A VILLAGE REBORN
ALM No.95, November 2026
ESSAYS
Baking was a passion and a gift for twenty five year old Laura Bowden. After traveling the world to learn how bakers crafted their own baking creations, she was more than excited to return to Kingston. Prior to her leaving Paris for Kingston in 1925, she contemplated on staying or leaving after receiving a certificate from a private culinary school. The instructor and owner of the school was an older woman from Washington who saw the passion in Laura’s eyes and her in her baking. Laura graduated at the top of her class, and had received many offers to intern with some of the greatest chefs in the world, in Paris and beyond.
There were far too many people in Paris for Laura to breathe, but Paris did have its advantages for someone like her, and many other people that simply wanted to be. She had always counted her blessings, and dared not take anything for granted. With one week before leaving for Kingston, Laura was invited to bake and rest or whatever she wished at a plantation in the country. “I am sure you know that it is a tactic to make you stay. You are a gift and you have a gift, Ms. Bowden. Paris needs more people like you.” Leslie Morton was from England and left England for Paris twenty five years before.
Leslie had once had a passion for cooking, and still did, but her voice was more therapeutic for others, she thought as well as herself. She hoped that Laura looked up to her, but she knew that Laura was headstrong and independent. Neither of the two women was in relationships, or Leslie had wondered if Laura was. Laura was quiet and very reserved, and Leslie was concerned about her but for what reason? Laura had determination to accomplish all that she wanted to, where ever in the world. “I know you don’t like Paris, but there is still much to see, you know. Do you really have to go back to Kingston?”
Leslie could not believe that she found herself practically begging Laura to stay. The two women were in the garden of a café drinking tea and eating scones. “I truly appreciate all that you have done for me, Ms. Morton, Paris is not my home, nor has it felt like home. I do not mean to seem ungrateful, but it just feels antiquated for me to remain here, as if I am running away from something or perhaps myself…” Both Laura and Leslie liked each other and had respect for one another. Laura had known the reason of Leslie vowing to live in Paris for the rest of her life. “I do apologize for being forceful. There are other places that are wonderful and have culture and love and beauty. For peace and quiet, my plantation that I bought does have that. It was a cocoa plantation owned and operated by very wealthy woman. She no longer wanted to live in Paris, either. Strangely, she did not want much money for the plantation, and she said that was glad to have sold it and not look back. I sometimes wonder why I had bought it myself…” Laura could not eat another scone, and the tea was cold with hardened lumps of sugar. “I want to do more than cooking and baking, possibly write. I have always loved stories of fiction, and I have not written in a long time.” It was a wonder to Laura if some special ingredient was put in the scones that made her candid with Leslie; Laura was very quiet and reserved, and it surprised her that she opened up.
“You love to write? That is wonderful, Laura! I knew it. My dear, you are a dream and hope…”
Leslie knew that she had to stop, because she could tell that Laura’s demeanor was shy. “I am sure that my scones would taste a world better than these; these scones were probably not even made at this café. I knew the couple that used to own this café, they were wonderful people. Their scones were magnificent, and so was the coffee and tea.” Laura graciously listened to Leslie talk easily as she thought about of her life and the thought of her writing again. “I hope I am not making you want to leave at this very minute; leaving Paris on this very day, I mean. I could sure have some coffee; I did not like the tea.”
Laura found herself in a place of dreams, happiness, and inspiration. Looking down at her hands and thinking that her hands had made many dishes, cut many vegetables and fruits and meats and poultry. Baking was her least favorite; she did not like use flour in her baking, and she dreaded kneading dough. She somehow felt that making soups and dishes that had no meat would resonate with writing. Yes, Laura Bowden was going to write and write! Leslie Morton had ordered coffee for herself knowing that Laura did not drink coffee.
She looked at Laura and hoped and wished that she would stay and leave Paris. Leslie liked that Laura was quiet and focused on her future. To tell the truth, Leslie, too, was no longer baking. Laura and Leslie loved eating cakes and pies, and all else that was warm, soft and sweet. The coffee was hot, but Leslie still drank it with gladness and savored the wonderful that it had to offer. “It so strange that the coffee tastes better than the tea,” said Leslie. Years ago when Laura was younger, she carried a composition notebook with her, and she wished that she had with her at that very moment. She was ready to make writing her passion again. “I have never saw the point in drinking coffee, just like people smoking cigarettes,” said Laura. Heavy rain had come out of nowhere prompting the crowd to flee while some just stayed where they were. “For heaven’s sake, I have finally been free of that horrible cold, and the rain may come along and bring it back!” said Leslie. “Allow me to hail a taxi for you, Ms. Morton.”
