"My grandad says in the old days, you had to slice the meat yourself," Leo said, eyes wide. "He says if you slipped, you’d lose a finger before you tasted the glaze."

As he walked to the counter, he passed young Leo, who was staring at a display of oranges.

"The hams are in the back, Silas," Miller grunted, pointing a gnarled finger toward the cold room. "Honey-glazed and hickory-smoked. Pre-sliced, just the way Martha likes 'em so she doesn't have to wrestle with the carving knife."