Dumplings
“Grace, have you lost your mind? How could you even think of this? You’re barely married a moment!” Edith burst out, her hands flying desperately over lettuce and slicing boards, torn between finishing off the salads and sliding the roast into the oven.
“Nine years already, Mum,” answered Grace, wielding a sharp knife through an onion, wiping away hot tears that had nothing to do with their scent.
It wasnt the onions making her eyes sting. Shed been pushed too far! Did they really still see her as a child, incapable of making her own decisions? Would she be forever forced to beg for parental permission?
“Darling, you don’t understandthis isn’t a game! This is a lifetime of responsibility! Are you ready for that? No, I dont think so You always were a gentle spirit, head in the clouds. Come down to earth, Grace! This is serious!”
“Mum, you think we dont understand?” Grace couldnt take it anymore. She threw down the knife, sending it clattering against the chopping board. “Were not children, Mum!”
The large, bright kitchen was truly their kingdom. Grace had helped choose everything therewall colour, tiles, appliancesfrom when she was thirteen and her parents had just finished building the house. She had always shown excellent taste and a passion for cooking. Most of the fancy gadgets in the kitchen had been bought by her father, just for her. Her cakes and pastries were legendary amongst kin and neighbours. Not a birthday or wedding passed without a call:
“Gracie, will you do the desserts? No one else does it like you!”
There was never any question about where Grace would study after finishing school. While she picked up the basics of business management and worked evenings in a French restaurant in central London, her parents quietly saved for her dream.
“Look, Gracie,” her mum had said, beaming with pride. “Isnt it perfect? Your dad searched for ages! Its a tiny café, yes, and its not working at the moment, but its near the centre! And theres a little bakery out back. Shall we take the risk?”
“Lets risk it, Mum!” Grace tiptoed over shattered glass, her eyes bright.
Someone had broken into the premises her dad was preparing to buy and made a right mess. But even then, Grace could already see her patisserie in her minds eyethe colours, the cakes, the warmth. She had mapped it all, from the colour of the walls down to the display of biscuits.
“Well start small and build up. Do you remember, Mum, that tiny bakery near our old house, the one with the citys best Chelsea buns?”
“And the jam puffs! You loved those so much you wanted them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”
“Yes! Until that one time Dad let me buy as many as I wanted and I ate myself sick. My stomach hurt so badly I couldnt even look at a jam puff for years! Everything in moderation…”
“Quite right,” her mum tutted. “So, Gracedo we take it?”
“We do,” Grace said quietly, closing her eyes to thank the heavens for giving her family and a dreamunaware of all the ways shed have to fight to keep both.
The bakery flourished. A few years after opening, Grace launched a second kitchen, expanding the business entirely with her fathers help. What had started as a quaint patisserie of her own concoctions had grown into something much greater. She drove all over Sussex visiting farms, considering opening a little shop of fresh milk and butter alongside her cakes.
But for all the success, Graces heart felt heavy. Only Edith knew why. Time marched on, and still no one had come along to spark her soul and make her sing. She was simply existing, not livingher heart yearning for love and children, though prospects seemed grim.
Grace wasnt stunning, but she was hardly plain: clear grey eyes, a good figure, and thick brown hair she twisted into a bun when she worked. Every new recipe was always sampled by Grace herself and only added to the bakery menu after she was content with the taste.
It was on a day much like any other, while her father was off on a mission to find a new egg supplier in the countryside, that Grace met her future husband.
“Excuse me, sir, that’s not really allowedChef doesnt speak directly to customers,” said Rachel, Graces ever-reliable assistant and closest friend.
“Whats going on out there?” Grace asked, hearing a commotion.
“Not sure, Gracie. Ill sort it!” Rachel yanked off her gloves and straightened her apron with a huff. “Just the usual ruckus, dont worry!”
Rachel ran the bakery so well that Grace had gladly surrendered all operations to her. It amazed her how this poised, brilliant woman with wild red curls and sharp blue eyes could so effortlessly juggle books and haggle with suppliers, never backing down on quality.
“Oh Rachel, I could never do it like you! I always get taken for a ride.”
“Thats because, Gracie, youre a good, honest souleasy to trust but easy to try ones luck with. Me, though? They know better than to cross me! Remember who raised me? My dadand yoursboth insisted you protect your own! Youre as much my family as anyone. Let me handle suppliers; you just bake!”
