Three Sisters Divided Over a Limestone Bakery Built in Nineteen Sixty-Eight

knuckle. The heavy hum of the nineteen-fifty Hobart mixer filled the kitchen, vibrating through the thick limestone walls.

Clara did not look up from her wooden bowl, her hands buried in the pale yeast dough.

“It is three hundred short, Clara,” I said.

She stopped kneading for a fraction of a second, then patted her dark hair with a floury hand.

“You probably continue reading …