Summary: Grace finds something precious in the forest which leads to an afternoon of family baking and lots of father and daughter bonding.
Warnings: None. Excessive fluff?!
Disclaimer: OUAT and associated characters belong to ABC Studios. Writing belongs to me.
AN: Another precious childhood memory of mine is that of baking with my parents, wanting to learn how to do everything and getting awfully sticky and making an enormous mess in the process. I can imagine Grace having the same enthusiasm for cooking and so this story was born. Amongst all the happy fluff though, some Jefferson feels snuck up on me… Jefferson wants so much to be able to provide for his daughter, wants her to be happy, and, being poor, he sometimes thinks that he is failing in this. I wish he could truly see just how being there for his daughter and loving her with all his heart like he does, does in fact make him a perfect father for his Grace.
AN2: This story is dedicated to (in no particular order) Ode to a Fangirl, niennavalier, Juliet Knighly, LostinFairyTales and Fangirl308, as a huge thank you for their faithful reading of my Jefferson and Grace stories and the encouragement they show me through their lovely reviews and messages. Your kind words and support make me smile so much and give me the confidence to continue writing these one-shots about these characters that I love. Thank you so much!
Hope you enjoy - reviews are much appreciated :)
Sugar and Spice
By Lanthiriel25
Grace dashed through the trees, frantically looking around her. Her eyes expertly assessing her surroundings, urgently needing some place to hide. She skipped nimbly over a fallen log, the moss having grown over it, the vines twisting and creeping. Her boots created a cloud of dust as she landed, her skirts fanning out behind her. Using her hand to swing herself around the nearest tree, away from the forest path, her glove snagging over the rough bark and feet sliding in the dirt, she stumbled to a halt.
There! It was perfect!
Hitching up her skirt so she could get a good foothold, she then reached up, hoisting herself onto the lowest branch. Climbing up one more tier, wedging herself behind the trunk, one hand wrapped around the branch above her to hold her steady, ducking slightly so she wouldn't bump her head on said branch, Grace peered through the leaves. Making sure she tucked in the edges of her cloak, not wanting anything to give her away, she waited, holding her breath in anticipation.
A twig snapped behind her. Grace's head whipped around, hair tumbling out from under her hood. Cautiously pushing aside the curtain of leaves, Grace scanned the forest behind her, searching for the source of the sound. She couldn't see anything. But as she was about to turn back to watch the road, her gaze caught on something lying in the undergrowth. A splash of brightest red in a wash of brown and green. Grace narrowed her eyes, leaning further out so she could see more clearly. It was small, round, shiny, looking ever so inviting.
Was it…? The first apple of the season?
Grace jumped from her perch, dropping to a crouch to cushion her fall. Eyes never leaving the red jewel which gleamed in the garden of green, she slowly straightened, tiptoeing forward, feet almost silent as she approached. Pulling off her glove, wanting to feel the smooth fresh skin of the apple for herself, Grace stooped, fingers wrapping around the fruit. Glancing around as she stood, she realised she couldn't see any more lying amongst the brush.
She looked up, hood tipping from her head as she gazed up in awe at the array of apple hanging proudly in the canopy above her. Each one bright and shiny and looking oh-so-sweet. Grace's eyes were wide, fixed on the sight above her, spinning slowly where she stood, mouth slightly agape in wonder. There were so many! Ripe and juicy and just waiting to be picked!
She didn't even hear her father's call of "Ready or not, here I come!", too caught up in the delightful sight before her.
Jefferson peered around tree trunks, searched in the small hollows and looked under bushes, but could find no sign of his daughter. Standing still, he listened for any sound which would give her away, but he heard nothing. He knew she wouldn't have gone outside their agreed area, Jefferson not wanting to risk losing her for real, but she'd vanished without a trace. Deciding on a direction, Jefferson continued his search. She was far too good at this game, he smiled to himself.
