Chapter One

 

I scrolled through the draft of the blog post one more time, my fingers dancing across the keyboard as I fine-tuned the text. The photos Jenny had taken during their cooking session were amazing. I loved seeing Miss Edna Talbot’s weathered hands guiding Jenny’s younger ones as they cut out the biscuit dough, both of them laughing over some shared joke. The golden biscuits practically glowed on the screen, and I could almost smell their buttery goodness through the monitor. I was reconsidering my decision not to bake a celebratory batch that morning.

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“A Legacy of Love: Miss Edna’s Famous Biscuits,” I read aloud, testing how the title sounded. Brown, my Corgi, lifted his head from his spot by the kitchen stove, his tail giving a lazy thump of approval. Bruiser, my six-pound Chihuahua, stretched across his cushion by the window, opened one judgmental eye before apparently deciding my work wasn’t worth his full attention.

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The blog post had taken shape beautifully over the past few days. I’d included Miss Edna’s recipe. Most of it, anyway. During our interview, she’d mentioned a “secret ingredient” that made all the difference, but when I’d pressed her about it, she’d gotten a sudden flustered look and claimed she couldn’t remember what I was talking about. Something had been off about that whole exchange, and Jenny mentioned Miss Edna had made her close her eyes while she added something to the bowl.

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Miss Edna had also left me a cryptic note the night before, claiming she needed to discuss ‘the biscuits,’ but when I mentioned it, she denied writing it. I tried to let both issues slide, figuring every cook had little secrets, but the whole exchange had felt strained.

Every cook had little secrets, I figured.

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The gorgeous final shot of the finished biscuits showed them neatly arranged on Miss Edna’s blue willow platter. I resized it and smiled. The post and photos captured exactly what I’d hoped. They spotlighted the warmth of tradition being passed from one generation to the next. In our sometimes-hectic world, it was lovely to show the magic that happened when experienced hands guided young eager ones.

 

My phone buzzed against the table, interrupting my gushing over the post. The display showed a number I recognized… Hanson’s Restaurant Supply. Hopefully, they were returning my call from Friday about sourcing some specialty ingredients for an upcoming recipe contest.

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“Lou Ellsworth,” I answered, minimizing the blog post window. I sighed, needing to focus completely on the call. That was something I found myself doing more often as I got older.

 

“Ms. Ellsworth, this is Brad Hanson from Hanson’s Restaurant Supplies returning your call about the delay in your order.” I listened as he began to explain the problem, something about supply chain issues. Something in his tone made my internal radar ping. His speech sounded rehearsed and insincere. I could have dismissed it as frustration on his part from the numerous calls to irate customers he’d had to make, but I detected a hint of dishonesty. I’d learned to trust these instincts over the years; they’d served me well in more situations than just dealing with supplier problems.

 

“How much longer are we talking?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral. When he gave an evasive answer, I cut him off. “I appreciate your honesty, Brad. Why don’t you send me an email with the details and a revised timeline? That way I can plan accordingly.”

After I hung up, I made a mental note to call my backup supplier later, and hoped I could get it sooner, though it would be more expensive.

 

Disappointed I might have to change the plans for a future blog post, and looked down to see that Brown had wandered over during the call and was sitting at my feet, his dark eyes fixed on me with that hopeful expression that meant he was ready for breakfast. Bruiser maintained his post by the window, but I caught him shooting suspicious glances toward the storage shed visible in the backyard. The new structure had arrived three days before, and he still wasn’t convinced it belonged there.

 

I couldn’t blame either of them for being wary of changes. The previous months had brought plenty of them. I’d decided to abandon building an outdoor kitchen that I’d originally planned to use it for baked goods I would sell. But I’d changed my business plan after a fire had destroyed the first storage shed and then there was a, well, unpleasant discovery on my property. I still thought it had been the right choice. Instead of dwelling on what might have been, I’d thrown myself into my blog and recipe development work with renewed energy. The regular, plain storage shed was part of my new plan, and was a practical solution that would help me organize my life in ways I’d never imagined.

​

Speaking of which, the foster parent training materials stacked on the corner of the table reminded me I had homework to finish before my next class. The workbook lay open at Chapter 4: Understanding Child Development Stages. Just looking at it made my stomach flutter with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

 

After years of believing motherhood was beyond my reach, the possibility of fostering felt like a gift I’d never expected to receive. The training was intensive. Before certification, I’d have to do a background check, home study, online course modules, and in-person classes. But every step brought me closer to potentially changing a child’s life. And maybe having my own life changed in return.

