Gray was curious too and waited for the jar to come to him. The glass was cool in his hand as he held it to his face. The contents both looked and smelled like applesauce, probably because the pumpkin had been stewed in apple cider. He poured some into a bowl, then passed it to Annabelle along with a spoon. He sank onto the bench opposite her, watching carefully as she first sniffed the concoction, then poked it with the spoon.

She took a tiny taste, her eyes widening in surprise. She held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing.

“It’s good,” she said.

Captain Haig looked taken aback. “Are you sure? You read the ingredients. You know what’s in that slop.”

Annabelle took another bite, a bigger one this time. “It’s quite good. Very sweet, and the consistency is exactly like applesauce.”

“All the more reason to get it off the market,” Gray said. “The Magruders set low prices, and if it still tastes good, people will buy it up and never realize the chemical cocktail they are ingesting.”

“I’ll need some jars to take to Good Housekeeping,” she said. “They have an experimental kitchen where they test products for food purity.”

“What’s an experimental kitchen?” He’d never heard the term, and it piqued his interest.

Annabelle brightened. “It’s a new initiative at the magazine. Good Housekeeping’s editor was at the Department of Agriculture just last month to explain how it’s going to work.”

He listened in amazement to the plans for the magazine to start testing products for purity and efficacy. The editor believed that much of the nation’s food, toiletries, and other household products were either fraudulent or dangerous, and intended to use the magazine to get the message out.

While Gray didn’t like the prospect of the government nosing into private business, a magazine was a different story. If they reviewed a product, like a book or a theater review, it seemed perfectly fair.

“I like this idea of having a magazine conduct impartial tests,” he admitted. “Perhaps a visit to Good Housekeeping would be worth the trip.” Springfield was three hours west of Boston, but Caroline was right. He couldn’t afford to ignore this potential alliance.

Annabelle folded her hands on the table and looked delightfully smug. “You’re going to need me to open the door for you at Good Housekeeping.”

“And why is that?” he asked, immediately suspicious. Over the past few minutes he’d forgotten how angry he was with her, but he was on guard again.