All but three bottles.
He saved those for Mama.
Mama’s cakes were deceptively simple. Flour, spices, fresh cream, and three eggs each. No nuts or chocolate or sugared icing. She never added anything to take away from the true star of the dessert—Papa’s honey.
As the story went, shortly after they were married, Mama brought her first honey cake to a church social, and all the women in town nearly stampeded her to get the recipe. But no one could ever correctly replicate it—even using the precious honey they’d bought from Papa. When people demanded to know how to achieve the impossibly thin and moist layers or the perfectly caramelized tang, Mama would smile mysteriously and say it was just a pinch of love.
Some claimed it was more like a touch of magic. Even Parson Briard—after his wife had made a particularly disastrous cake—said Mama must have been blessed by the angels of Heaven. There was no other way to account for it.
I’d watched her make them for years, studying every step—down to the way her fingertips danced across the rolling pin—but I’d never been able to make an exact match. Maybe Mama did have a bit of magic in her.
“Tell me all about it,” she said, scattering another scoopful of flour across the table before starting on the next round of dough.
I toyed with a hangnail, worrying it back and forth till it broke free. I didn’t know what to say. Samuel and Papa had left while Mama had been tending to Molly. She hadn’t heard who my brother had been sneaking off to see all summer, and as mad as I was at him, it wasn’t my story to tell.
“You’re worried about Sam,” she guessed, and it felt impossible to disagree. “And your father.”
We’d watched the brushfires burn late into the night, shimmering through the trees. She hadn’t said so, but I knew that Mama had thought they’d return yesterday.
“Do you…do you ever wonder what life is like outside of the Falls?” The question bubbled up from deep within, surprising me.
“Out of the valley?” Mama asked. I nodded. “I can’t say it’s never crossed my mind. Especially when I was around your age. I wanted to go off and see so much more of the world. See a big city skyline. Buy a fancy dress and have tea in a proper restaurant.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She raised her shoulders. “Other dreams became more important.”
“Papa?”
“And you. Your brother. Our home here.” She paused, rolling the dough between her hands thoughtfully. “Your father left the Falls once.”
“When Uncle Ezra went missing.” I knew the story well.
My father’s younger brother, Ezra, had gone hunting by himself one summer, venturing out past the Bells. He’d never returned. Townsfolk had searched for him for over a week before giving up.
“Gideon wouldn’t let it rest. He said he knew Ezra was still alive, out there someplace. He went over the pass, looking for him in nearby towns, even going into the city.”
“But he didn’t find him,” I concluded. We grew up with tales of Ezra and his adventurous spirit, spoken in hushed tones.
“Your father still thinks Ezra’s out there, that he’ll come back one day. As big and wide and wondrous as the world can be, everyone eventually wants to come home.”
Before I could answer, telling her how much I wanted to leave, how much I wanted to find my place in that wide and wondrous world, Sadie’s tabby cat flew out from nowhere and landed on the table with a hiss.
“Sadie, how many times have I told you to keep Buttons out of the house while I’m baking?” Mama cried, hollering loud enough for my sister to hear her in the barn.
We saw her small silhouette race by the windows. Her footsteps clattered across the porch’s splintered planks, further aggravating the cat. “Sorry, sorry!” she exclaimed, bursting into the kitchen. “We took him to the barn, but he got scared.”
“Can’t imagine anything horrible enough to scare that monster,” I said, jumping back as he swiped at me, claws bared like tiny knives.
Sadie had found him when he was a kitten, no more than a few days old. He’d been trapped in a bag near the creek that ran behind Papa’s hives. She wasn’t supposed to play near the boxes, but she claimed to have heard crying. We all assumed he’d die before the day was over, but Sadie fed him drops of milk every hour and cuddled him close at night. He was well and truly her cat, despising the rest of us. Papa said he had no use for an animal so full of hate, but Buttons had proved to be an excellent mouser so was allowed to stay.
“I think he saw that thing with the silver eyes,” Sadie started as Merry came in, arms weighed down with two pails of milk. She let the screen door crash shut. It spooked Buttons, who leapt off the table with a miserable yowl. “Trinity says she sees them outside her window at night. I think that’s what Buttons saw too.”
“Bessie kicked at him,” Merry corrected Sadie, her eyes wandering over the cooling racks, looking for an easy snack to grab. “That beast tried swiping at her ankles, poor cow.”
“My sweet, practical girl,” Mama said, cupping Merry’s chin and giving her cheek a fond pinch. Mama turned to Sadie. “Don’t pay any attention to Trinity Brewster’s stories. That girl has a penchant for the dramatic.”
Sadie made a noise of agreement. “It’s true. She couldn’t even pick up three jacks today.”
“It is strange, though, don’t you think?” I asked, scattering fresh flour onto the table as Mama grabbed the basket of brown eggs, preparing to make another batch. “The Lathetons mentioned something with silver eyes too. Why would so many people imagine seeing the same thing?”
Mama’s voice was full of sage authority. “It’s a small-town problem. In the big cities, with so much going on, people have more to talk about. But here, everyone knows what everyone says—sometimes only minutes after it’s been said. We can’t talk about the things we really want to, so people invent other things to discuss. It’s easier to have a problem with something out in the pines than with the person who lives next door.”
“Like Mr. Danforth?” Sadie asked, plopping onto one of the stools. Buttons lay in her arms, purring contentedly and looking for all the world like a sweet cat. I swear he smirked at me when our eyes met.
“Like Mr. Danforth,” Mama agreed, sifting flour and yeast into the bowl.
“Wilhelmina Jenkins says that Sam is going to marry Rebecca Danforth. She said she saw them kissing down by the lake last week.” Sadie’s legs swung back and forth. “Do you think Mr. Danforth would interrupt the ceremony?”