Chapter 32 – First Time Using the Iron Oven
“Has it risen?”
“Will we have bread today?”
It was the first day the bakehouse operated the iron oven.
Everyone stood tense around it, waiting for the buns to be taken out. They were not worried about the biscuits – those had already been tested. Slightly burnt, but acceptable. A few adjustments to the flame and timing should solve that problem.
The trial, however, had led the adults to a quick conclusion: the bakehouse needed several older students. The iron oven was no toy. The younger ones lacked the strength and speed to handle it safely.
Now, all attention was fixed on the batch inside.
They did not dare hope too much, even though the doubt had been prepared by Jade herself.
“Miss Jade’s bread has never risen,” someone whispered. “Always turns out like a stiff brick.”
“Well… it’s an iron oven now,” another murmured. “Maybe there’s a chance?”
Josh cleared his throat lightly, startling the whispering students in front of him. Seeing them turn and give him awkward smiles, he merely shrugged and pointed toward the table. “It’s almost time. We’d better get ready with the pies.”
“Right.” They moved quickly to prepare the next trays while Jade stood before the oven, eyes flicking between the flickering flames and the hourglass.
When the final grain of sand slipped through, she said calmly. “Alright. Time’s up. Step aside.”
The oven door was pulled open. Everyone shifted back to avoid the blast of heat. Jade, wearing thick oven mitts, removed the trays of small buns and stepped aside. Josh immediately moved in, sliding trays of pies into the oven with the others’ help.
And finally, Jade, with the oven mitts still on her hands, closed the door and turned the hourglass. Only then did she exhale.
She turned to the stone tabletop, prepared to witness yet another failure of hers.
The slightly risen, rock-like item stared back at her in silent accusation. Dense, stubborn, unimpressive.
“...” Stiffly, Jade turned to the corner of one tray.
A few buns sat there. Perfectly risen. Golden. Soft. Fragrant.
Those were Josh’s dough.
Josh stared at the bun in his hand, hardly daring to believe it. This was the first time he tested something he had nurtured from the very beginning – feeding the starter daily, tending the jar of “microorganisms”, and ensuring the environment was “acidic enough” so only the “yeast” would survive. Then kneading it carefully under Sensei’s instructions and oiled it with tallow because butter was too costly…
He tore it open.
A faint crispness on the crust. Soft and airy inside.
It carried a different kind of satisfaction from biscuits. A deeper one. A fullness earned through patience.
But the joy on his face quickly faded into stoicism.
His bread had risen; his Sensei’s had not.
Jade noticed the cautiousness on Josh’s face. She gave a soft, resigned smile and reached out to ruffle his hair. “Good job, Josh. You’ve avenged me by making proper bread.”
“?” Josh blinked. He was relieved she was not angry. but at the same time, he was confused. Around him, the others wore the same puzzled look.
Jade sighed lightly, reluctant but honest. “I’ve always failed at bread. Something always goes wrong. Sometimes it’s the starter, sometimes it’s the temperature, sometimes the flour. Cakes, puff pastries, pies, marzipan, biscuits, crackers – anything that doesn’t rely on yeast behaves perfectly in my hands.” She shrugged. “But yeast and I? Guess they simply dislike being used by me.”
Yes, her bread classes had always failed whenever she used a starter. Even instant yeast gave her trouble sometimes. She could easily resign herself to being a cake baker instead of a bread maker, but being unable to cross that category off her list still irritated her whenever she thought about it.
Her colleagues in her previous life had teased her relentlessly, calling her “the yeast killer”, wondering if they would ever witness the miracle of her producing a proper loaf from a starter she had fed herself.
She brushed the memory aside and looked at Josh with exaggerated pride. “Now I have a pupil who can make bread! Hah! Not my hands, but my pupil’s, and I consider that a great achievement in my pastry career.”
The others did not understand the layered emotion behind her words. They were simply delighted that bread might become a regular addition to the domus bakehouse. More variety meant better meals.
Josh, however, understood something else. He had heard her mutter often about her failure with bread. He was more relieved than anything that she was not the kind of master who feared being outshone by an apprentice.
Unlike what had happened to an acquaintance of his who had become a baker’s apprentice.
“Josh,” Jade said after giving instructions for another batch of biscuit to further test the oven’s temperature control, “take good care of your starter. I’ll try to recall every bread recipe I know. You’ll be in charge of testing them and perfecting your bread-making skills. When it comes to bread, you’re on your own. Understand?”