Or maybe not. Taking the right-forking path, he was met by the sight of Grace standing out in the open, staring up into a tree, head tipped back, a soft smile on her lips. Jefferson chuckled to himself, wondering what had captured his daughter's imagination this time. He wiped his forehead on his cuff as he began to approach.
"Have you forgotten how this game works, my dear Grace?"
Ignoring his comment, Grace hurried over to him, grasping him by the hand, and eagerly pulling him over to the tree.
"Papa, look!"
Jefferson's gaze followed where she was pointing, now understanding what had his daughter so enthralled.
"Apples, Papa! I found apples!"
Jefferson laughed; sometimes he thought his daughter truly was part-bloodhound what with her amazing ability to find things.
"You sure did!" he smiled.
Judging the height of the boughs, Jefferson thought he could reach the bottom layers of fruit if he stretched, but seeing Grace's excited face, her eager, twitching fingers, he had a better idea.
"You want to help pick some?"
"Yes, please!" Grace beamed at his question, wanting nothing more.
"Then, climb up," Jefferson encouraged with a chuckle at her enthusiasm, crouching down, hands held up to help her, the empty basket hooked ready over his elbow.
Clambering on to his shoulders, Grace gripped his hands tightly so she wouldn't fall. Making sure she was secure, Jefferson stood, one foot at a time, adjusting his balance. Once Grace was comfortable, he let go, holding her legs tightly in one hand, basket held out in the other.
Grace reached out, her fingers stretching, gripping onto the nearest apple firmly, before tugging it free.
"Basket, please!"
Catching her ankles where they hung over his chest under his forearm, Jefferson held up the small wicker hamper higher so she could place her prize into it. Apple after apple Grace carefully selected, twisting them from the branches, laughing as they shook when she pulled the fruit free, leaves tumbling around her as they fell.
Cries of "Catch, Papa!" and "Here comes another one!" echoed through the trees, Jefferson's encouraging and teasing mingling with Grace's twinkling laughter as it rung joyfully through the forest.
Their small basket, now full to over-flowing, rested by the tree, her father crouched by it, counting how many they had managed to collect. Joining him from where she was balancing her way along a fallen log, arms out-stretched, one foot carefully tip-toeing in front of the other, Grace reached out, picking out one of the apples from the basket, cradling it in her palms. She could smell the sweetness, imagined how it would taste if she were to bite into it, the crisp tang of the juice bursting over her tongue. Lifting the fruit to her nose, she breathed deeply, closing her eyes, enjoying the wonderful scent. Looking between the basket and the apple in her hands, Grace shifted.
"Papa?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Could…could we make an apple pie? Please? We could have it for our supper tonight?"
Jefferson smiled at his daughter's eager and earnest face. He knew how much she loved fruit, pears, strawberries, rhubarb especially. But apples were her favourite. He'd watched as she'd picked out the single fruit, a look of longing on her face. It had hurt to see, knowing that he'd need to take most of the apples to market to sell. He'd planned on keeping one or two back for her to enjoy, but he'd need to keep many more than that if he was going to make an apple pie. The hope shining in her eyes nearly broke his heart. He hated that he couldn't always give his daughter everything she wanted or needed, that a simple apple pie was something so rare and treasured. He wished he could do more for his little girl, that he could be the father she truly needed.
Not wanting to see the look of hope on her face to turn to sad disappointment, Jefferson quickly calculated in his head. He thought of the bag of drying mushrooms he had back at the house, ready for their supper that evening. He could exchange some of those for the apples he'd keep instead, and that way he hoped he'd still be able to make enough money at the market to buy them some potatoes and meat; his little girl was growing and couldn't live on mushroom soup and vegetable stews alone. There'd only be enough for one portion of soup that night, instead of two, but that was ok.
"Of course we can, sweetheart," he smiled.
Her delighted squeal was the best reward, Grace throwing her arms around his neck in thanks. Maybe he was doing something right after all, he thought hopefully. Reaching out for her hand which Grace eagerly took, basket held in the other, they started back home, Grace chattering about how it was going to be the best pie ever. Jefferson couldn't help but agree.