In this Grace trusted Rachel completely. She knew Rachels whole storyas did the whole town. Years ago, Rachels mum had vanished on her way home from a night shift after being forced into a strange car. For years, nothingbut Rachels father, losing patience with official silence, rallied his old army friends and got to the bottom of it.
Justice, however, was privately dispensed. The ringleaders boasted too loudly, and fearing theyd walk free, Rachels father dealt with matters himselfthen turned himself in, arranging for Rachel to live with Graces family as long as was needed.
From then on, Grace and Rachel had been sisters in everything but blood. No one made any distinctionboth girls got equal treats, gifts, and love.
Rachels dad was released a little early, and upon her return at twelve, he insisted:
“You have to learn to protect yourself, love. Maybe youll never need ithopefully notbut do it for me.”
Rachel did more than thatshe became a local karate champion, and then for the county. But she refused to compete further.
“Dad, Im a girl! I want sweet things and cuddlesnot just trophies! Let me learn to make cakes like Grace. Your wife taught me to cook, and thats a school in its own right. I can do just as welljust show me once and Ill repeat it, promise!”
“Whatever you want, love.”
Grace was only too happy when Rachel asked to work at the bakery.
“Of course! But werent you supposed to be getting married soon?”
“So what? Doesnt mean I cant chase my own dream, Gracie! Some people never dream at allthey just exist. I wont be like that.”
“And whats your dream, Rachel?”
“A restaurant of my own! Not just cakesthe whole lot. Your mum taught me to cook, and British food deserves a proper showcase! Too many sushi bars and pizza joints aroundwheres our proper English kitchens? Thats what Ill make! And for puddings, Ill send everyone your way. What do you reckon?”
“Go for it! Ill help however I can. Dreams are everything.”
Still, Rachels plans were delayed by the arrival of her daughter, and then her son.
“No matter!” Rachel juggled invoices while cradling her sleeping baby. “Their dad will help, and so will the in-laws well manage!”
“Rachel, you should take some timelook after them.”
“Youre cruel, Gracie! Id go mad stuck at home! Its not that I dont adore my kidsits just, I love my work too! Besides, Im studying! No time to stop now! By the way, why is there so little flour? Why hasnt the last load come?” Rachel cooed as her son whimpered, dancing him back to sleep, winking at Grace. “You said ‘pause’I say no chance!”
Watching her friend, Grace longed for her own little one to cuddleso much happiness.
But it wasnt happening. Not for her. Not until Thomas came into her life.
“Here you are, Grace.” Rachel beckoned, leading a man from the dining room. “Someones asking for you!”
“Is something wrong?” Grace asked, her nerves prickling.
She was never scared of official visitsher dad handled all that, with plenty of friends to help smooth any troubles. She ran a clean business.
But the sight of the nervous man in a well-tailored suit put her on edge.
“Excuse mebut where did you get the recipe for these profiteroles? Its my mothers recipefamily only! No one else could make them like that!” He stared at Grace as if shed grown antlers.
“Its my recipe,” Grace replied, glancing at Rachel for reassurance. “Ive been making these since I was ten. My mum taught me. Here, have another sample! Im glad you like them.”
Grace handed him a little box Rachel had prepared, but the man didnt reach for it.
“Are you married?” he blurted out, ignoring everything else.
“Oi!” Rachel scoffed, but Grace was unfazed.
“No, Im not married.”
“Then may I take you out for dinner?”
Rachel shook her head behind the strangers back, but Grace nodded.
“Alright. Im free after seven.”
“Ill wait for you!” he said.
Of course, Rachel later told Grace off for agreeing, and for not even asking his name. But Grace wasnt listening. She was thinking of that gazethe one that seemed to recognise something lost, now finally found.
“I didnt even ask his name”
“Exactly! And yet youve said yes to dinner? No way, Gracie, youre not going alone! Ill ring my hubbywere going to the same place!”
“Why?” Grace blinked.
“To make sure youre safe! You saw his suithes not local. Better to be cautious!”
Grace gave in.
But everything was fine. The stranger, Thomas, was from a large company planning a new factory just outside the city. He was struck by Grace at first sight and, being awkward with courting, simply decided to be direct.
“Ive been looking for you so longI thought Id never find you,” he whispered at their wedding, kissing her. “My dear wifemy happiness”
“Tom, you embarrass me,” Grace laughed, wrapping her arms round him. “I was searching for you too”
“I found you!”
“You found my profiteroles!”
“And them too! Arent I lucky!”