Thankfully, a taxi had stopped directly in front of the café. “You are coming with me, are you not, dear?” Leslie asked Laura, holding her hand not intending or wanting her to depart. “I would terribly hate for you to become ill from this rain, even though we need the rain.” They were in a part of Paris where American English was always spoken. The taxi driver had a British accent. “Where are you two ladies going to in all of this rain?” The driver was short in height and female. Leslie had placed her hand over Laura’s hand. “No place in particular; we are simply enjoying this day and being free.”
The heavy rain had ceased, but the sky was magically and wondrously gray and purple. The driver had whistled a pleasant tune as Laura suspected that Leslie was taking her to the cocoa plantation. “You can let us off two blocks ahead, thank you, Miss” said Leslie. Laura never knew or saw where Leslie lived. She had an impression that she lived. They were in a village past the city, a village that Laura did not know existed. “I did not know that there was a village this close; I thought it was further out.” The driver had hummed a more subtle tune, adding to the beauty that the village had to offer those like Laura.
‘I hope that I was not keeping you from anything of importance. When people come to Paris, villages are not what stand out. Perhaps that is good, but many have no idea what they are missing,” said Leslie while looking out of the taxi window. The weather was pleasantly cool when at most times the weather was rather warm after the rain. Laura was moved and enchanted by the countless trees and hidden plush hills, one church, and ivy covered small homes. “I am from a small town outside of Britain, and for years, I thought nothing to top where I am from. This place is right as rain, and I am sure that many children live here,” said the taxi driver.
The taxi driver removed her cap and continued to drive with joy. “This place is wonderful colorful, and captivating. You actually live here, Ms. Morton?” Laura had at times imagined Leslie living on the Paris strip in a large apartment as she lived in a large apartment. “No, I do not live here in the village. I often come here at times to visit friends and…I do not live in Paris.” Naturally, Laura thought that Leslie lived in Paris, by it being the capital of France. “I live in France, actually. Where I live in France is peaceful, but I try to come into the village when I can to…” Laura listened intently to every word that Leslie was saying. “This is fine, driver,” said Leslie. Leslie paid the driver and gestured to Laura to not pay. “I hope I get more calls to come here. Goodbye, my ladies,” said the driver. It felt like a dream or fairy tale to Laura filled with music in her heart and soul. There was pure silence in the village where the world outside if it did not exist; as if the village was the only world that God himself created and lived in. “You are the first person I have ever brought here to see. There are not many people that know about this village, you see, and with reason,” said Leslie looking around as Laura continued to look around.
In the far distance, there was a rainbow mixed with dark clouds, a sight that was sure to be only in dreams. Laura thought her eyes were deceiving her as the clouds became darker. The rainbow remained as well, and the silence had lifted making Laura and Leslie look around more as they paid attention as to what had ended the silence. It must have been a different experience for Laura, too, because she did not a word. There were homes, mostly small cottages and small homes; there was not any other person in sight. “I had heard that rainbows and clouds talk to each other. My grandmother had told me that when I was a child,” said Leslie.
There was also a myth that the people in the village knew when to stay inside of their homes. Could it have been that they were afraid and afraid of what? “There is no fear in this place; the people here know but everyone knows that. This is a day of respect and happiness,” said Leslie. Whenever Leslie would speak, she did not look at Laura. “If that is true, Ms. Morton, should we not be here? I certainly do not want to be disrespectful or invading one’s space.” Leslie stood next to Laura, looked straight ahead.
“This is my first time coming here. I have been asked many times to come here and to bring you with me. I am not afraid, and neither should you be.” The village had life as some people began to come out of their cottages, some, a school, and a church. There were some walking towards Laura and Leslie, a man and a woman, carrying a picnic basket and quilts. “You are in time for our annual picnic and bake sale, book sale, and all else!” “Ms. Leslie Morton, we were hoping that you would bring some of your wonderful baked goods. You could not have forgotten to bake your awesome one-sheet round cakes that everyone loves?” Leslie put her hand into Laura’s arm, stood slightly behind her. She was trying to present her. “I do apologize, but my hands have been in terrible pain from arthritis. Please allow me to present Ms. Laura Bowden, a chef extraordinaire! As you all can see, she is shy, but she is an excellent cook and her baking is supreme.” The two people had to embrace with the utmost cordiality. Why should they not?
