Shallow valleys curved and twisted their ways across the thin, white landscape. Gittel blew cool air overhead, drying the overflowing the black ink and making it permanent.
Across from her sat yet another of the holy refugees of Radzyn, declaring his name, his mother's, and his place of birth, before listing the ingredients and measurements for his recipe. When he was finished, Gittel would give it a name, sometimes clever, sometimes not, and hand it off to Eidel for testing. If it was sweet enough, they'd make room on the newly built shelves for everybody to try. If it wasn't, they'd figure out how to make it so.
However, no matter how delicious any of the new recipes were, it wouldn't matter much. The only reason people now waited in line for hours, foregoing their other responsibilities as the sun approached the end of the week, was to purchase a piece of "Fruma's Zys Carrot Cake."
Although the women of Yankle's now sold baked goods from all the exotic origins of Radzyn's newcomers, the sweet fragrances of Fruma's carrot cake was the one that filled the bakery and followed customers out the door and throughout their day.
"Gittel!" yelled Buncha from the kitchen. "I told you already that these ingredients can't be found for 500 miles! What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Buncha." Fruma murmured to herself, shaking her head without looking up from the register. As much as she tried, she couldn't help but smile. "That poor girl."
Gittel sighed and sat straight up, turning around to check the same iron clock that had been hanging above the stove for generations. It was almost sunset again, and that meant the women of Yankle's only had a few hours left to finish the day's work.
It did not feel like enough time.
