We pulled up to the address that Gold gave us. We almost passed it because it was so small. It was a tiny bakery squeezed between the tailor and the bookstore. There were almost no decorations o the outside: just a small sign with the words "Eleanor's Bakery" painted on it in gold lettering. It was so inconspicuous we almost passed right by it.
"Are we sure this is the right place?" I asked.
"Well, it's the address Gold gave us," Emma replied.
"A bakery?" I looked at Emma incredulously.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe Cora likes croissants." Emma got out of the car and started walking into the building with a purpose. I sighed and followed her inside.
As soon as I walked in the warmth embraced me. I was welcomed by a sweet, delicious smell, and I stood for a moment in the doorway just taking it in. It seemed somehow familiar. At first I thought it was just the smell of bread, but I soon realized it was much more than that. I had smelled this exact aroma before, probably many times. But how...
Then someone walked around the corner. She was short and curvy; flour covered her beige apron and light yellow dress. Her once-long and blonde hair was cut just below her chin, and streaks of silver showed through the gentle curls. Despite her changed hair and added wrinkles, I recognized her immediately. Before she continued on to approach her, I held Emma back.
"Let me," I whispered. She looked at me questioningly, but stayed put. I nodded in thanks, and approached the counter.
"I'll be with you in a minute, love!" the baker, Eleanor, shouted. I watched her bend down to peer into the opening of the large brick oven. She grabbed the handle of the large metal spatula and pulled out the loaf. Satisfied upon inspection, she placed the loaf on a white plate and placed it in the heated display. Finally, she walked over to the counter.
"What can I do for you, madam mayor?"
"Um..." I tried to think of what to say, but I couldn't form the words in my mind.
"I can make a couple of suggestions if you can't make up your mind," she said with a sweet smile.
"Sure," I replied, smiling back.
"Well, we have a wonderful variety of loafs and rolls and sweets for you to choose from. If you're looking for something on the sweeter side, we have this honey roll that I love made with sweet cinnamon bread and covered in a honey glaze..."
As she continued listing her favorite treats, I realized that she didn't recognize who I was. Oh, she knew that I was the mayor, but she had no idea that I was the little girl who came into her bakery all those years ago. As I thought back on it, I remembered that I'd never told her who I was. I didn't want to be known as the prospective princess; I just wanted to be me. As far as she'd known, I was simply a child who loved the bakery. I had never even told her my name: she always called me "little one" or "my little helper."
"...and a creamy lemon filling. So, anything strike your fancy?"
I snapped out of my reverie. "Oh, yes. Um, can I get a chocolate-filled croissant and the apple bake?"
She nodded. "Of course!" She turned around and pulled a cutting board out of the shelf, placing it in the counter s couple of feet from the register. "It's going to be a couple of minutes on that apple bake, if that's okay. I have to make it."
"Of course, no worries," I replied.
She fished in the cupboards until she found a beautiful honeycrisp apple. Then she washed it, set it on the cutting board, and started cutting it into manageable pieces. "You know, not many people prefer the apple bake," she said. "In fact, there are only a couple of people who have ever..." she paused, staring behind me into space. She shook her head. "Never mind. Just got sidetracked." She continued making the apple bake in silence as I watched intently. The effortless grace with which she moved her hands while she sculpted the sweet treat still mesmerized me. She had always seemed like more of an artist than a chef to me. Every step was taken with such great care, from the rolling of the dough to the sprinkling of the cinnamon, to make sure that every bite was as delicious as the last.
She finally placed the treat in the oven to bake and motioned for me to meet her at the register. She punched in the order. "That will be $6.59 for you today, ma'am. I nodded and dug through my purse. Eleanor looked over my shoulder and waved at Emma. "Good afternoon, Sheriff!" she said cheerfully.
"Afternoon," Emma replied.
Finally I found a $20 bill in my wallet and handed it over. The baker nodded, put the bill in the register, and started pulling out change.
