Froniga, or Fron (as most of her US friends and relations called her) was a patient sort of soul. More in touch with her forebears than many Americans, perhaps because she was closer to her immigrant roots than most. She'd married into the "Land of the Free" as much as she had been born there, not really considering where she lived as something to define her. Maybe that was the Romany spirit showing through. She couldn't tell. She didn't care.

Of course, her attracted neighbour did present a problem. She was who she was, and it was hardly her fault that he had fallen for her. No words had been spoken, no promises made, or broken. A crush was all it was. He didn't know her at all really. Wilhelm would have to sort things out for himself. However, she had enjoyed the sabotaging of his mixing machine, and the intensity of his growing attention while it fermented. Fermenting was also in her blood it seemed. A shame this brew would (could? should?) never be tasted.