where she lived. She said emails were impersonal, just words on a screen. Handwritten letters, on the other hand, were a gift. I didn’t understand why she kept sending me letters when I lived just up the road. But now that Mom had passed away, I missed getting them.

  As I thought of my mother’s letters, I finally figured out why I felt so sad. It had been exactly one year since my mother died. My eyes stung as a new wave of grief washed over me. But I didn’t want to cry in front of the postmistress. I wiped my eyes and tried to focus on sorting my mail.

  Then I came across a delivery notice card. A package had arrived in the mail for me. That was strange. I hadn’t ordered anything online.

  My birthday wasn’t until fall so I knew the parcel wasn’t from my aunt. Every September my mother’s sister, Auntie Lisa, sends me a small gift by mail, even though she lives in the area. My brother Doug also has a house close by, but I hadn’t seen him since Mom’s funeral. Mom had been the one to bring our family together, for Sunday dinner at her condo.

  I handed the delivery notice card to the postmistress. Susan paused as she took it. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I just realized it’s one year today since my mother died.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Susan squeezed my hand. “I loved your mom! Meg was such a dear woman. We visited here just about every day.”

  In her final years, my mom had lived in a condo only a couple of blocks from the post office. After my marriage ended, I rented my house just up the road from her. I was glad I did. Mom often took care of my son when he was too young to stay at home alone. And when Mom got the news from her doctor that she had breast cancer, I was there to help her out. As I thought of those final years with my mother, I started to tear up again.

  “You and your mom were very close, weren’t you?” Susan asked me.

  I nodded. “She was always there for me,” I said.

  “I know you were a big help to her when she was sick.”

  “She helped me through a rough time too,” I said.

  “Your divorce?”

  I hesitated before answering. I imagined my mother had told Susan about that. Mom wasn’t always discreet. She sometimes told strangers, like Susan, about my life. Mom had also stuck her nose in my business, giving me advice even though I was a grown woman. But after her death, I would have given anything to have one last chat with her. I often wished for her guidance now, especially her tips on parenting my son Cody.

  “I don’t know how I would have gotten through my divorce without her,” I said. “She took care of Cody when I needed to deal with—” I stopped there. Now I was giving Susan too much information. I could see why my mother had befriended Susan, though. She was easy to talk to.

  Susan waited a moment to see if I would continue. When I didn’t, she waved the delivery notice card. “I’ll get your package,” she said.

  I took off my glasses and wiped my eyes as I waited. I was glad I was the only person in the post office. It had been a year since my mother’s death. Why was I crying now?

  “Here you go,” said Susan. She set a small box on the counter in front of me.

  “This can’t be right,” I said.

  “Wrong address?” Susan asked.

  “No, it’s addressed to me. But this package is from my mother.”

  “That’s impossible. Like you said, Meg has been gone a year.” Susan peered at the box. “And why do you think it’s from her? There’s no return address.”

  I ran a finger along my own address written on the brown wrapping. “I would know my mother’s handwriting anywhere,” I said. I looked up at Susan. “Did she send this before her death? Could this package have been lost in the mail for that long?”

  Susan scratched her head. “I suppose. Stranger things have happened. I once read about a letter that was delivered forty-five years after it was sent.” She took a close look at the postmark. “But your package was mailed this week.”

  I felt a shock run through me. Could my mother have sent this parcel? Was she still alive? I shook my head at the foolish idea. When my mother passed away, I was right there holding her hand. “I don’t understand,” I said. “Who sent this?”

  Susan shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to open it to find out.” She looked down at the box as if she wanted to find out too.

  While I liked Susan, I didn’t know her that well. I wasn’t about to open the package in front of her. Who knew what was inside?

  Still, I couldn’t wait until I got home. I carried the box back to the counter by the mailboxes. There I used my keys to rip the tape on the box. I tore off the brown paper wrapper and opened the flaps. “Oh!” I cried, because I couldn’t believe what I found inside.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to Mitch Krupp for helping me build my own home-based business and to Carmen Burt for answering my questions on administrative-assistant courses. My thanks also goes to my editor, Ruth Linka, and to Orca Book Publishers for their commitment to literacy through the Rapid Reads program. I’m proud to be a Rapid Reads author.

  While the oatmeal doily cookie recipe at the end of the novel is my own, based on cookies my mother made, I also found inspiration from the lacy oatmeal cookie recipe found in The New Basics
Cookbook by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins (Workman Publishing, New York) and from Maria Gray’s YouTube video titled “Oatmeal Lace Cookies.” I hope you enjoy making your own.

  Author’s Note

  This short novel is intended to give the adult literacy learner a general sense of the steps involved in starting a small business. For specifics, a good starting place is the Canada Business Network (www.canadabusiness.ca) and the Community Futures Network of Canada (www.communityfuturescanada.ca). Also useful to me as I wrote this book was the guide Start & Run A Home-Based Food Business, by Mimi Shotland Fix (Self-Counsel Press, Vancouver). If this fiction writer can start a small business, you can too.

  By the age of eighteen, GAIL ANDERSON-DARGATZ knew she wanted to write about women in rural settings. Today Gail is the author of several bestselling novels: The Cure for Death by Lightning, A Recipe for Bees, A Rhinestone Button, Turtle Valley and The Spawning Grounds. She has also written several short novels, like this one. Gail teaches other authors how to write fiction and divides her time between the Shuswap region of British Columbia and Manitoulin Island in Ontario. For more information, visit www.gailanderson-dargatz.ca or follow @AndersonDargatz.