“Welcome, Ms. Bowden. We are delighted to meet you and have you here in our village. The rainbow appears all of the time with the dark clouds. It brings beauty, joy and one of the many reminders that we should be grateful each and every day, do you agree?” The man whom Leslie did not name, was the one talking, while the woman with him stood quiet and agreeing with all that he had said. “Forgive me, my dear. This is Mr. and Ms. Christie; they are cousins originally from New York. They have been living here for five years now, and they really bring more joy and love to this place from their cooking,” said Leslie.
Laura had wondered when Leslie would stop talking and allow her to speak. “It is very nice to meet you both, Mr. and Ms. Christie. I am not also from here originally. I am from a small California seaside town. I never knew about this place, it is dreamlike and lovely.” Leslie had hoped that Laura would not mention about her wanting to move back to California to the Christies. “Let us all walk and find a comfortable place to sit, eat, and become real friends,” said Gil Christie. Gil and Ingrid Christie were first cousins, their fathers were brothers, and they were the only family between them, or that they knew of.
“I believe the pond will be a wonderful place for us to have our picnic and fellowship. There is plenty of food in this basket of ours, so do not worry. I hope that you have brought your appetites.” Every area of the village was peaceful and enchanting as if it was in some way close to heaven on earth. The four of them found a beautiful and large black and blue tree near a part of the pond filled with fishes. “This will do wonderfully, under this marvelous tree,” said Gil. Ingrid had two quilts under her arms, and she gave one to Leslie and Laura to spread out on the grass. “My, these quilts are beautiful and they were made to last a lifetime. Too lovely to sit on over grass,” said Leslie. “Thank you. I made the quilts one year ago. I am opening my own quilt store right here in the village very soon.
My dear cousin Gil thinks that I may be taking on tasks that I cannot handle, because I have many orders to fill for churches in Rome, but the poor are in need of quilts for the winters.” The relationship between the two cousins had interested both Laura and Leslie. Ingrid had her chance to speak, and she did. Leslie looked down at Gil. She was curious as to the expression that he had on his face while Ingrid was talking about herself and for herself. Leslie knew that she liked Ingrid, and she knew that Laura liked her as well.
All four of them held hands by helping each other down on to the quilt. Gil had opened the picnic basket with a smile pulling out the cloths, napkins, and the silverware. Everything was elegant even for a picnic. “Ladies, may I present my kitchen delights?! As fellow bakers, I make my own bread with my own secret flavors.” The bread was wrapped in a separate blue cloth. “Next, we have three kinds of salads. I love salads, and the idea of them outdoors surrounded by beauty, means music,” said Gil.
“Why, Mr. Christie, I did not know that you make your own bread. What a splendid thing to hear!” Leslie had replied. Gil did not reveal the types of salads that he had made. Once the all of the food was displayed out on the quilt, they held hands and said grace. “Heavenly Father, we give you honor, glory, and we thank you, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” The day could have not been more meaningful. The portions were plentiful, and Gil Christie was not one to serve small portions of food. “I believe that if you are going to cook, then you cook with the appreciation for life and God and take nothing for granted. There are many, many people that hungry and tragically starving, and I try to be as generous as I can. You two can understand that can you not?” Leslie and Laura looked back and forth between Gil and Ingrid.
They looked at each other, not sure what to think of the dynamics with Gil and Ingrid, the two first cousins. To ease the slight tension, Leslie clapped her hands with cheer and said, “Well, I eat all that you have cooked, because I am one to clean a plate. I mean, just look at me.” Leslie Morton was short and healthy; but nonetheless, very attractive with light eyes and dark short hair, similar to a bob. “Ms. Morton, I hope you know that you inspire me to keep continue to cook. I have thought about opening my own restaurant for some time now,” said Gil.
Laura and Ingrid were eating the three salads that Gil had made. Leslie and Gil partook eating the bread along with butter. The butter was not like any other that Leslie had ever tasted. “I tell you, Mr. Christie, that this butter has a unique taste it. I cannot recognize one flavor or ingredient; this is uncanny, if I must say,” Though Laura was a baker, she rarely ate breads at all, and that was not uncommon among bakers. “You two girls better have some of this bread Ms. Morton and I devour this masterpiece of mine,” said Gil.