“Yes, Sensei.” Josh nodded firmly. He glanced at the dense loaves and asked tentatively, “Sensei… what should we do with these?”
Jade sighed lightly. “They are failed bread, but at the core, they’re still a mixture of flour, water, salt, and malt sugar. Crush them. Mix them into bone broth with wheat or barley and boil it into porridge. Add that cheese in the storeroom – the one that doesn’t look or smell nice already. Better use it before it spoils. Slice some offal we marinated with onions and herbs and toss it in. A bit of salt for balance. Sprinkles cracklings from the rendered suet on top when serving breakfast tomorrow.”
She shrugged. “The biscuits today are test batches and not for sale anyway, so we might as well make it three hundred and add them to tomorrow’s breakfast, too.”
The students, still kneading flour with malt sugar and water, were already swallowing as they imagined the rich porridge. Their excitement rose instantly.
Tomorrow’s breakfast. Not a fantasy – Miss Jade had said it herself.
Josh gathered the failed loaves into a basket. “I’ll inform Sister Geenia about the porridge and crush these tonight.”
“Good.” As Jade returned to the oven to continue her temperature test and estimate the time needed to bring the bakehouse’s production back up to pace, the students in charge of selling the chips returned.
They were two older boys from Mr. Anderson’s class. Both aimed to become clerks – or at least secure office work one day – so they rotated shifts at the stall with Josh, gaining experience in bookkeeping and customer handling.
“Miss Jade, here’s the coin box and today’s closing note,” Matt, a blonde boy about Jade’s height, said as he handed over a box. The coins inside rattled audibly as it passed between them.
“Miss Jade, here’s the skeins of coloured thread and the needles you asked for,” Raymond, a slightly shorter boy with curly cropped hair, said as he handed over a sack. “I’ve jotted down the expenses in the note. As instructed, we chose the cheaper kind, though the colours and shades are limited.”
Jade opened the sack and nodded as she listened to the boys’ report.
Raymond added, “Miss Jade, if you’d like other colours or you wish to exchange any skeins, you may go to the Magenta Draper’s Shop near our stall. The lady there said she’s willing to switch them if you prefer something else.”
“It’s fine. I think I’ve got what I need.” Jade glanced at the boys with a smile. “Thank you, boys. Would you like anything added to your supper? We have some biscuits here – slightly burnt, since we’re still testing the oven.”
“We’re full, Miss Jade.” Matt rubbed his belly and chuckled. “Helping at the chips stall in exchange for a meal of fried chips. That’s more than we could ask for. Thank you for the offer.”
They exchanged a few more words, mainly the boys reported the latest news they had overheard while selling, then finally delivered what Jade had been expecting.
The Ashborne Prize for Short Tales.
Contestants were required to submit a short story of no more than five thousand words, written according to the provided background details. Multiple entries were permitted. No restrictions of age, gender, or location. Two months until the closing date.
Most importantly, the prizes: £50 for first place, £30 for second, £10 for third prize, and £3 each for ten excellent works.
£120 in total for a competition. Equivalent to nearly two years’ wages for labourers.
The announcement spread like wildfire across every circle.
Jade was not sure how the upper and middle classes reacted – whether they sneered at their wealthy patron or found him amusingly eccentric – but at the stall, every customer talked about it. They imagined themselves winning, fantasised about how they would spend the money. Even Mr. Davidson had prepared pen and paper, determined to submit something. Who knew? Perhaps luck would favour him.
Now, no one cared about Jade’s debate with the doctor. Not even the scandal of a Baron’s daughter eloping with a servant held attention anymore. The handsome reward had seized the spotlight entirely.
This had been Jade’s original intention – to divert attention away from herself. But events shifted so quickly. The eloping daughter’s scandal had surfaced before her plan unfolded, making her feel both relieved and slightly bummed that her carefully arranged distraction had not worked out as planned.
Still, the competition had been organised.
Though she had expected it to distract people somewhat, she never anticipated that their patron would offer such an enormous prize. It was large enough to dominate the town’s headlines.
He must’ve been so bored and desperate for some kind of entertainment, Jade mused. She spent a few seconds pitying the Mr. Rich Sponsor, who lived in an era without the internet and videos, before returning her attention to testing the oven once more.