Momma Jean’s Bakery, Selma Alabama

“Momma Jean looks like some kind of trouble outside!” Jonathan yelled to her from the front of the store.

“Hold on Jonathan, let me finish up here right quick then I can join you,” Momma Jean replied. She was concentrating, holding the pastry bag steady as she finished up the last flower on the bottom layer of the wedding cake she was working on. The frosting didn’t want to stick on the fondant correctly, so Momma activated Decorating Precision to hit the target right where she wanted it.

Decorating Precision skill has increased by 1.

The flower was perfectly placed, only two layers to go and the cake would be ready for Louise’s wedding. The wedding was in two days so she should have plenty of time to finish.

“Lord knows I should be able to afford a Mercedes from all the wedding cakes I’ve baked for that woman; she goes through husbands faster than anyone I know,” Jean mumbled to herself as she set aside the pastry bag.

“Forgive my gossiping tongue, Lord, I don’t mean no disrespect,” Momma Jean prayed as she shuffled toward the front of her small bakery shop.

She moved slowly these days, but since the Upgrade, she did feel better than at any time in the last thirty years. Sure, the tiny nanobots that she’d read about were keeping her ticking, but she still was an eighty-year-old woman. The little aches and pains were still there but had diminished from the sharp agony that any movement would have caused her a few months ago.

Like many things on this fallen earth, the Upgrade was both a blessing and a curse. It had helped restore her body but had taken its toll on so many others.

Stepping past the small swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the front of the store, she couldn’t help but smile. Her husband Lamar had insisted on the doors, saying they gave her frilly shop a little bit of a cowboy feel. He said that each time he went through them, he could pretend that he was a gunslinger entering a saloon and not a baker in a pink and lace-trimmed shop.

The memory brought a smile, but like most of her memories, it was bittersweet. Lamar had died thirty years ago, and a day didn’t pass where she didn’t miss him. The good Lord takes every man and woman in His good time, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss Lamar’s smile and the love they had shared since they first met all those years ago.

“Look, Momma Jean, that’s the third police car in the last few minutes to come through with lights blazing. Looks like they’re all heading toward the Edmund Pettus Bridge! Something big is going down to get the five-oh that riled up,” Johnathan said.

She looked over at the young man. He was nearing thirty but when you’re eighty, even a thirty-year-old is a young man. Jonathan was the latest in a line of projects Momma Jean was working on.

The young man was just recently released from prison for armed robbery and nobody would hire him due to his record. He came to Momma Jean’s as a last resort and she took him on as an apprentice. Jonathan had the makings of a decent baker and was a hard worker. Like so many others she had met over the years, he never had anyone around when he was growing up to teach him right and wrong.

Jonathan’s mother was long gone, a crackhead that had left the boy to fend for himself as a teenager. He had fallen in with the local gang and found himself on the path heading toward what that kind of sinful life always seemed to lead to—death or incarceration. He had worked for her for the last month and so far, was abiding by her rules of employment.

Her rules were simple; there was no drinking, drugs, or smoking allowed. He had to show up on time and ready to work each day, and he had to go to church every Sunday. Momma Jean didn’t force him to go to her particular church, but he had to be in Lord’s house somewhere every Sunday if he wanted to work for her. The kid was still rough around the edges, but Momma felt he was one of the few that had a good chance at changing his life for the better.

“Jonathan, there ain’t no reason to worry none about what the police are doing here. They got no beef with my shop or anyone working in it. If they get any cause to come here because of something you did, I’ll take a switch to you faster than you can imagine. Stop window gawking and start arranging the display,” she chided.

Jonathan looked out the window once more and then began to work on the long glass counter that separated the customer area from the kitchen. A delicious selection of pies, cakes, and cookies was displayed and waiting for customers to take home or enjoy inside the small shop. Momma Jean’s place was known all through the town as the best bakery around, and many of her customers had been coming here for generations.

She was about to head back to finish up Louise’s cake when one of the police cars pulled up in front of the store. Officer Jacobs trotted from the car to the door of her shop. He stopped there for a moment, glancing down the street toward the bridge a block away.

When he opened the door to the shop, the bell attached to the door tinkled its greeting as the sounds of the growing chaos outside were heard until the door shut once more. The door was double insulated to keep the sticky and hot Alabama air away from the baked goods. It also created a nice sound barrier from the traffic outside.

“Junior, what has you coming to my shop so early. Usually, you don’t come and visit until after your shift, not that you do more than grab your cupcake and leave. Sit a spell and tell me how you and your family are doing,” Momma said as she reached into a closed cabinet behind her where she kept special items that she had baked for her long-term customers.

