âThe Sweet Tooth Bakery is hiring, at least until Christmas. Dottie Stroot told my mother that very thing just a few days ago. Dottie Stroot said sheâs swamped with Christmas orders and canât seem to keep good help.â No surprise there. That woman might be a talented baker, but she held people, including her customers, in disdain.
Maggie brightened, the dimples in her cheeks deepening as her smile grew. âJust through Christmas?â More thoughtfully, she added, âThat would be ideal. Just enough time.â She turned and started for the door.
âMaggie, wait!â
She stopped and spun around.
âWhich paint color should I get?â
She walked back to peer at the paint chips he held up andimmediately pointed to the blue. âOh, definitely that one. No doubt about it. Thatâs the one.â
âYouâre sure?â
âAbsolutely. Itâs the color of a robinâs egg.â
Why, so it was.
âThat awful green is the color of the inside of the schoolhouse.â She shuddered. âWould make me feel like I was right back in jail. Eight long painful years of prison.â School, she meant.
From the door of the hardware store, he watched her skitter across the street to the Sweet Tooth Bakery. Maggie skittered. He couldnât hold back a grin. One thing about Maggie Zookâyou knew what she was thinking. If she didnât come right out and say so, her face would give it away. His attention fixed on his task and he went to get the paint mixed robinâs egg blue for the apartment. To prepare a home for his bride.
Bess Riehl picked up a knife and sliced off a generous width of freshly baked bread. She lathered it with butter and closed her eyes as she chewed the first bite. The bread was still warm from the oven, soft inside with a crisp crust. Was there any taste on earth that beat fresh-baked bread? âOh, Lainey, itâs good.â She took another bite, chewed, swallowed. âItâs better than good. Itâs the best bread youâve ever made.â
Lainey watched Bess as she ate. âYou really think so? Itâs from a sourdough starter I made.â She handed her a crock of strawberry jam. âStarters can be tricky.â
âThe best bread ever. Definitely.â Bess spread the ruby-colored jam to the edge of her bread, expression thoughtful. âDid Dad hear back from Penn State yet?â
From upstairs, the sounds of little girls starting to stirâfour-year-old Christy and two-year-old Lizzieâfloated down to the kitchen.
Lainey cocked an ear, listening, then hurried to finish preparing a breakfast tray for Bessâs father, Jonah, moving slow this morning with a stiff back. âSomeone said they would send a rose rustler to come look at it.â
âI wish I could remember the name of that rose. Mammi loved all her roses, but that one was special to her. I just canât remember why.â
âWell, you were young. The rose rustler will probably be able to figure out what rose it is.â
âRose rustling.â Bess sliced a few more pieces of bread and tucked them under the oven broiler to toast. âSounds like something Mammi would have liked to do, especially if it was illegal.â She kept one eye on the broiler and lunged for the oven with a mitt as soon as the toast was dark but not yet charcoal.
âRustlingâs kind of a funny name for it, because itâs not stealing anything. Just the oppositeâa rose rustler tries to preserve it. He hunts for forgotten old roses that have survived for generations.â Lainey took a mug off the wall hook and poured a cup of coffee to set on the tray. âAnyway, the rose rustler will be here later this morning.â
The calling of the little girls for their mother could no longer be ignored. Bess lifted the tray. âIâll take it up to Dad. You go to the girls.â
Lainey started toward the stairs, then