“At least we know whose pie is whose,” I said to Mistress Hervor.
She smiled at me and grabbed a towel. Using the cloth to insulate her hands, she picked up my pie and passed it over, towel and all. “You be proud of your pie, dearie.”
I smiled back. “Thank you for the baking lesson, Mistress Hervor. I’ll bring your pie pan back tomorrow.”
“I really should get a few more pans for the tavern, but Gerald Powell thinks himself above making tools for the kitchen. He wouldn’t turn down a commission, of course, but after listening to his comments when he comes in every evening, I’m not sure I’d trust him to make anything for my kitchen. As far as I can tell, he’s never seen the inside of one. He probably wouldn’t know what a pie pan should even look like.”
I lifted my pie higher. “Who made this one, then?”
“Oh, that is from my mother’s time, and the old smith made the other one. I meant to ask him for another, but didn’t get around to it before the fever took him.”
“Why not ask Alan to make it?” I wondered at the words, even as I said them. Why would she ask Alan? I felt like I had a reason to ask the question, but the reason eluded me, now that the words were out.
“I’d sooner take my chances with Gerald. At least if I show him one of these, he ought to be able to create another. It shouldn’t be too hard. A pie pan isn’t exactly a complicated piece.”
My thoughts spun, telling me I should protest, even while I felt certain she was right. My hand rose to press against my charm, and I remembered another necklace. A work of art made by a man withplenty of talent. My thoughts cleared for an instant. “Surely a pie pan is within Alan’s abilities?”
“Affenala bless you, dear. You’d think Alan would have learned that much from being around his father in the forge every day for years, but he didn’t absorb any of his father’s teachings. I’d ask him, just to make him feel useful, but if the thickness of the pan isn’t uniform, it won’t bake evenly.”
I wrapped my hand back around the pie and nodded in understanding. She was right, of course.
???
At supper thatevening, I struggled to follow the conversation. Conrad and Sam discussed their work, and Eliza talked about the latest village gossip. Normally, I’d have been enthralled. Instead, I could hardly focus beyond a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I had forgotten something. Something important.
Then Eliza announced that I had made dessert, bringing the pie out of the kitchen.
“That’s a pie?” Sam poked at the bulge on one side of the top. Filling oozed out of a nearby crack and over his finger.
My emotions settled once more, the good-natured insult pulling me back into the present.
“I’d like to see you make one.” I glared out of principle, but I didn’t mind his teasing. The pie truly looked horrific. “I bet yours wouldn’t look any better.”
While I spoke, Sam bravely raised his cherry coated finger to his mouth and licked. His hands shot out, and he dragged the pie across the table to sit in front of him. “Mine. This is all mine.”
He pinched a piece of crust off and popped it in his mouth. He nodded. “Definitely not sharing.”
I smiled, pleased to discover it tasted better than it looked. “Well, eat it fast, Sam. I need to return the pan to Mistress Hervor as soon as possible.”
“No problem. It will be gone tonight.”
Eliza reached across the table and pulled the pie away from her son. “You are not eating an entire pie in one night. You have to share.”
Cutting four generous slices, Eliza passed the dessert out to everyone.
“This is excellent,” Conrad said, after taking a bite. “Mistress Hervor’s recipe, I presume?”
Sam chuckled. “Now Mama knows you don’t think her pies are as good. Big mistake.”
Conrad gave his son a look. “Your mother is an excellent cook, but she is well aware that Mistress Hervor makes the best pastries in the village and beyond.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow. “You are still supposed to pretend you prefer my baking, dear.”
“When you make pie, I’ll sing its praises, my love. Since Mina made this one, however, I am glad she used Mistress Hervor’s recipe.”
The joking and gratifyingly tasty pie kept me settled for a little longer. But as everyone finished eating, my mood once more shifted to introspection. Which might have accomplished more if I had any idea what thoughts I wanted to mull over. After I finished helping Sam tidy up, I decided that a bit of time away from everyone else was what I needed. I moved to the back door. “I’m going to go walk off dessert.”
“That is no way to appreciate a delicious pie, Mina. You don’t exercise as soon as you finish it; you wallow in contentment and contemplate eating another slice.”
