Glasshearth

The cottage is dark except for the hearth, and the copper pot of sugar is climbing past a hundred and forty degrees. On the board lie strawberries, grapes, a bruised cherry and a paring knife left in the way. Draw one straight line and the skewer takes every fruit it crosses, handle to tip. The Baker's slip wants strawberry, grape, strawberry, so the angle has to be exact. Then hold the skewer in the sugar and lift it while the thermometer sits in the glass band. Too early and it stays sticky; a moment late and it turns to amber. Apple wedges take a skewer only along their length, mandarin segments only through the thick middle, pineapple rings only through the hole. Each finished slip goes into a jar on the shelf, and the crystals scraped from the pot rim buy a copper pot that heats more slowly.