A Bakery in Paris by Aimie K. Runyan

Author:Aimie K. Runyan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Lisette

December 23, 1870

I flipped the sign to “Closed” as soon as I sold my last loaf. Given the scarcity of bread, people came from even the furthest arrondissements when they heard there were loaves to be had. Especially when they weren’t black and coarse, made with whatever horrid substitute for flour could be found. I wasn’t going to serve sawdust or dirt to people and charge them money for food that was worse than starving.

With five times the amount of flour and four assistants, I might have been able to meet the demand. It crushed me to turn away a single one of them, but even the great Monsieur Mercier could only procure so much flour, and I was only one woman with a small kitchen.

The coins and bills in the till were cold comfort. If there was no food to be had, it did little good to have even a vault full of cash.

The only security it provided was knowing I could pay off Mercier when the tab came due.

And I was able to tuck away the bread Théo and I would need each day. It was worth paying Mercier’s exorbitant fees to send Théo off in the morning with at least a portion of good bread, even if there wasn’t much to go with it.

As usual, Théo was off with his duties and I was faced with a day of watching forlorn, dirt-streaked faces peer in the windows, heartbroken to see the empty shelves.

I couldn’t bear another day of it, so I bundled up against the bitter cold, hoping by some miracle I could find some meat or anything else that might be suitable for Christmas dinner.

I wandered the streets, almost aimlessly. I headed south toward the heart of town, back toward the neighborhoods I’d frequented as a girl. I looked up at the uniform limestone buildings, the color of fresh cream contrasted with their black wrought-iron balconies and mansard roofs of smelted zinc. Each of them predictable. The businesses on the ground level with a mezzanine. The wealthy on the second floor—the “noble story” with the highest ceilings, most elaborate windows, and largest balconies. The third and fourth floors were more modest apartments for successful tradesmen. Servants had to climb to the top floor on narrow staircases and slept in small rooms under the slope of the gabled roofs with tiny dormer windows to catch a glimpse of the city before they gave in to their exhaustion.

It was hard to think the jumble of buildings and the labyrinthine streets of Montmartre were all part of the same city. They seemed as similar as silk and homespun wool. While there was something comforting about the sameness of Haussmann’s planned buildings and grand boulevards, it seemed much less “alive” than the vibrant bustle in the outer arrondissements.

And there, in a shop window, I saw the first fowl I’d seen in weeks. A few passersby gazed longingly at the goose who roosted in a box lined with straw in the window.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.