Seize the Moment: Seize the World, #4

By Abigail Kay Harris, M.L. Milligan, Elisabeth Joy and 10 more

Honoring the Mercy of the Savior

 

Mercy. Forgiveness. Hope.

 

In the conclusion of the Seize the World collection of anthologies.

 

Bringing you stories of mercy, forgiveness, hope, and pointing toward the One who offers them all, Seize the Moment is a tender and warm anthology meant to bring you a happy escape to a bookish world.

 

Luke 1:49-51

 

For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name.
And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation.
He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CDXC Aurora Lux Libri Publishing
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223925903

Abigail Kay Harris

Abigail Kay Harris is a daughter of the King with a personal degree in book-nerdiness. A sister to seven, her passionate love of the written word and deeper meanings hidden in normal things leads her to spend her time reading, writing, using sarcasm, and defining obscure words. When she’s not chasing words, she enjoys watching shows, classic romance movies, tea, sunrises, and the outdoors, especially mountains, beaches, and forests.

Book preview

Front Porch Bakery by Christy Ash

The village’s first orphanage was called Front Porch Bakery. Harlow didn’t plan it that way. He figured God had dropped the two professions in his lap, hand in hand. The bakery was on the corner of the street, slender brick and two floors of maple glaze and bread scents. The old building was bookended by a law firm and a small clinic, two categories of people who need sugared pastries in their life.

Since his wife Penny had passed away, Harlow’s six-year-old daughter May had spent much of her time downstairs in the bakery. He helped her press rolling pins and patiently watched her dig eggshells from batter. She greeted customers and then told them everything about herself. She was worlds from shy and almost overwhelmingly friendly to acquaintances and strangers alike.

May was currently busy on an important mission. She was convinced there was a mouse or other small rodent stealing their baked goods. Harlow helped her fashion small traps in the corners of the bakery baited with what she’d decided was the mouse’s favorite food: lemon tarts. He might have suspected May of sneaking treats at first, but she already had anything she could want and hated lemon. Harlow checked the rolls in the kitchen early one morning and came up three short. He searched the wood floors for crumbs, but the thief was tidy.

No mouse yet? he asked May, who he could hear scampering across the bakery.

Not yet, her small voice came back, undeterred.

He opened the windows, letting in the sunrise-yellow light, then starting his series of trips from the kitchen and back to set out all the trays of fresh bread. May abandoned the mouse hunt for the day and ran back to the kitchen to drink her milk and eat her sausage rolls. Her feet swung under the table with an energy that wouldn’t wane as the day progressed. Her short, blonde hair was tangled in the back. He’d have to try to coerce it into a presentable state after opening up.

Maybe if I catch the mouse, I can keep it as a pet, May said. And I can feed it the lemon stuff because I don’t like it anyway. Can mice eat lemon? Is it good for them? I don’t think it should be good for anybody. Do I have to finish all of these before I can have an eclair?

Harlow turned the blue sign on the door to open while he mentally shuffled through all her questions. Such were their mornings. After Penny was gone, he had grown quieter, but May had only steadily grown older and more vocal. She could carry on real conversations now, something that Penny had been waiting for so expectantly. He hardly knew what to do with all of May’s nonstop chatter. But the moment she left for school, he didn’t know what to do without her.

Yes, please eat those, he finally responded, skipping the questions about the mouse in hopes that she’d forget about them.

She didn’t. So if I find the mouse, can I keep it?

Okay, he finally relented. He didn’t know that little girls liked mice. He wasn’t even convinced the animal was a mouse. If we can find somewhere to keep it. We can’t let it steal all our food.

She nodded. Except lemon stuff.

Other people buy lemon stuff, May Flower.

He hurried her away from the table and into her school uniform as the minutes ticked by. He brushed down her hair and put a bumblebee pin in the front. She sang him a song she was learning in school to remember the names of the months as she waited at the front window. Soon, her friend Lilly stopped outside the window and waved a gloved hand from the sidewalk. The girls had matching scarves that Lilly’s mother had knitted for them last Christmas. The cheery woman also waved through the window, holding Lilly’s hand, as May opened the shop door to join them. It was a short walk to their school at the church on the end of the street. The little bell jingled above the door as May slipped out. Then the silence settled.

Customers filtered in and out. Harlow knew many of their patterns and orders, so the breads and pastries were already waiting for them by the time they reached his counter. The sunlight filtered over the shelves, over wallpaper, and across the sticky buns in glass displays as the day passed. Harlow did the baking he always did, then made the pies that Penny had always reserved for herself. Her favorites had been the cherry ones, for the color. Every time he made one, he half expected her to leap out from behind him and announce that he couldn’t make it without her. But in case she had a view of the display case from Heaven, he labeled the pie as Penny’s Cherry Pie inside the glass.

