A Crossworder's Delight Read Online Free PDF Page B

She dedicated it to her daughter, but the book hasn’t been used. In fact, it seems almost like new, which leads me to wonder whether the daughter in question was a young child when her mother wrote these recipes for her … too young to know of the cookbook’s existence.”
    Karl smiled; he had the same winning expression as his father, although in his case the smile had a wide-open Americanism instead of his dad’s European decorum.
    â€œActually, what you’re asking is a terrific question. We do keep those kind of personal records. And we pride ourselves on making sure they’re up to date, sending out reminders about grandkids’ birthdays—or greatgrandkids or parents or in-laws as the case may be, as well as special events. The files are computerized now, but I’m sure my dad kept previous lists. It would take me a while to turn them up, though, if I can, which is a big if. Dad has always been a bit of a pack rat; he had his own system of storing information. As you can imagine, it’s not easy accessing it any longer.”
    Belle regarded the old man, who was now sunnily moving about the shop as if he had never had a care in the world.
    As if he knew Belle was thinking about him, he turned toward her. “Would you care to see how we make chocolates here at Legendary?” he asked.
    â€œDad, Belle came here hoping to access some of our stored files,” his son interjected, but the old man merely gazed at his offspring as though he wasn’t certain they’d met before.
    Then he began walking calmly toward the stairs that led down to the rooms where the candy was produced. “In my father’s time, the molds for our holiday chocolates were often made of coin silver. Nowadays it’s tin or steel. Not so pretty, but more economical. We do a handsome Kris Kringle just like my father remembers from the old country—two feet tall, in dark, milk, and white. White isn’t technically chocolate, Miss, but cocoa butter, of course. We’ve found it’s easier for customers to think of it as a color instead of a different substance.… And milk chocolate wasn’t produced until 1875, which was only …” the old man paused, as though he’d lost his way through his journey through time, then his face suddenly brightened. “Ah! Our famous Kris Kringle.… As you can imagine, Miss, a mold as large as that formed out of silver would be prohibitively expensive.”
    â€œDad. I’m not sure Belle has time for a tour,” Karl interrupted, but his father ignored this suggestion as well.
    â€œWhat did you say your name was, Miss?”
    â€œBelle … Belle Graham.”
    Old Mr. Liebig laughed. “As in Alexander Graham Bell, or like jingle bell?”
    Belle winced. As long as she could remember, her name had caused jests, but she didn’t have time to respond, because Karl Liebig, Sr. was already marshaling her toward the stairs. “I only work in small batches, just like my grandfather did back in Germany before he emigrated to America.… Three generations of chocolate producers—which is a fine thing, isn’t it? Small batches are the only way to maintain the appropriate temperatures for melting and tempering. Good tempering of the product is imperative if you want to avoid fat bloom. Besides, those big commercial kettles frighten me. I have a little boy, you know. Young Karl, named after me. Ever since that woman up Boston-way fell into a thousand-pound vat of melting chocolate and died, I’ve worried about my child. They didn’t find the lady’s body for two days. A grown person … and no one missed her. Well, I would miss my boy.”
    â€œWhat!” Belle gasped, but Mr. Liebig’s momentary return to his younger days had passed, and he gazed at her uncomprehending then abruptly turned away from the stairs to take up a post near the shop’s entrance