“Too right!”
Their family life was bliss itselfno shouting, no drama. Sometimes Rachel teased,
“Gracie, you need a row sometimes! Bit of healthy conflict!”
“But why?” Grace replied honestly. For her, such harmony was the most natural thing.
Her own parents had lived this waymaybe a rare spat, but even then theyd soon patch it up. Her mum would serve Dad his favourite beef pie; Dad would go about the house, fixing overlooked bulbs or wobbly cupboard doors, then invite Mum fishing.
“Weve not been for ages.”
Grace knew theyd never even last an hour by the waterfirst flushing out their gripes, and then, somewhere between bickering and laughter, making up until the rods were left forgotten.
“I dont know, Rachel, we just dont fight. We see each other morning and nightweekends too. Both work so much! And Toms away on business so often. When would we argue? And anywayall we want is a family. Children. Its been two years, nothing. Doctors say everythings fine, nothing wrong. Why isnt it happening?”
“It will, Gracie! Trust me. Youll be singing lullabies soon, like I did. Remember how you begged me to teach you?”
“Oh, Rachel, may your words be heard in heaven. I want a baby more than anything”
But years passedone, then another, then a third. Nothing. The best doctors in London just shrugged.
“Out of our hands, medically speaking. Whatevers needed, your bodies are fine. Maybe your stork just got lost. Wait and see.”
Again they waited. Again, nothing.
Then Thomas suggested, “What about adopting? If our own is not to be, perhaps we could give a home to a child who needs one. We have so much love, Gracewhy let it go unused? What do you think?”
“Youre right, Tom. Id been afraid to suggest ityoud think I didnt want to try any longer…”
“My darling, never be afraid of me,” Thomas soothed, holding her as she cried. “Fear has no place in a marriage. It will wreck it all. We have to trust each other.”
“I wont fear anymore, Tom Do you think theyll let us adopt?”
“Why wouldnt they? If not to us, then to whom?”
They were soon approved. Both attended foster parent classes, filled out piles of paperwork, and started waiting againthis time with hope fluttering gently through their home.
Finally, Grace decided to tell her parents theyd soon be grandparents.
“No, Grace! No!” Edith shook her head in disbelief. “You have no idea what could happen. What about their background? What if the childs ill? What if”
“Mum!” Grace interrupted, seizing her hands. “Calm down! Why are you so sure things will go wrong? You raised me stronger than that Now you want me scared off? Thats not who you are! This is our chance. If Tom and I cant have children ourselves, we must make our peace with that. I wont divorce him for it, wont look for someone else. I love Tomand together, we have the strength to face whatever comes. If the childs unwell, well care for them. And maybe, for that child, were the only chance theyll ever have.”
“But what if”
“There is no ‘what if’, Mum. For us, its decided. Im not asking your permission; Im asking for understanding. Accept it, oror Ill have to accept that Ill lose you as a mum.”
“How can you say that?”
“Mum, will you only stand by me if I do everything exactly as you wish?”
“Of course not.”
“Then let me make my own choice. I already have.”
“I just want my own grandchildren,” Edith wept.
“And whos ‘your own’, Mum? When Rachel came here all those years ago, you took her in as your daughterand made cakes for her birthday as for me. You loved her, even though you werent related by blood. Why would you turn away a child whos never even set foot in your house? Is that right?”
“Oh, Grace, what are you doing to me?”
“Nothing, Mum. Just think about it. When youre ready to welcome us, well be delighted for our little one to have a grandmother.”
“Ill think it over”
Ediths doubts didnt last long. Two weeks after Rachels birthday, Grace and Thomas received the call theyd been longing for: not one, but two children needed a familya brother and sister orphaned by an accident, with grandparents too old to raise them.
Grace and Thomas welcomed two-year-old Arthur and little Ellen, just turned one, with open arms.
Seven years later, Grace finally had a baby of her owna miracle boy born one chilly spring. Edith, arriving with the whole family, held her newborn grandson with trembling hands.
“Gracienow there are three Im so happy”
“Thank you, Mum,” Grace whispered, embracing her husband, beckoning the children. “Well? Ready to meet your brother?”
“Yes!”
Late that night, silence tiptoed down the halls of Graces home and settled by her bedroom door, where, softly as a blessing, that old lullaby floated out for all her children to hear:
“Hush now, little darling,
The evening birds are calling,
Down come angel wings to bring
The sweetest dreams of everything”