"Like this, Papa?"
Grace leant against her father's chest and tilted her head back so she was looking at him, albeit upside down. Tapping her gently on the nose, Jefferson smiled reassuringly.
"That's good, but it might be easier if you do it this way. Here, try this."
Grace was standing on a small, wooden footstool so she could more easily reach the table and all the ingredients and crockery on it. Jefferson stood behind her, his arms bracketing his daughter. Wrapping his hand around her fist which held the dull knife, he carefully showed her how to cut into the apple with the edge of the tip of the knife first, before slicing down with the length. Grace watched closely, learning the movements as her Papa guided her hands. After a few cuts, he let her try on her own, hands hovering in case he was needed.
"That's it. Now here," he said, passing her the last apple, "just one more to go."
Once all the apples had been diced, Jefferson gathered up half of the pieces and dropped them into a small bowl, drizzling in some liquid honey, ready to mash into compote.
Before he began crushing the contents however, he cleared the table, pulling the nearly empty bag of flour, a few cups of water and a dish of soft butter, having placed it by the fire when they returned home, towards him.
"Do you remember how to make pastry?"
Grace screwed her face up in concentration, trying to recall how to make the soft dough.
"I… I think so," she answered hesitantly, a slight frown pulling down her eyebrows, chewing her lip unconsciously.
"We'll try it together, alright?" Jefferson offered, causing Grace's frown to vanish, nodding eagerly.
"So…" Her Papa gestured to the ingredients. "What do we need first?"
Scanning the items on the table, Grace hesitated before pointing to the flour. Bringing the bag forward, Jefferson emptied the contents into the large bowl for mixing.
"Then the butter?" Grace asked.
"Then the butter."
Reaching out and handing the bowl of butter to her Papa, Grace smiled. "Oh, I remember! This is where we get all messy!"
Jefferson laughed, knowing that that certainly was the case the other times they'd attempted to make pastry.
"Can I mix it in?" Grace asked.
Offering out the two bowls, Jefferson watched as his daughter got to work, adding in the butter bit by bit and rubbing it into the flour. Seeing that she was happy enough with her task, Jefferson got the work grinding down the ingredients for the paste, the scraping in the bowl providing a soundtrack to Grace's humming as she worked. Starting to add the water gradually, Grace began to mix it all together with a wooden spoon, the ingredients combining into a dough. Once that was complete, she tried to remove the dough from the bowl ready for rolling.
"Papa!" she exclaimed. "It's all sticky!"
Jefferson looked up, a laugh escaping from him as he saw Grace pouting, holding her hands above the bowl, fingers down, the mixture glooping slowly from her fingers.
"I can see that!"
Carefully detangling the overly wet pastry from her fingers and replacing it, with great difficulty, into the bowl, Jefferson quickly added an extra measure of flour to dry it out. He then roughly split it, creating two soft balls of dough ready to be shaped.
"Ready to roll it?"
"Yes," Grace agreed, brandishing the rolling pin to show her Papa just how ready she was.
Jefferson almost had to jump back from Grace's overly-enthusiastic wielding of the utensil.
"And what do we need to remember when rolling the dough?"
"Not to roll too thin or too fast. And…. And to add some flour if it sticks, and water if it cracks," Grace recited, rocking up onto her toes in eagerness.
"That's my girl," Jefferson praised, leaving her prepare the dough while he finished crushing and mixing the apple pulp and honey together, before finally adding in the waiting apple chunks. The compote was complete.
Looking over he saw that the pastry was also done, two neat circles resting on the table-top ready to be made into a pie. His daughter had done an admirable job. She sprinkled the last of the flour onto the second circle before turning to her Papa for his approval. Jefferson smiled at the dusting of flour across her cheek, reaching out to brush it away.
"No, Papa! You'll all sticky too! Papa!" Grace squirmed, holding her hands out to his chest, trying to push him away.