A plump cupcake frosted in police blue with gold trim was placed on a simple paper plate and set on the display counter for Junior to pick up. The concerned look on Junior’s face faded for a moment when the cupcake was pulled out. The tradition of that cupcake was one that Momma had started with his grandfather long ago.

“Sorry, Momma Jean, I can’t stay. I just wanted to warn you to leave, some Upgrade trouble is brewing across the bridge and there’s been a lot of casualties so far. The Army’s on its way but it may take a while for them to get here. Best if you and Jonathan head north and away from the city, this is going to get nasty. Also, when I’m on duty ma’am its Officer Jacobs, not Junior,” Junior said.

“Don’t you get uppity with me young man! Your grandfather was Officer Jacobs to me, and your daddy was Officer Jacobs to me. You are the grandchild of the first man I called that name and until you prove to me you’re of the same mettle as those who came before you, I’ll call you Junior,” Momma Jean replied sharply.

“Yes, Momma Jean, my apologies. Please, think about leaving, this isn’t some demonstration or riot from the old days, these are bloodthirsty alien creatures coming this way,” Junior said sheepishly before leaving.

The look on his face reminded her of the first time she had met Junior’s grandfather. It was Sunday, March 7th, 1965 and she would remember it forever. It was the one and only time she had ever come into the shop on the Lord’s day. On that day, the Holy Spirit spoke to her, nudging her toward the shop.

“I won’t work on the Lord’s day,” she remembered telling herself.

“Who are you to determine which day is Holy? You are called for a purpose this day, heed His call,” She had thought immediately after.

She arrived at the back alley to the shop, entering her small business without any problems. Route 80 in front of the shop faced was a scene of madness. Looking outside she watched as protesters ran from the bridge a block away, being pursued and brutally beaten by police.

Violence flowed down the street, eventually ending up in front of her store. The glass front door to her shop shattered as an officer knocked a young man through it. Forcing himself inside, the officer started hitting the young man mercilessly with his club.

“STOP! Percy Lee Jacobs, what you are doing is a sin in the eyes of God. What would your momma, Sylva, think if she saw her boy right now beating on an innocent man!” Momma Jean shouted at him.

She had never seen the police officer in her life and knew that this moment was why God had drawn her here to the shop this Sunday. The officer looked at her, anger on his face until the words she had said sunk in. He dropped the cowering man from his grasp, the club still held high for his next strike.

“How did you know my name or my momma’s name. I don’t remember ever meeting you before,” the officer replied, confused and troubled by what was happening.

“You’re right officer Jacobs, we’ve never met before in our lives, but we both know the same Father, the one who exhorts you to turn from the path of hate you are on,” Jean told him while pointing up.

She was just Jean back then when the shop was starting out. It would be many years before the locals started calling her Momma Jean. Officer Jacobs put away his club, covering his face with his hands.

“You, young man, get on out of here through the back of the shop, it should be safe enough in that direction,” Jean told the young man who had been beaten.

The man was bloodied and battered but not in any immediate need of medical attention. He nodded and slipped safely out the back. Officer Jacobs was sobbing now while sitting on her shop floor.

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Jean knew what the man was feeling. She and most folks felt it at one time or another in their lives. That police officer was feeling the weight of guilt from the sin and hate he had let rule his life for so long.

“God forgives you, Officer Jacobs. There is no sin too great that the blood of Jesus can’t wash away. Go and sin no more is what we are told to do. Go and sin no more Officer Jacobs,” Jean told him, helping to lift the huge man to his feet.

“Thank you, I’ll do what I can,” Officer Jacobs said, leaving through her broken door and entering the chaos awaiting him outside.

She learned later that Jacobs had been fired for disobeying orders when he tried to stop the violence going on. Jacobs had gotten a factory job to make ends meet. He eventually returned to the force when the bigoted town leadership had finally started to change.

On his first day back on the force, he stopped by to see Momma Jean. On that day he received the first blue police cupcake she had ever baked. That cupcake became a tradition that was handed down to his son, and now grandson who had all become law enforcement officers of good repute.

“Momma, you think we should take the po po’s advice?” Jonathan asked fearfully.

“Jonathan, the hand of the Lord is over this shop and all who are in it. I will fear neither sinner nor devil when I’m in here. I’ve kept this place open for nearly sixty years and I surely won’t start running off in fear now. If this be my great getting up day, so be it,” Momma Jean replied. Jonathan looked scared but nodded and went back to his work. She had given him a new chance at life and he would do anything for Momma Jean.

She went back to working on the wedding cake but found she didn’t have it in her to start the fine detail work once again. Instead, she whipped up a batch of her famous chocolate chip cookies, they always seemed to cheer her up. Despite there being no business today due to the troubles outside, she kept baking, losing herself in the familiar tasks that she had mastered over her long life.