It seemed like an eternity before the door jingled again and May was back, her cheeks flushed from the autumn chill. She had eaten all the lunch he’d packed for her, which she announced proudly. Then, before she even shed her jacket, she searched the traps for her mouse. No mouse, she sighed.

Not yet, he reminded her, catching her as she ran by to snag her jacket and scarf to hang up.

He fed the fireplace upstairs after dinner until small orange flames leapt from the kindling. Then, as May got herself comfortable in her chair, the fire grew large and crackling. Which story would you like tonight? he asked her, sitting back in his own chair. The moment he was settled, May abandoned her chair and climbed up into his. Mm, the David and Goliath one.

All right, here goes.

He added inflections and different voices for all the characters in stories. May thought the giant’s voice was hilarious. Far from being afraid, she’d begin to laugh whenever he tried to do a deep, rumbling giant voice. He loved the way she’d throw her head back dramatically to laugh, as if she’s seen someone do it and thought it was crucial to the process. She nearly fell over the arm of the chair a couple times trying to laugh.

As the sun began to set early in the evening, Harlow checked everything downstairs in the bakery one last time, covering everything and cleaning. Then he heard a creak coming from the stairs. A small candle flickered around the second story. He walked back upstairs curiously and found May in her blue nightgown halfway up the attic steps with a candle. I heard the mouse, she whispered, yellow light dancing against her cheeks. It’s upstairs. I heard it.

He reluctantly followed her. He hadn’t been in the attic for a while. He had some of Penny’s stuff packed away in trunks and didn’t want to look at anything he’d left out. But May disappeared into the shadows of the landing without hesitation, so he climbed up.

When they stood in the center of the musty room, the last streak of sunset dying in the tiny, front window, he realized what their mouse had been all along. An old sheet had been hung from the vanity against the wall. It was shaped into a small tent with a stack of books pinning the corner down. The trunk of winter quilts had been opened up, and a multicolored pile of them furnished the inside of the tent.

There weren’t any useful hiding places in the attic, so when Harlow stepped to the open side of the sheet he could see two small boys sitting together with wide eyes. He took in their frightened expressions as they took in his surprised one. Then they jumped a little as May poked her head in with the candle. It’s not a mouse. It’s you!

There was one larger boy, maybe May’s age, then a smaller one who couldn’t be any older than four. Harlow was shocked that the older one had managed to keep a four-year-old quiet for nearly a week. The older boy had dark hair and a solemn face. The coat over his shoulders that he’d dug out of a chest practically swallowed him. The smaller boy still had tight, russet baby curls and was staring with his mouth agape.

We’re sorry, the larger boy blurted out. I didn’t take much. He glanced at the coat he was wearing, then shook it off. Sorry. We’ll go. Please don’t—

It’s okay. It’s okay. Harlow held out his hand, trying to calm them. The little boy was starting to breathe in that pattern that told him tears were not far behind. We’re not upset. He sat down outside their makeshift tent to appear less threatening, then asked, How did you get here?

The eldest responded, keeping his arms wrapped around his brother. We’re orphans. He said the word as though he were still tossing it around his head, not sure it was the right one. Harlow didn’t wish the understanding of that word upon any six-year-old. We were on a trip, so we kept walking. We came to this town.

They probably saw the bakery sign with the carving of bread under the words and figured they could find food there. They certainly had.

May’s voice came from his right side, Can we keep them? You said if I found the mouse, we could keep it. So can they stay with us? She looked back at the boys, and he saw the thought dawn on her face. They can be my brothers!

The boys were looking at May, a little calmer seeing a child than seeing Harlow. What are your names? she asked next.

I’m Evan. That’s Carter. After the short introduction, Evan glanced back at Harlow. He seemed to understand that even though May wanted them to stay, it didn’t matter unless he agreed.

I’m May Angela Winter, she decided to be proper, giving her entire name proudly. Harlow motioned to the stairs before May could tell them her whole life story. You can come downstairs. There’s a fireplace, and you can bring all these quilts you want. We’ll make you both a bed downstairs with them. How does that sound?

Do we have to go away tomorrow? Can he stay with me? Evan asked, barely talking over his little brother, who finally found his voice and was asking for a cinnamon bun. Harlow vaguely remembered a bun going missing two days ago. No, you don’t have to go. And you can have more cinnamon buns.

This clinched the deal for both boys, who finally stirred from their tent hideout at the promise of more food. May excitedly helped them along, barely remembering to put down her candle before grabbing a quilt. She rushed up and down the stairs, folding the quilts into two beds on the fireplace rug and telling them all about her favorite doll and favorite foods and favorite school subjects.