"No, keep it," I said.
"I'm sorry, I don't really accept tips," she said.
"Oh, no," I insisted. "Please, I'm just giving you what I owe you."
"What do you mean? You don't..."
"I never paid for my last sweet, and I couldn't visit you again to pay for it, so I owe you. I'm sorry it's so late in coming, but at least I'm able to pay you back now."
She looked at me with a puzzled expression for a moment. Then the realization dawned on her face. Her hand flew up to her face and over her mouth. "Regina, you...you're my little helper?"
I nodded. I couldn't say anything, because I knew if I did the tears beginning to form in my eyes would spill over. Eleanor started to run around the counter, then suddenly remembered the apple bake. She rushed to take it out of the oven before it burned. As soon as she set down the treat she ran around the counter towards me, arms outstretched for a hug. As she embraced me, her smell brought back so many memories, and it became harder to hold back my tears. I hugged her back, squeezing her tight.
Finally, she pulled away. "Oh, Regina," she said, putting her hand on my cheek affectionately, "you look so much like your mother."
My face fell. I hated to ruin such a perfect moment, but there was no time. "Actually, that's one of the reasons why we're here."
The joy on her face morphed into a look that combined confusion, horror, and sadness. "What do you mean?"
Emma stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Cora's in Storybrooke," she said, "and she's threatened us."
"Oh, dear." Eleanor said. She looked concerned and frightned, as would be expected. However, there was something else in her face...disappointment? Or something else I couldn't place? "I'm very sorry for your situation, but what does this have to do with me?" she asked.
"Well," Emma said, pulling the dreamcatcher out of her bag, "we used this to look at Cora's memories, but we came across a hiccupp: part of her memories are missing, using some kind of memory potion. When we talked to Gold, he pointed us in your direction."
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting and rubbing her arm. "I...I can't..." she stammered.
"Eleanor," I pleaded, "please, she's my mother. If you know anything that can help us..." I sighed. "I know you don't owe me anything. If anything, it's the other way around. But I'm going to ask you to do this for me, because I can't bear to lose Emma again."
She bowed her head. For a moment I thought she had begun to cry. Then, slowly, she lifted it back up and nodded. "I understand, Regina. I want to help you." I smiled in relief and appreciation. "However, I can't...I can't talk about what happened. It hurts too much. And I'm...ashamed." Her face crumpled at the thought, and I immediately placed my hand on her shoulder.
"Maybe you don't have to," Emma suggested. She stepped towards us holding up the dreamcatcher. "Would you be alright showing us what happened?"
Eleanor looked at the dreamcatcher suspiciously. "Does it hurt?"
"You won't even feel it," I reassured her.
She nodded. "Alright. But would you mind not looking at it until you leave? I just...I can't..."
"It's alright," I said. "We won't."
She smiled gratefully. "So, what do I have to do?"
Emma approached her with the dreamcatcher. "Just stand there and relax," she said. "It won't take but a minute." With a gentle hand, she ran the delicate feathers over Eleanor's head. Once again, the crossing threads began to glow, and continued to grow brighter until it seemed like the entire circle was filled with a swirling gold aura. Emma took back the dreamcatcher, holding it in her hands.
I turned to Eleanor. "Thank you so much. This means so much more than you know."
"I may understand more than you think," she replied. "Just promise me something."
"Anything!"
She hesitated for a moment. "Whatever you see, please...don't let it change anything between us."
"Why would it?" I asked, more than a bit confused.
"Just promise me, please."
"Alright, I promise."
Eleanor smiled. "Thank you."
I smiled, squeezing her hand one more time, then left the bakery with Emma following right behind me. When we made it to the car, we didn't say anything. I looked at Emma, and she looked back at me. I nodded almost imperceptibly. She nodded back in understanding. She lifted the dream catcher in front of her face and began to concentrate. It was time to learn the truth about my mother.