 

I flipped through a few pages of the workbook, stopping at a section about helping children adjust to new environments. The advice seemed so practical yet so profound: “Consistency and patience are the foundations of trust.” I thought about Jenny and how our mentoring relationship had developed slowly, with small acts of kindness and shared experiences in the kitchen. Maybe fostering wouldn’t be so different.

 

Brown nudged my leg with his nose, reminding me that philosophical reflections didn’t fill food bowls. I stood and moved to the small refrigerator where I kept their food, and Brown practically vibrated with excitement beside me. Bruiser finally deemed the breakfast preparations worthy of his attention and hopped down from his cushion with all the dignity his six-pound frame could muster.

 

“Good morning to you too, Your Majesty,” I said as he approached his bowl with the air of a king inspecting his feast.

 

While the dogs ate, I returned to my laptop and gave the blog post one final read-through. The recipe was complete… self-rising flour, shortening, and buttermilk, though I noted that Miss Edna had hinted at a special touch that made hers particularly memorable. Jenny had done a wonderful job capturing Miss Edna’s techniques in the photos.

 

I’d written about Miss Edna herself too. Retiring after forty-seven years of teaching Oak Haven’s children, she’d also spent decades volunteering at our local food pantry. When I interviewed her for the post, her face lit up when she talked about cooking. She was exactly the kind of person my readers loved: genuine, generous with her knowledge, funny, and connected to her community in meaningful ways.

 

The morning light had grown stronger while I worked, painting the kitchen in warm gold tones. Through the window, my herb garden was waking up, the basil and rosemary stretching toward the sun. I made a mental note to find some time to harvest and dry the annual herbs and winterize the perennials before it got too cold. The storage shed sat beyond it, sturdy and practical, ready to hold all the things I was clearing out to make room for new possibilities.

 

I thought about the guest room upstairs, slowly being transformed as I sorted through years of accumulated belongings. Each box I filled and moved to the shed felt like the next step in fulfilling my dream of having a family. The training materials emphasized the value of a child having their own space, somewhere that belonged just to them, and I wanted to be ready.

 

I returned to the blog and took one last breath as my cursor hovered over the “Publish” button. Once I clicked it, Miss Edna’s story would be out in the world, shared with readers from all over the country who followed my blog for recipes, cooking tips, and glimpses into small-town life. I’d built something special since figuring out how to actually turn on a computer. My blog was a place where food connected people and where tradition mattered. I could write stories about folks like Miss Edna for all to celebrate.

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I clicked “Publish.”

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The post went live immediately. The photos and text flowed onto my blog like ingredients coming together in a perfect recipe. I watched the view counter begin its slow climb and felt that familiar rush of satisfaction. Another story told, and another connection made between my kitchen and kitchens around the world.

 

Brown finished his breakfast and wandered back to his sunny spot by the stove, ready for his morning nap. Bruiser took a more circular route, pausing to investigate a dust mote that had the audacity to dance through his line of sight.

 

I closed the laptop and stretched, already planning my day in my head. I needed to run a few errands in town to pick up ingredients for the weekend’s recipe testing. After that, I had to stop by the hardware store for some organizational supplies for the guest room and maybe grab lunch at Cassie’s coffee shop. I also wanted to drive by Miss Edna’s house later in the afternoon to see if she’d had a chance to read the post. I hoped she’d be pleased with how it turned out.

 

The foster parent training class reading assignment would be my after-dinner priority as my class was the next evening. But for the moment, the satisfaction of a job well done warmed me from the inside out, and I was deeply happy with the direction my life was taking.

 

Brown gave a contented sigh from his spot by the stove, and even Bruiser seemed to approve of the peaceful morning. Outside, Oak Haven was beginning to stir, and I was excited for whatever the day would bring.

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***

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By mid-morning, I’d finished most of the errands on my list, and curiosity about how people were reacting to the blog post was getting the better of me. Word traveled fast in Oak Haven, and I was certain Miss Edna must have already heard from friends about the feature.

 

Blake’s General Store sat at the heart of our town. Its weathered wooden sign and old-fashioned storefront had been a comforting constant in a world that seemed to change too quickly. The bell above the door announced my arrival with its familiar chime, and I breathed in the scent of coffee and baked goods.

 

Maggie Blake looked up from where she sat at her little table near the counter, reading glasses perched on her nose as she worked through what looked like inventory sheets. At sixty-two, she still had the energy of someone half her age, but I noticed she’d been using that table more often lately, taking breaks between customers.

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“Lou! Perfect timing,” she called out, setting down her pen and rising with a smile. “I just finished reading your blog post about Miss Edna. Honey, you made me want to drive straight to her house and beg for those biscuits.”