The boys didn’t respond at first, only staying close together and sitting on top of their new temporary beds. Then Harlow brought some omelets and fruit he’d quickly thrown together onto a tray with cups of water for the boys, and they began to come alive. Once they had eaten their fill, they began to join May’s chatter. Their tired eyes sparked with renewed boyish energy.

Harlow sat down after a minute in the chair behind them, taking in the sight and slowly processing what this meant. Their town had no experience with orphans, no standards for what to do with them. The answer seemed obvious to him. He’d check to make sure the boys truly had no living relatives who wanted to take them. And if they didn’t, he would try to keep them. May was clearly eager for the added companionship and had always wanted siblings.

After they’d eaten, the boys began to warm up to May and held up their hands in a circle to play a game she’d learned from school. After quietly observing them play for a while, he could tell that whoever the brothers’ parents had been, they must have been good people. They were silly and were clearly starving to make proper noise without trying to hide, but they were also polite and insisted on May going first when they took turns.

When May mentioned the story of David and Goliath, Harlow was initially surprised to hear them say that they liked that one, but that they liked the Daniel story too. They must have been listening to him tell the stories every night.

Harlow smiled a little at that thought. Tomorrow was Sunday, so he’d take them to church and they’d hear even more.

He stayed awake long enough to watch sleep slowly creep up on the three of them. May ended up falling asleep next to the fireplace, so he brought her pillow and carefully slid it under her head.

The next few days were chaotic, full, and good. Evan stood next to the kitchen table while Carter stood on a stool to reach, and they enthusiastically learned to help bake in the morning.

Don’t pour it all the way full. Harlow put a finger on the bowl of batter in Evan’s hand. When muffins get in the oven, they rise.

He looked over at May, who was up to her elbows in flour. Did you add the oil?

She peered inside the bowl. Ohhh. That’s what I missed.

Harlow checked on Carter, who had a dish of powdered sugar and was sprinkling it onto beignets. Evan was making faces at his brother, and he could see the laugh building in Carter’s lungs. Look that way if you’re going to— he tried to warn.

The little boy burst into giggles. The powdered sugar in the spoon in front of him exploded into a puff of white. The surprise only made him laugh harder, May immediately joining in at the sight of the powdered sugar cloud in the air. Evan just looked up at Harlow briefly to see if he was upset. But, once he’d confirmed that his brother’s antics were amusing to everyone, he wiped a streak of white off Carter’s nose with one finger and gave in to the laughter.

The bakery hadn’t been so lively in so long. Evan didn’t eat all of his food for a few days, hiding some of it away under his pillow. Harlow pretended not to notice, letting him have his feeling of security after so much uncertainty. But after the boy continued to go to bed full night after night, and knew beyond a doubt that his brother would never be hungry, the habit went away. Harlow soaked up all the constant noise, growing more attached to the two boys by the day.

It took weeks to confirm that they were officially orphans, but once he did, he told them of his intention to adopt them. They were overjoyed that they’d never have to leave. The four of them celebrated with a cake that Harlow and May had made for them in secret. One half of the cake was strawberry, Carter’s favorite, and the other half was chocolate for Evan.

Once Evan and May left for school in the morning, Harlow let Carter sit at the front counter and draw on the outside of the parchment paper for the bread. The little boy knew how to draw two things: something that vaguely resembled a cat head with pointed ears, and an umbrella with a cloud. He repeated those designs all over the paper with his pencil.

Who is this for? Harlow asked him, squinting at his latest cat, which actually wasn’t bad.

Mrs. Maggie, Carter said, holding up the sheet of parchment. He’d grown familiar with the morning rotation of customers.

All right. Harlow wrapped Maggie’s cranberry nut bread and handed it back to Carter to present to her. He held it for a second, then put it to the side to draw on more paper. Why don’t we try to draw some bakery things on them. I can show you how to draw a... He cast about for something easy to doodle that was nearby. A muffin?

Carter was staring out the front windows at the sunrise blend of autumn leaves blowing across the sidewalk. Can I draw leaves on them?

Harlow looked at the window. Those are oak leaves. He tried his best to replicate one with the pencil, then handed it back. Carter used his passable example of the leaf to draw dozens more on the paper.

The door’s bell jingled. Mrs. Maggie walked in, right on time. Carter quickly abandoned his current project and picked up her wrapped loaf of bread. This is for you, he said proudly, before she could even open her mouth to greet them.

Thank you, the older woman said with a big grin especially reserved for him. The librarian always had a certain glow about her small face and a halo of snow white hair. She taught a Sunday school class