Momma Jean’s mind began to wander as she worked. She thought about her sister Ruby who owned a lunch counter across town, chuckling slightly to herself as she recalled her sister putting ability points into charisma in order to get rid of her wrinkled face. Ruby had been so proud of her new look and tied to convince Momma Jean to do the same.

She had to admit, it was tempting to look young again. Then she remembered what her dear Lamar had told her when she complained about the first wrinkle that she noticed in her forties.

“Dear woman, you’ve earned that wrinkle. Think of all the wisdom that wrinkle represents, why on earth would you want to lose it?” Lamar told her.

“I don’t want you to be married to some old wrinkled hag,” she had replied.

“Jean, when I look at you, I don’t see any wrinkles, I see the woman I love and will love for all my days,” Lamar told her. Momma Jean blushed when she remembered the rest of that evening. She and Lamar had been quite the scandal back in the 1960s. A young white woman just didn’t marry a black man in Alabama at that time.

Lamar had stolen her heart when he came back to the shop a week after she had saved him from Officer Jacobs. He was dressed to the nines, and holding a big bouquet of flowers. Lamar gave her the flowers and thanked her for her help that day, saying she had likely saved his life. The two talked all afternoon and he showed up every day after that as their relationship grew.

The pastor of the church she had been attending refused to marry the two, the ingrained racism of the time permeated even God’s house to some extent those days. They left that church and soon found one that accepted them, the church she still attends this day. A young man, fresh out of seminary who was filled with the Spirit and not with ingrained hatred, had married the couple. Until the day he died, Lamar brought her flowers every March 7th without fail.

“March 7th is the day the good Lord saw fit to bring us together, and I refuse to ever forget that painful but fateful day,” he told her. Strangely enough, Officer Jacobs and Lamar eventually became close friends, bowling on the same church bowling team for years.

“I surely do miss you Lamar my love. Lord take me home soon so I can see my husband and son,” she prayed. Momma Jean lost their only child to a miscarriage early in their marriage. The baby was almost to term and the loss hit them both hard. She was never able to conceive after that, but their life was full despite the lack of children.

“You’ve not had a child of your own so you now see fit to fuss at everyone else’s kids,” Lamar would tease her. Momma Jean did seem to take all the strays under her wings.

The door to the bakery was always open to people of any race, creed, or religion. Whether folks came for a treat, some advice, or just to know that someone cared about them, Momma Jean was there. She was knocked from her memories when she heard gunfire and a crash at her door. Running to the front of the shop, she spied a bleeding Junior sitting on the ground and trying to reload his pistol with a hand that was now missing three fingers. He scrambled back against the display counter as three horrible creatures entered after him.

Orc Warrior, Level 5 (2).

Orc War Chief Vark, Level 10 elite.

Momma Jean waved away the system prompts the cursed Upgrade had placed in her vision. The war chief chuckled as he watched Junior’s futile attempts to reload. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Jonathan reaching under the counter to where she kept the pistol.

The pistol triggered a memory of a time when one hadn’t been there, the time her husband had been killed in a robbery. A foolish young man killed the love of her life to get a few dollars for his next fix. The community had rallied around the grieving widow, Officer Jacobs hounding the detectives to find who had done the crime.

In a strange turn of events, a local drug dealer pulled up to the police station a week later. A battered, beaten, and nearly dead young man was shoved out of the car and left there as a swarm of officers emerged. The nearly dead man was the one who had killed Lamar, the man confessed to the crime and was eventually sentenced to death.

The local drug dealer that had turned in Lamar’s killer was one of her failed projects. He had worked in the shop briefly before turning away from the Lord and once again pursuing the evil life of sin. Something of his time with Momma Jean must have sunk in, because when he heard about Lamar’s murder—the only man who had ever treated him like a father—he used his contacts to find the murderer.

Momma Jean suspected that the drug dealer was the reason her shop had never been robbed since then. The young drug dealer met the inevitable fate his life choice demanded, killed in a shootout a few years ago. Her place was now known as neutral ground where criminals and Sunday school teachers could enjoy their treats in peaceful fellowship.

Her biggest regret in life was that she never forgave the man who killed her husband. It was the one failing in her life she would regret all the way to her grave. The man had asked to apologize to her for what he had done, and she had ignored his plea. She wouldn’t dwell on it though; instead choosing to continue to try and help all she could and to forgive any who may ask it of her in the future.

One of the orc warriors hefted his axe and strode toward Junior. Righteous anger welled within Momma Jean as a new ability activated. Leaping over the counter in a single bound, Momma Jean landed in front of the approaching warrior. The mixing spoon in her hand swung with more force than should have been available in the eighty-year old’s body, smashing into the warrior’s chest and hurling him across the room.