Jefferson, realising he had indeed got compote on his fingers and had accidently just wiped some on her face making her even messier, quickly apologised, using the end of his cravat to rub away the smudge, before rinsing his hands.
"Sorry, sweetie," he laughed, backing away from Grace's tickling fingers as she tried to exact her revenge.
"Now," Jefferson instructed, once the tickle fight had been concluded, Grace claiming victory, "you go and rinse your hands, while I get the dough into the pie dish, ok? Then, when you're done, you can add in the cinnamon to the compote."
Following her instructions at lightning speed, Grace clambered onto the stool for her next task. Carefully sprinkling the crushed cinnamon into the apple and honey mixture, Grace felt her nose beginning to twitch.
A sudden sneeze burst out of her, the cinnamon tickling her nose.
"Bless you," Jefferson said, pulling out his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket with a flourish, offering it to his daughter.
"Thank you, Papa," Grace smiled, bobbing a little curtsey as she took the hankie gratefully, sneezing into it twice more as her nose tickled, before washing her hands and adding the final ingredients to the mixture of apple chunks and compote.
Returning from the well, having collected the water her Papa had requested, the handle of the pail clutched tightly in both hands, Grace closed the door behind her with her back. She was met by the startled, somewhat guilty looking, face of her father.
"Papa!" Grace cried, seeing the spoon in her father's hand, his cheeks puffed out like the chipmunks she sometimes saw in the forest. "You stole some!"
"What madness is this?!" Jefferson protested. "I have done no such thing!" Speaking through a mouthful of compote, however, lessened the conviction of the words somewhat.
Setting down the pail of water she'd collected, Grace quickly crossed the room. She frowned, reaching out and smushing his cheeks between her hands, trying to prove her Papa's guilt.
Swallowing, Jefferson opened his mouth for her to see.
"See? Nothing here!"
"That's because you just swallowed it, Papa!" Grace admonished with a smile.
"You caught me!" he admitted. "But, look. I've got a testing spoon all ready and waiting for you too."
Picking her up, so she was perched on his hip, Jefferson handed her the spoon. Gripping it tightly in her fist, Grace scooped up some of the filling, licking her lips in anticipation before putting the entire spoonful in her mouth.
"Well?" Jefferson asked, bouncing her once, arms holding her safely so she wouldn't drop. He watched her face.
"Yummy! But it'll be even better when it's hot!" she declared. "Can I put it in the casing?"
"Of course you can," Jefferson agreed, setting her down on her feet, so she could clamber onto her stool and get started. "I'll get the stove stoked and ready."
Grace was busy pressing down the edges of the pastry dough lid, using a blunt knife to carve in the pattern around the rim. Adding a single 'x' in the centre of the pie, Grace had finished. Using her fingers, she adding on a very thin, final layer of honey to glaze the top, licking the golden sweetness off her fingers one by one when she was done.
"All finished, Papa!"
Jefferson appeared round the corner, sooty smudge on his forehead from cleaning out and lighting the stove.
"And can I see this masterpiece?" he asked, picking up the rag hanging over the back of the chair to wipe the ash from his hands.
Grace stepped aside, with a little flourish, revealing the pie sitting on the table-top.
"How long until it'll be ready, Papa?"
"Well, by the time you've cleaned up, I've got the mushroom soup cooked and you've eaten your main course, I'm sure it'll be more than hot enough to eat," Jefferson smiled, laughing as Grace's eyes lit up, scrambling to pile up the dirty dishes, get them rinsed and set the table for tea.
Her excitement was catching, Jefferson thought, shaking his head fondly to himself as she built a small tower of their chipped and mismatched crockery next to the water pail. Realising he'd better hurry preparing the soup, he double checked the stove door was bolted, and got to work dicing the mushrooms.
Jefferson's stomach growled as he served out Grace's steaming soup into her bowl. He carefully carried the wooden dish to the table, where Grace sat with her spoon already in hand. Setting it down in front of her, he rounded the table, sitting opposite his daughter. Grace frowned, seeing that her father hadn't served any soup for himself.
