Sadie’s Healing Journey at Flour & Flame

The calm stillness continued at that hour, and Sadie parked her beaten-up Jeep at the bakery in the centre of the town. Tiny drops of dew gathered on the windshield, ready to be answered. Although the sign said “Closed” above the door, Sadie wasn’t there for the pastries.

She explored rhythm in her songs.

Three months before, she only had a duffel bag and a sad heart when she arrived in Willow Bend. After ten years of believing they were married, her husband said goodbye and mentioned in a small voice, “Nobody will love you as much as I do.”

Sadie didn’t disclose the reason she ran away. No, not even Pastor Lucas, who used to make her cry with his sermons in high school or her mother or sister could help her now. All people realized was that Sadie had quit her job in Dallas, made an eight-hour trip overnight, and requested to sleep in the small carriage house near her mom’s house. She was attending the funeral of her previous self.

Like bread, grief requires time to be fully understood. Each day since then, she has been coming to Flour & Flame Bakery in the dark, working the dough with Eloise Martin, her former art teacher.

“You show up early,” Eloise said while working on something at the table.

I found it difficult to sleep after that.

Eloise pointed at the hook on the wall for the apron. Then, make use of a warm object.

It all came naturally to Sadie: measuring ingredients, mixing them and folding the batter. I felt an aura of spirituality through the process of transformation. The yeast, flour, salt, and water became a single mixture by heating the ingredients and waiting.

“How are you doing, mom?” Eloise asked.

“Still getting questions when I will come back to church.”

“Are you planning to go?”

Sadie was unsure as she felt the dough with her fingers. “Not yet.”

Without insisting, Eloise made a soft response. She never chose to do so.

At the end of two hours, the coffee mugs and the bell rang as the action in the store got going. The room was crowded with everyone from Sheriff Dobbs and the library’s Ms. Lillian to teenagers attending school. They got their cinnamon rolls and bear claws without asking Sadie, the once impressive debater, why she now worked the cash register with sore eyes and uncomfortable hands.

With the crowd lessening around ten, the front door opened, letting in early morning sunlight and another person into the store.

He was big, tired, and tanned like he belonged in the wild. After carrying his bag on the road, he looked at Sadie with eyes like a poetic pause.

His eyes twinkled as he asked, “Would you like coffee and a biscuit?”

She said, “Hang on, I’m getting your sausages right now.”

In her usual blunt tone, Eloise pointed out, “You’re originally from somewhere else.”

He replied with a smile, giving the woman a five-dollar bill. “I am just on a short journey.”

Sadie gave him his meal and didn’t worry about it any further.

Nonetheless, he came back the following morning.

Then, the next lesson follows.

On the fifth day, Eloise began including two mugs rather than a single one.

Finally, he introduced himself on Saturday, offering to shake hands over a stack of cornbread.

Sadie agreed to the job. “Sadie.”

He nodded and said, “I know.” It is stated on your name badge.

They started to communicate only in small steps. He told my brother that he was a carpenter. For the past few months, I had driven my van through many towns, helping residents rebuild whatever meant a lot to them, both large and small buildings. He was like a lighthouse keeper who went about their duties when the seas got foggy.