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December was a busy month in the Lvellie household, what with the parties, holidays, and end-of-year celebrations that seemed to be scheduled for each week. And while Malcolm was not generally one for frivolous festivities, holiday baking was a tradition that was near and dear to his heart. Most years Malcolm found that his children were either too young to assist in anything other than sampling the goodies after they were made or old enough that baking with their father was not an activity that held their interest in the slightest.
Accustomed to operating alone in the kitchen during the holiday season, he set to it with the utmost efficiency, laying out ingredients and utensils around his prep station as if it were an assembly line. The apple honey bundt cake came first, taking the longest out of all of them to bake. As he began sifting the flour and spices into the bowl, he heard the floorboards creak just outside the kitchen door. Malcolm turned, expecting to find one of his younger children scoping out potential sweets to sample, but instead found none other than his newest ward peeking around the corner, who stiffened when he realized he had been caught spying. Children were the same everywhere, it seemed, whether they were raised in the streets or in a manor—if there were sweets to be had, the children would come to find them.
“You’ve come a little early, I’m afraid.” He said, turning back to the task at hand, “I’ve only just started, so it will be some time before—”
“Can I help?”
The question surprised Malcolm enough that he didn’t even scold Howard for interrupting him, his normally sharp eyes softening as he surveyed the child in front of him; after a moment Malcolm motioned for him to enter, unsure of what to do with the help now that he had it. He saw the apples out of the corner of his eye and shrugged mentally—he might not have let his own children handle the kitchen knives, but Howard routinely dealt with blades far sharper and more dangerous than what could ever be found in a kitchen.
He picked up an apple and the paring knife and began whittling away at a section of the skin, “Here, make sure that you keep your fingers out of the way,” Howard watched him with rapt attention, “and let the knife do the work for you. You don’t want to press too hard—you’ll bruise the apple if you’re not careful.”
The CROW-in-training swallowed thickly, taking the apple gingerly, but set to the task with a determined look in his eyes, lips pressed together firmly as he slowly but steadily peeled the apple in a perfect spiral, just as Malcolm had, so focused on his assigned mission that he missed the way his mentor’s lips twitched up in the corners. Howard hadn’t been under his roof for very long, but he had come a long way from the impatient, cheeky orphan that Central had swept up from the streets, evident now just by the dedication he showed to this simple task.
Malcolm was about to pick up where he had left off when he paused, looking back at Howard, who was only a head taller than the counter top, and fetched the small step stool that his wife kept tucked away in one of the bottom cupboards; the boy glared at the stool, but muttered a thank you as he stepped onto it. Satisfied that his helper could actually see what he was doing, he turned back to the sifter.
“What does that thing do?” Malcolm raised an eyebrow at the question as Howard got started on his second apple.
“This? It helps combine the ingredients more evenly and will make the batter easier to mix when we mix it in with the wet ingredients.”
“Why do you have to do it separately?” He shouldn’t have found the curiosity endearing. He did anyway.
“Because otherwise the ingredients won’t mix properly.”
Howard continued to ask questions at every step in the process, taking an active role in dicing the apples and measuring out the other ingredients according to Malcolm’s instructions, although it did take a little of extra time and a bit of frustration chasing pieces of broken egg shell around the bowl after several failed attempts at cracking eggs.
“Now make sure you don’t overmix it,” he instructed as the boy began combining all of the ingredients together, “otherwise it will be dense and chewy, and we want it to be light and fluffy.” Howard pursed his lips with a frown as he stirred, trying to figure out when it would be mixed “enough,” casting questioning glances at his mentor until he got his seal of approval. Malcolm gave the batter a once over before folding in the apples while Howard greased the bundt pan.
By the time they slid it into the oven, it had taken them more time to complete the one cake than it would have taken Malcolm from start to finish, but despite the setback in efficiency, he somehow felt more content than he had in years past, perhaps because someone in the household had finally taken an interest in his holiday baking tradition beyond eating the results once the work was all done and over with.
He set a hand on Howard’s shoulder as he looked up at him expectantly, awaiting the next task to be had, offering his ward a rare smile of approval before directing him to the cookbook on the counter.
“Now what shall we make next…”