Baker’s Wrath has critically hit Orc Warrior. Target is pushed back and stunned for fifteen seconds.

“Heh, Heh, Heh, old human is strongest human war chief has seen yet. I will gains much power from spilling your bloods old human,” the war chief said as he unslung his huge axe. This axe glowed with power and looked even more deadly than the ones carried by the warriors. Catching Jonathan raising the pistol out of the corner of her eye, she turned from the approaching orc to address him.

“No! Not in my shop Jonathan, I’ll not have any blood spilled over me. As for you,” Momma Jean said, turning back and pointing her spoon toward the chuckling orc war chief.

“As for you, you will cease this foolishness right now. You may be new in town, but this place is a place of peace. The good Lord protects this shop and all in it. All are welcome here—even whatever an orc is—so long as they behave and respect the others in here. You may not have ever experienced Momma Jean’s cooking so I will give you and your friend a sample. Jonathan, grab those cookies from the oven before they burn and bring a plate of them out here for our guests,” she ordered.

Vark stopped his advance, a confused look on his face. Momma Jean reckoned that the creature had never had anyone put him in his place like that before. The comforting smells of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven filled the shop. She could see the pig-like nose of the orc leader twitch as he smelled the air. Jonathan handed over a paper plate with a half dozen cookies on it to Momma Jean.

“Here, try these little bites of heaven. Ain’t nobody wanting to fight after eating my cookies. Go on, take a taste, they won’t hurt you,” Momma Jean said, holding the plate out.

The orc war chief looked like he was about to strike her down for a second before slowly reaching out for a cookie. The warm cookie sagged a bit as the orc lifted it to his nose, sniffing at the delicious aroma. A hesitant nibble from his fang-filled maw tasted the treat. With a smile on his face, the orc warlord shoved the remainder of the cookie into his mouth.

The orc ate four of the half dozen cookies before handing one to the orc warrior at his side. The orc warrior made a groan of happiness as it scarfed down the offered cookie. The war leader made to give the last cookie to the orc still recovering on the ground from Momma Jean’s blow.

“Nope, that one tried to bring violence into my shop, he doesn’t get a cookie today,” Momma said brandishing her spoon toward the cowering and wounded warrior. Vark shrugged and ate the last cookie, laughing at Momma Jean’s orders.

“You, old human, have a warrior’s heart. I see no fear in you and will honor your request. My clan will cause no fight in here. This place is neutral ground!” The war chief bellowed before etching a symbol on the glass window. The Upgrade interface notified Momma Jean of the result, as Vark and his warriors made ready to leave the shop.

This establishment has been placed under the protection of the Warhide Clan of orcs. No person inside will be harmed by the clan except in self-defense for as long as the owner remains in the clan’s favor.

You have defused a potentially deadly situation. Reward, 500 experience.

Improvised weapon skill increased by 1.

Wooden spoon skill increased by 1.

“Hold up there, you didn’t get a cookie today, but you are welcome back anytime you want as long as you behave yourself. Do you understand?” Momma Jean said to the wounded orc. The orc looked surprised and nodded in agreement.

“That goes for you and all your clan Vark, they are welcome here if they obey my rules. Of course, if y’all come back you have to pay for what you eat…and you do owe me for my broken door as well,” she ordered. Vark smiled at her and nodded slightly before walking out the shattered door.

“We get all kinds in here I do declare, but by the good Lord’s grace, we’ll serve any who are hungry. Jonathan, get the glass swept up and find something to cover the broken door until we can get it fixed. I’ll grab the first aid kit and let’s see to Officer Jacob’s wounds until the ambulance can come get him,” Momma Jean said.

Despite the pain, Junior was smiling as Momma Jean bandaged his wounds, realizing that he had finally advanced from Junior to Officer Jacobs in her eyes.

***

Momma Jean’s bakery is still going strong today. I had the pleasure of meeting her during my research and can heartily recommend anything she bakes. You may find yourself in rather eclectic company when you visit the shop. The day I was there we had a group of locals as well as an orc warrior enjoying a pie.

Her sister Ruby’s place is also still operating in Selma and is a must-visit as well. Ruby has the same varied clientele and makes the best meatloaf sandwich I have ever had the pleasure of eating. The creatures spawned by the Upgrade were usually hostile and violent. On rare occasions—like in Selma Alabama—a common ground was found, and the new arrivals lived in peaceful coexistence with their human neighbors. Unlike Momma Jean, many others sought to use their newfound Upgrade skills to enrich themselves at the expense of others. In this Upgraded world, you do so at your own peril…