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“I’m so glad you liked it. Jenny did a great job with the photos, and Miss Edna was wonderful to work with.” I grabbed a basket from the stack near the door and headed toward the baking aisle. “How’s business this morning?”

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“Oh, you know how it is. Steady as always.” Maggie followed me, straightening items on the shelves as we walked. “I’m still considering what my future will be and how long I’m going to continue to do this.”

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I paused in reaching for a bag of self-rising flour. Maggie had run the store for over twenty years, and the idea of her retiring felt almost unthinkable. “I know you’ve been thinking about that for a while. I’m sure you’ll make the best decision for you and everyone else.

You’re not wearing yourself out here, are you?”

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“No, no, nothing like that.” She waved off my concern with a laugh. “I’m just getting older, Lou. Some mornings these bones remind me I’m not twenty-five anymore. It might be nice to have more time for other things.”

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Before I could respond, the doorbell chimed, announcing another customer. Mabel Cassidy swept in wearing a light cardigan despite the fact that it was already approaching seventy-five degrees outside. She clutched her worn leather purse in one hand and a small pocket planner in the other.

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“Good morning, ladies! Isn’t it a glorious fall day?” Mabel’s theatrical voice suggested she was always performing for an audience, even when speaking to just two people. She pulled out her fountain pen with a flourish and made a note in her planner.

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“Morning, Mabel,” Maggie and I replied in unison as we grinned at each other.

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“I know it’s fall on the calendar, Mabel, but I don’t think anyone has told the weather folks at the TV station yet. It’s going to be hot for a while still.”

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I started to agree with Maggie, but Mabel interrupted me. “Lou, dear, I just have to tell you how much I enjoyed your latest blog post. Miss Edna’s story was absolutely heartwarming.” Mabel capped her pen and held it up, admiring it in the morning light streaming through the store windows. “You know, this reminds me of when I met Eudora Welty…”

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Before she could launch into the full story, a young mother entered with her daughter, who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. The little girl immediately gravitated toward the candy display, while her mother headed for the milk cooler.

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Mabel’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a new audience. She approached the child with grandmotherly enthusiasm. “Well hello there, sweetpea. Are you sick today or just playing hooky from school? Nevermind, dear. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. Tell me your name again, honey. I’ve forgotten it.”

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“Emma Jones,” the girl replied shyly, glancing back at her mother for permission to engage.

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“Emma, what a lovely name. You know, I have something very special here.” Mabel held up her fountain pen as if it were a magic wand. “This pen once belonged to a very famous writer named Eudora Welty. Have you heard of her?”

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Emma shook her head, wide-eyed.

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“Well, Miss Welty was from Mississippi. That’s another state… just like we’re from Tennessee, and she wrote the most beautiful stories. When I was just sixteen, I met her in a grocery store in Jackson, and she gave me this very pen. She told me it had written some of her most important work and that now it was time for it to inspire someone new.”

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I caught Maggie’s eye over Mabel’s head, and we shared a knowing smile. Emma’s mother, Mrs. Jones from over on Maple Street, looked equally amused but let Mabel continue her tale.

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“She said this pen had magic in it, that it could help anyone write their dreams into reality. And you know what? I’ve been using it ever since, and it’s never once let me down.”

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Emma stared at the pen with the reverence usually reserved for unicorns or fairy godmothers. “Does it really have magic?”

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“Oh, absolutely,” Mabel assured her. “The very best kind. The kind that comes from believing in yourself and in the power of words.”

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Mrs. Jones finished gathering her items and approached the counter with Emma in tow. “What do you say to Mrs. Cassidy for showing you her special pen, Emma?”

 

“Thank you,” Emma whispered, still staring at the fountain pen in wonder as she followed her mother out of the store.

 

After they left, Mabel tucked the pen back into her purse with satisfaction. “Children appreciate the importance of stories,” she declared. “Adults have forgotten how to believe in a little magic.”

 

I finished gathering my ingredients, adding buttermilk and a few extra items to my basket. “Speaking of stories, I’m planning a little gathering this weekend to celebrate the blog post. Nothing fancy, just some friends over for biscuits and coffee or tea. I may even have enough blueberries in the freezer to make a quick sauce. You’re both welcome to join us.”

 

“That sounds delightful,” Maggie said as she rang up my purchases. “Miss Edna will be so pleased to know people are still talking about her biscuits.”

 

“I do hope she’s not too overwhelmed by all the attention,” I mused, thinking about how shy she’d seemed during our interview. “She’s not used to being in the spotlight.”

 

“Oh, she’ll love it,” Mabel assured me. “Edna’s always been modest about her cooking, but that woman knows she makes the best biscuits in three counties. A little recognition is long overdue.”

