~|Cyrus POV|~
•|1763, Virginia|•

"You want what?" Mr Harris looked back at me in surprise. It was the next day; I set off early in the morning - earlier than usual - to work out some things. Today, it wasn't to do with Mari or even that coachman. No, today was about me.

"A job," I repeated, staring hopefully into his eyes, eager. He stared back at me blankly like he could not quite translate back what it was that I meant.

"But wh- This is quite sudden, son." He confessed, sitting down. He had let me into the kitchen to talk whilst he was setting up shop and beginning his baking. I nodded and smiled at him. "I'm not sure, Cyrus." He thought carefully.

"Let me work today. If I do good, you can hire me. If I do bad, you don't have to keep me or pay me at all." I suggested. I looked into his eyes in some sort of hope to fund mother's medicine.

"Because it's you, Cyrus, I'll give you a shot. Don't throw it away." He warned. "Miss Sanders, you can get the day off after all." He said. A woman walked out of the bakery, smiling. "Let's get to work."

•|An hour later|•

"What are you doing, son?" I was asked by Mr Harris in a concerned tone as I began to pummel the dough with my fists.

"I-I'm beating the dough!" I replied, looking up to him wondering where I went wrong. Baking was something which, needless to say, I hadn't done before. He shook his head in almost disappointment and I couldn't help but shake mine too in the same frame of mind.

"Stand aside." He ordered as he took the dough from me; I did as asked and observed as he threw the dough onto the workbench. "What you wanna do," he began, lifting this dough up from one side, "is fling it."

"Fling it?"

"Fling it." He forced the dough, with a powerful flick of his wrist, to stretch out as it hit the workbench hard. He then pushed the dough back into one whole before repeating with more force.

"But...why?" I questioned intently. I couldn't truly understand why such an extraordinary act is necessary for the making of bread. I had assumed that bread was just the manipulation of ingredients to grow into something edible, but this showed that perhaps there was more to it. Maybe it was that - as Horses do - the ingredients need some encouragement through the power of pain? I looked at Mr Harris for guidance.

He placed the bread dough back onto the bench to turn and look at me. "In order to get the brilliant results that you can get from bread, you must make sure to ready it up for the life ahead." He explained. He pulled up a chair and sat down in it before chuckling. "If I were ever to have a child, I'd treat them like they were bread." He imagined, not quite meeting my eyes.

"You would be-?"

"That's not what I meant, boy." He laughed. "Bread is not something to be left to do its own thing, nor should it be overhandled." He picked up the dough and began to bash it once again; I was entranced by his every word. "You must let the bread know who's boss," He growled, placing the bread back down, "you have to push them to grow and strengthen," He enthused, "because every time you stretch them to their limits, they are just a little bit higher next time!"

He stopped and breathed in. "And yeah, the bread is better because of it." He explained and walked off rather suddenly to begin baking some more things in preparation for opening.

I looked down at the dough; nothing quite felt the same anymore. I picked it up and thrust it into the workbench. I smiled. M y   c h i l d.

•|Another hour later|•

"Thank you, Mrs Phillips!" I smiled handing her the loaf of bread.

"Cyrus!" She cried in reply, looking deeply into my eyes. "Whatever are you doing here?" She questioned me. I nodded and smiled.

"I guess I thought it was time to get a real job." I lied. I recognised the loaf which I handed her to be one of mine by the misshapenness of it. She placed it below her small nose.

"Mmmmm," She smelled in delight, "did you bake this, pumpkin?" She asked me, looking to me in her light tea-stained eyes. I nodded in somewhat pride of my creation. She smiled more, "You ought to be very proud because this smells delightful! Cy-," she paused, "I suppose now that you're all grown I should call you Mr Wood instead." She danced off into the distance.

Mr Wood? I suppose that was me now.

•|A few more hours later|•

"I tend to close up shop about now." Mr Harris stated, beginning to clear up the workbenches. I frowned. It was already over. "You did alright today, lad." He acknowledged, patting me firmly on the back.

"It was nice having you around today. When Miss Sanders is back tomorrow, maybe I can finally begin to have a little more time to put love into my bread." He wondered. "That is if you would like the work?"

I couldn't believe my luck. Mr Harris taught me to appreciate his work and so the job would be great. "Of course! Oh, thank you, Mr Harris!" I cried out.

"Oh, please.

Call me Brody."

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N

I had a lotta fun with this chapter. I'm not an expert on baking so don't kill me! All of my characters will have their shot in the spotlight at some point in this story. Mr Harris is great, though, so. This is probably the longest chapter I've worked on so far so yay.

Any recommendations to immediately after cover one of your favourite characters? I'll bring them closer to the present if you truly want. Though, if this is a really old chapter then maybe this isn't really very useful for you to write anything.

Anyway, bye.