Both Laura and Ingrid nodded their heads gesturing that they were happy eating the salads alone. The salads did not have lettuce in either of them, and that suited Laura just fine, because she did not like to eat lettuce. Gil could not have known that she did not like to eat lettuce. “It terribly warms me to see you enjoying my cooking along with Ms. Morton, Ms. Bowden.” Naturally after eating the food, they became thirsty for drink. The picnic basket was empty. “I honestly do not know what I was thinking leaving the iced tea and punch. Please forgive me, ladies. I have become thirsty myself,” said Gil with candor. “I just remembered that there is a small tea and beverage shop here in the village. If you all don’t mind walking off the food that we have just eaten, it worth it to go there and explore the tea shop,” said Ingrid. The four of them left their picnic dwelling to walk towards the tea shop that Ingrid had suggested. Laura liked and appreciated that Ingrid had opened up and to know that she did have a voice and was not in the shadows of her cousin which was presumed by Laura. Leslie and Gil ahead of Laura and Ingrid like it were meant to be in that order. “I do not know if I have room for even tea,” said Laura.
Ingrid had pleasantly smiled like a child when Laura said that. “Trust me, Ms. Bowden; you will have plenty of room to drink the most wonderful teas ever, hot or cold.” Leslie and Gil had walked further ahead of Laura and Ingrid to where neither conversation could he heard. “This village is lovely and magical, but I do not like living here in Paris. People come here from all over the world, and many end up staying for good, but Paris is not for me.”
With that being said, Laura truly felt that she had an ally and they were in the same boat of wanting to leave Paris. “Tell me about where are from, Ms. Bowden. You are from California, is that correct? I have never been and I always heard that it is beautiful there. Maybe someday, I will go there and see all of the beautiful places.” Ingrid had spoken with feeling and sentiment. She liked Laura and she liked talking to her pouring out her feelings and not wondering if she would be judged. Why on earth would she be judged?
“Yes, I was born and raised there, in a town called Kingston. No matter where you go, the sea follows you, and it is beautiful.” Laura and Ingrid were friends, and there was no denying or escaping it. “To me, Kingston is small, but large with ample space for everyone, and there is also a village that is equally fascinating.” The tea shop was closer than Laura and Leslie thought. “We have arrived,” said Gil to Laura and Leslie. Juliet’s Tea Cottage was an actual cottage and was still fairly new. “Well, Mr. Christie, how wonderful it is that you have come here to my tea cottage! Ingrid, my darling, it is fabulous to see you as well. Are these ladies friends of yours?” Juliet Horne was the owner of the tea shop, and not what Laura had expected. “Ms. Morton, I must be getting old very quickly; how could I not remember you! Is this dear a relative of yours?” Juliet appeared to be near Leslie’s age and taller than Leslie. Leslie could tell that Gil was about to say something, and she gestured for Laura to step closer.
“Ms. Horne, please allow me to introduce Laura Bowden, a talented baker from California.” The tea cottage was heavily decorated with tea kettles and cups. Paintings and dolls added the fairy tale and childlike feeling to the cottage. The cottage was quiet with not too many customers inside, but to Laura’s surprise and appeasement, there were customers outside of the cottage in the back that overlooked an opulent garden. Juliet had led Laura, Leslie, Gil, and Ingrid to a gazebo that also had tea cups and tea kettles.
“Ms. Morton, I have recently hired a baker, and he baked a wonderful cake for the tea cottage this morning. May I interest all four of you to try some?” Leslie held up both hands and said, “My dear, Ms. Horne, we have just had a feast for a picnic before we arrived. I absolutely have no room for cake, though I can only speak for myself.” Laura could not take her eyes off the tea cups and tea kettles. Some of them looked as if a child made them, but priceless. “I am with Ms. Morton on your cake, but I will have some tea,” said Gil.
Laura had picked up one of the tea kettles and it was heavy that she placed her hand to the bottom. She or anyone would have assumed that they were all heavy. Juliet must have read their minds and brought out iced along with four glasses tea instead of hot tea. The pitcher of the iced tea was black and the outside was sweating from the ice cubes. “Please enjoy this, my dear friends,” said Juliet. The day could have been mistaken for a hot summer day based on that the friends had emptied the pitcher. “The iced tea was absolutely cold that is did not even bother my sensitive tooth, and divinely delicious,” said Gil. Leslie had looked at Laura as if she had forgotten that Laura was there. She at looked at her that way until Laura would notice, and she did. Gil and Ingrid were reunited by sitting together from where Laura and Ingrid were. “My dear, you have been quiet long enough about what is around you. I know that you were surprised to see something stand out about Ms. Horne, yourself, and the rest of us. This place needs you, because we are all Negroes, and so are you.”
Richard Eddie has been writing since 2002. Richard Eddie lives in California.
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