Page 13 of The Sweetest Season
“Yes, ma’am?”Ivy asked.“Do you have an errand for me?”
“Indeed,” Beatrice said, handing her a list.“These are the names of several fruit vendors with stalls on Market Street.Will you go to each of them and inquire about their prices for apples, plums, and pears, and how much they may discount the price should I buy in large quantities?I’ve written down how many pounds of each fruit we used over this past summer and fall.I expect that should be similar to next year when I will buy from them.”
Ivy looked puzzled.“But, ma’am…you already know what vendors you buy from.”
“And after our discussion with Mr Marley and Mr Forrest, it occurred to me that some of them are based in New Jersey, possibly selling fruit grown on plantations run with slave labor,” Beatrice said.“How can I know if the fruit is harvested by free people or slaves?The vendors on this list are all in Pennsylvania, which gives me more assurance that I am not accidentally supporting a position I despise.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ivy said, blinking.
“And I must apologize to you, Ivy.”
“For what, ma’am?”
“My ignorance.Mr Marley was correct to reprimand me for my failure to become acquainted with all the laws of my new home.It never even occurred to me to think about the source of my ingredients.I concentrated only on getting the best produce for the best price.I thought that, as a businesswoman, that was my sole metric.”
“Oh, you’ve been in America barely a year.And in England, slavery is already abolished.”
“So?We are not in England.My ignorance ends now.I’ve always wished to sell things that are delicious to eat.But I now realize that I must pay more attention to every aspect of production, starting with where my ingredients come from.”
“You will create more work for yourself.And you already work too much.”
“That is my choice,” Bea said, secretly wondering if Noel and Ivy had discussed her work schedule between themselves.“And now that you mention it, this is an opportunity to bring in new items to the shop—savory pastries and breads that will not require sugar at all.”
“It’s called Holliday’s Confections,” Ivy pointed out.“Customers come for the sweets.”
“Then perhaps the city needs Shepherd’s Bakery.”Bea smiled.“I know you love bread best.”
“Someday,” Ivy sighed.
As December progressed and the shop continued to be busier than ever, Mr Forrest continued to order from her.With every order, he’d request a particular ingredient.Thanks to his swift recovery and return to health, he now came in person, at the close of the day, just when Ivy was about to lock the door to the shop.And yes, there was something scandalous about the way Noel lingered after Ivy left for her now-daily walk with Emmanuel.Beatrice was an unmarried woman, unchaperoned with a man.But Lord, she was twenty-eight!And no one particularly cared what Miss Beatrice Holliday did with her life.Her reputation was tied to her tortes, not her personal conduct.
Noel didn’t overstay his welcome either.In fact, she wished he’d stay a bit longer.He looked healthier each time, though she felt too shy to tell him such a personal observation—mostly because that would reveal how much she noticed his appearance, and his transformation from almost frail to, well, distractingly fit.
Each time, he brought a loosely wrapped painting or pastel sketch to show the progress he’d made, and ask her to suggest a color or object to work on for the next time.He always offered the canvas to her, but Beatrice refused each time.“I can’t keep your work!You pay me for the food I make, but I haven’t the income to pay for art.”
“It’s a gift, then,” he said.“It’s not as if I’d sell them elsewhere.”
But Beatrice remained adamant.The only painting she kept was the tiny picture of the sliced lemon, which she looked at every day.
She did, however, work hard to prepare something new, based on each of Noel’s challenges.These treats were nothing she sold in the shop—they were experiments born solely from his suggestions, and tasted only by Beatrice and Noel, alone in the back of the shop.
That was how she discovered how a lively orange flavor could meld with the subtleness of lavender, and why a coffee-soaked cake benefited from a thin, almost hard-crack burnt sugar glaze.
One evening, Noel’s eyes slid closed as he put a forkful of cake in his mouth.He let out a sound that was almost a moan.
Beatrice smiled at his reaction, very pleased she could evoke such pleasure.
“You should sell this,” Noel said after several bites.“Only this.You don’t need to sell anything else.”
She laughed softly.“It’s a terrible candidate for a shop product.It must be assembled just before serving, or the cake will dry out and the glaze will turn soggy.”
“So I’m the only one who benefits?”
“You are, Noel.”
“I like it when you say my name.”He put his fork down.“Come over here.You should be eating this too.”
“I know what it tastes like.I taste all the ingredients at every stage.”Hence her full figure.
