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Chapter 53
The sweet smell of cooking blackberries wafts in my face as I stir the fruit over the stove to make jam. Helena places the proofed dough loaf in the oven, and we function seamlessly, chatting through our work. "Do you think they will like jam? I hope they aren't picky."
"Children are picky, but they will grow out of it. You know, my daughter was a very picky eater at first, so I would eat the food she feared and act as if it was the most wondrous tasting thing. She would see my reaction and immediately want to taste it. Most of the time, she would act the same way—smiling and saying yum-my. She was a precious little thing."
"I can't wait," I say.
Helena comes to my side. "Here, dear. Let me take over. Sit down for a bit, won't you?"
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