 

The bell chimed again, and my best friend and Maggie’s daughter, Lorna, burst through the door with her characteristic energy. She spotted me immediately and practically bounced over, her large red earrings catching my eye.

 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” She grabbed my arm excitedly. “Lou, your blog post is everywhere this morning. Melissa Parker, you know, the new school-board member, shared it on the school’s Facebook page, and it’s got dozens of comments already. People are going crazy for Miss Edna’s story.”

 

“Really?” I felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Building readership had been a slow process, but moments like that made all the effort worthwhile.

 

“Really. And get this… someone from Nashville called the mayor’s office asking about Oak Haven’s culinary traditions. They want to know if we have any food festivals or special events. But don’t ask me how I know that. A good gossip never reveals her source.” Lorna’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Evelyn Jenkins is probably having a heart attack trying to figure out how to capitalize on this.”

 

Maggie laughed. “Our mayor could certainly turn a church bake sale into a tourism opportunity.”

 

“Speaking of opportunities,” Lorna said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “I heard Dr. Calloway asking about Miss Edna at the post office earlier. Seems she’s been thinking about featuring local pets in cooking videos. You know, ‘Cooking with Your Cat’ or something like that. Since Miss Edna’s a star now, and she just adopted a cat, Dr. Calloway wants to make sure people are aware of what foods are safe for our pets and those that aren’t. You know, with the holidays coming up and all.”

 

I frowned slightly, though not at the idea of educating the public about pet health. Dr. Calloway was still relatively new to Oak Haven, having arrived just a few months before my own recent adventures. She seemed nice enough, but there was something about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was just the natural awkwardness of being the newcomer in a town where everyone else had known each other for decades.

 

“That’s an interesting idea,” I said diplomatically. “Though I’m not sure how Miss Edna would feel about that. She’s pretty traditional when it comes to cooking.”

 

“Well, we’ll see what happens,” Lorna said. “In the meantime, want to grab lunch at The Grind? I’m dying to hear all the praise of your blog post from the whole town.”

 

I paid for my groceries and followed Lorna toward the door, waving goodbye to Maggie and Mabel. The temperature was perfect as we stepped outside… warm but not stifling, with just enough breeze to rustle the leaves that were beginning to show hints of gold and red. Maybe our days of stifling heat were over for a while. A few ambitious mothers had already started decorating their porches with pumpkins and cornstalks, though Halloween was still weeks away.

 

“It’s nice enough; do you want to walk? I know it’s a hike, but I think I’ve been eating too much candy. The teachers have started to leave out little dishes of it on all their desks. I tried to tell them that they’ll be broke by the time Halloween gets here if they keep buying the stuff, but they don’t listen to me.”

 

“Sure. I could stand to walk off a few calories myself. We need to remember to call Cassie’s shop by its new name… Perks & Prose. I think it has a nice ring to it.”

 

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting it’s official now. She didn’t waste any time remodeling that place. It’s not completely done yet, but I was there on Friday, and she’s really done a lot.” We stopped by my car to leave my groceries while we had lunch. “Good thing you thought to put your cooler in the car,” Lorna said. “That buttermilk will keep a lot better in there, even on a mild day like this.”

 

I laughed. “Oh, I’ve gotten to where I just leave the thing in my car all the time. Comes in handy more often than you’d think.”

The town square bustled with its usual mid-morning activity. Children from the academy walked in small groups toward the library, probably for some kind of research project. A few local retirees occupied the benches under the old oak trees, reading newspapers and watching the world go by. Someone was testing the sound system at the gazebo, sending a brief screech of feedback across the square.

“You know,” Lorna said as we walked, “I think this blog post might be exactly what Miss Edna needed. She’s been so quiet since Mr. Randall passed. Maybe all this positive attention will bring her out of her shell a little.”

 

I nodded, though something nagged at the back of my mind. During our interview, Miss Edna had seemed almost nervous at times, especially when I’d asked about her famous biscuits. She’d deflected questions about the secret ingredient and had grown flustered when I’d mentioned the note she’d left me the night before our interview—the one where she mentioned needing to discuss ‘the biscuits’ before dismissing it. I could tell she was being evasive.

 

Coupled with her refusal to share the secret ingredient, I was confused. Still, I’d learned not to pry too deeply into people’s private matters. If Miss Edna wanted to keep her special ingredient a mystery, that was her right. The important thing was celebrating her generosity in sharing her knowledge with Jenny and, through the blog, with readers everywhere.

 

As we approached Perks & Prose, I thought Oak Haven might be small, but it was rich with stories and connections. People like Miss Edna, who’d devoted their lives to teaching and nurturing others, deserved recognition for the quiet ways they made the world better.