The Baker's Tale Read Online Free

childish eyes opened wider and wider as she discovered more of the world round her. She was inquisitive and playful. She loved the church bells when they rang.
    Unlike Marie, I lived alone. I have had some ladies on my arm and kissed more than a few in my time. But I never married. Marie and her husband were my family. Now Christopher became my brother and Ruby my child. I was invited often to join them for dinner. Marie made an honest stout soup with potatoes, rice, and barley. There was bread, cheese, greens when in season, and, once a week, meat.
    Ruby frequently visited my bakery. On these occasions, the words “Ruby help,” spoken by her with enthusiasm, inspired both a smile and dread. Invariably, she was soon up to her elbows in flour with more flour in her hair.
    â€œYoung lady,” I told her. “You are not easy, but you are worth the trouble.”
    On one of her visits, I asked if she would like to help make strawberry jam. Not just eat it, but make it from scratch. A cry of joy escaped her lips, and two bright eyes fixed upon me in expectation.
    We washed the strawberries, crushed them, and mixed them with sugar. Then I poured the mixture into a pan and stirred it over a flame until the sugar had fully dissolved.
    The jam boiled for five minutes. As it was cooling, Ruby reached for the pan.
    â€œYoung lady; if you place a matter in the hands of a professional, you must not interfere with the conduct of his business.The pan is hot. Leave it alone, do not burn yourself, and we will get along exceedingly well. But if you try again to touch it, I am going to eat you up like a big piece of bread with jam.”
    â€œI’m not bread with jam.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNo! I’m a girl. I’m Ruby.”
    After the jam cooled, I spooned most of it into jars, sealed them with wax, and put the rest on bread for Ruby.
    Here, I might add that jam has many uses.
    â€œRuby, we are going to clean the room together,” Marie said one day.
    â€œNo!”
    Marie’s suggestion was repeated more strongly, this time as a command.
    Ruby’s “no” was repeated with equal conviction.
    â€œNo jam for you today,” Marie warned.
    â€œI do it! I do it!”
    With Ruby under the same roof as Christopher and Marie, the smile of Heaven shone on the chamber. With her golden hair and sparkling blue eyes, she was like a beautiful springtime morning. Drops of rain that fell on her hair looked like dew freshly gathered on a flower. Smiles played upon her face like light upon jewels. She was affectionate and sweet-natured with a musical little voice. I do not know how she came to be that way. I can only say that she was blessed and that, in her earliest years, she must have been very much loved by her mother.
    I loved that little girl so much. She could have been the daughter of a king.
    We celebrated Ruby’s fourth birthday in July. Christopher was crying that evening at dinner.
    â€œShe was the only thing that made this world of value for me,” he said through tears. “And now, to see her so happy . . .”
    Summer passed. Autumn leaves fell. Then came winter and Christmas.
    Christmas encircles the small world of a child like a magic ring. This was a Christmas unlike any that Ruby and Christopher had known before.
    Marie’s bakery and my own opened for business on Christmas morning at the normal hour of seven o’clock. Three hours later, we closed our doors and I went to her home where gifts were exchanged.
    Marie gave Ruby a pair of red mittens that she had knitted while Ruby was sleeping. Christopher gave her a doll. I brought a miniature rocking horse about the size of my hand. Then we left for a special occasion. Octavius Joy had invited us to his home for Christmas dinner.
    The streets were sprinkled with clusters of people wearing their gayest faces and dressed in their finest clothes. I could only imagine how the sights and sounds echoed in Ruby’s