LORETTA HEARD the school bus coming up the road and hurried to wrap up three loaves of cranberry bread and slap on “Indigo Bakery” stickers. When school started, she got the brilliant idea to offer free bread samples to the kids and the driver, Della Roy. Soon she’d had orders pouring in from the kids’ parents-many from neighboring towns who might not otherwise have thought to try her baked goods. Today’s was just a small order, but every little bit helped.

She ran outside just as the bus pulled to a stop and Zara hopped off, though not with the usual spring in her step. Loretta handed the small bag of breads to Della. “Kane, Schubert and Cauberraux. And the shortbread cookies are for you.” Della was a cookie fanatic, so Loretta baked her a few in return for delivering bread orders along with the kids. She seemed to enjoy the break in her routine.

“Thanks.” Della beamed. “If you get any more business, I’m gonna be big as a house. See you tomorrow.” She pulled away, leaving Zara standing forlornly by the side of the road.

It was then that Loretta noticed the bruise on Zara’s cheek, and the fact her little yellow T-shirt had a torn sleeve.

“Zara, what on earth happened to you?” Loretta smoothed back her daughter’s red hair, inspecting the bruise and checking for other injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Long story.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it, please.”

Zara headed toward the bakery, which had been built onto the front of Loretta’s small frame house. The space was just large enough to accommodate a glass-front case along one wall, a commercial fridge, a marble-topped work space, and the brick oven, which dominated. There was also a sturdy oak table and four ladder-back chairs, for those times when a customer wanted to sit down with their bakery treat and consume it on the spot. An old-fashioned cash register handled the money.

Right now, though, the shop was deserted. Zara dropped her backpack on the floor with a clunk and plopped into one of the chairs.