She checked the ingredients first. Ginger and flour and all the rest, since a run to the store would be impossible.
"What are you making?" her mother called.
"Gingerbread," Hope called back. Silence followed. She reached for the cup measure. "Grandma had a recipe in her book. Thought I would try it before Christmas. And we don't have any cookies."
"It'll do for desert, no doubt," her mother said. "I'll be out until dinner."
Hope went on. A shower outside had her turn on the lamp over the recipe. And then when the sheets were in the oven, she looked out the window to the glistening flowers. And yawned, to her own surprise. She could hardly sleep before the cookies were done; a poor test to try them all burned.
At least the recipe had specified that this one was harmless and could be freely eaten by all, without effect.