Chapter 8: For Whoever Dreams After Me
1271 Words
The farmhouse slept while Becca quietly entered the kitchen.
Morning sun streamed through the window above the sink. A wooden recipe box sat on the table.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about the letter since she received it yesterday.
Now that she had her coffee, she pulled it from her pocket and unfolded the yellow paper.
Her grandmother’s handwriting stared back at her.
Elegant.
Delicate.
“There,” she whispered.
She took a deep breath and began to read.
---
**My Dear One, **
*If you are reading this letter, then you have spent the day wondering how to dream again. *
*I cannot be certain who will find this letter. Maybe you are my daughter. Or maybe you’re my granddaughter. But you could also be a stranger. *
*All I know for sure is that you love this recipe box enough to open it. That is enough for me. *
*Life will try to teach you that useful things are more important than lovely things. It will caution you to be careful and settle down. Safe rather than happy. *
*Don’t listen to them all the time. *
*The simple act of baking brought me some of the greatest joy in my life. It started with a mound of flour and belief. *
*If you dream of opening a bakery, opening your heart to the right person, or starting again after a loss, don’t wait for someone to permit you. *
*Time rarely knocks and introduces itself. *
*Someday you will have to believe you can do something before you see it. *
*Bake the bread. *
*Love the people in your life. *
*Forgive mistakes. *
*Never stop laughing. *
*Remember, recipes are simply part of our legacy. *
*Kindness is remembered long after pie crust has been forgotten. *
*Love, *
* Grandma Rose *
---
By the time Becca finished the letter, tears stained the pages.
Her heart ached with the desire to reach for her grandmother. To tell her that she understood.
Instead, she pressed the letter against her chest.
Craig walked into the kitchen behind her. He paused when he noticed her crying.
“Hey.” He said quietly.
Without saying a word, Becca handed him the letter.
He read each word intently.
When he finished, he smiled at her, and his eyes crinkled with warmth.
“I think your grandmother knew you.” He said warmly.
Becca nodded in agreement.
“I think she believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself.”
---
A Family Breakfast
Pancake batter started to fill the farmhouse kitchen not long after.
The children hovered around the table, yawning but attentive.
“What’s wrong, mommy? Why are you crying?” The youngest asked.
“Just happy tears,” Becca replied.
“That’s the best kind.” She hugged her kids closely.
Becca read her grandmother’s letter out loud to her kids.
Her eldest smiled and nodded.
“She sounds just like you.”
Becca smiled shyly.
“I hope so.”
Her middle son pointed to one line.
‘Bake the bread.’”
He grinned at his mother.
“I love her advice.”
Craig chuckled.
“I think you do too.”
---
The Meeting
Becca and Craig met with their small business banker that afternoon.
His office sat across the street from the old brick building that held her dreams.
The banker listened intently as Becca pitched her dream bakery.
She could tell he liked the idea based on how he leaned forward in his chair.
“Have you tested your product yet?”
Their shoulders slumped slightly.
“We sold out of our porch sale,” Craig replied.
Community support?” he asked.
Craig nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh yeah.” He pulled out two letters from his pocket.
Mrs. Henderson wrote them the sweetest letter. Everyone loved visiting her grocery store.
Mrs. Alvarez knew everyone in town. She created a petition with neighbors who wanted a bakery nearby.
Even their local coffee shop owner wrote them a letter stating he’d be happy to support a neighbor bakery.
The banker beamed with pride as he scanned the letters.
“Most people who walk into my office do far less preparation.”
Becca’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“You were perfect.” He chuckled.
“Really?”
He stood and shook both of their hands.
“I think your town is ready for a bakery.”
---
One More Opinion
Becca and Craig pulled up in front of the vacant bakery again.
This time the florist stepped outside to greet them.
“I heard you guys might be opening up next door.”
Becca grinned sheepishly.
“Yeah, we might.”
The florist’s eyes lit up.
“Well, I’ve already decided who I’m buying my birthday cupcakes from.”
Craig laughed and shook his head.
Before he could respond, the barber from two shops cracked his shop door open.
“I guess I’ll finally have somewhere to buy my cinnamon rolls Friday mornings.”
Laughter bounced off the buildings on Main Street.
Craig leaned over and whispered to Becca.
“We already have support.”
She chuckled while pulling away from the curb.
“It’s not even open.”
---
That night, they carried two rocking chairs down to the large oak tree.
It was the same tree where they had stood when they promised to love each other.
Fireflies floated around them in the garden.
The smell of summer filled the air.
Their children ran around the yard until dusk fell above them.
Craig reached for Becca’s hand.
“So…”
“So?” Becca replied curiously.
“What does your heart say?” He gently squeezed her hand.
Her eyes wandered towards the stars above them.
“It says I’m scared.” She confessed.
He nodded his head knowingly.
“And?”
She paused for a moment.
“It says I don’t want to look back and wish I tried.” Her voice cracked ever so gently.
He smiled at his love and squeezed her hand again.
“I love that answer.” He kissed her cheek.
Becca rested her head on his shoulder.
“I think Grandma Rose would too.”
---
The next morning, Becca drove into town by herself.
Parking across the street from the old brick building, she took a deep breath.
For a moment, she simply stared at it. Staring at all the what-ifs.
Finally, she crossed the street, heart pounding.
She opened the front door with the temporary key the realtor had given her.
It creaked open as if welcoming her home.
The empty business echoed back at her.
Walking towards the front window, sunlight flooded the wooden floors.
Could she really do this?
She could picture kids grabbing noses pressed against the glass.
Smell the sweet aroma of baked goods.
Hear laughter from families finding community in her kitchen.
Her heart soared with excitement and fear.
But there was no going back on it now.
Slowly, she reached into her purse.
Inside was her grandmother’s letter.
She unfolded it one more time, reading her favorite line.
Taking a deep breath, she slid the letter into the front pocket of her recipe notebook.
Not for hiding.
Not for forgetting.
Carrying it with her everywhere.
She whispered to herself, staring at the blank space in front of her.
“Bake the bread.”
A smile spread across her face as hope warmed her heart.
“I think it’s time.”
Main Street awakened to the morning sun.
And the empty bakery felt a little less empty too.
- Writer
