The Flour Girl
“All the little local heritage mills I wanted to visit while we were staying in this part of the state.
I may not get out this way again for years, so I made a list.” I thought of the low humming I had heard through the door, the sound like someone chatting with a houseplant, and I almost did not want to ask.
“And the humming?
Through the door?” Jacqueline’s face went pink all over again.
“I talk to my starters,” she admitted, in a small voice.
“When I feed them.