"But…?" she started, confused at his empty place.
"Don't you worry, Grace," Jefferson assured, ignoring the gnawing in his belly. "I'm just not very hungry tonight, and I want to save some room for our delicious pie. You tuck in."
Distracted by the reminder of the treat which was waiting for them, cooling slowly on the stove, Grace smiled. Dipping her spoon into the soup, she scooped up her first mouthful, carefully blowing on the liquid before taking a sip. She felt the broth warming her from the inside out and she quickly spooned up some more.
Soon, the mushroom soup had vanished, Grace placing her spoon in the bowl. Jefferson could see her trying to be patient, but her fidgeting and not-so-subtle glances over to the stove belied her eagerness for the next course. It wasn't often they had anything for dessert; sometimes they had some berries in the summer months, sometimes stewed rhubarb in the winter, but they went without more often than not, so Grace was clearly looking forward to this treat.
Clearing the table, setting out new plates and spoons, Jefferson carried the pie dish over in open palms, placing in between them. Cutting into the pastry for the first slice, Jefferson looked over at his daughter.
"How much would you like?" he asked. "This much?"
Keeping the tip of the knife in the centre of the pie, Jefferson moved the dull blade away from the first cut around to frame a tiny, thin triangle of pie.
"Papa…!" Grace laughed at the minuscule portion her father had suggested.
"More?" Jefferson exclaimed, feigning surprise, this time moving the knife almost half way around the pie.
Grace giggled. "Not that much, Papa! I'd be sick!"
"I guess you would," her Papa conceded.
"Here," Grace explained, placing her hand over her father's, guiding the blade until it hovered just under the quarter mark of the pie.
Pressing gently down together they cut Grace's slice, Jefferson transferring it neatly onto her plate before cutting a slightly smaller piece for himself.
He watched Grace examine her portion, pondering where to start from. Taking her spoon, Grace cut deliberately into her slice with the side of her spoon, making sure she had a good mix of pastry, apple chunks and some of the sweet fruit and cinnamon filling.
Seeing Grace's face light up, enjoying her first bite of her dessert, made his twisting hunger vanish.
"This is wonderful, Papa! Try some of yours!"
Picking up his spoon, Jefferson scooped up a piece of his slice of pie, winking at Grace before tasting it. The bitter twang of the apple, the rush of sugary sweetness, the flavour of the cinnamon spice. Grace was right; it truly was delicious!
"My compliments to the chef!" he smiled proudly, nodding his head deferentially to his daughter.
Grace beamed at the praise.
"You helped too, Papa. So…comlipents to you too," she added politely.
Jefferson's mouth twitched as her mispronunciation, his love for his little girl brimming over.
The pie was a great success, spoonful after spoonful enjoyed by both father and daughter. Jefferson was pleased to note that there was some left over for the next day, enough for him to wrap them up another slice each, maybe even two for Grace. He could sneak them in the basket, along with some cups and napkins, and while they were out hunting in the forest tomorrow, he would surprise his daughter with an impromptu riverside picnic in the sunshine. It would be perfect. He may not have much money, or be able to treat his daughter as often as he wished, but every chance he could he would spoil his little girl. His girl who was kind and sweet, with ready laughter and always full of energy and life.
He was interrupted from his planning by Grace calling him over the fire to sit with her as she watched the patterns and shapes of the flames crackling in the hearth.
"Thank you for letting us bake the pie, Papa."
Jefferson smiled, leaning over and fondly kissing the tip of her nose.
"You are most welcome, my dear Grace."
The End
Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed! Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated. The next few one-shots will be Storybrooke based; I love writing Jefferson and Grace in the Enchanted forest, their happy life together there, but I think there are so many stories to explore and tell during and post curse as well, full of angst, and fluff, and hurt/comfort... So look out for these Storybrooke oneshots in the coming weeks if you're interested :)