A Flicker of Light by Roberta Kagan

hummed softly as she worked. A sense of comfort came over the two women. They did not need to speak. They understood each other perfectly.
    “Would you like to feel something? The baby is kicking,” Petra said.
    “Oh yes, could I?” The flour spread across the floor as Siegland wiped it quickly from her hands. Siegland reached over to Petra and put her palm carefully on the girl’s large abdomen. Movement rippled across Petra’s belly, filling the older woman with joy at the sign of a new life.
    “Have you thought about names?”
    “No, I haven’t, really. I suppose I should.”
    “There’s still time.”
    Filling the dough with vinegar and raisins, and then carefully forming the strudel, Siegland lifted the tray and put it into the oven. With an oven mitt, she removed the cookies she’d baked earlier and turned to Petra.
    “Smell that; it’s wonderful, eh?”
    “Yes.”
    “Let’s have some cookies with our tea.”
    Nodding, Petra smiled as she took the tea kettle down from the hook above the stove and filled it with water. Then, placing it on the burner, the women waited for the whistle indicating the water had come to a boil. Siegland placed two tea bags, so difficult to come by these days with the war, into the pot. “We must allow some time for it to steep, so that the tea will be good and strong.”
    The sugar cookies we re baked just right and tasted like ambrosia . Although she did not mention it, Petra marveled at how Siegland and Hans had come by so many supplies during such a time of lack.
    The following day, Petra watched as Siegland made butter. With the help of a large wooden bucket with a vertical wood plunger in the center, the woman’s skilled hand churned the milk into a wonderfully delicious, spreadable concoction. “So, now that we’ve got fresh butter, w e will bake some bread so that we will have fresh bread for ou r lunch. ”
    “Yes, all right. May I help?”
    “You can, yes, of course, but I think maybe it’s not such a good idea; maybe it would put too much strain on the baby. You are not used to kneading dough, and I think maybe it would pull on your stomach.”
    “May I sit and watch you then?”
    “Oh, yes, I would love that. You can help just by being here, ” Siegland’s face broke into a smile as she looked at Petra.
    Once the bread rose, it went into the oven. Within fifteen minutes the house felt warm and cozy, with appetizing scents filling the air.
    “I’d better be careful. I think I might just get fat here.”
    “Good, fat is healthy. It will be good for the baby when it comes.”
    Petra laughed, and it sounded like the tinkling of a bell.  She watched as Siegland prepared the ham and sauerkraut they would have with the bread for lunch.
    “Tomorrow, I will make cheese; you ever made cheese?”
    “No, I haven’t. I’m afraid I haven’t done much of that sort of thing. I grew up in a fishing village. I know how to clean fish, but that’s about the extent of my domestic knowledge.”
    “Well, don’t you worry. Today we start the culture, and tomorrow we s tart the cheese. It will take several weeks till it’s ready, but once it is; well, you will see how good real homemade cheese can be. ”
    “I can’t wait. I don’t know how to tell you just how much I appreciat e all that you have done for me and for the baby. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”
    “ Oh, come on, we haven’t done anything so special. We love hav ing you here.”
    “Well, thank you. I don’t know what else I can say.”
    Shyly turning back to her cooking, Siegland felt a completeness that she had longed for all of her life.

 
    Chapter 7
     
    W
    inter still loomed over the family. The highlands of Germany were covered in opaque, crystal blankets of shimmering white snow. Klaus collected the eggs, tended to the horse and milked the cow. While waiting for the return of warmer weather, most of their food remained stored in a cellar beneath floor in the barn. The previous