scans the spacious backyard, looking in all the usual places Serena tends to go to. Nothing. It’s possible that she’s trotted into the house, which she’s done on numerous occasions, but Connie did remember to close the back door and Madeline is handy with the broom. She could also be in the front of the house, greeting customers or scaring them away, depending on her mood. Or, and this last and most likely option fills Connie with dread, Serena has headed over to the Lassiters’.
Connie is muttering under her breath as she hurries over to their neighbors, hoping Serena will be in their yard. It’s become a bit of a routine now, though Connie is tiring of it and she suspects the Lassiters are, too. But when Connie looks over the fence, Serena’s not there.
Connie walks to the front of the tea salon, scans the street up and down. With a sinking feeling, she realizes that Serena could be anywhere. Nosing through garbage, checking out gardens, looking for new friends. Traipsing around Avalon without a thought for Connie, about how her morning—and Madeline’s—will be wrecked if Connie has to go out looking for Serena. Again.
“Connie?” Madeline appears at the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. “The phone is ringing madly. It seems like everyone has decided to have a meeting this morning and wants some baked goods to go with it.”
“Serena’s missing,” Connie says, and feels the heat of tears. She scans the street one more time.
“Yes, well …” Madeline doesn’t seem surprised. “Goats are like that. This one, at least. Come on in, there’s no sense in fretting. She’ll turn up.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
Madeline looks grim at the prospect. “Well, then, she doesn’t. But if that happens, we’ll figure out what to do, all right?”
Connie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then reluctantly turns back toward the house. Serena doesn’t understand cars or traffic, doesn’t take well to instruction of any kind. Connie can picture her in trouble, and who would bother to help? She’s just a goat.
They walk into the house. Despite her agitation, Connie is comforted by the smell of buttermilk pancakes topped with fresh berries and warm syrup. When she sees that Madeline’s made up a plate for her, she smiles gratefully.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Madeline reminds her sternly. “Finish up these pancake orders and then get yourself a bite.”
Hannah is standing in front of the wooden cutting board. “Connie, I’ve peeled the potatoes. How do you want me to cut them?”
Connie quickly pours the pancake batter into perfect disks on the griddle. “Use the mandolin to slice them—we’ll be doing scalloped potatoes for lunch. I filled some muffin tins last night with a raspberry and blackberry mix and those need to go in the oven. They’re in the fridge and there’s a streusel topping there as well. Madeline, I was thinking we could take a few bags of Amish Friendship Bread starter from the freezer out back and make those olive oil loaves everyone seems to like.”
Madeline nods and says, “I’ll go grab some.” They usually keep a starter going in a glass container on the counter, but it quickly gets away from them. Madeline and Connie have found that it’s easier if they slow the fermentation process every now and then by refrigerating their starter and freeze any excess when it’s time to divide the batter. It leaves them with plenty of starter for recipes whenever they need them, without the daily hassle of having to care and feed it.
Connie serves up the pancakes, then quickly eats her own breakfast. She fills a few to-go orders and starts on another round of pancakes.
“I’ve forgotten how busy it can get!” Hannah remarks with happy exhaustion as she moves the now-baked muffins onto a cooling rack. She deftly slides several loaf tins filled with a rosemary lemon olive oil Amish Friendship Bread batter into the oven and closes the door with a
Connie is muttering under her breath as she hurries over to their neighbors, hoping Serena will be in their yard. It’s become a bit of a routine now, though Connie is tiring of it and she suspects the Lassiters are, too. But when Connie looks over the fence, Serena’s not there.
Connie walks to the front of the tea salon, scans the street up and down. With a sinking feeling, she realizes that Serena could be anywhere. Nosing through garbage, checking out gardens, looking for new friends. Traipsing around Avalon without a thought for Connie, about how her morning—and Madeline’s—will be wrecked if Connie has to go out looking for Serena. Again.
“Connie?” Madeline appears at the front door, wiping her hands on her apron. “The phone is ringing madly. It seems like everyone has decided to have a meeting this morning and wants some baked goods to go with it.”
“Serena’s missing,” Connie says, and feels the heat of tears. She scans the street one more time.
“Yes, well …” Madeline doesn’t seem surprised. “Goats are like that. This one, at least. Come on in, there’s no sense in fretting. She’ll turn up.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
Madeline looks grim at the prospect. “Well, then, she doesn’t. But if that happens, we’ll figure out what to do, all right?”
Connie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then reluctantly turns back toward the house. Serena doesn’t understand cars or traffic, doesn’t take well to instruction of any kind. Connie can picture her in trouble, and who would bother to help? She’s just a goat.
They walk into the house. Despite her agitation, Connie is comforted by the smell of buttermilk pancakes topped with fresh berries and warm syrup. When she sees that Madeline’s made up a plate for her, she smiles gratefully.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Madeline reminds her sternly. “Finish up these pancake orders and then get yourself a bite.”
Hannah is standing in front of the wooden cutting board. “Connie, I’ve peeled the potatoes. How do you want me to cut them?”
Connie quickly pours the pancake batter into perfect disks on the griddle. “Use the mandolin to slice them—we’ll be doing scalloped potatoes for lunch. I filled some muffin tins last night with a raspberry and blackberry mix and those need to go in the oven. They’re in the fridge and there’s a streusel topping there as well. Madeline, I was thinking we could take a few bags of Amish Friendship Bread starter from the freezer out back and make those olive oil loaves everyone seems to like.”
Madeline nods and says, “I’ll go grab some.” They usually keep a starter going in a glass container on the counter, but it quickly gets away from them. Madeline and Connie have found that it’s easier if they slow the fermentation process every now and then by refrigerating their starter and freeze any excess when it’s time to divide the batter. It leaves them with plenty of starter for recipes whenever they need them, without the daily hassle of having to care and feed it.
Connie serves up the pancakes, then quickly eats her own breakfast. She fills a few to-go orders and starts on another round of pancakes.
“I’ve forgotten how busy it can get!” Hannah remarks with happy exhaustion as she moves the now-baked muffins onto a cooling rack. She deftly slides several loaf tins filled with a rosemary lemon olive oil Amish Friendship Bread batter into the oven and closes the door with a
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